Submissions by goldenmyst
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
"My muse changes clothes at the drop of a hat" Goldenmyst, 59 years old, lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The poet and author believe, “Love blossoms even within the walls of a madhouse in hearts yearning to be free.”
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
29th Oct 2015 3:24am
29th Oct 2015 3:24am
Angels in the Madhouse
Angels in the Madhouse
I am curled in a ball on the couch. My mind is afloat in a Sargasso Sea of drugged peace. Richard and Gavin walk by. Richard says, “What should we do with him? Take him out to the levee and beat the shit out of him?”
Gavin looks at my roly poly boy body. “Yea that sounds like the best thing” he says.
The mind doctors take me off all my meds. I am alert and sitting for a change. Valerie and Shari walk by me wearing tight jeans with curves to die for. Valerie looks at me. “John did you know Shari poses nude for artists in the French...
I am curled in a ball on the couch. My mind is afloat in a Sargasso Sea of drugged peace. Richard and Gavin walk by. Richard says, “What should we do with him? Take him out to the levee and beat the shit out of him?”
Gavin looks at my roly poly boy body. “Yea that sounds like the best thing” he says.
The mind doctors take me off all my meds. I am alert and sitting for a change. Valerie and Shari walk by me wearing tight jeans with curves to die for. Valerie looks at me. “John did you know Shari poses nude for artists in the French...
832 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
25th Oct 2015 3:34am
25th Oct 2015 3:34am
Art School
Art School
He lies spread eagled upon plush divan
Like Apollo his regal body is sculpted in brawn
Gorgeous curves and rippling muscles
Come down from Olympus to please her tired body
His pendulous eggs hang below his flaccid spear
She paints the colors of his masculinity
Bronze hued Hercules reclined in manly physique
Wicked plan hatched in her mind
Her eyes lock on his manhood
Tongue traces circles on her luscious lips
Her salacious tease trap
Magically conjures his rising prominence
Cockaded pecker helpless in her stare...
He lies spread eagled upon plush divan
Like Apollo his regal body is sculpted in brawn
Gorgeous curves and rippling muscles
Come down from Olympus to please her tired body
His pendulous eggs hang below his flaccid spear
She paints the colors of his masculinity
Bronze hued Hercules reclined in manly physique
Wicked plan hatched in her mind
Her eyes lock on his manhood
Tongue traces circles on her luscious lips
Her salacious tease trap
Magically conjures his rising prominence
Cockaded pecker helpless in her stare...
646 reads
0 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
24th Oct 2015 4:34pm
24th Oct 2015 4:34pm
Daphne and Diana
Daphne and Diana
Intro:
Diana was goddess of the moon and of hunting and protectress of women. Daphne, daughter of Peneus, rival of Diana the virgin Goddess, “had many suitors, but she scorned them all; wanting no part of any man, she traveled the pathless groves, and had no care whatever for husband, love, or marriage.”
A variation on a theme by Ovid:
The forest is alive with the call of song birds and the howling of wolves this morning as mother earth awakens from her slumbers. Mists rise from the stream which sparkles in the early morning...
Intro:
Diana was goddess of the moon and of hunting and protectress of women. Daphne, daughter of Peneus, rival of Diana the virgin Goddess, “had many suitors, but she scorned them all; wanting no part of any man, she traveled the pathless groves, and had no care whatever for husband, love, or marriage.”
A variation on a theme by Ovid:
The forest is alive with the call of song birds and the howling of wolves this morning as mother earth awakens from her slumbers. Mists rise from the stream which sparkles in the early morning...
825 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
24th Oct 2015 2:30am
24th Oct 2015 2:30am
What Emily Needed
What Emily Needed
The miles showed on his face in burnt etchings of Mississippi Delta sun. He sat at the same table every day, sipping coffee and staring out the window at the Grenada street scene. He seemed to be lost in a universe Kate couldn’t fathom. His world was beyond her reach, cloaked in the darkness of his inward gaze. Something about his remoteness beckoned her. She longed to breach his inner kingdom. But how could she penetrate this elusive creature? He made her think of some mythical beast, like a unicorn, who could never be captured.
Kate
Mr. you look...
The miles showed on his face in burnt etchings of Mississippi Delta sun. He sat at the same table every day, sipping coffee and staring out the window at the Grenada street scene. He seemed to be lost in a universe Kate couldn’t fathom. His world was beyond her reach, cloaked in the darkness of his inward gaze. Something about his remoteness beckoned her. She longed to breach his inner kingdom. But how could she penetrate this elusive creature? He made her think of some mythical beast, like a unicorn, who could never be captured.
Kate
Mr. you look...
797 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
22nd Oct 2015 10:42pm
22nd Oct 2015 10:42pm
Where Rivers Meet
Where Rivers Meet
Crickets chirp through the stillness. The quiet humming of tree frogs fills the night air. We lie in the tent like two doves. My face nuzzles against your breasts.
We have passed through the years like this. We find silent moments to ease each other. I feel your soft touch, the warmth of your body against mine, and the impenetrable darkness outside. Water rushes by in the stream below the cliffs. The wind rushes across the tree tops with a deep exhalation of the earth. You sigh deep in the night. Our closeness is a second nature.
But on this...
Crickets chirp through the stillness. The quiet humming of tree frogs fills the night air. We lie in the tent like two doves. My face nuzzles against your breasts.
We have passed through the years like this. We find silent moments to ease each other. I feel your soft touch, the warmth of your body against mine, and the impenetrable darkness outside. Water rushes by in the stream below the cliffs. The wind rushes across the tree tops with a deep exhalation of the earth. You sigh deep in the night. Our closeness is a second nature.
But on this...
717 reads
0 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
22nd Oct 2015 8:38pm
22nd Oct 2015 8:38pm
Never Again
Never Again
We set off across longleaf pine barrens into a realm of sandstone and sky. I toted a knapsack with provender from fields of grain and submerged lakes. Our footsteps took us on the backbone of the forest. There a rib rose sprouting green on the lost horizon.
We followed a contour map on our shoe taps across the rocky ridge. Winter embraced the land. The winds would blow cold this night. We had listened to the whispering wind which beckoned out hearts to this wilderness.
We paced the path deeper into heart of the forest. Martha’s feet needed rest. My...
We set off across longleaf pine barrens into a realm of sandstone and sky. I toted a knapsack with provender from fields of grain and submerged lakes. Our footsteps took us on the backbone of the forest. There a rib rose sprouting green on the lost horizon.
We followed a contour map on our shoe taps across the rocky ridge. Winter embraced the land. The winds would blow cold this night. We had listened to the whispering wind which beckoned out hearts to this wilderness.
We paced the path deeper into heart of the forest. Martha’s feet needed rest. My...
707 reads
2 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
22nd Oct 2015 1:36pm
22nd Oct 2015 1:36pm
Rainbow Gathering
Rainbow Gathering
The northern hills loom lyrically in windy wild abandon. They rise like hump back whales under Arcadian skies. Huddled hippies gather. They are refugees from capitalism who follow the flow of sandstone in barefoot beatitude. Their pot smoke drifts like incense on the sultry breeze. The sweet scent smells like heaven on this summer’s day. “Welcome home” a young man says between tokes.
A beautiful gypsy stops to greet me. She offers me repast in my lonely trek through life. Berried-bohemian Belles chime their core-sets. Their sunflower smiles...
The northern hills loom lyrically in windy wild abandon. They rise like hump back whales under Arcadian skies. Huddled hippies gather. They are refugees from capitalism who follow the flow of sandstone in barefoot beatitude. Their pot smoke drifts like incense on the sultry breeze. The sweet scent smells like heaven on this summer’s day. “Welcome home” a young man says between tokes.
A beautiful gypsy stops to greet me. She offers me repast in my lonely trek through life. Berried-bohemian Belles chime their core-sets. Their sunflower smiles...
791 reads
3 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
22nd Oct 2015 1:22am
22nd Oct 2015 1:22am
Porcelain Angel
Porcelain Angel
Susan still haunts me like a ghost from a world which no longer exists. Maria Smith Psychiatric hospital closed years ago. I can visualize walking through the corridors and imagining the people as it was nearly two decades ago.
In my mind’s eye I can still see Susan with her angular cheek bones and wispy emaciated figure. She was severely anorexic and in danger of dying. I will never know if she slipped her mortal coil and migrated to some celestial sphere beyond this realm. She had a singular grace which transcended her physical depletion. Her timid...
Susan still haunts me like a ghost from a world which no longer exists. Maria Smith Psychiatric hospital closed years ago. I can visualize walking through the corridors and imagining the people as it was nearly two decades ago.
In my mind’s eye I can still see Susan with her angular cheek bones and wispy emaciated figure. She was severely anorexic and in danger of dying. I will never know if she slipped her mortal coil and migrated to some celestial sphere beyond this realm. She had a singular grace which transcended her physical depletion. Her timid...
735 reads
4 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
22nd Oct 2015 1:22am
22nd Oct 2015 1:22am
Colorado in Summer
Colorado in Summer
Watershed sprouts pine valley forest. I drink deep cool draughts of alpine air. Beaver’s collection of wooden earth hair creates lake of lover’s dreams. We follow the trickle of melted ice up into realms of light and ice. Each step takes us higher into a sacred valley of the earth mother’s tears. The leader and I talk of a holy city which lies just beyond the horizon. There people share bread and kisses in communion with each other. Soon a lacey meadow of snow opens up like a maiden’s hand to welcome us. Our traveling guide tells us, “You know I just love being...
Watershed sprouts pine valley forest. I drink deep cool draughts of alpine air. Beaver’s collection of wooden earth hair creates lake of lover’s dreams. We follow the trickle of melted ice up into realms of light and ice. Each step takes us higher into a sacred valley of the earth mother’s tears. The leader and I talk of a holy city which lies just beyond the horizon. There people share bread and kisses in communion with each other. Soon a lacey meadow of snow opens up like a maiden’s hand to welcome us. Our traveling guide tells us, “You know I just love being...
688 reads
3 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
21st Oct 2015 1:25am
21st Oct 2015 1:25am
You Can Do It at the YMCA
You Can Do It at the YMCA
I stand revealed in naked curves. My hips rotate neath the shower spray. The warm pellets of water sting into my breasts with hot pleasure. My nipples swell under the warm beads as they rain against my soft skin. I feel so alone in this place where I have come to find solace in sweaty pelvis thrusts on the machines.
You have watched me oh so closely as I lie flat on my stomach my tights wet with perspiration. Your eyes gaze hungrily at my flexing glutes, as cat-like I work my body teasing you with intimations of what I might be like in bed. I...
I stand revealed in naked curves. My hips rotate neath the shower spray. The warm pellets of water sting into my breasts with hot pleasure. My nipples swell under the warm beads as they rain against my soft skin. I feel so alone in this place where I have come to find solace in sweaty pelvis thrusts on the machines.
You have watched me oh so closely as I lie flat on my stomach my tights wet with perspiration. Your eyes gaze hungrily at my flexing glutes, as cat-like I work my body teasing you with intimations of what I might be like in bed. I...
854 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
19th Oct 2015 4:42am
19th Oct 2015 4:42am
Kayla of the Emerald Sea
Kayla of the Emerald Sea
She emerges from the transparent bubble into a school of iridescent fish. The cloud of fish glistens in rainbow colors. She floats lazily in chrysanthemum dreams of seas of rolling indigo where mermen frolic splashing love through the warm waves.
She is a golden breasted sea maiden who sparkles in prismatic colors. She plays with porpoises in the crystal ocean. Seagulls, otters, and whales all sing a melody of love she feels. Her periwinkle nipples are pink with sunset hue. Her raven locks are wet with salty desire. Azure waters foam in crests...
She emerges from the transparent bubble into a school of iridescent fish. The cloud of fish glistens in rainbow colors. She floats lazily in chrysanthemum dreams of seas of rolling indigo where mermen frolic splashing love through the warm waves.
She is a golden breasted sea maiden who sparkles in prismatic colors. She plays with porpoises in the crystal ocean. Seagulls, otters, and whales all sing a melody of love she feels. Her periwinkle nipples are pink with sunset hue. Her raven locks are wet with salty desire. Azure waters foam in crests...
813 reads
3 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
19th Oct 2015 00:58am
19th Oct 2015 00:58am
Redemption
Redemption
The narrow French Quarter streets are packed with lost souls, people asleep though walking. I see their sodden faces, neon light reflected in glazed eyes. The neon signs beckon with promises of bliss in writhing girls on stages who give the illusion of satisfaction to hungry males.
I see one through the window, her legs wrapped around a pole, and her plastic face contorted in the image of passion. I know that deep in that body is the heart of a wounded bird who follows patterns ingrained from molestations, perhaps forgotten. The endless repetition of spirit...
The narrow French Quarter streets are packed with lost souls, people asleep though walking. I see their sodden faces, neon light reflected in glazed eyes. The neon signs beckon with promises of bliss in writhing girls on stages who give the illusion of satisfaction to hungry males.
I see one through the window, her legs wrapped around a pole, and her plastic face contorted in the image of passion. I know that deep in that body is the heart of a wounded bird who follows patterns ingrained from molestations, perhaps forgotten. The endless repetition of spirit...
1013 reads
6 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by goldenmyst
