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.”
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
10th Oct 2015 6:35pm
10th Oct 2015 6:35pm
She Weeps for the Women of the World
She Weeps for the Women of the World
I stand and gaze through the picture window out at the lotus pond. Morning sunlight bathes me in glowing radiance. As I look around at the mirror. I see myself in my transparent nightgown, illuminated. I feel pure and angelic. It is as though I am transformed by the light into a spirit, free from hunger, pain, or sorrow.
The soft breeze blows from the ceiling fan rustling my gown with the cotton fabric tickling my soft skin. My bare feet on the wooden floor tingle with pleasure. I wonder where my husband is. However, I am glad to be...
I stand and gaze through the picture window out at the lotus pond. Morning sunlight bathes me in glowing radiance. As I look around at the mirror. I see myself in my transparent nightgown, illuminated. I feel pure and angelic. It is as though I am transformed by the light into a spirit, free from hunger, pain, or sorrow.
The soft breeze blows from the ceiling fan rustling my gown with the cotton fabric tickling my soft skin. My bare feet on the wooden floor tingle with pleasure. I wonder where my husband is. However, I am glad to be...
857 reads
2 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
8th Oct 2015 5:15pm
8th Oct 2015 5:15pm
Glass Menagerie: Tom’s Return
Glass Menagerie: Tom’s Return
A continuation of the Tennessee Williams play, “The Glass Menagerie”
Tom
The cities passed in desolation as I wandered farther from the past. My feet shuffled through autumn leaves in the park. My life had become a funeral procession. I had never known the sorrow which weighs the soul like a drunken stupor. Laura and mother returned every night to haunt me. In my dreams they pleaded for mercy and my return. Yet I kept moving for in motion I felt was the key to freedom. One night Laura approached me clothed in a virgin white dress. She held a...
A continuation of the Tennessee Williams play, “The Glass Menagerie”
Tom
The cities passed in desolation as I wandered farther from the past. My feet shuffled through autumn leaves in the park. My life had become a funeral procession. I had never known the sorrow which weighs the soul like a drunken stupor. Laura and mother returned every night to haunt me. In my dreams they pleaded for mercy and my return. Yet I kept moving for in motion I felt was the key to freedom. One night Laura approached me clothed in a virgin white dress. She held a...
747 reads
3 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
7th Oct 2015 9:56pm
7th Oct 2015 9:56pm
Scarlet
Scarlet
John
Oops I dropped my wallet on the floor. Oh man it fell under the couch. Damn. The fixes I get in. I need my ID for the prom. Suzie will be furious if I stand her up.
Scarlet
Cousin let me help you. You look like your could use a hand
John
I’ll leave it to you the expert. My hands are so burly I can’t reach under that sofa.
Scarlet
No problem John. Ah, I think I’ve snagged it. There you go.
John
I notice you’re still on the floor. You’re skirt is riding up. But I’m not complaining.
...
John
Oops I dropped my wallet on the floor. Oh man it fell under the couch. Damn. The fixes I get in. I need my ID for the prom. Suzie will be furious if I stand her up.
Scarlet
Cousin let me help you. You look like your could use a hand
John
I’ll leave it to you the expert. My hands are so burly I can’t reach under that sofa.
Scarlet
No problem John. Ah, I think I’ve snagged it. There you go.
John
I notice you’re still on the floor. You’re skirt is riding up. But I’m not complaining.
...
774 reads
4 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
7th Oct 2015 9:55pm
7th Oct 2015 9:55pm
Street Car Named Desire: Epilogue
Street Car Named Desire: Epilogue
Continuation of the Tennessee Williams play "Street Car Named Desire"
Background:
Blanche, a school teacher from a rich family, catches her husband sleeping with a man. He commits suicide. She loses her inheritance. She has a string of physical affairs. Her fall from grace is sealed by a romance with a seventeen year old student. She is declared unfit to teach in her hometown. Blanche arrives in New Orleans, penniless, to stay with her sister and brother-in-law. A man named Mitch woos her, but declines to marry her once her...
Continuation of the Tennessee Williams play "Street Car Named Desire"
Background:
Blanche, a school teacher from a rich family, catches her husband sleeping with a man. He commits suicide. She loses her inheritance. She has a string of physical affairs. Her fall from grace is sealed by a romance with a seventeen year old student. She is declared unfit to teach in her hometown. Blanche arrives in New Orleans, penniless, to stay with her sister and brother-in-law. A man named Mitch woos her, but declines to marry her once her...
836 reads
9 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Oct 2015 5:41am
7th Oct 2015 5:41am
Bipolar, it’s not just a condition, it’s an adventure
Bipolar, it’s not just a condition, it’s an adventure
Tonight I’ll cruise the metroplex
Like Pierce Brosnon in a Honda
Every acceleration pumps my vitals
Better than tang in the morning
I don’t need speed to perk my day
I’ve got all I need right here
Every young woman shrieks opportunity
In tight jeans and luxuriant hair
The planet is my oyster
As I sail like a king to Troy
My bank account is unlimited
As a card swipe impulse brings joy
On the brink of my next promotion
To king of the noveau art scene
I’m burning with desire...
Tonight I’ll cruise the metroplex
Like Pierce Brosnon in a Honda
Every acceleration pumps my vitals
Better than tang in the morning
I don’t need speed to perk my day
I’ve got all I need right here
Every young woman shrieks opportunity
In tight jeans and luxuriant hair
The planet is my oyster
As I sail like a king to Troy
My bank account is unlimited
As a card swipe impulse brings joy
On the brink of my next promotion
To king of the noveau art scene
I’m burning with desire...
929 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
7th Oct 2015 4:24am
7th Oct 2015 4:24am
Art of Seduction
Art of Seduction
Maiden
Pray tell what is the nature of your deviance?
Knight
Prithee I should not disclose such matters to as young and innocent a maiden such as thee.
Maiden
Oh but what stay thy tongue?
Knight
Only the modesty duly observed with thy fair self.
Maiden
Well please let not my maiden countenance preclude thee.
Knight
Discretion is the better part of valor. Honor dictates my discourse. Thou art but a babe in matters of intimacy.
Maiden
Thou dost presume too much. My carnal...
Maiden
Pray tell what is the nature of your deviance?
Knight
Prithee I should not disclose such matters to as young and innocent a maiden such as thee.
Maiden
Oh but what stay thy tongue?
Knight
Only the modesty duly observed with thy fair self.
Maiden
Well please let not my maiden countenance preclude thee.
Knight
Discretion is the better part of valor. Honor dictates my discourse. Thou art but a babe in matters of intimacy.
Maiden
Thou dost presume too much. My carnal...
1067 reads
10 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
5th Oct 2015 3:31am
5th Oct 2015 3:31am
The Sacrifice
The Sacrifice
We stand in a circle around the blazing fire. I wear a gossamer robe, which does little to protect me from the waves of heat from the flames, which beat against my breasts. There are twelve of us. We are guardians of the sacred fire. I have been groomed as a protector since I was a child. My responsibility is heavy.
The sacred fire has burned for a thousand years, since before our language was written, when legends were recounted around the campfire in the evening. It is told that the fire came from heaven. Centuries ago, the White Goddess descended from...
We stand in a circle around the blazing fire. I wear a gossamer robe, which does little to protect me from the waves of heat from the flames, which beat against my breasts. There are twelve of us. We are guardians of the sacred fire. I have been groomed as a protector since I was a child. My responsibility is heavy.
The sacred fire has burned for a thousand years, since before our language was written, when legends were recounted around the campfire in the evening. It is told that the fire came from heaven. Centuries ago, the White Goddess descended from...
1128 reads
5 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
4th Oct 2015 11:39pm
4th Oct 2015 11:39pm
That Old Black Magic
That Old Black Magic
Scarlet poppies are splashed across the green meadows over the rise of land which stretches upward toward the aqua sky. I stand below the rise and gaze into a steaming mirror of pool at my reflection. A ring of oddly shaped rocks surrounds the pool. Some are shaped like mushrooms and others like phalluses.
I long for my beloved Tristan as I breathe his name like the murmur of a dream. We dance through the millennia together through our reincarnations. We always find each other no matter how far apart on the planet we are born. Morning wonder sighs...
Scarlet poppies are splashed across the green meadows over the rise of land which stretches upward toward the aqua sky. I stand below the rise and gaze into a steaming mirror of pool at my reflection. A ring of oddly shaped rocks surrounds the pool. Some are shaped like mushrooms and others like phalluses.
I long for my beloved Tristan as I breathe his name like the murmur of a dream. We dance through the millennia together through our reincarnations. We always find each other no matter how far apart on the planet we are born. Morning wonder sighs...
897 reads
3 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
4th Oct 2015 6:37pm
4th Oct 2015 6:37pm
Strangers in the Night
Strangers in the Night
I love the smell of books. I think that, even more than my love of literature, may be the reason I work in a used book store. That and because it is so quiet. I love quiet places where I find I can think more clearly. I know people who crave noise and feel lonely in places like this book store.
However, I feel right at home among the books of Pablo Neruda and Anne Sexton two of my favorite authors among the many represented in the stacks of this antiquarian book store. The books are like companions to me. I feel as though I am in the company of the...
I love the smell of books. I think that, even more than my love of literature, may be the reason I work in a used book store. That and because it is so quiet. I love quiet places where I find I can think more clearly. I know people who crave noise and feel lonely in places like this book store.
However, I feel right at home among the books of Pablo Neruda and Anne Sexton two of my favorite authors among the many represented in the stacks of this antiquarian book store. The books are like companions to me. I feel as though I am in the company of the...
#AnneSexton
1203 reads
4 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
4th Oct 2015 7:16am
4th Oct 2015 7:16am
Doctor of Womanly Magic
Doctor of Womanly Magic
I feel the zing of electric charge pulse through my leg. I put myself in her hands. She is a doctor of softness.
I sit on the patient bed awaiting her entry. She walks in with a jade sparkle in her eyes. She is a vision of raven haired Mayan exotica.
She instructs me to undress to my briefs and put a ring of plastic skirt around my waist. She swishes out of the room. Within moments she opens the door and approaches me with a flirty smile.
She asks me where the sparks fly? I withhold my secret answer that she is the source of my...
I feel the zing of electric charge pulse through my leg. I put myself in her hands. She is a doctor of softness.
I sit on the patient bed awaiting her entry. She walks in with a jade sparkle in her eyes. She is a vision of raven haired Mayan exotica.
She instructs me to undress to my briefs and put a ring of plastic skirt around my waist. She swishes out of the room. Within moments she opens the door and approaches me with a flirty smile.
She asks me where the sparks fly? I withhold my secret answer that she is the source of my...
830 reads
4 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
4th Oct 2015 2:27am
4th Oct 2015 2:27am
Speaking in Tongues
Speaking in Tongues
Chris looks at me silently. I feel a little nervous. The restaurant is dimly lit and Chris’s eyes seem to glow green. He looks pale, but I can feel his burning flame of passion emanate from his frail body. He has an intense hungry look in his eyes. I look away from him nervously. He asks, “What’s the matter?”
I say, “Oh. I don’t know. I guess I just feel strange.” I sit across from him.
He says, “Don’t worry. I feel the same way.”
I say, “Hey, I’m sorry. I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”
He sits...
Chris looks at me silently. I feel a little nervous. The restaurant is dimly lit and Chris’s eyes seem to glow green. He looks pale, but I can feel his burning flame of passion emanate from his frail body. He has an intense hungry look in his eyes. I look away from him nervously. He asks, “What’s the matter?”
I say, “Oh. I don’t know. I guess I just feel strange.” I sit across from him.
He says, “Don’t worry. I feel the same way.”
I say, “Hey, I’m sorry. I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”
He sits...
1060 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
3rd Oct 2015 5:48pm
3rd Oct 2015 5:48pm
Her Sweet Persuasion
Her Sweet Persuasion
“Is your wife stressing you out John? No just kidding.” Her face is a flower opening to receive me. I undress to my underwear and float within the folds of the sheet. My heart beats like a naked calypso dancer’s. She enters the vestibule to fill my desire. Our nascent voyage introduces her touch to my bare skin which becomes a sea of pulsation.
Like a hungry cat I return for more. I stand behind her while she prepares the lotion. She bends over before me. The lure of her blue jean bottom entices me into Xanadu. Her hips are cocked...
“Is your wife stressing you out John? No just kidding.” Her face is a flower opening to receive me. I undress to my underwear and float within the folds of the sheet. My heart beats like a naked calypso dancer’s. She enters the vestibule to fill my desire. Our nascent voyage introduces her touch to my bare skin which becomes a sea of pulsation.
Like a hungry cat I return for more. I stand behind her while she prepares the lotion. She bends over before me. The lure of her blue jean bottom entices me into Xanadu. Her hips are cocked...
1131 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by goldenmyst
