Submissions by hollyrene
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Nov 2014 3:27pm
24th Nov 2014 3:27pm
night terrors
Does the rain still tap on the window-pane?
Clinging to the mesh of the screen,
does it howl your name when no one is there?
The steady pounding on the balcony door
beckons him to a steady stream distorting
a young-old face with red rimmed eyes,
hypnotized by tributaries racing deserted streets,
disappearing in oily fringes of biospheres where
unspeakable creatures escape into his sleep.
Shivering in the dark, he lies awake
seeking consolation from a scavenged bottle,
pleading for salvation from a higher power
that he doesn’t really believe...
Clinging to the mesh of the screen,
does it howl your name when no one is there?
The steady pounding on the balcony door
beckons him to a steady stream distorting
a young-old face with red rimmed eyes,
hypnotized by tributaries racing deserted streets,
disappearing in oily fringes of biospheres where
unspeakable creatures escape into his sleep.
Shivering in the dark, he lies awake
seeking consolation from a scavenged bottle,
pleading for salvation from a higher power
that he doesn’t really believe...
689 reads
0 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
21st Nov 2014 10:35pm
21st Nov 2014 10:35pm
currency and confessionals
Sheer scarves cover the
lamp beside the bed as
daylight slips through
the open French doors
igniting walls of burgundy.
Her hair fans out on pillows,
eggshell limbs are caught in loose binds.
She is the red of womanhood,
her breasts, alert gazelles.
Guileless eyes the shade of currency,
her mind becomes his confessional
and there is no sin grave enough.
lamp beside the bed as
daylight slips through
the open French doors
igniting walls of burgundy.
Her hair fans out on pillows,
eggshell limbs are caught in loose binds.
She is the red of womanhood,
her breasts, alert gazelles.
Guileless eyes the shade of currency,
her mind becomes his confessional
and there is no sin grave enough.
534 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
9th Nov 2014 10:04pm
9th Nov 2014 10:04pm
petals
When words were your
only nourishment
I fed you calla lilies
budding in my throat.
From the stacked shelves
of your smoky library
you read to me Aristophanes.
Of all the poets we loved
him most.
In the final hours
we lingered among wilting flowers,
fragile petals falling everywhere.
only nourishment
I fed you calla lilies
budding in my throat.
From the stacked shelves
of your smoky library
you read to me Aristophanes.
Of all the poets we loved
him most.
In the final hours
we lingered among wilting flowers,
fragile petals falling everywhere.
530 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Nov 2014 3:08am
7th Nov 2014 3:08am
Voyeur
Across the way
I see you from
my veranda.
You are wearing
worn jeans,
your shirt above
your belly,
soaking up rays from
a strip of horizon.
I look away,
still my thoughts
trail the contour
of your body.
I see you from
my veranda.
You are wearing
worn jeans,
your shirt above
your belly,
soaking up rays from
a strip of horizon.
I look away,
still my thoughts
trail the contour
of your body.
513 reads
4 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
4th Dec 2013 9:32pm
4th Dec 2013 9:32pm
neon window
My eyes have lost their sheen,
I am a dead thing.
Leering punks vie for my attention,
they whisper and make gestures.
I search for you among the faces.
Traffic is slow tonight…
looking, not buying.
Hard times have taken a toll on carnality.
A snapshot stirs my anger but there
is rent to consider.
I find your note in my pocket.
Liar…men call all the shots.
Tears well up but do not spill over.
I smile sweetly at the young soldier,
coaxing him to stay. I dim the red
light and he follows.
“Do you like Amsterdam?”...
I am a dead thing.
Leering punks vie for my attention,
they whisper and make gestures.
I search for you among the faces.
Traffic is slow tonight…
looking, not buying.
Hard times have taken a toll on carnality.
A snapshot stirs my anger but there
is rent to consider.
I find your note in my pocket.
Liar…men call all the shots.
Tears well up but do not spill over.
I smile sweetly at the young soldier,
coaxing him to stay. I dim the red
light and he follows.
“Do you like Amsterdam?”...
614 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2013 10:59pm
30th Nov 2013 10:59pm
in the end
She has given her all,
left with bruises and bones
protruding through transparent skin.
She has given all she has
with nothing left but a
raging volcano that screams
out secrets that she meant to keep.
Longing for shelter,
she is sinking into mire.
November, deliver her from
winter's cold and the indignity of need.
left with bruises and bones
protruding through transparent skin.
She has given all she has
with nothing left but a
raging volcano that screams
out secrets that she meant to keep.
Longing for shelter,
she is sinking into mire.
November, deliver her from
winter's cold and the indignity of need.
540 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2013 2:35am
30th Nov 2013 2:35am
cycles
Leaves push their jagged blades
through infused limbs of a pregnant Elm,
glowing pride drops her gold's and browns
opting for radiant shoots and buds.
Laden with winter she has weathered
a blanket of snow,
dry and dying in phases of agony.
Spring rains a birthing pool to
signal the end of the suffering.
Nesting birds wing their way to
her lush branches.
through infused limbs of a pregnant Elm,
glowing pride drops her gold's and browns
opting for radiant shoots and buds.
Laden with winter she has weathered
a blanket of snow,
dry and dying in phases of agony.
Spring rains a birthing pool to
signal the end of the suffering.
Nesting birds wing their way to
her lush branches.
549 reads
6 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
30th Nov 2013 1:45am
30th Nov 2013 1:45am
Solace for Lost Lovers
I captured fireflies
to light the night,
consolation for lost lovers
fleeing brothels of loss.
To ease his suffering
I kissed his shivering lips.
I don’t recall his name…
or mine.
Angels leave altars of
solace by the bed;
incense, candles,
scarves of red.
Waking to choirs
singing a new sun,
he abandoned his heart
beneath the dark river.
to light the night,
consolation for lost lovers
fleeing brothels of loss.
To ease his suffering
I kissed his shivering lips.
I don’t recall his name…
or mine.
Angels leave altars of
solace by the bed;
incense, candles,
scarves of red.
Waking to choirs
singing a new sun,
he abandoned his heart
beneath the dark river.
591 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by hollyrene
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