Submissions by jadielue (Jade.)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
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DARK POEM
Published
19th Nov 2012 6:48am
19th Nov 2012 6:48am
The Tongue Has No Bones
Everything is paranoid as
each neighboring tree looks
different from the side, that
different angle that makes your
ribs hitch, a different
view through your same car door
mirrors.
The ratted branches that staunch
your breath when they claw your passenger-
side window, and the naivete of your
cautious eyes, and still heart when
no tree is to be seen or found.
each neighboring tree looks
different from the side, that
different angle that makes your
ribs hitch, a different
view through your same car door
mirrors.
The ratted branches that staunch
your breath when they claw your passenger-
side window, and the naivete of your
cautious eyes, and still heart when
no tree is to be seen or found.
792 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
28th Sep 2012 10:46am
28th Sep 2012 10:46am
Agony
Somebody help me.
I'm losing the tenderness.
Even the watery, hot plunge
of summer.
The forged fate of safety
no longer looms like storm
clouds or crashing airplanes.
It's hard to inhale inside this
waterfall of mosaic mentions.
I'm losing the tenderness.
Even the watery, hot plunge
of summer.
The forged fate of safety
no longer looms like storm
clouds or crashing airplanes.
It's hard to inhale inside this
waterfall of mosaic mentions.
673 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Sep 2012 10:23am
28th Sep 2012 10:23am
New Breed
I'm so eclectic I proffessionally sing Opera-Rap-Dubstep.
My hair-do is so original everybody has it.
I like sarcastically ironic, and cheesey puns
about pandas and pop tarts and cats and guns.
Forget logic and reason, that shizz is so last season,
plus I don't like eating raisins, so don't bother to start namin'
'em.
Don't call me maybe, I'm too cool, grammatically
enchanting thee on Minecraft, World Of Warcraft too.
Good morning: Drink till drunk, then get beat up.
Get ink of Mr. Rogers 'cause Facebook's gon' wan'
know...
My hair-do is so original everybody has it.
I like sarcastically ironic, and cheesey puns
about pandas and pop tarts and cats and guns.
Forget logic and reason, that shizz is so last season,
plus I don't like eating raisins, so don't bother to start namin'
'em.
Don't call me maybe, I'm too cool, grammatically
enchanting thee on Minecraft, World Of Warcraft too.
Good morning: Drink till drunk, then get beat up.
Get ink of Mr. Rogers 'cause Facebook's gon' wan'
know...
672 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
27th Sep 2012 5:58am
27th Sep 2012 5:58am
These Arms Of Mine
My buttons missing from our tryst in the woods
and your knuckles are swollen again.
I can never be just happily surprised, you say.
My cardigan is also torn in pieces and parts
I'll never find, they too are as your kind
gestures, lost now in space amongst debris and
prayers.
Going insane is a date for us, every night,
often twice. We try to make it work, I apply
lipstick to the swollen lips you like to pull
towards you and draw love, and blood from.
Of course you try too, you take me deeper into
nowhere and nothingness every single time, ...
and your knuckles are swollen again.
I can never be just happily surprised, you say.
My cardigan is also torn in pieces and parts
I'll never find, they too are as your kind
gestures, lost now in space amongst debris and
prayers.
Going insane is a date for us, every night,
often twice. We try to make it work, I apply
lipstick to the swollen lips you like to pull
towards you and draw love, and blood from.
Of course you try too, you take me deeper into
nowhere and nothingness every single time, ...
754 reads
3 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
24th Sep 2012 10:49am
24th Sep 2012 10:49am
The Painter In Pompei
A road paved
with stomped roses.
Each divet existing
from foot prints
housed ants in
perfectly symmetrical
lines. Taking their time,
each insect was calm
in his or her fate.
As dreary rains
follow cows to their
slaughter a man who
paints for garbage to
eat sends his last work
alone on a small stream
of runoff from the flood.
Each brushstroke was
bathed in tears, his deep
smile quivered in pain
as the sunbeams shot
life into each color and shade.
...
with stomped roses.
Each divet existing
from foot prints
housed ants in
perfectly symmetrical
lines. Taking their time,
each insect was calm
in his or her fate.
As dreary rains
follow cows to their
slaughter a man who
paints for garbage to
eat sends his last work
alone on a small stream
of runoff from the flood.
Each brushstroke was
bathed in tears, his deep
smile quivered in pain
as the sunbeams shot
life into each color and shade.
...
913 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
23rd Sep 2012 6:18am
23rd Sep 2012 6:18am
My Agony
Somebody help me.
I'm losing the tenderness.
Even the watery, hot lunge
of summer.
The hugging fate of safety
no longer looms like storm
clouds or broken traffic lights.
It's hard to inhale inside this
waterfall.
I'm losing the tenderness.
Even the watery, hot lunge
of summer.
The hugging fate of safety
no longer looms like storm
clouds or broken traffic lights.
It's hard to inhale inside this
waterfall.
1441 reads
1 Comment
ANGER POEM
Published
23rd Sep 2012 6:10am
23rd Sep 2012 6:10am
Tonight
It's awful, this feeling.
Alone to weep while
they dance and meet
with God.
Well stay where you
are then! Hide inside
your home without
having had bathed
and hair disheveled,
and stench repulsive.
You pull me, tearing
me away from myself
to embrace me. I'm
stiff now because you're
different and unhappy
and you don't ever care
but for yourself.
I despise the baby voice
you make and face to match
when you don't get your way.
You're an adult now, not a
tear-streaked, sticky-handed...
Alone to weep while
they dance and meet
with God.
Well stay where you
are then! Hide inside
your home without
having had bathed
and hair disheveled,
and stench repulsive.
You pull me, tearing
me away from myself
to embrace me. I'm
stiff now because you're
different and unhappy
and you don't ever care
but for yourself.
I despise the baby voice
you make and face to match
when you don't get your way.
You're an adult now, not a
tear-streaked, sticky-handed...
656 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
22nd Sep 2012 5:14am
22nd Sep 2012 5:14am
Fiends and Deadlines Part I
(collaboration between myself and GlennMcCrary)
"‘Tis a simple light of reason I seek
Before now ‘twas beyond my reach
The intimacy had been breached
And to my knees I had fallen weak"
I'd fallen before the end began,
the call of each sharpened urge
bid me to seek refuge within the
darkest places, and the darkest shores.
The taste of flames on wounded knees
composing ashes from our cradles of fear.
Conflictions characterized as...
"‘Tis a simple light of reason I seek
Before now ‘twas beyond my reach
The intimacy had been breached
And to my knees I had fallen weak"
I'd fallen before the end began,
the call of each sharpened urge
bid me to seek refuge within the
darkest places, and the darkest shores.
The taste of flames on wounded knees
composing ashes from our cradles of fear.
Conflictions characterized as...
569 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
21st Sep 2012 10:32am
21st Sep 2012 10:32am
Abscence
We met on a busy street
when no one was around.
Each door was opened to
us with the walls thereof
being held, awaiting like
arms to our chosen course.
You tied the rope loosely
around my wrist, if I should
choose otherwise; to leave,
to marry, to drink with ghosts,
you would give me those options.
And you fastened steadily the
opposite end about your collarbones
and leapt.
So incredulous, and whimsical I felt,
arm upraised in silent, misfortunate
salute.
Foreign exchanges and...
when no one was around.
Each door was opened to
us with the walls thereof
being held, awaiting like
arms to our chosen course.
You tied the rope loosely
around my wrist, if I should
choose otherwise; to leave,
to marry, to drink with ghosts,
you would give me those options.
And you fastened steadily the
opposite end about your collarbones
and leapt.
So incredulous, and whimsical I felt,
arm upraised in silent, misfortunate
salute.
Foreign exchanges and...
682 reads
2 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
21st Sep 2012 10:18am
21st Sep 2012 10:18am
Ballet
Our minds so softly bend toward the
wooden floor we own, each fraying
petal curling like fingers out of a
daffodil. Each breath is voided as
the swooning, evanescent walls of our
house cave in, and the cat stretches
and the dog falls asleep.
So soon after my depotting the flora-
webs and gritted dirt fall from my
pointed, retro painted toes and the
wind licks my sides as curtains.
My legs stand beneath me but my torso
is at ease. When I spin it lights the
hurt in me like wicks, and the pain grows
as fire on said...
wooden floor we own, each fraying
petal curling like fingers out of a
daffodil. Each breath is voided as
the swooning, evanescent walls of our
house cave in, and the cat stretches
and the dog falls asleep.
So soon after my depotting the flora-
webs and gritted dirt fall from my
pointed, retro painted toes and the
wind licks my sides as curtains.
My legs stand beneath me but my torso
is at ease. When I spin it lights the
hurt in me like wicks, and the pain grows
as fire on said...
614 reads
1 Comment
SONG LYRICS
Published
20th Sep 2012 9:37am
20th Sep 2012 9:37am
To Be Named
Lyrical, physical, erotic, not divisible.
Get this, check it, non-stop, don't-quit talent.
Unique without defeat, risin' up to any challenge.
Make way for the day I run the world, get your pay,
no overlay.
Each moment a miracle, each second so spiritual,
doesn't matter if I rise or fall, I'll always be
empirical.
Take a picture, not a problem, I'll go 'head and
autograph. No, I'm not quite famous yet but all
they got is my rough draft.
Rough? Yeah. They still better quit. Wait till they get my
good shi...
Get this, check it, non-stop, don't-quit talent.
Unique without defeat, risin' up to any challenge.
Make way for the day I run the world, get your pay,
no overlay.
Each moment a miracle, each second so spiritual,
doesn't matter if I rise or fall, I'll always be
empirical.
Take a picture, not a problem, I'll go 'head and
autograph. No, I'm not quite famous yet but all
they got is my rough draft.
Rough? Yeah. They still better quit. Wait till they get my
good shi...
648 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
20th Sep 2012 00:47am
20th Sep 2012 00:47am
Farm
Where great yellow sticks
are called hay and dead
weeds, I'm quick to film
the sun with my eyes.
Slowly the moon plots the
clash, and it's always too
slow to the chase.
She tries her hardest to
fight the sun but her skin
just blisters, and pales
with defeat.
Barns are filled to the
windows with pulsing, humid
bodies, making children to
feed their pagan gods.
Where great yellow sticks
are called hay and dead
weeds, the sun films us,
and is our undoing.
are called hay and dead
weeds, I'm quick to film
the sun with my eyes.
Slowly the moon plots the
clash, and it's always too
slow to the chase.
She tries her hardest to
fight the sun but her skin
just blisters, and pales
with defeat.
Barns are filled to the
windows with pulsing, humid
bodies, making children to
feed their pagan gods.
Where great yellow sticks
are called hay and dead
weeds, the sun films us,
and is our undoing.
700 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by jadielue (Jade.)
