Submissions by javalini
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Oct 2019 2:32pm
19th Oct 2019 2:32pm
Stardust
imagine
the souls of dead folk
dissipating
rising
just that quiet
and fading
through endless blue
or black
and stars like pinholes
and memories spun out
and hard wrought truth
twisted into one last hungry breath
before the bony chest stops
and the skin goes yellow
i remember jesus in the manger
his lights strung across the porch rail,
a plastic snowman standing in the weeds
and mama saying plug him in and light him up
and her...
the souls of dead folk
dissipating
rising
just that quiet
and fading
through endless blue
or black
and stars like pinholes
and memories spun out
and hard wrought truth
twisted into one last hungry breath
before the bony chest stops
and the skin goes yellow
i remember jesus in the manger
his lights strung across the porch rail,
a plastic snowman standing in the weeds
and mama saying plug him in and light him up
and her...
#death
#religion
#TruthOfLife
549 reads
5 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
4th Oct 2019 1:59pm
4th Oct 2019 1:59pm
Christ
all my good sins,
all my bright lies and dark truths
were splayed
on abraham's pious rock,
sacrificed to my father's good god
for nada
i knew i wasn't clean
even as His Body nestled on my tongue
and even that last, long shot,
the Lord, broken,
His sad eyes rolled,
His plaster stripes and spikes in deep
and all of it for me, for everything i'd done
or might do
or wanted to,
even that was out of reach
and oh, my First Sweet and Holy Love,
my Poor, Pale Anointed, ...
all my bright lies and dark truths
were splayed
on abraham's pious rock,
sacrificed to my father's good god
for nada
i knew i wasn't clean
even as His Body nestled on my tongue
and even that last, long shot,
the Lord, broken,
His sad eyes rolled,
His plaster stripes and spikes in deep
and all of it for me, for everything i'd done
or might do
or wanted to,
even that was out of reach
and oh, my First Sweet and Holy Love,
my Poor, Pale Anointed, ...
#religion
#redemption
#morality
519 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
30th Sep 2019 8:06pm
30th Sep 2019 8:06pm
Ugly Man's Manifesto
Some of us aspire to mediocrity.
It's the best we can do.
We with our big noses.
Our bad teeth.
Our tiny dicks.
Our extra digits.
We just want to be ordinary.
Average.
To live ordinary lives.
We don't want to be cast out anymore.
Driven from the village.
Shunned. Spat upon.
Laughed at.
We never asked to be different.
We didn't purposely cultivate our freakishness.
We with our lisps. Our effeminate ways.
Our weird proclivities that came from nowhere.
We stutterers with our nervous conditions.
Our tics....
It's the best we can do.
We with our big noses.
Our bad teeth.
Our tiny dicks.
Our extra digits.
We just want to be ordinary.
Average.
To live ordinary lives.
We don't want to be cast out anymore.
Driven from the village.
Shunned. Spat upon.
Laughed at.
We never asked to be different.
We didn't purposely cultivate our freakishness.
We with our lisps. Our effeminate ways.
Our weird proclivities that came from nowhere.
We stutterers with our nervous conditions.
Our tics....
#beauty
580 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Sep 2019 1:58pm
24th Sep 2019 1:58pm
Rules for Good Men As Taught Through the Ages
no matter the current zeitgeist
a good man holds his tears
'cause ain't no pain can't be walked off
and a man, he's got to man up
and shake it off
and keep moving
'cause a good man is a man and ain't no goddamn sissy
and no matter how good or bad she is
a good man puts her first --
gives his place on the last boat to a woman he don't know
dirties his clothes and hands changing her tire on the way to work
gives her his coat in coldest winter
and holds his temper while she rages
and holds the door if she'll let him ...
a good man holds his tears
'cause ain't no pain can't be walked off
and a man, he's got to man up
and shake it off
and keep moving
'cause a good man is a man and ain't no goddamn sissy
and no matter how good or bad she is
a good man puts her first --
gives his place on the last boat to a woman he don't know
dirties his clothes and hands changing her tire on the way to work
gives her his coat in coldest winter
and holds his temper while she rages
and holds the door if she'll let him ...
#faith
#fate
#morality #masculinity
#morality #masculinity
448 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
9th Sep 2019 3:37pm
9th Sep 2019 3:37pm
Dust
all the tender flesh what my mama loved
done gone
all that blonde curl and sweet, pink cheek,
all that good, bouncing boy who smiles and pleases
from blurred Christmas Polaroids
and reaches out with ghostly fingers
to caress scars he don't yet know
but this bone and grizzle
is lovely in its odd way
these perfect minds, fragile,
limited,
and this good blood,
and these, our tired, grey selves
pressed soul to soul
our minutes, steeped in memory,
slip ever quicker
into the warm, spangled dark that is...
done gone
all that blonde curl and sweet, pink cheek,
all that good, bouncing boy who smiles and pleases
from blurred Christmas Polaroids
and reaches out with ghostly fingers
to caress scars he don't yet know
but this bone and grizzle
is lovely in its odd way
these perfect minds, fragile,
limited,
and this good blood,
and these, our tired, grey selves
pressed soul to soul
our minutes, steeped in memory,
slip ever quicker
into the warm, spangled dark that is...
#death
#memories
#aging
503 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
1st Sep 2019 12:59pm
1st Sep 2019 12:59pm
Afterlife
when your corpse no longer groans
they'll suck the marrow from your bones
and milk your loved ones' lachrymal
for lovely plot or fancy pall
a golden box to house your bod
under rock and mud and sod
for even dead you make good cents
to pay for bread and meat and rent
headstone, tent, and preacher's tip
all fees to fund this final trip
and someone needs to dig the hole
and trim the grass, and kill the moles
there's lawyer's fees and taxes yet
and digitized certificates
so never feel you're worthless, son
you feed...
they'll suck the marrow from your bones
and milk your loved ones' lachrymal
for lovely plot or fancy pall
a golden box to house your bod
under rock and mud and sod
for even dead you make good cents
to pay for bread and meat and rent
headstone, tent, and preacher's tip
all fees to fund this final trip
and someone needs to dig the hole
and trim the grass, and kill the moles
there's lawyer's fees and taxes yet
and digitized certificates
so never feel you're worthless, son
you feed...
#death
406 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
23rd Jul 2019 3:19pm
23rd Jul 2019 3:19pm
The Weight of Bones
Becca was 5'7" and weighed eighty nine pounds.
Almost all of that, it seemed, was the weight of bones,
the muscle having wasted,
the dry, thin skin having drawn drum tight in places, but hanging loose in others.
She evoked images of a lampshade I’d seen in a book about Adolf Eichmann.
A lampshade made of human skin.
Her illness was such that she couldn't see it.
To her she was always almost thin enough.
It was that little roll of flesh there, on her belly.
"See?"
"That's skin," I told her. "You don't have an ounce of fat on you.” ...
Almost all of that, it seemed, was the weight of bones,
the muscle having wasted,
the dry, thin skin having drawn drum tight in places, but hanging loose in others.
She evoked images of a lampshade I’d seen in a book about Adolf Eichmann.
A lampshade made of human skin.
Her illness was such that she couldn't see it.
To her she was always almost thin enough.
It was that little roll of flesh there, on her belly.
"See?"
"That's skin," I told her. "You don't have an ounce of fat on you.” ...
#EatingDisorder
477 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Jul 2019 3:34pm
15th Jul 2019 3:34pm
How-to For The Poor and Obscure
find a job
you can tolerate
a car that won't let you down
and a mobile home for rent
in somebody's backyard.
just get used to the goddamned dog.
buy a laptop on Craigslist
tap the landlord's wifi
and send your heartfelt efforts to obscure little online magazines
read only by other writers.
remember that one editor's Bukowskian dream
is another's piece of unedited trash,
so don't be discouraged.
shop the Goodwill for books
but you can buy clothes just as cheap at Walmart.
you might...
you can tolerate
a car that won't let you down
and a mobile home for rent
in somebody's backyard.
just get used to the goddamned dog.
buy a laptop on Craigslist
tap the landlord's wifi
and send your heartfelt efforts to obscure little online magazines
read only by other writers.
remember that one editor's Bukowskian dream
is another's piece of unedited trash,
so don't be discouraged.
shop the Goodwill for books
but you can buy clothes just as cheap at Walmart.
you might...
#WritingPoetry
455 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
12th Jul 2019 5:27pm
12th Jul 2019 5:27pm
Freewheelin'
Somehow he heard it deeper and it echoed in the well of who he was -- a primal groan of old sadness, a harmonica sweet like a gone lover's scent on a cool pillow or a black and white image blurred of them on wooden steps; Mattie, Bae-bae, and Marvaline, their fine young legs crossed high and a Studebaker in the gravel drive. There is John's or Jimmy's old guitar leaning by the porch swing and something of Patsy's Crazy and Hank's Honky Tonkin' and Elvis and Mama hanging sheets in the heated breeze of lonesome summers and songs that stab at some hard scrabble truth too big to say or even know...
#music
407 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Jul 2019 2:46pm
10th Jul 2019 2:46pm
escape
he dreamed there were two,
one here and one there
and he escaped that way,
slipping through the sutures of the skull,
leaving a ghost to steer his crooked ship
and pay homage to the clock
and fix the car
and seal the leaks
and make sure she still had plenty.
he dreamed they shook it all out, him and her
and it was carried by a breeze soft and cool as fog
but he was gone by then
blissful, dying,
his words holy, etched in bone, rattling the incus
with the miles flying underneath
and the tires holding ...
one here and one there
and he escaped that way,
slipping through the sutures of the skull,
leaving a ghost to steer his crooked ship
and pay homage to the clock
and fix the car
and seal the leaks
and make sure she still had plenty.
he dreamed they shook it all out, him and her
and it was carried by a breeze soft and cool as fog
but he was gone by then
blissful, dying,
his words holy, etched in bone, rattling the incus
with the miles flying underneath
and the tires holding ...
#escape
399 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
16th Jun 2019 1:35pm
16th Jun 2019 1:35pm
It's True, Sir -- My Poetry May Lack Finesse, But...
your so-called poetry is like a two hour long high mass
in Latin
on Christmas eve
when all we wanted was Santa
though in truth the magic was gone
and we were just pretending for our parents' sake
because, i swear to god, we were there when they bought the freakin' toys
so deep down they knew we knew and we knew they knew we knew
there was no Santa
but everybody was pretending
trying to thwart the tick of time
and your poetry is also something like that --
a pretentious stab at authenticity
producing the dust-dry little vessel...
in Latin
on Christmas eve
when all we wanted was Santa
though in truth the magic was gone
and we were just pretending for our parents' sake
because, i swear to god, we were there when they bought the freakin' toys
so deep down they knew we knew and we knew they knew we knew
there was no Santa
but everybody was pretending
trying to thwart the tick of time
and your poetry is also something like that --
a pretentious stab at authenticity
producing the dust-dry little vessel...
#anger
412 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Jun 2019 12:46pm
15th Jun 2019 12:46pm
Youngblood
All prayers meant for the ears of God are spattered on the ceiling like bugs on a windshield,
never having gotten through.
So many now they form stalactites and drip their poison where I lay.
Spoiled promises.
Rancid hope.
Curdled dreams.
Wishes.
Stars are pinholes in the window shade, the porch light shining through.
I count them, and look for constellations.
Sometimes I rouse myself to stand on the porch and scan the horizon for angels.
Extraterrestrials.
The ghosts of soldiers and indians.
I listen...
never having gotten through.
So many now they form stalactites and drip their poison where I lay.
Spoiled promises.
Rancid hope.
Curdled dreams.
Wishes.
Stars are pinholes in the window shade, the porch light shining through.
I count them, and look for constellations.
Sometimes I rouse myself to stand on the porch and scan the horizon for angels.
Extraterrestrials.
The ghosts of soldiers and indians.
I listen...
#loneliness
451 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by javalini
