Submissions by javalini
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
13th Jun 2019 3:19pm
13th Jun 2019 3:19pm
Thoughts & Prayers
if it's not your good boy's good brain
spattered
or your baby girl
torn
if it's not your son
or your daughter dead at fourteen or fifteen
and all that love
all that hope
all that sweet prideful desire for your progeny
to rise above the mundane
and do
and be
and shine --
if it's not yours
suddenly
just gone,
wasted,
ruined
then it's awful
and wrong
and it just shouldn't happen
and good lord, holy Jesus
but that's it
that's us
mass shooting
thoughts and...
spattered
or your baby girl
torn
if it's not your son
or your daughter dead at fourteen or fifteen
and all that love
all that hope
all that sweet prideful desire for your progeny
to rise above the mundane
and do
and be
and shine --
if it's not yours
suddenly
just gone,
wasted,
ruined
then it's awful
and wrong
and it just shouldn't happen
and good lord, holy Jesus
but that's it
that's us
mass shooting
thoughts and...
#apathy
524 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Jun 2019 2:35pm
9th Jun 2019 2:35pm
Plasma
selling plasma to buy groceries
but twenty five bucks don't go far
what with cigarettes six dollars a pack
and a quart of malt liquor
and ice cream because she likes it
and some meat on the markdown
and a scratch off because, hell,
you got to play to win
and she'll be pissed
like it's your plasma but her goddamned money
but that's just the way it is in this so-called man's world
but twenty five bucks don't go far
what with cigarettes six dollars a pack
and a quart of malt liquor
and ice cream because she likes it
and some meat on the markdown
and a scratch off because, hell,
you got to play to win
and she'll be pissed
like it's your plasma but her goddamned money
but that's just the way it is in this so-called man's world
#relationships
399 reads
5 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Jun 2019 2:56pm
8th Jun 2019 2:56pm
the dead become like strangers
We die alone.
Even with the family gathered.
Even with the great grands in the hallway.
Even with the daughter finally teary and all that murky water under the bridge.
Even with the young priest's promises
and the holy oil
and the grace of the holy spirit
and etcetera and so on
we die alone.
Finally the family gets impatient
and the nurse tells them, "maybe if you leave"
and sure enough
almost every time
the heart stops
as though the soul needs privacy,
a minute of solitude to say goodbye...
Even with the family gathered.
Even with the great grands in the hallway.
Even with the daughter finally teary and all that murky water under the bridge.
Even with the young priest's promises
and the holy oil
and the grace of the holy spirit
and etcetera and so on
we die alone.
Finally the family gets impatient
and the nurse tells them, "maybe if you leave"
and sure enough
almost every time
the heart stops
as though the soul needs privacy,
a minute of solitude to say goodbye...
#death
441 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
6th Jun 2019 8:00pm
6th Jun 2019 8:00pm
Morning Prayer
#love
#beauty
647 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Jun 2019 3:29pm
3rd Jun 2019 3:29pm
Crocs and Gators
Crocodiles ain't alligators no more'n I is you or you is me. Won't find no alligator votin Republican or toatin a bump-stocked and loaded semiautomatic to the grocery store. Aligators'll pray in a tight spot but ain't sure to whom their prayer is addressed. Crocodiles know to whom they pray and even what awaits when the Reaper comes toolin down river in a jon boat.
Alligators say it's a woman's body and she can do what she needs but crocs say no, them babies got rights too and might even go on a cruise in their later years to add a little spice to a troubled marriage, feed their gamblin...
Alligators say it's a woman's body and she can do what she needs but crocs say no, them babies got rights too and might even go on a cruise in their later years to add a little spice to a troubled marriage, feed their gamblin...
#politics
448 reads
2 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
30th May 2019 10:38pm
30th May 2019 10:38pm
Roswell
some alien heads rolled
after that fiasco in Roswell
and a once decorated saucer pilot
wound up driving a cab in his home town
and mowing lawns on the side
and spending his late nights buffing floors at a bank
anything
just to hang on
to try to make a living
and keep the lights on
and food on the table
and the wife said it was okay
that she knew it wasn't his fault
but he could tell things had changed
just something in her big black alien eyes
told him that the magic had gone with the money
...
after that fiasco in Roswell
and a once decorated saucer pilot
wound up driving a cab in his home town
and mowing lawns on the side
and spending his late nights buffing floors at a bank
anything
just to hang on
to try to make a living
and keep the lights on
and food on the table
and the wife said it was okay
that she knew it wasn't his fault
but he could tell things had changed
just something in her big black alien eyes
told him that the magic had gone with the money
...
#sadness
#regret
#shame #despair
#shame #despair
481 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th May 2019 3:08pm
28th May 2019 3:08pm
The Gardener's Son
the gardener dreams of valleys green
with hanging fruit and honeyed streams
protected within heaven's gate
but its the rich who live that fate
the gardener only tends the stead
and by that toil his family's bread
and if foes encroach on oil's shore
it's the gardener's son who goes to war
who wears the flag or bears the grid
a prosthetic leg or coffin lid
utopia is a moneyed scheme
so get your stash and live the dream
with hanging fruit and honeyed streams
protected within heaven's gate
but its the rich who live that fate
the gardener only tends the stead
and by that toil his family's bread
and if foes encroach on oil's shore
it's the gardener's son who goes to war
who wears the flag or bears the grid
a prosthetic leg or coffin lid
utopia is a moneyed scheme
so get your stash and live the dream
#money
523 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th May 2019 4:22pm
24th May 2019 4:22pm
Circle of Bone and Blood
these words are cut in bone
the blade pushed until the tip tastes marrow
and moved slowly
carving letters into rib
and clavicle
and vertebrae
and all the bones of the skull
so that together they make a verse
no rhymes
but some alliteration
and metaphors cut deep into femur and phalanges
and there is a natural cadence when the bones move
and the poetry rolls like small talk over coffee
but tastes of bone and blood
all these words are wrought deep, where bone is soft
and the darkest blood pushes through ...
the blade pushed until the tip tastes marrow
and moved slowly
carving letters into rib
and clavicle
and vertebrae
and all the bones of the skull
so that together they make a verse
no rhymes
but some alliteration
and metaphors cut deep into femur and phalanges
and there is a natural cadence when the bones move
and the poetry rolls like small talk over coffee
but tastes of bone and blood
all these words are wrought deep, where bone is soft
and the darkest blood pushes through ...
#WritingPoetry
505 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
22nd May 2019 3:19pm
22nd May 2019 3:19pm
Age Ain't Just a Number
Anybody who says age is just number needs to take a look at ol' Sam all swole from steroid medication or Kenny with cancer on his face or Sandra with circulation problems that won't even let her walk to the mailbox anymore -- needs to take a gander at JD who still smokes despite his emphysema because a man's got to have some sort of pleasure even if it kills him.
Then that youthful philosophical genius might understand that age is like life's cold hearted knife slit revenge, like a genetic time bomb, like a cumulative hair wad grease plug in one's biological plumbing. Age is like...
Then that youthful philosophical genius might understand that age is like life's cold hearted knife slit revenge, like a genetic time bomb, like a cumulative hair wad grease plug in one's biological plumbing. Age is like...
#aging
493 reads
7 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th May 2019 1:03pm
18th May 2019 1:03pm
Dog
All my thoughts are strays -- mongrels that have slipped the chain to wander the grey hills and valleys of a restless mind seeking some strange sustenance. Fleabag memories, mostly of her, make me itch all night.
But mutts like me prefer domestication. We hear the coyote's restive call but would rather mow the lawn than fall drunk down a stranger's stairs or wake sick in the late morn amid jackals and chupacabras, wondering where the night went.
This dog's good heart hunts hearth and home, knows its place cradled by familiar thighs, nuzzling the sweet breasts and belly...
But mutts like me prefer domestication. We hear the coyote's restive call but would rather mow the lawn than fall drunk down a stranger's stairs or wake sick in the late morn amid jackals and chupacabras, wondering where the night went.
This dog's good heart hunts hearth and home, knows its place cradled by familiar thighs, nuzzling the sweet breasts and belly...
#marriage
500 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
14th May 2019 2:51pm
14th May 2019 2:51pm
Empty
what if i came up empty
what if there were no more words...ever
nothing
what if i dredged the bottom of my soul
only to come up clean --
not completely clean
but not with the muck and mire of my youth clinging to the bucket
none of the usual memorabilia from years of doomed friendships and affairs
or the unusual, either
like the sequined bikini of that dancer in Norfolk
with her whiskey mouth
and her bouncer boyfriend who could have just taken the money
fancy brass knuckles or not
and Tony ...
what if there were no more words...ever
nothing
what if i dredged the bottom of my soul
only to come up clean --
not completely clean
but not with the muck and mire of my youth clinging to the bucket
none of the usual memorabilia from years of doomed friendships and affairs
or the unusual, either
like the sequined bikini of that dancer in Norfolk
with her whiskey mouth
and her bouncer boyfriend who could have just taken the money
fancy brass knuckles or not
and Tony ...
#WritersBlock
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
580 reads
5 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
10th May 2019 10:06pm
10th May 2019 10:06pm
Class Crowns
We inherited our destinies same as royalty, our fates passed like crowns from father to son and mother to daughter. We were born to stack and stock and shovel and sweep and handle all that good green that don't belong to us -- born into trailers on dirt roads, into high weeds and dogs on chains, into babies needing diapers and the boy needing shoes for school and bounced checks and bank fees and wondering how we're going to keep the heat on in the dead cold of winter. We were born into blown gaskets and grease under the fingernails, into generic smokes and beer for back pain and toothaches...
#identity
#culture
484 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by javalini
