Submissions by lobovato
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Disjointed and stream-of-consciousness for poetry, confessional for personal narrative. Bouncing around in time and place. Living close enough to normal to get by. Feedback highly encouraged and welcomed.
SELF POEM
Published
5th May 2014 8:31pm
5th May 2014 8:31pm
On The Power of Words - Slam Poem
746 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Mar 2014 11:30am
20th Mar 2014 11:30am
Canis Lupus Lupus
Lying awake, imagining a life whose details
will never come to fruition, choosing instead to
forever reside in the ever-distant horizon
of an all-too-busy mind.
The stagnant bedroom air decides to smell like
seratonin and dried-up dopamine; the open windows doing
nothing to quiet the stench, ensuring that the
decaying puddles on the bed remain firmly planted.
Perhaps the droplets will sprout from their linen fields,
blooming into crimson petals upon stained, white sheets.
Perhaps they will fade, dull and brown, obscuring themselves...
will never come to fruition, choosing instead to
forever reside in the ever-distant horizon
of an all-too-busy mind.
The stagnant bedroom air decides to smell like
seratonin and dried-up dopamine; the open windows doing
nothing to quiet the stench, ensuring that the
decaying puddles on the bed remain firmly planted.
Perhaps the droplets will sprout from their linen fields,
blooming into crimson petals upon stained, white sheets.
Perhaps they will fade, dull and brown, obscuring themselves...
682 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Feb 2014 8:59pm
19th Feb 2014 8:59pm
Wary of the Winter Wind
He smells like everything green.
Like rosemary, basil, mint, and fresh cut grass.
His eyes a grey-blue, like angry clouds that
aren’t quite sure what they want to do.
He smiles like a summer breeze in mid-september,
reminding me of where I’ve been and where I’m going.
His fiery hair swooped to one side, seeing him is
all at once refreshing and nostalgic.
He plays a violin concerto on
my heart strings, but I’m afraid
of the bow scarring my already-fragile aorta,
so I stop him short of the first cadenza.
What he doesn’t know is...
Like rosemary, basil, mint, and fresh cut grass.
His eyes a grey-blue, like angry clouds that
aren’t quite sure what they want to do.
He smiles like a summer breeze in mid-september,
reminding me of where I’ve been and where I’m going.
His fiery hair swooped to one side, seeing him is
all at once refreshing and nostalgic.
He plays a violin concerto on
my heart strings, but I’m afraid
of the bow scarring my already-fragile aorta,
so I stop him short of the first cadenza.
What he doesn’t know is...
755 reads
5 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Jan 2014 9:29am
21st Jan 2014 9:29am
A Tinkerer's Apprentice
1046 reads
7 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Jan 2014 8:05am
19th Jan 2014 8:05am
Ephemeroptera
He laughed when I arrived
I intertwined my fingers in his
Our glasses clinked when we kissed
He smiled and his eyes smiled with him
I take a breath, deep and selfish
Our surroundings have all but disappeared
He closes his eyes just before
I plant my lips firmly on his, confident in his reciprocation.
Our glasses clink.
Bliss.
I intertwined my fingers in his
Our glasses clinked when we kissed
He smiled and his eyes smiled with him
I take a breath, deep and selfish
Our surroundings have all but disappeared
He closes his eyes just before
I plant my lips firmly on his, confident in his reciprocation.
Our glasses clink.
Bliss.
705 reads
4 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
18th Jan 2014 8:38pm
18th Jan 2014 8:38pm
Just Another Day
Note: this is a fictional tie-in to a previous and true piece of writing entitled 'My World, And Welcome To It'
I wake up in the morning, if you wanna call it morning, around two. My shift starts at four, but I like to get showered and shaved with plenty of time to eat breakfast. Sarah says I like to get gussied up more than she does. I guess she got a point. I always says you gotta appreciate the little things. Ain’t nothin’ better than a good shave to start the day off.
I love how Sarah presses my uniform. Every crease is crispy and clean, like a new dollar...
I wake up in the morning, if you wanna call it morning, around two. My shift starts at four, but I like to get showered and shaved with plenty of time to eat breakfast. Sarah says I like to get gussied up more than she does. I guess she got a point. I always says you gotta appreciate the little things. Ain’t nothin’ better than a good shave to start the day off.
I love how Sarah presses my uniform. Every crease is crispy and clean, like a new dollar...
670 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
18th Jan 2014 8:34pm
18th Jan 2014 8:34pm
An Hour of Absolute Faith
768 reads
0 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
18th Jan 2014 00:19am
18th Jan 2014 00:19am
Stained-Glass Jesus Does Not Approve
Thousands of years ago, there lived a king in what is now Turkey. One day, he called together the three wisest men in the kingdom and bade that they craft him a magic ring which would bring him joy in times of sadness, and sadness in times of joy. They deliberated for three years and finally, after just two weeks of work, they presented the king with a ring. He asked what the incantation for the spell within the ring was, and they simply gestured at the inscription: ‘This too shall pass’. How consoling a statement in times of strife. How sobering in moments of gluttonous pride.
...
...
742 reads
1 Comment
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
18th Jan 2014 00:17am
18th Jan 2014 00:17am
A Different Place Entirely
810 reads
4 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
17th Jan 2014 2:51pm
17th Jan 2014 2:51pm
My World, And Welcome To It
718 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by lobovato
