Submissions by manic_inspiration (Brian Minnick)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
STORY POEM
Published
20th Jan 2010 9:42pm
20th Jan 2010 9:42pm
Song
Dream a Melody so firm
that Earth and Sky begin to form.
Then Harmony to crack the Stone
and Rain to heal it's saddened soul.
Hum the Song to bring forth Roots
and Wind to some day cool it's leaves.
Hum louder and the Birds will learn
and Insects, less, and yet immortal.
Sing the Song and Man will Build,
will Dream,
will Kill,
will Worship, and Die.
Then be the Song and the Universe
will soon know who you are.
Music as your eternal Soul
shall guide new Worlds to discover their own.
that Earth and Sky begin to form.
Then Harmony to crack the Stone
and Rain to heal it's saddened soul.
Hum the Song to bring forth Roots
and Wind to some day cool it's leaves.
Hum louder and the Birds will learn
and Insects, less, and yet immortal.
Sing the Song and Man will Build,
will Dream,
will Kill,
will Worship, and Die.
Then be the Song and the Universe
will soon know who you are.
Music as your eternal Soul
shall guide new Worlds to discover their own.
887 reads
6 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
20th Jan 2010 9:40pm
20th Jan 2010 9:40pm
The Dream Catcher's Story
A ring torn free
from Sorrow’s litter
sings this song as
he remembers:
“Green balloon, O
plead no more!
The dormant smell
of dreams succumbs.
Grasp the divine
my floating cart!
And pray for the
man of lost hope.
But heed my whisper
and hold still!
A cello’s voice
sings a portent signal.”
Though penitent,
the ring now shows
his blatant gem
burst into gold.
Picture as the
clock strikes three
this ring takes off,
complete and free.
Now he rests on
the flatterer’s...
from Sorrow’s litter
sings this song as
he remembers:
“Green balloon, O
plead no more!
The dormant smell
of dreams succumbs.
Grasp the divine
my floating cart!
And pray for the
man of lost hope.
But heed my whisper
and hold still!
A cello’s voice
sings a portent signal.”
Though penitent,
the ring now shows
his blatant gem
burst into gold.
Picture as the
clock strikes three
this ring takes off,
complete and free.
Now he rests on
the flatterer’s...
712 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
19th Jan 2010 4:36pm
19th Jan 2010 4:36pm
Mr. McDermott and The County Fair
I hanged myself with a silk worm’s cocoon
and no one ever knew until
old Mr. McDermott found
a thousand red berries on his front porch.
He baked a dozen pies
and took them to the county fair.
The thick red juice was intoxicating,
an addiction through the air.
Children begged and husbands swore
while mothers tore through flesh
for one, just one more taste.
A single star sparked evening’s song.
And crickets may have joined along
had there been ears to hear.
Had there been one more slice.
And only I...
and no one ever knew until
old Mr. McDermott found
a thousand red berries on his front porch.
He baked a dozen pies
and took them to the county fair.
The thick red juice was intoxicating,
an addiction through the air.
Children begged and husbands swore
while mothers tore through flesh
for one, just one more taste.
A single star sparked evening’s song.
And crickets may have joined along
had there been ears to hear.
Had there been one more slice.
And only I...
787 reads
6 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Jan 2010 10:13am
19th Jan 2010 10:13am
Forget Me Not
Forget me not, for the road is long
the snow is deep… the gravel, rocky… the sand, itchy.
Forget me not when you, my love, sleep in another bed
next to one you love… more than me… less than me…
For amusement, be light as it may, take form of memory
and then without shame, you may think of me.
Forget me not, for I live in you;
in a recess of your mind….A corner of your heart… a flicker in your eye.
Forget me not, for I am human and need
the pounding of my heart at dawn… noon… dusk...
Forget me, but as you do, do not,
...
the snow is deep… the gravel, rocky… the sand, itchy.
Forget me not when you, my love, sleep in another bed
next to one you love… more than me… less than me…
For amusement, be light as it may, take form of memory
and then without shame, you may think of me.
Forget me not, for I live in you;
in a recess of your mind….A corner of your heart… a flicker in your eye.
Forget me not, for I am human and need
the pounding of my heart at dawn… noon… dusk...
Forget me, but as you do, do not,
...
988 reads
6 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
19th Jan 2010 6:23am
19th Jan 2010 6:23am
First Dance
I dance headfirst onto the moonlit river,
swollen stiff by Night’s deep sting.
I step out of pain, and anger, and grief,
a collision of psychotic esteem.
I dance, though my feet are bloodied and sore,
for the body is easily ignored.
I step from the anguish this moment presents,
and I will dance till it is no more.
Night.
Darkness lingers.
I have collapsed and the spell has past.
My body is broken, yet my mind shines clear.
There is no moon, though I stare wide-eyed
and hoping for a star.
So terribly far and yet...
swollen stiff by Night’s deep sting.
I step out of pain, and anger, and grief,
a collision of psychotic esteem.
I dance, though my feet are bloodied and sore,
for the body is easily ignored.
I step from the anguish this moment presents,
and I will dance till it is no more.
Night.
Darkness lingers.
I have collapsed and the spell has past.
My body is broken, yet my mind shines clear.
There is no moon, though I stare wide-eyed
and hoping for a star.
So terribly far and yet...
867 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
19th Jan 2010 1:59am
19th Jan 2010 1:59am
Quarter Note = 60
Click.
Dancing orphans walk
tight-ropes, not in
synch, but merely…
Click.
Two blind apes in
wheel-chair, electric
shaver, four and…
Click.
Wise medicine man
dragging two-handed,
I’m running…
Click.
Don’t you touch
trust belongs
to that drunken…
Click.
Click.
Click.
I’m grown and
your filth, feces burn
in my salute to the sun.
Click.
Dancing orphans walk
tight-ropes, not in
synch, but merely…
Click.
Two blind apes in
wheel-chair, electric
shaver, four and…
Click.
Wise medicine man
dragging two-handed,
I’m running…
Click.
Don’t you touch
trust belongs
to that drunken…
Click.
Click.
Click.
I’m grown and
your filth, feces burn
in my salute to the sun.
Click.
736 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
18th Jan 2010 2:20pm
18th Jan 2010 2:20pm
The Silence Inn
The brutal wave of
rain and jealously
followed me that night
as I sipped
strong lukewarm coffee
at the Silence Inn.
Bloodshot eyes stared
back at me
and the storm laughed.
If I wanted to
the warm bosom of
Room 134
would have welcomed
a wired mind.
Yet someone
must have been in that storm
and I needed to find
who.
A mist arose
throughout the
Devil’s Playground
And then all I could hear
was the faint echo of a
child giggling.
And I laughed.
rain and jealously
followed me that night
as I sipped
strong lukewarm coffee
at the Silence Inn.
Bloodshot eyes stared
back at me
and the storm laughed.
If I wanted to
the warm bosom of
Room 134
would have welcomed
a wired mind.
Yet someone
must have been in that storm
and I needed to find
who.
A mist arose
throughout the
Devil’s Playground
And then all I could hear
was the faint echo of a
child giggling.
And I laughed.
828 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
18th Jan 2010 4:38am
18th Jan 2010 4:38am
A Wtich's Knot
Does the bitter blood
soaked through this towel
excite you?
I smell your lust
and its cologne is a cliff
facing the unknown.
Angels are said to
drink inked dreams.
But I must protect my
dreams
(I have so
few). Hence
The towel,
the cliff,
the blood an aching lull.
It is finished
this spell
a clotted vessel
in a witch’s knot
swims gently on.
soaked through this towel
excite you?
I smell your lust
and its cologne is a cliff
facing the unknown.
Angels are said to
drink inked dreams.
But I must protect my
dreams
(I have so
few). Hence
The towel,
the cliff,
the blood an aching lull.
It is finished
this spell
a clotted vessel
in a witch’s knot
swims gently on.
856 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
17th Jan 2010 5:41pm
17th Jan 2010 5:41pm
Verses in an Empty Travel Guide
I.
Stare blissfully into the
eye of Fate’s anvil
as Time hammers in the
Sharp edges of tonight.
If you survive the oven
cackling witches’ curses.
II.
I’ve been told
I’m insane.
I won’t argue with those
who don’t speak to mirrors
Or who don’t butter both
sides of their toast.
Not a single dandelion grows
out of my palm
since the day I was committed.
And Earth’s famine (mankind) gives me
heartburn.
III.
View this tapestry:
A young man’s metal god
drinks to the...
Stare blissfully into the
eye of Fate’s anvil
as Time hammers in the
Sharp edges of tonight.
If you survive the oven
cackling witches’ curses.
II.
I’ve been told
I’m insane.
I won’t argue with those
who don’t speak to mirrors
Or who don’t butter both
sides of their toast.
Not a single dandelion grows
out of my palm
since the day I was committed.
And Earth’s famine (mankind) gives me
heartburn.
III.
View this tapestry:
A young man’s metal god
drinks to the...
703 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
17th Jan 2010 9:35am
17th Jan 2010 9:35am
Temptation
In Temptation’s grasp
lies a myriad of roads;
Down to stark choice
is but my own.
Veiled in the darkness
in chaotic glance,
one step forward
is my only chance.
lies a myriad of roads;
Down to stark choice
is but my own.
Veiled in the darkness
in chaotic glance,
one step forward
is my only chance.
1055 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
17th Jan 2010 9:34am
17th Jan 2010 9:34am
I'm afraid to think
I am afraid to think.
Even now the looming ghostly shadows of my mind prepare their assault.
To sleep, oh to sleep I must wrap my thoughts (kindly at first, then insistent)
some desperate some adventitious
And send them in a balloon
Till they reach those beautiful edges
of sight, sound, and attention
(that perceived humble abode of the Archangel Lucifer
O morning star, son of the dawn)
which some nights yield to bountiful dreams.
And in a dream the curtain of sanity may be lifted,
nay, must be lifted,
and the...
Even now the looming ghostly shadows of my mind prepare their assault.
To sleep, oh to sleep I must wrap my thoughts (kindly at first, then insistent)
some desperate some adventitious
And send them in a balloon
Till they reach those beautiful edges
of sight, sound, and attention
(that perceived humble abode of the Archangel Lucifer
O morning star, son of the dawn)
which some nights yield to bountiful dreams.
And in a dream the curtain of sanity may be lifted,
nay, must be lifted,
and the...
692 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by manic_inspiration (Brian Minnick)
