Submissions by marthard
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Apr 2013 8:48pm
26th Apr 2013 8:48pm
Expectation, hope and the unimaginable
What public role do you hope and expect
For those you love- children, siblings, partners?
Much or little, you think you know what should be.
Are you you disappointed or delighted
When it becomes unimaginable?
I'd wondered what future materialised
For those I taught as a keen young man
In a very ordinary college.
For most, so little could be discovered.
For the few who were caught in the public eye
It was surprise and incomprehension.
I was advised to treat one young woman
With care regarding her heart...
For those you love- children, siblings, partners?
Much or little, you think you know what should be.
Are you you disappointed or delighted
When it becomes unimaginable?
I'd wondered what future materialised
For those I taught as a keen young man
In a very ordinary college.
For most, so little could be discovered.
For the few who were caught in the public eye
It was surprise and incomprehension.
I was advised to treat one young woman
With care regarding her heart...
896 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Apr 2013 3:48pm
18th Apr 2013 3:48pm
Death, disgust and degradation (and chickens)
We learn, from an early age, what to love
And, almost as soon, decide what we loathe.
Other likes and dislikes accumulate
With time, giving the opportunity
To luxuriate both in prejudice
And, occasionally, in good judgement.
I abhor chicken- absurdly
For a sporadic, sometime carnivore.
What disturbs about this childhood fancy
Is the source of such anathema.
Is it death, disgust or degradation
I still do not know which of the three.
Around the age of ten, when chicken was
A luxury dish (though large...
And, almost as soon, decide what we loathe.
Other likes and dislikes accumulate
With time, giving the opportunity
To luxuriate both in prejudice
And, occasionally, in good judgement.
I abhor chicken- absurdly
For a sporadic, sometime carnivore.
What disturbs about this childhood fancy
Is the source of such anathema.
Is it death, disgust or degradation
I still do not know which of the three.
Around the age of ten, when chicken was
A luxury dish (though large...
901 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
12th Apr 2013 5:03pm
12th Apr 2013 5:03pm
Jealousy (and name dropping)
In only thirty consecutive lines
Both Iago and Othello said all
There is to be said concerning jealousy.
Yet both failed conspicuously to deal
With the monster. What then are our chances?
My beloved's jealous outbursts struck hard
On mention of any female first name.
Her unvarying reaction haunted:
"Did you fuck her? No? I don't believe you"
I tried ridicule- interdispersing
Names historical and literary,
Undoubted virgins with sex godesses,
Harlots and the primly conventional.
Though impossible,...
Both Iago and Othello said all
There is to be said concerning jealousy.
Yet both failed conspicuously to deal
With the monster. What then are our chances?
My beloved's jealous outbursts struck hard
On mention of any female first name.
Her unvarying reaction haunted:
"Did you fuck her? No? I don't believe you"
I tried ridicule- interdispersing
Names historical and literary,
Undoubted virgins with sex godesses,
Harlots and the primly conventional.
Though impossible,...
840 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Apr 2013 7:00pm
8th Apr 2013 7:00pm
Lone Walker
On my street, walk intriguing life stories.
Secrets are revealed in stride and posture.
Those of extreme gait are most emphatic
Yet, so mystifying, that I could write,
For each, alternative biographies.
The woman is old, yet tall and big boned.
Her upper body is angled at least
Forty-five degrees to the hips and waist.
She climbs the modest hill to the bus stop
Like a mountaineer up a sheer rock face,
With stick, half an hour for fifty metres.
She never relaxes her determined scowl,
Avoiding eye contact...
Secrets are revealed in stride and posture.
Those of extreme gait are most emphatic
Yet, so mystifying, that I could write,
For each, alternative biographies.
The woman is old, yet tall and big boned.
Her upper body is angled at least
Forty-five degrees to the hips and waist.
She climbs the modest hill to the bus stop
Like a mountaineer up a sheer rock face,
With stick, half an hour for fifty metres.
She never relaxes her determined scowl,
Avoiding eye contact...
746 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Apr 2013 10:16am
4th Apr 2013 10:16am
Frontier
The frontier means exile and neglect
For folk seen to be in deviation,
A dump for those the populace reject.
Yet the edge spurs imagination
To explore well beyond the horizon,
Assuaging great hardship with ambition.
The war ended, my father back, all fine,
We travelled to the far north east to find
A small port at the end of a branch line,
Thence to a village with the sea behind.
A nowhere, without refrigeration,
Food rotted long before its destination.
Fishing was the occupation, but killing
More...
For folk seen to be in deviation,
A dump for those the populace reject.
Yet the edge spurs imagination
To explore well beyond the horizon,
Assuaging great hardship with ambition.
The war ended, my father back, all fine,
We travelled to the far north east to find
A small port at the end of a branch line,
Thence to a village with the sea behind.
A nowhere, without refrigeration,
Food rotted long before its destination.
Fishing was the occupation, but killing
More...
692 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
30th Mar 2013 6:39am
30th Mar 2013 6:39am
Country Matters (1970s)
Past thirty and still a virgin? A nun
For fifteen years was her explanation.
My first reaction was to run and run.
I should have made so clear my intention.
She pre-empted me, turning up with a bag
Of contraceptives. My defences fell.
Male hubris had won. My well seasoned lag
With manual and oral wove a spell.
For country matters, naked on the bed
Her legs were clenched together tightly.
My plea for another posture was read
As prelude to perversion unsightly.
Of all the euphemistic verbal dregs
For fuck, much the...
For fifteen years was her explanation.
My first reaction was to run and run.
I should have made so clear my intention.
She pre-empted me, turning up with a bag
Of contraceptives. My defences fell.
Male hubris had won. My well seasoned lag
With manual and oral wove a spell.
For country matters, naked on the bed
Her legs were clenched together tightly.
My plea for another posture was read
As prelude to perversion unsightly.
Of all the euphemistic verbal dregs
For fuck, much the...
1083 reads
6 Comments
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Mar 2013 7:21pm
27th Mar 2013 7:21pm
Walrus
We moved to a village in Lancashire
At the rural end, with farms and meadows
Dark woods and winding streams. Reminiscent
For me of child adventures of Bevis
So different from the wilds of Scotland.
Only twenty miles from Liverpool centre
My father, always a good citizen,
Agreed to a plea from a woman, fearing
Corruption of her charge in the city,
To confront her nephew with country life.
I was just eleven and instructed
To show the nephew,one year older,
The rural sights. But his...
At the rural end, with farms and meadows
Dark woods and winding streams. Reminiscent
For me of child adventures of Bevis
So different from the wilds of Scotland.
Only twenty miles from Liverpool centre
My father, always a good citizen,
Agreed to a plea from a woman, fearing
Corruption of her charge in the city,
To confront her nephew with country life.
I was just eleven and instructed
To show the nephew,one year older,
The rural sights. But his...
774 reads
6 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
20th Mar 2013 4:36pm
20th Mar 2013 4:36pm
Recalcitrant memory
Memory's deceit is tantalizing
Especially when it is incomplete.
The blast from an errant V1 Flying
Bomb showered glass, knocking us off our feet.
My mother was flat out, quite motionless.
Two years old, what could I do? Quite Helpless.
That I do remember. Then blank. Later,
Mum tells me, in hospital coming round:
"Where's my boy?" None had news to give to her.
There were only the two of us around.
She found me in a hospital near enough,
But five days after and with Whooping Cough.
...
Especially when it is incomplete.
The blast from an errant V1 Flying
Bomb showered glass, knocking us off our feet.
My mother was flat out, quite motionless.
Two years old, what could I do? Quite Helpless.
That I do remember. Then blank. Later,
Mum tells me, in hospital coming round:
"Where's my boy?" None had news to give to her.
There were only the two of us around.
She found me in a hospital near enough,
But five days after and with Whooping Cough.
...
748 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
20th Mar 2013 9:30am
20th Mar 2013 9:30am
A Modern Book of Job
This school teacher was, by common accord
A hero. Bravery in bomber flights
Over Germany brought him a top award.
Himself was despicable by his own lights
Killing hundreds, perhaps thousands in all
Of young, old, slave labourers without call.
Other teachers explained his demeanour
By the death, in action, of his brother.
To us pupils, infants in war, unsure,
He gave us his truth: War. Never another!
What others see as patriotic valour,
We must know, is evermore to suffer.
He made...
A hero. Bravery in bomber flights
Over Germany brought him a top award.
Himself was despicable by his own lights
Killing hundreds, perhaps thousands in all
Of young, old, slave labourers without call.
Other teachers explained his demeanour
By the death, in action, of his brother.
To us pupils, infants in war, unsure,
He gave us his truth: War. Never another!
What others see as patriotic valour,
We must know, is evermore to suffer.
He made...
625 reads
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
13th Mar 2013 4:20pm
13th Mar 2013 4:20pm
Our yesterdays
In age, mostly we let the questions run.
Why did we spend so much of our best years
In pursuit of sex? What could we have done
Had we abjured? Why were we not seers?
The waste of time was mainly in the chase.
Good, bad and middling, the consummation
Enlightened. It brought release at base,
Above, unison beyond expectation.
For a man, enjoying a woman's giving,
Accepting that she mainly ran the show,
Engenders a gratitude unfailing
So our yesterdays can retain their glow.
Unwelcome appendages are soon forgot. ...
Why did we spend so much of our best years
In pursuit of sex? What could we have done
Had we abjured? Why were we not seers?
The waste of time was mainly in the chase.
Good, bad and middling, the consummation
Enlightened. It brought release at base,
Above, unison beyond expectation.
For a man, enjoying a woman's giving,
Accepting that she mainly ran the show,
Engenders a gratitude unfailing
So our yesterdays can retain their glow.
Unwelcome appendages are soon forgot. ...
656 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
13th Mar 2013 7:30am
13th Mar 2013 7:30am
If you prick us do we not bleed (1990s)
Unexciting comfort was now the hope
She was my age,looking for much the same.
Nothing much to talk about. Easy to cope.
No surreptitious passions to inflame.
Each of the other's carnal wants took heed.
For her, penetration meant all; teasing
Fellatio amused her; for me a lead
To the next entry and then the coming.
In age, sex is a long wanted replay.
In her marriage, children had had no place.
Despite hysterectomy, her finale
Was then to suck in semen- just in case!
If you prick us, do we not bleed? And dream
Of...
She was my age,looking for much the same.
Nothing much to talk about. Easy to cope.
No surreptitious passions to inflame.
Each of the other's carnal wants took heed.
For her, penetration meant all; teasing
Fellatio amused her; for me a lead
To the next entry and then the coming.
In age, sex is a long wanted replay.
In her marriage, children had had no place.
Despite hysterectomy, her finale
Was then to suck in semen- just in case!
If you prick us, do we not bleed? And dream
Of...
775 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
12th Mar 2013 7:53pm
12th Mar 2013 7:53pm
She should by virtue fall
Break the habit, then nothing to enjoy?
Shyly enticing, in her line so rare,
She said spina bifida of her boy
Led her to this work to support his care.
A perfect body, too pure to defile,
Her surrendering was degradation-
Punishment for maternal sin. Meanwhile
Troubled, I could make no ejaculation.
Full of tears, she moaned: "I am a failure
In all things. I can't even please a man."
That she should by virtue fall felt torture.
In this vocation, comfort has no span.
Self-loathing suffering, I couldn't pretend
Was...
Shyly enticing, in her line so rare,
She said spina bifida of her boy
Led her to this work to support his care.
A perfect body, too pure to defile,
Her surrendering was degradation-
Punishment for maternal sin. Meanwhile
Troubled, I could make no ejaculation.
Full of tears, she moaned: "I am a failure
In all things. I can't even please a man."
That she should by virtue fall felt torture.
In this vocation, comfort has no span.
Self-loathing suffering, I couldn't pretend
Was...
609 reads
DU Poetry : Submissions by marthard
