Submissions by misprint
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
EROTIC POEM
Published
25th Feb 2015 8:17pm
25th Feb 2015 8:17pm
Slave to Love
(Bryan Ferry -) Slave to Love
This 80s rhythm was pulsing
as these cuffs kept me from
dancing_ naked
under your mirroring ceiling.
"Open up these chains!"
I begged
But you've still been too spellbound by
Fifty Shades of Grey.
This 80s rhythm was pulsing
as these cuffs kept me from
dancing_ naked
under your mirroring ceiling.
"Open up these chains!"
I begged
But you've still been too spellbound by
Fifty Shades of Grey.
643 reads
1 Comment
STORY POEM
Published
26th Feb 2013 6:59pm
26th Feb 2013 6:59pm
Chinese rain
Somewhere, next to the rice fields
and the bamboo grove it began
to rain down, big jade-green drops.
Winding streets leading me to the far east.
Soaked travelers may pass farmland,
crowded by water buffalos plowing,
and preparing the fields for the sowing.
A toothless peasant ogles over here.
Chinese rain, and its smell all around.
Karstic mountains towering in the distance,
just disclosing their silhouettes behind a wall,
of dense fog and heavy monsoon clouds.
Along the road a Mao-statue peels itself,
out of the haze,...
and the bamboo grove it began
to rain down, big jade-green drops.
Winding streets leading me to the far east.
Soaked travelers may pass farmland,
crowded by water buffalos plowing,
and preparing the fields for the sowing.
A toothless peasant ogles over here.
Chinese rain, and its smell all around.
Karstic mountains towering in the distance,
just disclosing their silhouettes behind a wall,
of dense fog and heavy monsoon clouds.
Along the road a Mao-statue peels itself,
out of the haze,...
743 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Mar 2012 11:05pm
28th Mar 2012 11:05pm
Sarariman
You peel yourself out of layers,
of linen bedding and suit up.
Dressed and energetic heading,
for the urban transportation.
Doors open up and you press,
yourself into the crowded wagon.
You dream about raising funds and,
to brokeR stocks on the parquet.
Dropping prices these days - while
the bear eats the bull in a bloody mess,
you try to be a matador but end up
being more of a scavenger, grubbing remains.
On your road built upon grief and corpses,
third-world shoulders and the working class,
you didn't realize the...
of linen bedding and suit up.
Dressed and energetic heading,
for the urban transportation.
Doors open up and you press,
yourself into the crowded wagon.
You dream about raising funds and,
to brokeR stocks on the parquet.
Dropping prices these days - while
the bear eats the bull in a bloody mess,
you try to be a matador but end up
being more of a scavenger, grubbing remains.
On your road built upon grief and corpses,
third-world shoulders and the working class,
you didn't realize the...
495 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Mar 2012 3:38pm
27th Mar 2012 3:38pm
If I were a cannibal...
Pining for fulfillment, I was strolling,
through the relentless urban jungle.
Between numb branches of metal,
and leaves of glass - I espy you.
Your ivory skin invites me,
to taste the warm, pulsing fluid
- flooding you from head to toe.
I am on the brink of losing control.
Stalking closer through the thicket,
undiscovered, hidden amongst the herd.
Slowly you are getting within my grasp -
I can almost smell your corruptive scent.
One meter separates us from touching,
and you don't even recognize me starring.
Unconcerned,...
through the relentless urban jungle.
Between numb branches of metal,
and leaves of glass - I espy you.
Your ivory skin invites me,
to taste the warm, pulsing fluid
- flooding you from head to toe.
I am on the brink of losing control.
Stalking closer through the thicket,
undiscovered, hidden amongst the herd.
Slowly you are getting within my grasp -
I can almost smell your corruptive scent.
One meter separates us from touching,
and you don't even recognize me starring.
Unconcerned,...
518 reads
1 Comment
DARK POEM
Published
27th Mar 2012 3:29pm
27th Mar 2012 3:29pm
Swamp Thing
Cotton grass bows to the chill wind,
as it sweeps across the marshland.
Birch trees and reed and heather plants,
in small groups fill up the scenery.
There is something in the air.
Not only the twittering of birds,
or the cracking noise of branches but,
a stench as out of a thousand pits.
The bog whispers in strange tongues,
as a gurgling and wailing echoes around.
Something persistently asks for admittance,
something proclaims its arrival in this realm.
And as the mire begins to curve,
the serenade of the birds...
as it sweeps across the marshland.
Birch trees and reed and heather plants,
in small groups fill up the scenery.
There is something in the air.
Not only the twittering of birds,
or the cracking noise of branches but,
a stench as out of a thousand pits.
The bog whispers in strange tongues,
as a gurgling and wailing echoes around.
Something persistently asks for admittance,
something proclaims its arrival in this realm.
And as the mire begins to curve,
the serenade of the birds...
1083 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by misprint
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