Submissions by mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Oh, Mike the Engineer can build your brand-new hip, or synth your pills. But engineers left unfulfilled poor Mike's creative writing skills.
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Aug 2016 3:12am
20th Aug 2016 3:12am
what's your number?
i.
there is no way to know
that some people fit together
and others just don’t
when your only experience
is not fitting together,
and there is no way to gauge
your value, your worth
when your only experience
is being blamed by someone
who can’t face their own
ill-fitting skin.
ii.
but back to the first love, the catching-up
of the body with the mind,
the oldest candle held in silent vigil
somewhere in salty Fairfield air
smiling under weary, knowing eyes:
it ended with a kiss on the cheek
and a trimming of the...
there is no way to know
that some people fit together
and others just don’t
when your only experience
is not fitting together,
and there is no way to gauge
your value, your worth
when your only experience
is being blamed by someone
who can’t face their own
ill-fitting skin.
ii.
but back to the first love, the catching-up
of the body with the mind,
the oldest candle held in silent vigil
somewhere in salty Fairfield air
smiling under weary, knowing eyes:
it ended with a kiss on the cheek
and a trimming of the...
1112 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Aug 2015 2:16am
11th Aug 2015 2:16am
case study.
haughty school imprinted
in thick block lettering,
cracked and faded white screen
across a brown tee with a stretched neckline
and a feeling of having been through the war and back.
the catchline beneath the name says "Tradition. Passion. Pride."
as if the name doesn't blare that obnoxiously enough.
faded jeans with white seams
where the denim's wearing thin
from being stretched every which way for years.
little threadbare patches on one thigh and the other knee
artfully showing activities past. this one’s a mover
but he does it...
in thick block lettering,
cracked and faded white screen
across a brown tee with a stretched neckline
and a feeling of having been through the war and back.
the catchline beneath the name says "Tradition. Passion. Pride."
as if the name doesn't blare that obnoxiously enough.
faded jeans with white seams
where the denim's wearing thin
from being stretched every which way for years.
little threadbare patches on one thigh and the other knee
artfully showing activities past. this one’s a mover
but he does it...
957 reads
5 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
2nd Aug 2015 00:42am
2nd Aug 2015 00:42am
Nonstop to SFO
We hugged, kissed, hugged more at the security gate,
at first self-consciously, then desperately, shedding care for
anything else. Backed away at last, echoing hollow laughs
from weary smiles that knew the future,
croaking our final nothings in matching hollow tones
from deflated chests. You turned and headed through.
I turned and walked away. I'll never forget your ponytail,
normally bouncy and free, swinging limp in your somber recessional.
I rounded the corner and it hit me you were gone and I reached for the wall
slack-jawed and blind. Gone. Gone gone...
at first self-consciously, then desperately, shedding care for
anything else. Backed away at last, echoing hollow laughs
from weary smiles that knew the future,
croaking our final nothings in matching hollow tones
from deflated chests. You turned and headed through.
I turned and walked away. I'll never forget your ponytail,
normally bouncy and free, swinging limp in your somber recessional.
I rounded the corner and it hit me you were gone and I reached for the wall
slack-jawed and blind. Gone. Gone gone...
872 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
1st Aug 2015 8:18pm
1st Aug 2015 8:18pm
packing up
take it
put it in a pretty frame
and pack it
away
in the back of the crawl space
til the wood bleeds dust to the touch
and the bones
show through
i'll do the same
put it into a poem
and file it
away
til it's buried
irretrievably
between pages of pomp
and the ink
fades out
put it in a pretty frame
and pack it
away
in the back of the crawl space
til the wood bleeds dust to the touch
and the bones
show through
i'll do the same
put it into a poem
and file it
away
til it's buried
irretrievably
between pages of pomp
and the ink
fades out
799 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Jan 2014 5:37pm
26th Jan 2014 5:37pm
Swimming, swimming
We found a young turtle trying to cross the road.
Tiny little thing,
hunter green marbled fantastically into mustard yellow
with angry orange flecks about it. We picked him up
and gave him a name, a backstory, like a little moving doll.
We took what we thought was good care of him—
reading up on diet and habitat,
testing vegetables and meats to see what he liked,
digging up worms (half because he voraciously devoured them,
half because we liked to watch them thrash as he fought them),
setting him in a pretty tank with pebbles sloping into water.
...
Tiny little thing,
hunter green marbled fantastically into mustard yellow
with angry orange flecks about it. We picked him up
and gave him a name, a backstory, like a little moving doll.
We took what we thought was good care of him—
reading up on diet and habitat,
testing vegetables and meats to see what he liked,
digging up worms (half because he voraciously devoured them,
half because we liked to watch them thrash as he fought them),
setting him in a pretty tank with pebbles sloping into water.
...
1240 reads
7 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
11th Dec 2013 2:19am
11th Dec 2013 2:19am
til death do us part
congratulations
me, a 23 year old
fucking genius
for completing
the best years
of my life
already.
i gracefully accept
this gold wristwatch
so that i may
always look upon
my new master.
he has raised me
without my knowledge
and now makes
himself manifest
til death
do i part.
i have myself
to thank
for turning away
from more good days
at such a young age
and starting this
graceful spiral
into stooped
irrelevance,
bent down
around my old
nostalgia.
i accept this...
me, a 23 year old
fucking genius
for completing
the best years
of my life
already.
i gracefully accept
this gold wristwatch
so that i may
always look upon
my new master.
he has raised me
without my knowledge
and now makes
himself manifest
til death
do i part.
i have myself
to thank
for turning away
from more good days
at such a young age
and starting this
graceful spiral
into stooped
irrelevance,
bent down
around my old
nostalgia.
i accept this...
1197 reads
13 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
4th Nov 2013 9:10pm
4th Nov 2013 9:10pm
The Trekker
The trekker resumed his plodding.
He would never realize fully
why he'd stopped short in the middle
of the Arctic glare. The Kola Peninsula
was no place to pause, even transiently,
and besides, he had miles to go before dark fell.
There would be no divine hand
reaching down to turn him back,
to gaze further at the blank canvas
he had been compelled moments earlier
to scour. So he would never find
the massive, exotic bloodstone
which had been tossed about
the Murmansk Oblast snowdrifts
like seaglass upon a heaving ocean ...
He would never realize fully
why he'd stopped short in the middle
of the Arctic glare. The Kola Peninsula
was no place to pause, even transiently,
and besides, he had miles to go before dark fell.
There would be no divine hand
reaching down to turn him back,
to gaze further at the blank canvas
he had been compelled moments earlier
to scour. So he would never find
the massive, exotic bloodstone
which had been tossed about
the Murmansk Oblast snowdrifts
like seaglass upon a heaving ocean ...
1225 reads
17 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th Apr 2013 2:53am
25th Apr 2013 2:53am
Love and sand, the mantra and the ocean
The first thing I remember
is sand in the cracks of the streets.
Short bright shore grass growing out of it,
we learned in school that it and its roots were so short
because it was lodged in sand and somehow knew it,
as transient as our summer fling and the handful of others
we’d had but never talked about because this one meant something.
We’d walk along Main, praising ourselves like hipster monks
for denying ourselves the universal rush to the beach,
the beach the shoobies called it! The beach was the only thing
they knew.
We...
is sand in the cracks of the streets.
Short bright shore grass growing out of it,
we learned in school that it and its roots were so short
because it was lodged in sand and somehow knew it,
as transient as our summer fling and the handful of others
we’d had but never talked about because this one meant something.
We’d walk along Main, praising ourselves like hipster monks
for denying ourselves the universal rush to the beach,
the beach the shoobies called it! The beach was the only thing
they knew.
We...
1322 reads
11 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
10th Apr 2013 7:14am
10th Apr 2013 7:14am
checking in from outside of life
i want to crumple up the door
and the lone window
and burn them to dust.
i exist in a white box.
it's eight by eight by eight
and the cracks don't let anything in or out.
they're just there to remind me
that nothing stacks neatly.
i reconstruct the door
to take a piss. the hallway blinds me.
i wish it would dim to considerate shadows.
i stumble back. the door is again
an irregularity.
my books lay unopened.
i can't face my heroes.
careless apprentice painters
left rough white stubble.
the...
and the lone window
and burn them to dust.
i exist in a white box.
it's eight by eight by eight
and the cracks don't let anything in or out.
they're just there to remind me
that nothing stacks neatly.
i reconstruct the door
to take a piss. the hallway blinds me.
i wish it would dim to considerate shadows.
i stumble back. the door is again
an irregularity.
my books lay unopened.
i can't face my heroes.
careless apprentice painters
left rough white stubble.
the...
1130 reads
5 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
6th Mar 2013 6:28am
6th Mar 2013 6:28am
Art appreciation
(a response to Robert Frost's poem Design)
What but design of darkness do appall?—
If design govern in a thing so small.
— —
Spiders' lower leg joints contain special pads
which dampen low frequency vibrations
like wind and sway
and transmit high frequency vibrations
like crawling prey and mating calls;
and the pads transition from plastic to glassy when the sun goes down
to be stiffer at night than the day,
to transmit vibrations from further afield
when the nocturnal...
What but design of darkness do appall?—
If design govern in a thing so small.
— —
Spiders' lower leg joints contain special pads
which dampen low frequency vibrations
like wind and sway
and transmit high frequency vibrations
like crawling prey and mating calls;
and the pads transition from plastic to glassy when the sun goes down
to be stiffer at night than the day,
to transmit vibrations from further afield
when the nocturnal...
#animals
#nature
#RobertFrost #evolution
#RobertFrost #evolution
1750 reads
10 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Feb 2013 8:57pm
26th Feb 2013 8:57pm
continuum
there is no better advertisement
for infinity or eternity
than the stretch of existence
between giving up on
turning your back on the night
(the sigh, the tired sweep of the face
across the pillow, the electric blue
screen reappears in the dark)
and the symbolic, defeated fuck-you
to the night as it's already
dying into day anyway.
the a/c unit hums
as electrons course antipositive
to the current
spinning and ricocheting
around nuclei
which push back
feeling their oats as "permanent"
bits of charge...
for infinity or eternity
than the stretch of existence
between giving up on
turning your back on the night
(the sigh, the tired sweep of the face
across the pillow, the electric blue
screen reappears in the dark)
and the symbolic, defeated fuck-you
to the night as it's already
dying into day anyway.
the a/c unit hums
as electrons course antipositive
to the current
spinning and ricocheting
around nuclei
which push back
feeling their oats as "permanent"
bits of charge...
904 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
22nd Feb 2013 5:42am
22nd Feb 2013 5:42am
know your place
It's morning again
and the dead rocks of this city
hiss in the rain.
The cold rain
inspires these hands
to pale, desensitize, stiffen
to match my mind.
My mind could use
a snap. Anything to resuscitate it.
I'd take an explosion. Defibrillation.
The world seems
like it just doesn't want
gray. I'd settle for black.
Maybe I'm just paranoid.
Maybe it wants to be gray
while wanting more.
Perhaps
I'll try to
fly today.
These decaying rocks
bruise my stiff hands
anyway.
Tomorrow
will be...
and the dead rocks of this city
hiss in the rain.
The cold rain
inspires these hands
to pale, desensitize, stiffen
to match my mind.
My mind could use
a snap. Anything to resuscitate it.
I'd take an explosion. Defibrillation.
The world seems
like it just doesn't want
gray. I'd settle for black.
Maybe I'm just paranoid.
Maybe it wants to be gray
while wanting more.
Perhaps
I'll try to
fly today.
These decaying rocks
bruise my stiff hands
anyway.
Tomorrow
will be...
971 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
