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.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Dec 2010 10:07pm
18th Dec 2010 10:07pm
True Art Evokes Emotion
The wreck came to rest in an art museum.
Having signed its John Hancock in rubber
on the asphalt of the interstate,
it kissed two sedans and a sport-ute goodbye
and cut the guardrail like a grand-opening ribbon—
down the ravine, making good use of all six sides
and came to rest with a climactic crunch
on the lawn of the Grounds for Sculpture.
And the patrons crowded round
(as people are wont to do)
until the police gave the wreck its due privacy;
nobody understood why,
since the one who should be embarrassed
was in no state...
Having signed its John Hancock in rubber
on the asphalt of the interstate,
it kissed two sedans and a sport-ute goodbye
and cut the guardrail like a grand-opening ribbon—
down the ravine, making good use of all six sides
and came to rest with a climactic crunch
on the lawn of the Grounds for Sculpture.
And the patrons crowded round
(as people are wont to do)
until the police gave the wreck its due privacy;
nobody understood why,
since the one who should be embarrassed
was in no state...
1366 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
16th Dec 2010 7:23am
16th Dec 2010 7:23am
Seduction
She's ringed by barbed wire electric
yet invites you to scale her walls.
And she'll pick you off every time
with a sniper shot straight to the gut—
She could kill you from there, yes,
but she'd rather watch you writhe.
And all her barbed wire friends
(if hollow bombshells can be friends)
get a laugh, for the price
of the one look it took to invite you to try.
And she's cold and hard as ice
but all she shows is warm and soft
so you don't see it coming
'til you're lying face-up writhing
at the base of her barbed wire electric.
yet invites you to scale her walls.
And she'll pick you off every time
with a sniper shot straight to the gut—
She could kill you from there, yes,
but she'd rather watch you writhe.
And all her barbed wire friends
(if hollow bombshells can be friends)
get a laugh, for the price
of the one look it took to invite you to try.
And she's cold and hard as ice
but all she shows is warm and soft
so you don't see it coming
'til you're lying face-up writhing
at the base of her barbed wire electric.
792 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
15th Dec 2010 4:58pm
15th Dec 2010 4:58pm
Transparent Eyeball
Leaning against a telephone pole at 1am,
watching the young night grow older:
The moon's out and the air's fair,
and I'm outside taking it all in.
It's a beautiful time of night.
Nobody about,
but some poor soul in his cracked-out body
being pulled up the street by that invisible rope—
don't lie to yourself, it's as real as you and I!—
and a drunk stumbling back from the bar,
mumbling to himself (something terribly important, to be sure).
In this place where men wear
the years they've "done" on their...
watching the young night grow older:
The moon's out and the air's fair,
and I'm outside taking it all in.
It's a beautiful time of night.
Nobody about,
but some poor soul in his cracked-out body
being pulled up the street by that invisible rope—
don't lie to yourself, it's as real as you and I!—
and a drunk stumbling back from the bar,
mumbling to himself (something terribly important, to be sure).
In this place where men wear
the years they've "done" on their...
1200 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
13th Dec 2010 2:20am
13th Dec 2010 2:20am
Valiant
Her heartbeat echoes lonely in her empty self;
I can only hope her soul rallies
From its shattered, defeated state
To keep her heart company before it gives up too.
I can only hope her soul rallies
From its shattered, defeated state
To keep her heart company before it gives up too.
877 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
10th Dec 2010 2:15am
10th Dec 2010 2:15am
given up
laying fetal on the bed
more empty fixture
than human
her serenity
belies her eyes
dead to the world
painted glass
matching the wall
she's facing
i've seen this thing
before
dark and hideous
invisible but obvious
and it grips her
like a demon
i've seen it yes
once before
one week later
i saw
a casket
fighting down
cold dread
that choking
paralyzing
PANIC
she's given up
it seizes my chest
the most beautiful girl
in the world
(inside and out)
no...
more empty fixture
than human
her serenity
belies her eyes
dead to the world
painted glass
matching the wall
she's facing
i've seen this thing
before
dark and hideous
invisible but obvious
and it grips her
like a demon
i've seen it yes
once before
one week later
i saw
a casket
fighting down
cold dread
that choking
paralyzing
PANIC
she's given up
it seizes my chest
the most beautiful girl
in the world
(inside and out)
no...
940 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
8th Dec 2010 7:18am
8th Dec 2010 7:18am
Given Up
She lays fetal on her bed,
More empty fixture than human.
Her serenity belies her eyes—
Dead to the world, painted glass,
Matching the blank wall she's facing.
I've seen this thing before...
Dark and hideous, invisible but obvious.
And it grips her like a demon.
I've seen it yes, once before;
One week later I saw a casket.
So I'm fighting down cold dread,
That choking, paralyzing panic.
She's given up, and it seizes my chest.
The most beautiful girl in the world
(inside and out)
No longer...
More empty fixture than human.
Her serenity belies her eyes—
Dead to the world, painted glass,
Matching the blank wall she's facing.
I've seen this thing before...
Dark and hideous, invisible but obvious.
And it grips her like a demon.
I've seen it yes, once before;
One week later I saw a casket.
So I'm fighting down cold dread,
That choking, paralyzing panic.
She's given up, and it seizes my chest.
The most beautiful girl in the world
(inside and out)
No longer...
800 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
6th Dec 2010 8:04am
6th Dec 2010 8:04am
Unique
"I'm really just unique," you say.
Are you? Really?
Because there's only about twelve types of people.
You should have stopped talking after "My name's Jess"—
There are so many less Jesses
Than there are people
Who think they're unique.
Are you? Really?
Because there's only about twelve types of people.
You should have stopped talking after "My name's Jess"—
There are so many less Jesses
Than there are people
Who think they're unique.
924 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Nov 2010 1:52am
27th Nov 2010 1:52am
Static Radio
We coincided at the party, music pump loud
And drank ourselves to a dancing state.
As the basslines roped us toward the floor,
The music, it beat hard and steady.
In that weekend-world of fleeting hedonism
it was the most stable thing.
We could brace ourselves on it,
let it carry the weight of the world
for just those few minutes.
So we danced and gyrated through the heat and the sweat and the press
And found ourselves further along than when we started.
The hits set us up like blind dates.
And through it all, the radio played on.
...
And drank ourselves to a dancing state.
As the basslines roped us toward the floor,
The music, it beat hard and steady.
In that weekend-world of fleeting hedonism
it was the most stable thing.
We could brace ourselves on it,
let it carry the weight of the world
for just those few minutes.
So we danced and gyrated through the heat and the sweat and the press
And found ourselves further along than when we started.
The hits set us up like blind dates.
And through it all, the radio played on.
...
1179 reads
5 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
27th Nov 2010 1:36am
27th Nov 2010 1:36am
Crossing Paths
I remember a time when I didn't hate
the sight
the awful SIGHT of her.
She haunts my dreams
as she haunts my days—
that is to say,
dangerously random. Nary a moment
she couldn't befoul
by sticking her finger in my
open wound of a heart
and twisting (gouging!).
If I break my own heart, is that criminal?
It should be.
Drawn and quartered
to match my torn-out soul.
But remembering she exists is the worst.
the sight
the awful SIGHT of her.
She haunts my dreams
as she haunts my days—
that is to say,
dangerously random. Nary a moment
she couldn't befoul
by sticking her finger in my
open wound of a heart
and twisting (gouging!).
If I break my own heart, is that criminal?
It should be.
Drawn and quartered
to match my torn-out soul.
But remembering she exists is the worst.
950 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
17th Sep 2010 3:52am
17th Sep 2010 3:52am
Hearts Entwined
When two hearts lovingly entwined
are cleaved down the middle,
It is impossible for either soul
to leave the other still whole.
Both leave part of their being in the other's embrace
and themselves with raw wounds.
And each keeps a piece of the other forever
because to part with it is too painful to bear.
are cleaved down the middle,
It is impossible for either soul
to leave the other still whole.
Both leave part of their being in the other's embrace
and themselves with raw wounds.
And each keeps a piece of the other forever
because to part with it is too painful to bear.
967 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
17th Sep 2010 3:12am
17th Sep 2010 3:12am
I could kiss her tears away
I could kiss her tears away.
It's amazing how a dozen less wet drops
tearing long shiny furrows down a pain-wracked face
being nobly intercepted by two knightly lips
passionate in sympathy,
emissaries sent straight from the heart,
make all the difference.
I could press that cracked facade against my shirt
and bury it in my shoulder
and envelop the pain.
I was a sink for every hot prick in her eyes
and every ragged breath
saliva, salty tears and all.
I took them and stood my ground.
My love--always the conquistador--could take...
It's amazing how a dozen less wet drops
tearing long shiny furrows down a pain-wracked face
being nobly intercepted by two knightly lips
passionate in sympathy,
emissaries sent straight from the heart,
make all the difference.
I could press that cracked facade against my shirt
and bury it in my shoulder
and envelop the pain.
I was a sink for every hot prick in her eyes
and every ragged breath
saliva, salty tears and all.
I took them and stood my ground.
My love--always the conquistador--could take...
1028 reads
6 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
5th Sep 2010 8:45am
5th Sep 2010 8:45am
Vivisection of a Moment in Time
She looses her words in the moonlit woods—
I cannot bear to be the recipient.
"I guess I just don't know how to be single."
As the loam pads our naked bodies,
holding us up like a pedestal: proud of our nakedness.
Infatuated with our newfound power
to bare ourselves to nobody and feel like it's to everybody.
Those words, sliding among the whisper sighs of leaves
like the very breezes themselves.
My heart knots for her.
"I'm just so confused."
Not confused, poor girl—your heart long since...
I cannot bear to be the recipient.
"I guess I just don't know how to be single."
As the loam pads our naked bodies,
holding us up like a pedestal: proud of our nakedness.
Infatuated with our newfound power
to bare ourselves to nobody and feel like it's to everybody.
Those words, sliding among the whisper sighs of leaves
like the very breezes themselves.
My heart knots for her.
"I'm just so confused."
Not confused, poor girl—your heart long since...
2047 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
