Submissions by murmurdreams
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Total amateur subscribing to mostly unconventional methods of poetry writing, I write small stories or let experiences flow through me onto paper or page.
DARK POEM
Published
21st Nov 2013 2:10am
21st Nov 2013 2:10am
The Shaking Queen
Once I dreamed you were drowning
held gently under strawberry milk.
There were flowers in your hair
as you screamed to me in bubbles.
Your hair wafting, wetly loose
in streams of chilled cotton candy
you are the blackest satin
ribbons of pink and burned onyx.
I hold court in a tank of spearmint
pale twisting green airs about my throat
I am above all the Shaking Queen,
in all and sundry you bow to me.
Your blood flows into chocolate
sullied yet again, by misfortune.
We cannot continue passing off
as though it were...
held gently under strawberry milk.
There were flowers in your hair
as you screamed to me in bubbles.
Your hair wafting, wetly loose
in streams of chilled cotton candy
you are the blackest satin
ribbons of pink and burned onyx.
I hold court in a tank of spearmint
pale twisting green airs about my throat
I am above all the Shaking Queen,
in all and sundry you bow to me.
Your blood flows into chocolate
sullied yet again, by misfortune.
We cannot continue passing off
as though it were...
580 reads
1 Comment
STORY POEM
Published
20th Nov 2013 2:35pm
20th Nov 2013 2:35pm
Milestones
Plastic stuck to my fingertips
& not a way to hear.
Not blinded, not senseless, just unfeeling
Just so.
A warm, drawn breath, though
no payload of oxygen.
No yield in the lungs, of the sky.
Just empty fields.
Birdly, winged skies
hooked and spied through a thousand foot lens.
A mildly exhausting feat,
to fly.
A broken path, of twisted stones
leads to no where, uncertain
I listen to the milestone
it shows me where to go.
& not a way to hear.
Not blinded, not senseless, just unfeeling
Just so.
A warm, drawn breath, though
no payload of oxygen.
No yield in the lungs, of the sky.
Just empty fields.
Birdly, winged skies
hooked and spied through a thousand foot lens.
A mildly exhausting feat,
to fly.
A broken path, of twisted stones
leads to no where, uncertain
I listen to the milestone
it shows me where to go.
581 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Nov 2013 2:33pm
20th Nov 2013 2:33pm
Storm, He
You are the ocean
and I am made of paper.
Burnt wet parchment
on a sea of mirrors.
Who calls you like I do
in the wind, in the dark?
I lost you in the spray
and you found a way back.
I speak to the waves
and you come crashing,
thundering against me
the sea in your heart.
You are pieces of me
beneath the surface,
when the storm comes calling
I hear you in the dark.
and I am made of paper.
Burnt wet parchment
on a sea of mirrors.
Who calls you like I do
in the wind, in the dark?
I lost you in the spray
and you found a way back.
I speak to the waves
and you come crashing,
thundering against me
the sea in your heart.
You are pieces of me
beneath the surface,
when the storm comes calling
I hear you in the dark.
799 reads
4 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
20th Nov 2013 1:17am
20th Nov 2013 1:17am
Pillow Forts
Your fort is the smallest haven
of tree and brick and feather.
We drink and our brains simmer
languidly, between the walls.
I can focus on points of light
distantly, while you speak of
import, ships on fire and the
greatest steps you ever made.
Your fort is like a den,
white, electric, sunken and still
made from shadow puppets and
steeped, swelling tea leaves.
We can forget our names here
leave them at the pillowed door
under the arch of feathers
and sink into the floor boards.
The backs of chairs hold up our...
of tree and brick and feather.
We drink and our brains simmer
languidly, between the walls.
I can focus on points of light
distantly, while you speak of
import, ships on fire and the
greatest steps you ever made.
Your fort is like a den,
white, electric, sunken and still
made from shadow puppets and
steeped, swelling tea leaves.
We can forget our names here
leave them at the pillowed door
under the arch of feathers
and sink into the floor boards.
The backs of chairs hold up our...
907 reads
6 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
20th Nov 2013 1:15am
20th Nov 2013 1:15am
The Cuckoo
My walls are lined with clocks
the kind that run dry of futures.
They crash, hands against the wind
confined and tremulous.
Faces to be left behind
carried on wrists, over hearts.
Numbers that never change,
ever cycle, always slide.
These hands will not hold you
they are made to impale.
Born of stuttering noise
and fingers that never touch.
Wooden birds stalk and chime,
fluttering springs over broken beaks
to follow you through silent halls
lined with hands and faces.
the kind that run dry of futures.
They crash, hands against the wind
confined and tremulous.
Faces to be left behind
carried on wrists, over hearts.
Numbers that never change,
ever cycle, always slide.
These hands will not hold you
they are made to impale.
Born of stuttering noise
and fingers that never touch.
Wooden birds stalk and chime,
fluttering springs over broken beaks
to follow you through silent halls
lined with hands and faces.
633 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Nov 2013 2:24pm
19th Nov 2013 2:24pm
Steady Palms
There are scars in the meat of my chest
drawing eyes and high collars
fixed points of red and silver
covering nothing in fetching price.
If I could steal you from the sun
and fill the spaces I had once left
in the mourning rains held here
driving out all hope of thought
perhaps the fine burning stars in my palms
would then all but extinguish
with the fall of evening lights,
perishing in the view of thine eyes.
Cold marks out trails along my skin
roads to walk with fingers, unknown
Holding court along the current of sighs...
drawing eyes and high collars
fixed points of red and silver
covering nothing in fetching price.
If I could steal you from the sun
and fill the spaces I had once left
in the mourning rains held here
driving out all hope of thought
perhaps the fine burning stars in my palms
would then all but extinguish
with the fall of evening lights,
perishing in the view of thine eyes.
Cold marks out trails along my skin
roads to walk with fingers, unknown
Holding court along the current of sighs...
542 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Nov 2013 11:16am
19th Nov 2013 11:16am
Bright Fare
I would love you, golden and bare
were you beaten, blooded, shining
and whole beneath the sun
Or taken in completely by another.
Turn your eyes simply to me
and it will be enough.
A bright fare to satiate me
a stare to light my way.
The skies move you as they part
setting rays or star rise, clouded
heavenly reaching just
to touch the lines of your face.
were you beaten, blooded, shining
and whole beneath the sun
Or taken in completely by another.
Turn your eyes simply to me
and it will be enough.
A bright fare to satiate me
a stare to light my way.
The skies move you as they part
setting rays or star rise, clouded
heavenly reaching just
to touch the lines of your face.
509 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
18th Nov 2013 1:01pm
18th Nov 2013 1:01pm
Lungs
We have said everything that there could be
to say to one another in the dark
There are no words left to whisper
no promises kept silent on lips
Yet the promise of movement
the future whisper of skin and skin
together lingers.
Fingers tracing skin in wonder
new and shaking
Barely held back delight aloft
and kissed along the ribs
The ones behind which hammer
a frantically excited heart
rushing to hold still and quiet form.
There are many words left to say
in languages of hands and mouth
to burn along my neck and yours...
to say to one another in the dark
There are no words left to whisper
no promises kept silent on lips
Yet the promise of movement
the future whisper of skin and skin
together lingers.
Fingers tracing skin in wonder
new and shaking
Barely held back delight aloft
and kissed along the ribs
The ones behind which hammer
a frantically excited heart
rushing to hold still and quiet form.
There are many words left to say
in languages of hands and mouth
to burn along my neck and yours...
732 reads
7 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
18th Nov 2013 1:00pm
18th Nov 2013 1:00pm
Warrior Heart
i]I will give you a war
the likes of which you have never seen
I will wage it everyday
battering at the hatches of your heart.
You are cold and closed
a challenge to reach you
behind your battlements
turrets and towers.
I climb the vines of your scars
kissing warm acceptance
and soothing peace upon
the barbs that don't cling to me.
I pull lashings from my skin
as I scale the rungs of you.
My armor is see through
over the surest of hands.
I will wage a war
on your broken heart
The silk I wrap around it...
the likes of which you have never seen
I will wage it everyday
battering at the hatches of your heart.
You are cold and closed
a challenge to reach you
behind your battlements
turrets and towers.
I climb the vines of your scars
kissing warm acceptance
and soothing peace upon
the barbs that don't cling to me.
I pull lashings from my skin
as I scale the rungs of you.
My armor is see through
over the surest of hands.
I will wage a war
on your broken heart
The silk I wrap around it...
569 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by murmurdreams
