Submissions by nomoth
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
Yesterday 9:38pm
Yesterday 9:38pm
notes from deputy to head gardener; landscape engines: 1817-1819 Woodhouse
Notes from deputy to head gardener; landscape engines: 1817-1819 Woodhouse
-in the stables. Jacob ran through lists
that the garden would take care of such; the kestrel’s
stall, kills of clawed thigs; the foxes hungered
and the hunt and their piano teeth bared and ...and...
what bears had escaped, what the hunt
had produced, what they felt in their afterward, what songs they displayed
- incorrect to...
-in the stables. Jacob ran through lists
that the garden would take care of such; the kestrel’s
stall, kills of clawed thigs; the foxes hungered
and the hunt and their piano teeth bared and ...and...
what bears had escaped, what the hunt
had produced, what they felt in their afterward, what songs they displayed
- incorrect to...
#flowers
#nature
30 reads
7 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Sep 2019 7:16pm
7th Sep 2019 7:16pm
the capes, the drawls, the runs through the door.
(for The Love Song of T. Stearns Eliot competition)
smell the lamb before it breaks,
before it is sold by the butcher,
before he pins up his notaries
of meat available.
his slimy hands back-slapping slap of chop sliding
and the baying tongue will
lick his grime back into the fleece; its ashtray
of ( forgotten things)
- the bottom of a lane mist.
- beneath the cushions of a velvet armchair.
- the impetuous run through the door....
smell the lamb before it breaks,
before it is sold by the butcher,
before he pins up his notaries
of meat available.
his slimy hands back-slapping slap of chop sliding
and the baying tongue will
lick his grime back into the fleece; its ashtray
of ( forgotten things)
- the bottom of a lane mist.
- beneath the cushions of a velvet armchair.
- the impetuous run through the door....
#LifeStruggles
#memories
#nostalgia
#StreamOfConsciousness
#TSEliot
80 reads
11 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Aug 2019 11:25am
28th Aug 2019 11:25am
nè tremesse o tristezza
and generals sequester under-skin their florid armies,
lay siege oceans deep upon one desire
that if I could’ve been
more presentable in their systems,
would’ve let the infection spread,
opium-betray the immune places
these are not beautiful dreams
…but they re-die
under her breath where fairies return; where they reside.
music burnt pink by the salpinx
for conversing saltatorial children, they grasshop
fragrant for the air in papier-mâché hats
their rare yolk running unabashed in the twitch
of gods...
lay siege oceans deep upon one desire
that if I could’ve been
more presentable in their systems,
would’ve let the infection spread,
opium-betray the immune places
these are not beautiful dreams
…but they re-die
under her breath where fairies return; where they reside.
music burnt pink by the salpinx
for conversing saltatorial children, they grasshop
fragrant for the air in papier-mâché hats
their rare yolk running unabashed in the twitch
of gods...
#love
#hope
#children
#FreeVerse
#admiration
98 reads
8 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
21st Aug 2019 11:50am
21st Aug 2019 11:50am
she shaves him
wary of the rite she shaves him
for it may surprise her how hot the towel needs to be
and its risk to lay delicate shroud upon his face
and press in both hands tender firm
some dark threat transmuted to trust her touch.
breaks of sea-foam; returning ballast upon the swell
of tonglen tides cadenced
shave the face the chest,
unto white meadows
blade-scrape the grey wheat in some rash grace
towel-up the toxin’d stalks
and release their sheaves on the river
and when it falls, they fall,
for open pores...
for it may surprise her how hot the towel needs to be
and its risk to lay delicate shroud upon his face
and press in both hands tender firm
some dark threat transmuted to trust her touch.
breaks of sea-foam; returning ballast upon the swell
of tonglen tides cadenced
shave the face the chest,
unto white meadows
blade-scrape the grey wheat in some rash grace
towel-up the toxin’d stalks
and release their sheaves on the river
and when it falls, they fall,
for open pores...
#kindness
#support
#admiration
112 reads
7 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
4th Aug 2019 9:35am
4th Aug 2019 9:35am
tell me you are
awoke on the steppes
I went to read her poems
she pinned them up on the walls
‘so this is where they’re shown’
as books of black-market
we discard the fake dust jackets
slivers of damascene jewellery
ribbons stripped from the wrists
each one accounted for
lay them on bed-sheets
with their corner folded
like a chapter in each other
marked to return to later
a fawn of a breeze
ran playing through the room
circulating scent of vanilla
'tis ok to be here
...
I went to read her poems
she pinned them up on the walls
‘so this is where they’re shown’
as books of black-market
we discard the fake dust jackets
slivers of damascene jewellery
ribbons stripped from the wrists
each one accounted for
lay them on bed-sheets
with their corner folded
like a chapter in each other
marked to return to later
a fawn of a breeze
ran playing through the room
circulating scent of vanilla
'tis ok to be here
...
#love
#gratitude
#admiration #respect
#admiration #respect
134 reads
6 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
26th Jul 2019 8:58am
26th Jul 2019 8:58am
this only death dawn chorus
sat as I black-out inside this tram
lisping a flight of feathers in harbour calling
calling out from the under-garment of dawn’s
adiabatic-process
acclimatizing once again
to the molasses umbrella
to have genie’d this wreck
rip apart its chests and force its heart underwater
if it splits then it is the red sea
then slap this correspondence between its walls
of the anchor and well
the beatings and whims of stellar craze
until they come round
the connect of o oblivion connect
so these...
lisping a flight of feathers in harbour calling
calling out from the under-garment of dawn’s
adiabatic-process
acclimatizing once again
to the molasses umbrella
to have genie’d this wreck
rip apart its chests and force its heart underwater
if it splits then it is the red sea
then slap this correspondence between its walls
of the anchor and well
the beatings and whims of stellar craze
until they come round
the connect of o oblivion connect
so these...
#grief
#alcohol
#addiction
105 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Jun 2019 12:24pm
24th Jun 2019 12:24pm
pakistan
(for Threshold of the Imaginary and Reality competition)
ribbon show
tied to trees
in my room
landing strips
of new grass letting go
I cannot let it go
pulling the portrait
pendant
from around her neck
to know what was there
unsure what would happen
what it could do to me
if I let a past
make my fingers shake
as the clasp is unhooked
did not want to see the words inscribed
the scrape of black feather
of a name inside;
mustard dreams wished it was mine. ...
ribbon show
tied to trees
in my room
landing strips
of new grass letting go
I cannot let it go
pulling the portrait
pendant
from around her neck
to know what was there
unsure what would happen
what it could do to me
if I let a past
make my fingers shake
as the clasp is unhooked
did not want to see the words inscribed
the scrape of black feather
of a name inside;
mustard dreams wished it was mine. ...
#WritersBlock
123 reads
12 Comments
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Jun 2019 6:54pm
17th Jun 2019 6:54pm
muse’s; bridled mule and jade tiger meet
this scruffy mule
that bears my heft
broke his chain and reigns
to address her shouldered bodyguard
they sniff noses
hide and hair
moon-smoked paws and worn hoof
my boy could sense the quiet stormed
strength in tender promise
of transport
and stomped in admiration
learning to breathe
under watery
oceanic eyes
dragging him in hand-held reassurance
under tidal sighs; lunging fearlessly
into Mariana submission
leathered under-currents
lashing like bodies of eels.
over...
that bears my heft
broke his chain and reigns
to address her shouldered bodyguard
they sniff noses
hide and hair
moon-smoked paws and worn hoof
my boy could sense the quiet stormed
strength in tender promise
of transport
and stomped in admiration
learning to breathe
under watery
oceanic eyes
dragging him in hand-held reassurance
under tidal sighs; lunging fearlessly
into Mariana submission
leathered under-currents
lashing like bodies of eels.
over...
#friendship
#inspirational
#travel
#admiration
#respect
140 reads
7 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Jun 2019 11:43pm
15th Jun 2019 11:43pm
rhinoceros in a glass blown bowl
A man and the man
with his second thoughts,
with no tale of woe
plainly used to reviews of himself
he killed all he needed to kill
though this slow ‘business’ of
hawkish imagery
won’t let up its low
even if denying glowing coals of breast
beacon in bright camphorous
parliament would distract or carol
his designated affairs
no distraction this
for they would matter the most
because these are things out of his control,
that came alive tonight.
with his second thoughts,
with no tale of woe
plainly used to reviews of himself
he killed all he needed to kill
though this slow ‘business’ of
hawkish imagery
won’t let up its low
even if denying glowing coals of breast
beacon in bright camphorous
parliament would distract or carol
his designated affairs
no distraction this
for they would matter the most
because these are things out of his control,
that came alive tonight.
#gratitude
92 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
11th Jun 2019 5:10pm
11th Jun 2019 5:10pm
lambs ears
(When Dark Doves Fly competition)
wrested from a flight
I whispered back, each stem’s name
that had fermented in her perfume.
a collapse of my head
upon her nape of morning mist,
where blood had flowered
anabatic musks; guiding me
under a nettled raiment.
…and I shoplifted, scruffed this moment
and placed it into the crosshairs
my on/off switch
as her flushed spine, unzipped
with heavens weight crumbling.
caryatid; from whom each cracked pore
poured red dusted sand...
wrested from a flight
I whispered back, each stem’s name
that had fermented in her perfume.
a collapse of my head
upon her nape of morning mist,
where blood had flowered
anabatic musks; guiding me
under a nettled raiment.
…and I shoplifted, scruffed this moment
and placed it into the crosshairs
my on/off switch
as her flushed spine, unzipped
with heavens weight crumbling.
caryatid; from whom each cracked pore
poured red dusted sand...
#love
#death
#separation
162 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Jun 2019 5:20pm
4th Jun 2019 5:20pm
two mirrors
(Fear of oneself: Sharon Olds tribute competition)
It was as if he was scared that the sky-blue
anger in his eyes would become dull
if I became a better person. When he died
I tore through; sauntered creepily; shamelessly
removed all the drawers, emptied all pockets,
shook all bags, opened all the books for clues
to know why, whenever we had talked,
we were in two different rooms.
We had a couple of large mirrors
in the house, angelically bordered with rust, ...
It was as if he was scared that the sky-blue
anger in his eyes would become dull
if I became a better person. When he died
I tore through; sauntered creepily; shamelessly
removed all the drawers, emptied all pockets,
shook all bags, opened all the books for clues
to know why, whenever we had talked,
we were in two different rooms.
We had a couple of large mirrors
in the house, angelically bordered with rust, ...
#father
#childhood
#memories
184 reads
18 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Jun 2019 6:03am
2nd Jun 2019 6:03am
wiping the eyes from your sleep
This is the last line
and this song has turned lead-heavy
and the cantors face is turning blood red…
a stumbling cantation for asenath
…despite us being drunk buddied-up like a forest fire,
delinquents setting light to delicate groves
where we’ll linger around
scorched hay and former lambs
and we ain’t waiting
we just stand impressed.
No-one’s going to reform this con
(Old dads whistling tune, his eyes bird-light blue in the pocket of your jeans)
still...
and this song has turned lead-heavy
and the cantors face is turning blood red…
a stumbling cantation for asenath
…despite us being drunk buddied-up like a forest fire,
delinquents setting light to delicate groves
where we’ll linger around
scorched hay and former lambs
and we ain’t waiting
we just stand impressed.
No-one’s going to reform this con
(Old dads whistling tune, his eyes bird-light blue in the pocket of your jeans)
still...
#love
#mother
#MentalHealth
138 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by nomoth
