Submissions by oskar
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Oct 2013 9:57am
9th Oct 2013 9:57am
record breakers
Record Breakers.
He is 100 and five spends his time in bed his family
come up to his room and clean him up, he is windy
and it smells like a Chinese egg buried underground
for fifty years. And to think Chines eggs are supposed
to be a delicatessen eaten only by the rich.
He can’t read anymore but like to look at pornographic
pictures which make him cackle as it triggers off
a memory of a distant past.
He was never a paragon of virtue smoked and drank
a brutal criminal who spent much time in prison.
All this is forgotten now his family,...
He is 100 and five spends his time in bed his family
come up to his room and clean him up, he is windy
and it smells like a Chinese egg buried underground
for fifty years. And to think Chines eggs are supposed
to be a delicatessen eaten only by the rich.
He can’t read anymore but like to look at pornographic
pictures which make him cackle as it triggers off
a memory of a distant past.
He was never a paragon of virtue smoked and drank
a brutal criminal who spent much time in prison.
All this is forgotten now his family,...
543 reads
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Oct 2013 10:05am
8th Oct 2013 10:05am
unusual october
Unusual October
What can I say about a perfect day in October?
a mild sun that appears to be fused with silver.
A few cumuli, looking like a bride’s belt,
and the sky has a blueness that is not deep
rather of mythical haziness, a dream not yet
realized seeking understanding of something
that is limitless. The garden is full of flowers, it
is as a new spring has sprung, wordless and
in supple silence I can hear the forest’s animals
sigh in utter contentment.
I cannot afford to sleep I must catch this very
moment before the good days end.
What can I say about a perfect day in October?
a mild sun that appears to be fused with silver.
A few cumuli, looking like a bride’s belt,
and the sky has a blueness that is not deep
rather of mythical haziness, a dream not yet
realized seeking understanding of something
that is limitless. The garden is full of flowers, it
is as a new spring has sprung, wordless and
in supple silence I can hear the forest’s animals
sigh in utter contentment.
I cannot afford to sleep I must catch this very
moment before the good days end.
527 reads
LOVE POEM
Published
7th Oct 2013 11:47am
7th Oct 2013 11:47am
mysterious encounter
Mysterious Encounter.
We sat in the park a packet of fags and
a bottle of wine, on the back of a napkin
I wrote her a poem of love.
While struggling to find the right words,
I hardly know her, she fell asleep, wine
of good quality can be strong.
I counted my cigarettes, had five left
but saw the light of a night bar, so I left
her there sleeping, went and had a drink.
When I came back she had left, my poem
written on the clean side of the napkin,
was on the ground torn to shreds.
We sat in the park a packet of fags and
a bottle of wine, on the back of a napkin
I wrote her a poem of love.
While struggling to find the right words,
I hardly know her, she fell asleep, wine
of good quality can be strong.
I counted my cigarettes, had five left
but saw the light of a night bar, so I left
her there sleeping, went and had a drink.
When I came back she had left, my poem
written on the clean side of the napkin,
was on the ground torn to shreds.
554 reads
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Oct 2013 10:06am
4th Oct 2013 10:06am
less grazing land
Less Grazing land
The mere on the knoll looked down at the grassland
a prairie of succulence where she and her ancestors
had lived and died for since time long forgotten.
Behind her, her foal only a few months old, larking
about as foals do. At the distance she saw human
Habitat growing closer, the land was perfect for building
creating suburbia, road and gardens where no horse
was allowed to graze and be free to gallop without
hindrance of fences and cars.
She could smell the city, it was foul in her nose, she nudged
her foal to go...
The mere on the knoll looked down at the grassland
a prairie of succulence where she and her ancestors
had lived and died for since time long forgotten.
Behind her, her foal only a few months old, larking
about as foals do. At the distance she saw human
Habitat growing closer, the land was perfect for building
creating suburbia, road and gardens where no horse
was allowed to graze and be free to gallop without
hindrance of fences and cars.
She could smell the city, it was foul in her nose, she nudged
her foal to go...
452 reads
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Oct 2013 10:24am
3rd Oct 2013 10:24am
rain
Rain
How easy rain fall by its own weight
On a landscape that needs it.
It is October and the sky is lead grey
For too long it was uniformly blue.
I walk to the shops and enjoy the sound
Rain makes falling softly on my umbrella.
A forgotten lullaby remembered a song
Without words just a hush of tenderness.
How easy rain fall by its own weight
On a landscape that needs it.
It is October and the sky is lead grey
For too long it was uniformly blue.
I walk to the shops and enjoy the sound
Rain makes falling softly on my umbrella.
A forgotten lullaby remembered a song
Without words just a hush of tenderness.
564 reads
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
2nd Oct 2013 10:14am
2nd Oct 2013 10:14am
bullets
Bullets.
Funny thing with bullets trillions of them are fired every year
hitting nothing only pushing air aside for a brief moment.
Bullets are not birds that fly and have useful destination, say,
catching insects. A bullet’s only purpose is hitting flesh and
it is not very good at it, but if there are enough of them filling
the air someone is bound to be hit. I saw a forest totally
denuded by artillery shells and gun fire, trees looked as hells
kitchen, yet when silence as it always will in a war, rabbits came
out of their burrows feeding on grass....
Funny thing with bullets trillions of them are fired every year
hitting nothing only pushing air aside for a brief moment.
Bullets are not birds that fly and have useful destination, say,
catching insects. A bullet’s only purpose is hitting flesh and
it is not very good at it, but if there are enough of them filling
the air someone is bound to be hit. I saw a forest totally
denuded by artillery shells and gun fire, trees looked as hells
kitchen, yet when silence as it always will in a war, rabbits came
out of their burrows feeding on grass....
590 reads
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
1st Oct 2013 9:19am
1st Oct 2013 9:19am
the doorman
The Doorman.
When I´m in a shop and see people approach its door I rush forward
and open it, this is not to be polite but I was a doorman at a posh
hotel fr 25 years. I also opened taxi doors for guests and had an umbrella
ready if it rained to shield from too much reality.
A posh hotel is an artificial place everyone is polite to a guest and
the staff mingling with the posh tend to ,when not working, take on an air
of superiority which doesn´t go down well with the kitchen staff.
My wife tells me to stop opening doors for all and sundry, but what
can I...
When I´m in a shop and see people approach its door I rush forward
and open it, this is not to be polite but I was a doorman at a posh
hotel fr 25 years. I also opened taxi doors for guests and had an umbrella
ready if it rained to shield from too much reality.
A posh hotel is an artificial place everyone is polite to a guest and
the staff mingling with the posh tend to ,when not working, take on an air
of superiority which doesn´t go down well with the kitchen staff.
My wife tells me to stop opening doors for all and sundry, but what
can I...
562 reads
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Sep 2013 7:37pm
30th Sep 2013 7:37pm
man eater
Man Eater.
I was filleting a mackerel when I found a finger in its innards
not much left of it looked like a prawn shell with fingernail,
I said nothing dipped the fillets in flour and deep fried them
served with cucumber salad, boiled potatoes and melted
butter, just the way they like it in Sweden.
The finger was spotted again amongst all the stuff to be thrown
into the bin. great commotion, I said nothing, but have not since
been eating mackerels, they apparently feed on fishermen.
I was filleting a mackerel when I found a finger in its innards
not much left of it looked like a prawn shell with fingernail,
I said nothing dipped the fillets in flour and deep fried them
served with cucumber salad, boiled potatoes and melted
butter, just the way they like it in Sweden.
The finger was spotted again amongst all the stuff to be thrown
into the bin. great commotion, I said nothing, but have not since
been eating mackerels, they apparently feed on fishermen.
552 reads
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
23rd Sep 2013 1:20pm
23rd Sep 2013 1:20pm
epigram
Epigram
To have few secrets is a recipe
For an untroubled life.
But those who have no secrets
Must have lived a boring life.
To have few secrets is a recipe
For an untroubled life.
But those who have no secrets
Must have lived a boring life.
514 reads
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
20th Sep 2013 6:57pm
20th Sep 2013 6:57pm
3 senryu
Senryu
The unwritten
Is a dream not yet awake
A soundless slumber
Senryu
Breaths of the unsaid
Hangs on an autumnal tree
Waiting for the wind
Saying
Silence is
The continuations
Of what was not said
The unwritten
Is a dream not yet awake
A soundless slumber
Senryu
Breaths of the unsaid
Hangs on an autumnal tree
Waiting for the wind
Saying
Silence is
The continuations
Of what was not said
498 reads
ANGER POEM
Published
20th Sep 2013 9:49am
20th Sep 2013 9:49am
the elegy
The Elegy
From Chicago to Washington
Guns play their fatal crescendo
Not much glissando
Too many musicians
Or too many instruments?
From Chicago to Washington
Guns play their fatal crescendo
Not much glissando
Too many musicians
Or too many instruments?
507 reads
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Sep 2013 9:39am
19th Sep 2013 9:39am
a valley in Portugal
A Valley in Portugal.
I have promised to visit my brother in Spain. I’m not leaving yet,
the fall here in my vale is too beautiful to leave right now; it is
the wonderful colours and in the meadow rabbits play…
or used to, I have not walked in the forest for a while, legs tired,
but head is young. But I have added a bit of colour too painted
the yard beige, the floor painted green; wife worried seeing me
on a step ladder. I love the fall, it is so soft and gentle, but we
know it will be windy and rainclouds will cross the sky; October
will be bad...
I have promised to visit my brother in Spain. I’m not leaving yet,
the fall here in my vale is too beautiful to leave right now; it is
the wonderful colours and in the meadow rabbits play…
or used to, I have not walked in the forest for a while, legs tired,
but head is young. But I have added a bit of colour too painted
the yard beige, the floor painted green; wife worried seeing me
on a step ladder. I love the fall, it is so soft and gentle, but we
know it will be windy and rainclouds will cross the sky; October
will be bad...
449 reads
DU Poetry : Submissions by oskar
