Submissions by oskar
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Apr 2013 12:30pm
9th Apr 2013 12:30pm
Harmony
The Harmony
I saw a village on top of a cliff overlooking the sea,
and each tiny house had a nameplate.
The road up was cumbersome a track of thistles,
I thought only the brave gets to dwell where sea
and land meets in harmony, when work has ended
and flowers are but memories of the bygone.
However hard the track is I will reach the top,
my house will face north where winter storm roars
and summers, a waterfall dream in a blue fjord.
I will know I lived well, the better of two worlds and
I shall not ask for more.
I saw a village on top of a cliff overlooking the sea,
and each tiny house had a nameplate.
The road up was cumbersome a track of thistles,
I thought only the brave gets to dwell where sea
and land meets in harmony, when work has ended
and flowers are but memories of the bygone.
However hard the track is I will reach the top,
my house will face north where winter storm roars
and summers, a waterfall dream in a blue fjord.
I will know I lived well, the better of two worlds and
I shall not ask for more.
587 reads
ANGER POEM
Published
8th Apr 2013 8:56pm
8th Apr 2013 8:56pm
the Demise of Lady MT
The Demise of MT
Margaret Thatcher is dead
But her legacy lives on.
She went to world against
The working classes
And won
She was a visionary of evil
And her message of hate
Prevails.
A strong leader
An elected dictator never
Seen before.
One hope the likes of her
Will never reappear.
Margaret Thatcher is dead
But her legacy lives on.
She went to world against
The working classes
And won
She was a visionary of evil
And her message of hate
Prevails.
A strong leader
An elected dictator never
Seen before.
One hope the likes of her
Will never reappear.
533 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
7th Apr 2013 11:18pm
7th Apr 2013 11:18pm
summer wine
Summer Wine
Summer of 1960 was the season of my life, war and poverty
had kept the family apart and for the first time…
and as it turned out, the last time too;
in a summer house overlooking a fjord and mountains that
still had snow on peaks.
My mother´s generation has long since gone, as has my
generation too and I´m the only thread leading back to that
summer of beauty tingled with melancholy. It was as
we knew this was the end, like something precious was
slipping through our hands.
The days we spent together were...
Summer of 1960 was the season of my life, war and poverty
had kept the family apart and for the first time…
and as it turned out, the last time too;
in a summer house overlooking a fjord and mountains that
still had snow on peaks.
My mother´s generation has long since gone, as has my
generation too and I´m the only thread leading back to that
summer of beauty tingled with melancholy. It was as
we knew this was the end, like something precious was
slipping through our hands.
The days we spent together were...
602 reads
STORY POEM
Published
29th Mar 2013 8:42pm
29th Mar 2013 8:42pm
Easter reading
Easter Reading
In Lima – Peru- a hippo was pulling the tram car with
its best friend a water buffalo. They had ended up
here, far from Africa, after the great flood ebbed and
had been blessed with eternal life, only being mere
animals they didn´t know this. In Lima no one made
a big issue of this, but when the wider world knew
and some adventurers set about trying to kill the pair,
in vain, the Lima people took another look, especially
since the church thought they were the devil´s own
handiwork and god would never had allowed beasts...
In Lima – Peru- a hippo was pulling the tram car with
its best friend a water buffalo. They had ended up
here, far from Africa, after the great flood ebbed and
had been blessed with eternal life, only being mere
animals they didn´t know this. In Lima no one made
a big issue of this, but when the wider world knew
and some adventurers set about trying to kill the pair,
in vain, the Lima people took another look, especially
since the church thought they were the devil´s own
handiwork and god would never had allowed beasts...
#animals
#religion
#narrative #humankind
#narrative #humankind
634 reads
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
26th Mar 2013 11:07am
26th Mar 2013 11:07am
a story of the unsung
A Story of the Unsung.
Man, horse and cart wait at the railway station, picking up wares
and delivering them to local shops. Every July the man and horse
go on holiday to the country side, so his animal can eat fresh grass
and trot about on soft soil, while the man sits on a stone fence
smoking his pipe. A frosty day the horse fell on icy road, it was
not the same after that, it was off its hay, lost weight, had to stop
often, up hills, for a rest. The vet shook his head too late, nothing
he could do for the beast.
The man got a hand cart,...
Man, horse and cart wait at the railway station, picking up wares
and delivering them to local shops. Every July the man and horse
go on holiday to the country side, so his animal can eat fresh grass
and trot about on soft soil, while the man sits on a stone fence
smoking his pipe. A frosty day the horse fell on icy road, it was
not the same after that, it was off its hay, lost weight, had to stop
often, up hills, for a rest. The vet shook his head too late, nothing
he could do for the beast.
The man got a hand cart,...
546 reads
STORY POEM
Published
25th Mar 2013 10:36am
25th Mar 2013 10:36am
apparition
Apparition
October night, northerly wind throws hard rain on windows,
the old house groans in agony under this autumnal offensive.
Mother is reading, my sister too has her nose in a magazine,
I sit by the table doing homework. We have no TV, but after
years of waiting a phone has been installed, a black fiend on
the side table. I had taken a dislike to this intrusive ogre, but
mother thought it the height of gracious middle class living,
needless to say, my sister too thought it wonderful.
Familiar steps in the hall, waited for the kitchen door...
October night, northerly wind throws hard rain on windows,
the old house groans in agony under this autumnal offensive.
Mother is reading, my sister too has her nose in a magazine,
I sit by the table doing homework. We have no TV, but after
years of waiting a phone has been installed, a black fiend on
the side table. I had taken a dislike to this intrusive ogre, but
mother thought it the height of gracious middle class living,
needless to say, my sister too thought it wonderful.
Familiar steps in the hall, waited for the kitchen door...
550 reads
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
23rd Mar 2013 10:36am
23rd Mar 2013 10:36am
spring and sharks
Spring and Sharks.
It is spring nature is green and there are many
variations of verdant, fluffy, shining to sober
olive, with emerald and jade in between.
Yellow is not in to day except for the sun that
shines and rain which is clear as laughter of joy.
Yet I think of lemon sharks that reside in
the Caribbean Sea, they live in shallow water
give birth to little ones; sharks can be avoided
by not swimming in their sea.
There was a knock on my door, a man nicely
dressed, tried to sell me insurance, something
to do with paying for...
It is spring nature is green and there are many
variations of verdant, fluffy, shining to sober
olive, with emerald and jade in between.
Yellow is not in to day except for the sun that
shines and rain which is clear as laughter of joy.
Yet I think of lemon sharks that reside in
the Caribbean Sea, they live in shallow water
give birth to little ones; sharks can be avoided
by not swimming in their sea.
There was a knock on my door, a man nicely
dressed, tried to sell me insurance, something
to do with paying for...
477 reads
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
22nd Mar 2013 9:57am
22nd Mar 2013 9:57am
The Killer of Man
Let The World See.
He stalks the night, especially towards dawn;
extinguish and collects light.
Sometimes when there has been a car accident or
a bomb has exploded,
you can see his shadow on a hilltop looking down.
He has a sack slung on his back-just like Santa
- ready to collect smothered
light. Perhaps he’s a shaman who knows how to
relit the light?
He lives a place that is never dark, ‘cause there is
always places where
the sun shines while we sleep.
He knows this and is therefore busy towards
dawn,...
He stalks the night, especially towards dawn;
extinguish and collects light.
Sometimes when there has been a car accident or
a bomb has exploded,
you can see his shadow on a hilltop looking down.
He has a sack slung on his back-just like Santa
- ready to collect smothered
light. Perhaps he’s a shaman who knows how to
relit the light?
He lives a place that is never dark, ‘cause there is
always places where
the sun shines while we sleep.
He knows this and is therefore busy towards
dawn,...
505 reads
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
21st Mar 2013 7:36pm
21st Mar 2013 7:36pm
Heredity
Heredity
The lamp that hangs from the ceiling
is made locally, one of a kind, and
it shines bright.
On the wall hangs its shadow, as shadows go
it is strong and has many details.
The shadow too has a shadow, a bit to the left,
this one is shifty pale, but one can still see
where it originated.
Alas, the shadow´s shadow too has
a shadow, so pale it hard to see its
ancestor was a lamp as it disappears into
the white wall and history.
A memory of – once upon a time –a dynasty,
until a new locally made lamp appears,
one that is...
The lamp that hangs from the ceiling
is made locally, one of a kind, and
it shines bright.
On the wall hangs its shadow, as shadows go
it is strong and has many details.
The shadow too has a shadow, a bit to the left,
this one is shifty pale, but one can still see
where it originated.
Alas, the shadow´s shadow too has
a shadow, so pale it hard to see its
ancestor was a lamp as it disappears into
the white wall and history.
A memory of – once upon a time –a dynasty,
until a new locally made lamp appears,
one that is...
494 reads
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
20th Mar 2013 10:55am
20th Mar 2013 10:55am
Alcohol Warning
Alcohol Warning
A man, to prove that potatoes
had all the nourishment
needed to survive,
began eating this bulbous plant only.
Many dishes can be made of potatoes,
yet it has limitations
sautéed, baked, boiled and fried
it is still a potato.
To relieve the boredom he made
a drink of fermented potatoes,
I think it is called Mjød,
drank it got drunk, went out and
bought a bar of chocolate.
A man, to prove that potatoes
had all the nourishment
needed to survive,
began eating this bulbous plant only.
Many dishes can be made of potatoes,
yet it has limitations
sautéed, baked, boiled and fried
it is still a potato.
To relieve the boredom he made
a drink of fermented potatoes,
I think it is called Mjød,
drank it got drunk, went out and
bought a bar of chocolate.
763 reads
0 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
19th Mar 2013 9:15am
19th Mar 2013 9:15am
Recollection
Recollection
Hidden memories, a picture or a phrase
floats up from the depth of my consciousness,
before I can grab a pen they sink back;
how much I seek I shall never find,
what it was
A pre- birth memory before words
and meaning was invented glued to the soft
membrane of the unborn, trying to articulate
the unspoken.
Veiled memories must be sensed if I want
know anything about a world beyond
the world that cannot be understood by logic.
I must feel the forgotten, see the beauty
of a rose hidden in the...
Hidden memories, a picture or a phrase
floats up from the depth of my consciousness,
before I can grab a pen they sink back;
how much I seek I shall never find,
what it was
A pre- birth memory before words
and meaning was invented glued to the soft
membrane of the unborn, trying to articulate
the unspoken.
Veiled memories must be sensed if I want
know anything about a world beyond
the world that cannot be understood by logic.
I must feel the forgotten, see the beauty
of a rose hidden in the...
575 reads
LOVE POEM
Published
18th Mar 2013 10:53am
18th Mar 2013 10:53am
Not Romeo and Juliet
Not Romeo and Juliet
Sea green, her eyes and long red hair
that shone like bronze towards twilight.
Her laughter, a peel of utter delight;
In my mind she was Irish.
She refused my adolescent passion
I was too young for her.
And I said: if you will not be my love
I will join the merchant navy.
It was winter, snow fell on the docks where
the ship was moored, but she was not
there to take farewell
We met again when we both were
middle aged, her eyes still green, but not
as verdant as the sea.
A melancholic smile, both...
Sea green, her eyes and long red hair
that shone like bronze towards twilight.
Her laughter, a peel of utter delight;
In my mind she was Irish.
She refused my adolescent passion
I was too young for her.
And I said: if you will not be my love
I will join the merchant navy.
It was winter, snow fell on the docks where
the ship was moored, but she was not
there to take farewell
We met again when we both were
middle aged, her eyes still green, but not
as verdant as the sea.
A melancholic smile, both...
544 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by oskar
