Submissions by penACTION (Bee.)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
DARK POEM
Published
30th Jul 2011 3:04pm
30th Jul 2011 3:04pm
Routine.
Like every morning he gets out of bed.
Toothbrush to jam shut the same yawning breath,
suit jacket masking a beast on his back.
Breakfast that's served to never be had.
He walks out the door,
to his car,
and that's that.
A body trained into ignoring the facts.
From nine until five open Monday through Sat.
Only this evil excuse for a man, he empties the
kitchen of his pots and his pans. He opens each
cupboard and seizes the cans, throws them
with hate at the wall where he stands. Empties
the fridge and then hurls it to match....
Toothbrush to jam shut the same yawning breath,
suit jacket masking a beast on his back.
Breakfast that's served to never be had.
He walks out the door,
to his car,
and that's that.
A body trained into ignoring the facts.
From nine until five open Monday through Sat.
Only this evil excuse for a man, he empties the
kitchen of his pots and his pans. He opens each
cupboard and seizes the cans, throws them
with hate at the wall where he stands. Empties
the fridge and then hurls it to match....
840 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Jul 2011 10:51am
28th Jul 2011 10:51am
Man.
Cockroach; you sit alone in your cloak,
resting in the ruins that you swear
you'd left behind. Smiling blind.
No, that's not quite how it goes.
Not this time. Oh, how I know what
they don't: Within your disguise
lies a heart made of stone, surrounded
by a moat of blood; infested with
the ghosts of lovers past.
How crass, never letting a lifeboat pass
to rescue the current soul. Letting the
rounds roll to the ground, firing blanks
just to make a sound to scare the helping
hands from your ventricles. There,
where I lay trapped,...
resting in the ruins that you swear
you'd left behind. Smiling blind.
No, that's not quite how it goes.
Not this time. Oh, how I know what
they don't: Within your disguise
lies a heart made of stone, surrounded
by a moat of blood; infested with
the ghosts of lovers past.
How crass, never letting a lifeboat pass
to rescue the current soul. Letting the
rounds roll to the ground, firing blanks
just to make a sound to scare the helping
hands from your ventricles. There,
where I lay trapped,...
792 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Jun 2011 7:46am
21st Jun 2011 7:46am
Possession.
Chew my tongue into pieces, taste each
one of my faces. Every crevice
until I can't take it. Enter
the sour blanket and spit out
the blood and bits. Succumb to the
brittle bones, the sordid flesh,
fresh from the body of an
otherwise useless carcass. Hold me
down, use yourself as a harness; an
animal protecting its prey
from natural decadance.
Moved, with my matter now a sect,
I stuggle to stay faithless
within this gracious head.
one of my faces. Every crevice
until I can't take it. Enter
the sour blanket and spit out
the blood and bits. Succumb to the
brittle bones, the sordid flesh,
fresh from the body of an
otherwise useless carcass. Hold me
down, use yourself as a harness; an
animal protecting its prey
from natural decadance.
Moved, with my matter now a sect,
I stuggle to stay faithless
within this gracious head.
#love
#FallingInLove
972 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
9th Jun 2011 00:22am
9th Jun 2011 00:22am
How to be rid of that air in your head.
Step one: Fill your lungs
until you feel the forearms
of your ribs hug the tissue.
Then, fill them some more, so
you feel as if something may
crack, or burst. (Don't worry,
you'll probably get there first.)
Two: open your mouth and let your
tongue ease the air out from the
back of your neck. There, you'll
feel your head drowse in protest.
Distract yourself by letting the
colours dance around your breasts
as they slowly deflate and rest.
And third, lay your head down and
cover your ears with your palms. Press....
until you feel the forearms
of your ribs hug the tissue.
Then, fill them some more, so
you feel as if something may
crack, or burst. (Don't worry,
you'll probably get there first.)
Two: open your mouth and let your
tongue ease the air out from the
back of your neck. There, you'll
feel your head drowse in protest.
Distract yourself by letting the
colours dance around your breasts
as they slowly deflate and rest.
And third, lay your head down and
cover your ears with your palms. Press....
839 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th May 2011 2:27pm
26th May 2011 2:27pm
Tourist.
And to your right, please cast your sight to the local
girl who makes her rounds eating everything
she finds that she cares about. There:
Less than loud, she says: 'It should
come as no surprise that I have no sky over my head,
nor that I have no ground beneath my legs. Instead,
try to keep an eye on your chest."
Well, that's probably for the best.
And to your left is all the rest.
girl who makes her rounds eating everything
she finds that she cares about. There:
Less than loud, she says: 'It should
come as no surprise that I have no sky over my head,
nor that I have no ground beneath my legs. Instead,
try to keep an eye on your chest."
Well, that's probably for the best.
And to your left is all the rest.
879 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
11th May 2011 6:45pm
11th May 2011 6:45pm
Fortune.
It's so goddamn hilarious, to a point
where my sides are splitting and my
guts are all over this page. To an
extent where my rib cage is dancing
with my diaphragm, making me double
over in fits of rage. Bloody funny:
that it leaves me delirious and silently
heaving; spitting my teeth into my hands
in hope of saving them for luck. I mean,
what's life anymore if you don't have a
little charm? Fuck those who say they
can read my palm and tell me when I'll
have my last day. If I feel like ending
this farce, then trust me, I'll cut away.
Draw...
where my sides are splitting and my
guts are all over this page. To an
extent where my rib cage is dancing
with my diaphragm, making me double
over in fits of rage. Bloody funny:
that it leaves me delirious and silently
heaving; spitting my teeth into my hands
in hope of saving them for luck. I mean,
what's life anymore if you don't have a
little charm? Fuck those who say they
can read my palm and tell me when I'll
have my last day. If I feel like ending
this farce, then trust me, I'll cut away.
Draw...
921 reads
0 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
11th May 2011 6:44pm
11th May 2011 6:44pm
Overtime.
It's a sorry sight to see.
This geometric abstraction of a body
decades past its warranty and
a fraction of the way it was
given to me. Stripped for parts
eventually. Maybe. Most likely
just buried with the dead and
defective doppelgangers in the
cemetery, or if it's lucky,
a brief stay in the crematory.
The inevitability is killing me
really, because it can't come soon
enough. "It'll be your time," the
watchmaker said, admiring my skeleton
Rotary that I'd given to inspect.
My reply was left at the foot of my...
This geometric abstraction of a body
decades past its warranty and
a fraction of the way it was
given to me. Stripped for parts
eventually. Maybe. Most likely
just buried with the dead and
defective doppelgangers in the
cemetery, or if it's lucky,
a brief stay in the crematory.
The inevitability is killing me
really, because it can't come soon
enough. "It'll be your time," the
watchmaker said, admiring my skeleton
Rotary that I'd given to inspect.
My reply was left at the foot of my...
899 reads
4 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
9th Mar 2011 4:49pm
9th Mar 2011 4:49pm
Smithern Wesson
You're not shy enough, son,
thinkin' you ain't bleedin'
at the end of this gun -
face down in the pulpit,
picking carpet from your teeth,
getting blushes from the nuns,
as you pick a little fun with
your fingers and your thumbs.
And you're a little bit dumb:
struttin' like a carcass
sans spine, sans tongue,
muttering a hot mess
down the breasts
of a loved one.
More rain,
Less sun,
More pain,
Bar none -
Now we let the record run.
thinkin' you ain't bleedin'
at the end of this gun -
face down in the pulpit,
picking carpet from your teeth,
getting blushes from the nuns,
as you pick a little fun with
your fingers and your thumbs.
And you're a little bit dumb:
struttin' like a carcass
sans spine, sans tongue,
muttering a hot mess
down the breasts
of a loved one.
More rain,
Less sun,
More pain,
Bar none -
Now we let the record run.
953 reads
2 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
4th Mar 2011 10:28pm
4th Mar 2011 10:28pm
Eulogy.
Goodness.
The way you walk this town at night! As if
You expect the stars to swoon and drop down;
The moon to relinquish his crown, and praise
The way you outshine the day.
Must say,
I admire the way you never frown at defeat,
Because realistically, you're no more
The king than you are the clown. Though,
As you are, you'd make the latter proud.
I'll make the call to
Sound the sirens. Loud.
We've got another casualty,
Trampled by their crowd.
You tragic little thing,
How do you like me now?
The way you walk this town at night! As if
You expect the stars to swoon and drop down;
The moon to relinquish his crown, and praise
The way you outshine the day.
Must say,
I admire the way you never frown at defeat,
Because realistically, you're no more
The king than you are the clown. Though,
As you are, you'd make the latter proud.
I'll make the call to
Sound the sirens. Loud.
We've got another casualty,
Trampled by their crowd.
You tragic little thing,
How do you like me now?
832 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Feb 2011 11:40am
24th Feb 2011 11:40am
iii.
She screams out, hands bloodied from broken bottles and cans,
Digging through garbage and waste
To salvage anything they abhor.
Mittens, maybe more. A wristband.
(Anything to do with you, Amor.)
Harsh; she parts the tides of trash,
Kicking and wailing, smearing blood
on a ruined little card until
She's taken indoors by the whiplash.
(Arms flailing, then bound to her sides.)
Times are hard,
But you're still my Valentine.
Digging through garbage and waste
To salvage anything they abhor.
Mittens, maybe more. A wristband.
(Anything to do with you, Amor.)
Harsh; she parts the tides of trash,
Kicking and wailing, smearing blood
on a ruined little card until
She's taken indoors by the whiplash.
(Arms flailing, then bound to her sides.)
Times are hard,
But you're still my Valentine.
794 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Feb 2011 11:04am
20th Feb 2011 11:04am
ii.
So, here I am.
Three steps behind this,
With only a grin full of gravel
To show for it.
And thereyouare.
Paces from our clarity,
Though your constant retracing
Leaves your emotions dazed.
Now, look behind -
If I am gone,
It is only because I am by your side.
(Possibly in front,
Though if only as a guide.)
The truth is:
If you were to take
This moment and use it to call
My name, I'd come running right now.
Any time, any place.
So how about that?
Say it aloud,
Once again.
Three steps behind this,
With only a grin full of gravel
To show for it.
And thereyouare.
Paces from our clarity,
Though your constant retracing
Leaves your emotions dazed.
Now, look behind -
If I am gone,
It is only because I am by your side.
(Possibly in front,
Though if only as a guide.)
The truth is:
If you were to take
This moment and use it to call
My name, I'd come running right now.
Any time, any place.
So how about that?
Say it aloud,
Once again.
797 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
18th Feb 2011 10:50pm
18th Feb 2011 10:50pm
i.
Here sits her bloody highness;
Bitch del Mundo -
humanised. Crying from
Her chair of bones,
Lying from her throat and
Spine.
The swine, Little Miss
Taking-her-beatings-with-a-grin-
and-an-'I-miss-you', expecting
You to wait another few years
For another kiss, until she's
Bored with her throne's negating
Iron fist.
Until she's tired of waiting
Forthis. 'til her
Minute hands stop clapping
The hours on and her feet
Stop pacing the distance
Between our lips.
No, allow you to revise:
Here sits a little...
Bitch del Mundo -
humanised. Crying from
Her chair of bones,
Lying from her throat and
Spine.
The swine, Little Miss
Taking-her-beatings-with-a-grin-
and-an-'I-miss-you', expecting
You to wait another few years
For another kiss, until she's
Bored with her throne's negating
Iron fist.
Until she's tired of waiting
Forthis. 'til her
Minute hands stop clapping
The hours on and her feet
Stop pacing the distance
Between our lips.
No, allow you to revise:
Here sits a little...
934 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by penACTION (Bee.)
