Submissions by penACTION (Bee.)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Oct 2010 1:14am
11th Oct 2010 1:14am
Daddy boxer.
If a fist will lead to me being seen,
Or at best, heard,
Then the first finger of the five is a trick,
A lie, or something else
Of a different nature. A surprise.
And the second is just as nice, with a thick
Layer of sheen to hide the knuckles. A nail,
Brought to a claw with a file. Easy to slice
a growing lady's skin, and the pain,
oh, it sticks and it bites.
The third is new, or worse, something entirely
inbetween. As a single digit, it stands as mean, but
with his partners he packs quite the punch;
Quite the team,...
Or at best, heard,
Then the first finger of the five is a trick,
A lie, or something else
Of a different nature. A surprise.
And the second is just as nice, with a thick
Layer of sheen to hide the knuckles. A nail,
Brought to a claw with a file. Easy to slice
a growing lady's skin, and the pain,
oh, it sticks and it bites.
The third is new, or worse, something entirely
inbetween. As a single digit, it stands as mean, but
with his partners he packs quite the punch;
Quite the team,...
726 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Sep 2010 9:07pm
29th Sep 2010 9:07pm
Strain.
A̵̴̭̙̺̠̤̞͍̪͍͍̮̯͉̭͍͗̉ͯ̍̿̆̀̕n̿̀̍̄̒̒̋̃͋ͩ̑ͦͨ͏̮̱̺̝̞̹̰̦͈̣̮̬̠̞̣̤̱͎́ͅd̒ͦ̑̎̄ͣ̋ͯ́̚҉̵̴͙̠͙̰̤͕͚͉̯...
1051 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
16th Apr 2010 7:52pm
16th Apr 2010 7:52pm
Please forgive me. (Learn from my mistakes)
I am truly sorry.
The devil, I blame him,
For he dipped these very hands in ash.
Forgive me if I do not rationalise;
When my blackened hands
Shook with His,
A timeshare mind then blossomed and bent.
Imagine what you cant:
Charcoal lines being drawn with my fingertips,
Only for my heels to blur and cross them.
That is the war, son.
We are binded, the devil and I.
With a pestle and mortar
Of marble and pewter
He massages my skull into powder.
...
The devil, I blame him,
For he dipped these very hands in ash.
Forgive me if I do not rationalise;
When my blackened hands
Shook with His,
A timeshare mind then blossomed and bent.
Imagine what you cant:
Charcoal lines being drawn with my fingertips,
Only for my heels to blur and cross them.
That is the war, son.
We are binded, the devil and I.
With a pestle and mortar
Of marble and pewter
He massages my skull into powder.
...
#dark
#forgiveness
1010 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
12th Apr 2010 9:32pm
12th Apr 2010 9:32pm
Training the family pit bull.
Poor Rocky. Poor Scruff.
Mutts on the pedestals, gather round:
Notice I wear this coat of nylon.
This is my day suit,
And you wear yours. Content and submissive.
From one hound to another, my advice?
Recognise prey. Don't play with your food.
Yes, this job, it's tough. I am covered
In lacerations, my labours of love.
Picking at the stitches, the progress,
As if I am digging for bones!
The highlight, I'd have to say,
Is watching you do this to me.
You wild animals,
You must learn. You crave flesh.
Provoking is most...
Mutts on the pedestals, gather round:
Notice I wear this coat of nylon.
This is my day suit,
And you wear yours. Content and submissive.
From one hound to another, my advice?
Recognise prey. Don't play with your food.
Yes, this job, it's tough. I am covered
In lacerations, my labours of love.
Picking at the stitches, the progress,
As if I am digging for bones!
The highlight, I'd have to say,
Is watching you do this to me.
You wild animals,
You must learn. You crave flesh.
Provoking is most...
721 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Mar 2010 11:44pm
18th Mar 2010 11:44pm
Panophobia.
(Panophobia: Fear of everything. A vague and persistant dread of an unknown evil.)
There's something in my pillow,
It suffocates me dry.
The feathers that once rest my head,
Now kiss a punctured eye.
There's something in my closet,
It hugs my chest with pain,
The place that sheltered pockets deep,
Is driving me insane.
There's something in my doorway,
It scares my darkest side,
The locks that used to let me leave,
Are forcingme to hide.
There's something in my stomach,
It's telling me to scream,
Get rid of all the...
There's something in my pillow,
It suffocates me dry.
The feathers that once rest my head,
Now kiss a punctured eye.
There's something in my closet,
It hugs my chest with pain,
The place that sheltered pockets deep,
Is driving me insane.
There's something in my doorway,
It scares my darkest side,
The locks that used to let me leave,
Are forcingme to hide.
There's something in my stomach,
It's telling me to scream,
Get rid of all the...
1044 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Mar 2010 9:07pm
9th Mar 2010 9:07pm
Roll up.
Raise your hands. Any woman,
Man, who has tried to take
To the skies with a blade
And a bottle of bitter.
Anyone who has traced veins,
Taken biology in a bathtub
With a speaker. Those who
Lost their love for the weaker.
Stand up, those who brandish
The strain of age, the stain
Of youth. Those who'd had
A good enough look.
Join hands, those who have
taken a shine to wristbands,
Who once saw the tide go in,
leaving red on porcelain.
Those who have pink rubbery hit
Where their fists meet their sleeves,...
Man, who has tried to take
To the skies with a blade
And a bottle of bitter.
Anyone who has traced veins,
Taken biology in a bathtub
With a speaker. Those who
Lost their love for the weaker.
Stand up, those who brandish
The strain of age, the stain
Of youth. Those who'd had
A good enough look.
Join hands, those who have
taken a shine to wristbands,
Who once saw the tide go in,
leaving red on porcelain.
Those who have pink rubbery hit
Where their fists meet their sleeves,...
874 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
4th Mar 2010 9:29pm
4th Mar 2010 9:29pm
And it was personal.
And it's about time I wrote something to do with me.
I am the ever branded ‘Bee’, not by myself.
I’m young, and free, and all that hot air,
But I’m still incomplete. I’m wired
To blow, to catch fire, and you don’t know
That I’ve forgotten last week again.
Gracious. My magic number must be twice my age by now,
I just don’t remember John. Or Luke, or Matthew,
But I’ll always remember how to cook,
How to put the oven on. The very statue
Of a statue of a lady.
The girls I’ve been with can’t paint a picture like me,
The guys were dumb...
I am the ever branded ‘Bee’, not by myself.
I’m young, and free, and all that hot air,
But I’m still incomplete. I’m wired
To blow, to catch fire, and you don’t know
That I’ve forgotten last week again.
Gracious. My magic number must be twice my age by now,
I just don’t remember John. Or Luke, or Matthew,
But I’ll always remember how to cook,
How to put the oven on. The very statue
Of a statue of a lady.
The girls I’ve been with can’t paint a picture like me,
The guys were dumb...
934 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
3rd Mar 2010 10:56pm
3rd Mar 2010 10:56pm
Underage.
There's a man,
Medium build.
Stains on his shirt where a uniform should be.
Andtwenty threeyears later, I'm still
14/M/UK.
This man, you see,
is me. That little girl, you,
About thirteen. You have lost your last milk tooth.
Late.
Plaits in bunches in knots in bushes,
Socks in ravels in wrinkles in old,
Blood in cherry in strawberry shoelaces.
And this
is all too
hard.
Really,
My darling angel,
I'd rather tell you about my boots.
They're brown, like dirt, only filthier,
With more black than beige,...
Medium build.
Stains on his shirt where a uniform should be.
Andtwenty threeyears later, I'm still
14/M/UK.
This man, you see,
is me. That little girl, you,
About thirteen. You have lost your last milk tooth.
Late.
Plaits in bunches in knots in bushes,
Socks in ravels in wrinkles in old,
Blood in cherry in strawberry shoelaces.
And this
is all too
hard.
Really,
My darling angel,
I'd rather tell you about my boots.
They're brown, like dirt, only filthier,
With more black than beige,...
960 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
3rd Mar 2010 4:38pm
3rd Mar 2010 4:38pm
See Real.
Angel, heavens,
42, Male, Surrey,
Standard wings
Butter the pavement.
Flutter.
Just like me,
No fingerprints. My twin.
Sin. That's me,
Ruby within,
And I let rip to this bottle
Like a neck,
Full throttle.
Prowling, growling,
Unstuck and unsure,"Oh, what the heck",
Palm of my hand,
Plastic and serrated
Binoculars. Bag.
Running in tights,
Like the fag that I am.
Panting, bleating,
I'm feeling poor.
God's on the speakerphone,
"Repairs being saught,
Find it in isle four,"
Desperation,...
42, Male, Surrey,
Standard wings
Butter the pavement.
Flutter.
Just like me,
No fingerprints. My twin.
Sin. That's me,
Ruby within,
And I let rip to this bottle
Like a neck,
Full throttle.
Prowling, growling,
Unstuck and unsure,"Oh, what the heck",
Palm of my hand,
Plastic and serrated
Binoculars. Bag.
Running in tights,
Like the fag that I am.
Panting, bleating,
I'm feeling poor.
God's on the speakerphone,
"Repairs being saught,
Find it in isle four,"
Desperation,...
725 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
2nd Mar 2010 9:29pm
2nd Mar 2010 9:29pm
Quick thoughts, fast bullet.
Someone said,
With a gun to your head,
You can say, no sweat, you're
Worth your bread.
Give us this day, our penny,
Our shoes full of lead,
Knees at the buckle,
At the bubble, plenty
The toil. The trouble,
Don't end my life.
I'm worth the breath,
I'm more than many, the strength,
The bed. The effortless chuckle,
Always steady,
No, not the knife!
The gun's your friend,
Your gun is ready.
Last words, "I'm worth-"
The end.
With a gun to your head,
You can say, no sweat, you're
Worth your bread.
Give us this day, our penny,
Our shoes full of lead,
Knees at the buckle,
At the bubble, plenty
The toil. The trouble,
Don't end my life.
I'm worth the breath,
I'm more than many, the strength,
The bed. The effortless chuckle,
Always steady,
No, not the knife!
The gun's your friend,
Your gun is ready.
Last words, "I'm worth-"
The end.
766 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
2nd Mar 2010 8:37pm
2nd Mar 2010 8:37pm
The Big Bad Wolf
My secretary didn't tell me about my next case.
On a normal occasion, she buzzes herself into my office. She holds the next Big Grey File and grins a joker smile. My secretary, she calls each individual nut job a Character. She'll tell me about my next mental patient, my next Character, and talk with her hands. Read from the files as if they contain the greatest story I'll ever read. I'll feel it's my job to finish it.
It is my job to finish it.
This was not, however, a normal day. The file told me this. Placed on my desk, it remained mute. I dog my secretary's heels on...
On a normal occasion, she buzzes herself into my office. She holds the next Big Grey File and grins a joker smile. My secretary, she calls each individual nut job a Character. She'll tell me about my next mental patient, my next Character, and talk with her hands. Read from the files as if they contain the greatest story I'll ever read. I'll feel it's my job to finish it.
It is my job to finish it.
This was not, however, a normal day. The file told me this. Placed on my desk, it remained mute. I dog my secretary's heels on...
1260 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Dec 2009 8:17pm
23rd Dec 2009 8:17pm
Starving.
I stutter these words,
Amiss, I'm unheard,
No kiss from a bird,
And pain such as this,
Jest upon list after trecherous list,
Things I have scrawled, closed fist, I have missed
The last moments that are this pubescent bliss.
And pain such as this!
I tolerate shine,
Funded by lies - imitation divine,
Screams such as mine
"Please, trust me, I'm fine!"
The reasons I'm counting each ridge of my spine,
My bones, staining red, are abused from their line.
Screams such as mine?
I give you my keys,
A lock upon every...
Amiss, I'm unheard,
No kiss from a bird,
And pain such as this,
Jest upon list after trecherous list,
Things I have scrawled, closed fist, I have missed
The last moments that are this pubescent bliss.
And pain such as this!
I tolerate shine,
Funded by lies - imitation divine,
Screams such as mine
"Please, trust me, I'm fine!"
The reasons I'm counting each ridge of my spine,
My bones, staining red, are abused from their line.
Screams such as mine?
I give you my keys,
A lock upon every...
888 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by penACTION (Bee.)
