Submissions by rnabokov
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
to be undone, loose threads pulled, then the weaving of new cloth, skin to shape the falling apart of bones and my first stuffed toy was called Trotsky
EROTIC POEM
Published
21st Nov 2013 8:41pm
21st Nov 2013 8:41pm
I want to kiss you while you scream (for SD)
it is free-fall through velvet air,
the holding,
the quickening,
when your skin’s perfume explodes my senses
luminous flowers erupt
tattoo my flesh with flowers of blood
burst with each touch through skin in songs of yearning,
a chorus of breath and moaning,
this song of aching flesh is calling,
and when your tongue moves like a snake in my mouth,
when you stalk my hardness like a cat,
whisper,
give it to me baby,
give it to me
now
then my fingers find you open,
hold you feel me
muscle, flesh...
the holding,
the quickening,
when your skin’s perfume explodes my senses
luminous flowers erupt
tattoo my flesh with flowers of blood
burst with each touch through skin in songs of yearning,
a chorus of breath and moaning,
this song of aching flesh is calling,
and when your tongue moves like a snake in my mouth,
when you stalk my hardness like a cat,
whisper,
give it to me baby,
give it to me
now
then my fingers find you open,
hold you feel me
muscle, flesh...
1695 reads
6 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Nov 2013 11:01am
21st Nov 2013 11:01am
For SD
song from the sky of my heart
fugitive moon from the death of clouds
lullabies to the unfurling kiss of air
every poem a song from the heart
fleeing the silence of the closed mouth of mind
fugitive moon from the death of clouds
lullabies to the unfurling kiss of air
every poem a song from the heart
fleeing the silence of the closed mouth of mind
689 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Nov 2013 1:51pm
19th Nov 2013 1:51pm
The New Age Lonely Hearts Club
The New Age Lonely Hearts Club, a true story.
(Suddenly not so) Serene
Hello.
I’m a manic-depressive and recently, I joined a new age lonely hearts club.
The other week, I met someone who called herself Serene. I told her I was
manic-depressive, and that there’s many a slip ‘twixt disordered thoughts and the zip. Suddenly, she was no longer serene, and I never heard from her again.
Angel Dust
Then, I met Angel Dust. Whoa! She was into speed. That really appealed to my manic side. We met, married and had kids in 30 seconds. Then...
(Suddenly not so) Serene
Hello.
I’m a manic-depressive and recently, I joined a new age lonely hearts club.
The other week, I met someone who called herself Serene. I told her I was
manic-depressive, and that there’s many a slip ‘twixt disordered thoughts and the zip. Suddenly, she was no longer serene, and I never heard from her again.
Angel Dust
Then, I met Angel Dust. Whoa! She was into speed. That really appealed to my manic side. We met, married and had kids in 30 seconds. Then...
832 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
19th Nov 2013 1:41pm
19th Nov 2013 1:41pm
subtlety is best
subtlety is best,
unlike a slap in the face,
insomnia,
ammonia,
not the open legs of obvious,
the deep throat of unremitting loud,
babble,
unlike fools
subtlety is best.
mystery, yes,
no, not impatience!
fuck ill tempered cats
and those with all the answers
to unimportant questions,
give me the music in the spaces between sounds,
the swoon of skin's perfume
yes,
o yes,
subtlety is best
unlike a slap in the face,
insomnia,
ammonia,
not the open legs of obvious,
the deep throat of unremitting loud,
babble,
unlike fools
subtlety is best.
mystery, yes,
no, not impatience!
fuck ill tempered cats
and those with all the answers
to unimportant questions,
give me the music in the spaces between sounds,
the swoon of skin's perfume
yes,
o yes,
subtlety is best
636 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
16th Nov 2013 2:30pm
16th Nov 2013 2:30pm
Lullaby of Pain
1
wasteland this heart
pumps acid
leaves nerves corroded,
holes, sharp edges,
broken glass surrounds this trench of feeling,
everything gets caught,
collapses
torn and bleeding,
goes no further than this shell of skin.
alone,
with rituals and prayer,
alchemies of fire & knife,
gods, chemical incantations,
desperate to touch, be touched, this shell of skin,
to fly, escape the desolation, trenches,...
wasteland this heart
pumps acid
leaves nerves corroded,
holes, sharp edges,
broken glass surrounds this trench of feeling,
everything gets caught,
collapses
torn and bleeding,
goes no further than this shell of skin.
alone,
with rituals and prayer,
alchemies of fire & knife,
gods, chemical incantations,
desperate to touch, be touched, this shell of skin,
to fly, escape the desolation, trenches,...
640 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
16th Nov 2013 2:16pm
16th Nov 2013 2:16pm
Nightmare of love
in the furnace of need, I melt
inject me into your veins,
then after the rush
the comedown,
a stain on the bed to remind you I was here,
now sleep, till the hunger returns
inject me into your veins,
then after the rush
the comedown,
a stain on the bed to remind you I was here,
now sleep, till the hunger returns
646 reads
1 Comment
ANGER POEM
Published
12th Nov 2013 3:07pm
12th Nov 2013 3:07pm
What we do
1.
our needs define us,
those needs at the epicentre of our being.
and to understand what this means, we must first discover our heart,
the heart of the heart which underpins everything.
truth and innocence,
all are so simple,
yet we learn to shelter in labyrinths of lies.
2,
She is everywhere.
homeless,
she hears voices, telling her to sleep in an alley of whispers and shadow, desperate for refuge
from the cruel tempest in her soul.
As daylight dies, and night dissolves her into yet another anonymous...
our needs define us,
those needs at the epicentre of our being.
and to understand what this means, we must first discover our heart,
the heart of the heart which underpins everything.
truth and innocence,
all are so simple,
yet we learn to shelter in labyrinths of lies.
2,
She is everywhere.
homeless,
she hears voices, telling her to sleep in an alley of whispers and shadow, desperate for refuge
from the cruel tempest in her soul.
As daylight dies, and night dissolves her into yet another anonymous...
682 reads
0 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
11th Nov 2013 11:36am
11th Nov 2013 11:36am
Maxine and Harry Dine Out
(For non-Australian readers, Phillip Adams is a well known talk show host, Frank Moorehouse a fine prose writer, and Mussolini is alive and working as a pastrycook in Sydney)
At last! I managed the obstacle course to Maxine’s table and sat down. She’d already ordered, the food had arrived and by now, Lucky Dipp was no doubt surfing with shit at Bondi.
“Chicken Mussolini’, she announced, ‘you’ll love it. They remove the skin as well, for authenticity. And profit rolls for dessert. I understand they’ve got a new chef,
a dead ringer for Il Duce’.
...
At last! I managed the obstacle course to Maxine’s table and sat down. She’d already ordered, the food had arrived and by now, Lucky Dipp was no doubt surfing with shit at Bondi.
“Chicken Mussolini’, she announced, ‘you’ll love it. They remove the skin as well, for authenticity. And profit rolls for dessert. I understand they’ve got a new chef,
a dead ringer for Il Duce’.
...
736 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
11th Nov 2013 11:22am
11th Nov 2013 11:22am
jazz from hell
mornings ought not to be complex, and
certainly not waking up
with a head full of jazz from hell
outside, the remorseless sun chews up dreams and
spits them out for an afternoon’s bad mood.
Arghh, black coffee bites my brain!
As thought is still impossible,
I stick a finger in my eye,
the stain of nicotine an acid bath sears the window to my soul,
fuck! stinging pain! I can barely see for tears as
the blinds serrate the smoky air
to furrows of light and dark,
as fugitive shadows slither away to refuge
under furniture &...
certainly not waking up
with a head full of jazz from hell
outside, the remorseless sun chews up dreams and
spits them out for an afternoon’s bad mood.
Arghh, black coffee bites my brain!
As thought is still impossible,
I stick a finger in my eye,
the stain of nicotine an acid bath sears the window to my soul,
fuck! stinging pain! I can barely see for tears as
the blinds serrate the smoky air
to furrows of light and dark,
as fugitive shadows slither away to refuge
under furniture &...
586 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
10th Nov 2013 8:58pm
10th Nov 2013 8:58pm
a last good-bye
(for my father)
Morning is a requiem to tranquility,
in his bedroom cathedral of cruel light
pain stalks awareness like a cat
leaps, claws nerves
can’t move,
nailed to the cross of another day
get out of bed
gets half way
I must
I can’t,
falls back and
cries,
lays back and
sighs,
fumbles under his pillow for memories,
stories and photographs,
there’s one when he could walk
hear,
see a world more than intersecting walls
tries to get up from,
trapped
in the paralysis between...
Morning is a requiem to tranquility,
in his bedroom cathedral of cruel light
pain stalks awareness like a cat
leaps, claws nerves
can’t move,
nailed to the cross of another day
get out of bed
gets half way
I must
I can’t,
falls back and
cries,
lays back and
sighs,
fumbles under his pillow for memories,
stories and photographs,
there’s one when he could walk
hear,
see a world more than intersecting walls
tries to get up from,
trapped
in the paralysis between...
583 reads
5 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
10th Nov 2013 1:09pm
10th Nov 2013 1:09pm
until the rapture
I will save my breath
For when you hold me
Deep in your sighs.
I will feather with wings the wax of
my crimson heart, and
as Icarus obsessed with your sun,
fly until the rapture,
until I melt as shadows into morning
fall like tears
until dust
until even the shape of my memory
into nothing but white
For when you hold me
Deep in your sighs.
I will feather with wings the wax of
my crimson heart, and
as Icarus obsessed with your sun,
fly until the rapture,
until I melt as shadows into morning
fall like tears
until dust
until even the shape of my memory
into nothing but white
663 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Nov 2013 2:29pm
9th Nov 2013 2:29pm
Adagio
As we wane,
everything
slows
down,
lost moments weeping,
unraveled in the labyrinth of paradise lost,
hope for the crucible of sleep to forge dreams of paradise found.
as we wane,
fallen hearts seek grace,
recover pleasure,
pain,
or somewhere in between,
a yearning
for the perfume of skin,
the taste of tears,
for hope,
where dream might gather memory,
as the sky gathers a nightingale,
for infinity to sing,
to beg for miracles of light
to find glacial hearts in thaw.
...
everything
slows
down,
lost moments weeping,
unraveled in the labyrinth of paradise lost,
hope for the crucible of sleep to forge dreams of paradise found.
as we wane,
fallen hearts seek grace,
recover pleasure,
pain,
or somewhere in between,
a yearning
for the perfume of skin,
the taste of tears,
for hope,
where dream might gather memory,
as the sky gathers a nightingale,
for infinity to sing,
to beg for miracles of light
to find glacial hearts in thaw.
...
608 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by rnabokov
