Submissions by spdred (spidey)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
mad seer. spider of the south. slowly and gleefully spiraling into incoherence.
love letters for the end of the world: x
i dream...
of coming to
my woman
with the future in my hands
and the prophecy in my eyes.
hardly more a man than myth,
and almost as alive.
i've come for you, i'll say. the games are over.
we both win.
the soil waits, the stones are set,
our work at last begins.
i dream of her then waking, of her rising,
smiling sweet;
of chains and weights then falling; of my woman,
finally free.
i yearn to see her hold her power high
and bare her teeth, ...
of coming to
my woman
with the future in my hands
and the prophecy in my eyes.
hardly more a man than myth,
and almost as alive.
i've come for you, i'll say. the games are over.
we both win.
the soil waits, the stones are set,
our work at last begins.
i dream of her then waking, of her rising,
smiling sweet;
of chains and weights then falling; of my woman,
finally free.
i yearn to see her hold her power high
and bare her teeth, ...
#love
294 reads
0 Comments
love letters for the end of the world: ix
how sweet the sky,
how vast, how close.
how mad to try.
how cruel to hope.
and flightless, although
strong of wing,
some nights
the cagèd bird
still sings.
how vast, how close.
how mad to try.
how cruel to hope.
and flightless, although
strong of wing,
some nights
the cagèd bird
still sings.
#SelfReflection
309 reads
3 Comments
love letters for the end of the world: viii
i rue the thoughtless passing of these wheels
above the bones of what was once a life.
i wish i could but spare a moment (in what memory?)
i'll hold this eulogy while passing by.
we are no different.
we are no different.
my life is worth as much as yours,
i mourn an equal...
what does paradise look like to you,
who lived beneath the rumble of this world?
your death is not unmourned, i wish you knew;
this smoke is rising to the gods for you.
sweet sinless life, devalued and unseen,
i rue that you are thought as...
above the bones of what was once a life.
i wish i could but spare a moment (in what memory?)
i'll hold this eulogy while passing by.
we are no different.
we are no different.
my life is worth as much as yours,
i mourn an equal...
what does paradise look like to you,
who lived beneath the rumble of this world?
your death is not unmourned, i wish you knew;
this smoke is rising to the gods for you.
sweet sinless life, devalued and unseen,
i rue that you are thought as...
#grief
#death
291 reads
0 Comments
tangents on time, for arya (pt.2)
Ask for me the stars, what time it is where they may be.
Ask for me the comets, when tomorrow is.
Ask the hourglass what sound a moment makes when passing,
But don’t tell me what answer it might give.
Ask for me the hills and rivers, if they count the days.
Ask for me the oceans, if they rue the past.
Ask for me these things, but do not tell me till I go,
Where I will find out for myself, at last.
Ask for me the comets, when tomorrow is.
Ask the hourglass what sound a moment makes when passing,
But don’t tell me what answer it might give.
Ask for me the hills and rivers, if they count the days.
Ask for me the oceans, if they rue the past.
Ask for me these things, but do not tell me till I go,
Where I will find out for myself, at last.
#secrets
#sun
#stars #meditation
#stars #meditation
284 reads
0 Comments
tangents on time, for arya (pt.1)
i.
How feeds the man each minute of his hour,
how uses he each hour of his day,
shall be to him the bit and rein of power
or destine him to idle and decay.
How makes a man the choice of every morn,
what face he shall put on, what mountains climb,
shall make much lighter for him on the morrow
the task on which today he sets his mind.
ii.
Let not a dream be only dreamt for years,
a mansion that could be but is not built.
Let not the sway and whispering of fears,
have thee forget that it is naught but...
How feeds the man each minute of his hour,
how uses he each hour of his day,
shall be to him the bit and rein of power
or destine him to idle and decay.
How makes a man the choice of every morn,
what face he shall put on, what mountains climb,
shall make much lighter for him on the morrow
the task on which today he sets his mind.
ii.
Let not a dream be only dreamt for years,
a mansion that could be but is not built.
Let not the sway and whispering of fears,
have thee forget that it is naught but...
#dreams
#aging
#responsibility
288 reads
0 Comments
the actress
i am
a sweet breeze singing,
wind chimes swinging,
and every beautiful
end to a day.
i am
rivers rushing,
sunlight sweeping,
and every kind thing
you could say.
i am
loved and loving,
cared for, caring;
glad as any bird
in a cage.
cold as a gale blows
through my bones;
happy. in every
possible way.
proper, polished,
always honest,
perfect, pleasing,
on display.
almost always
almost cracking--
no. i do not lose
today.
i am, ...
a sweet breeze singing,
wind chimes swinging,
and every beautiful
end to a day.
i am
rivers rushing,
sunlight sweeping,
and every kind thing
you could say.
i am
loved and loving,
cared for, caring;
glad as any bird
in a cage.
cold as a gale blows
through my bones;
happy. in every
possible way.
proper, polished,
always honest,
perfect, pleasing,
on display.
almost always
almost cracking--
no. i do not lose
today.
i am, ...
#lies
292 reads
2 Comments
love letters for the end of the world: vii
when your only warmth is fire,
when your heart has been uncrossed,
and when wealth to you means naught but gold,
then know this: you have lost.
when glory holds more weight to you
than all your brothers' lives,
and power speaks in gunshots louder
than its victim's cries,
when greed so grips you that you'd grip
a world no longer yours,
and heedlessly to those succeeding you
your fist is closed,
(should mankind be a ship, so you have set us on this course,)
when hardly could the sail be lowered...
when your heart has been uncrossed,
and when wealth to you means naught but gold,
then know this: you have lost.
when glory holds more weight to you
than all your brothers' lives,
and power speaks in gunshots louder
than its victim's cries,
when greed so grips you that you'd grip
a world no longer yours,
and heedlessly to those succeeding you
your fist is closed,
(should mankind be a ship, so you have set us on this course,)
when hardly could the sail be lowered...
#power
#humankind
#morality
272 reads
4 Comments
love letters for the end of the world: vi
alternatively titled, "a story in the future tense."
one day,
the last stone will shift
and the gears will turn
on Morningstar's prophecy.
one day,
steel will glint in the hand
of her Oathed.
one day,
her sight will burn
black as the coal
of the past's pyre
white as the future's ice.
one day,
she will bow to her Oathed's wrath
for love. to love. with love.
a last offering to the shrine of light.
...one day.
for now,
they are just two...
one day,
the last stone will shift
and the gears will turn
on Morningstar's prophecy.
one day,
steel will glint in the hand
of her Oathed.
one day,
her sight will burn
black as the coal
of the past's pyre
white as the future's ice.
one day,
she will bow to her Oathed's wrath
for love. to love. with love.
a last offering to the shrine of light.
...one day.
for now,
they are just two...
#love
#sacrifice
287 reads
0 Comments
love letters for the end of the world: v
red strikes once the landscape
of white smoke and black earth.
a signal fire, a funeral pyre,
a warning for what it's worth.
red strikes once the landscape,
first of hearts-- and then, of streets.
a march against who've marched before
to triumph, then, defeat.
red strikes once the fists and feet,
of those who care to see.
the fire saves and kills us,
we are burning. we are free.
of white smoke and black earth.
a signal fire, a funeral pyre,
a warning for what it's worth.
red strikes once the landscape,
first of hearts-- and then, of streets.
a march against who've marched before
to triumph, then, defeat.
red strikes once the fists and feet,
of those who care to see.
the fire saves and kills us,
we are burning. we are free.
#oppression
#power
#pollution
#freedom
#rebellion
359 reads
2 Comments
Gorga
a man went inside a cave in his mind. he came face to face with a gecko-headed dragon.
its fiery head alone was the size of a sixteen-wheeler, and its eyes were like great pools of iridescent oil slick. it stood towering over the man like a column of parthenon. its tongue slid up the side of its face to plop on one of its round, blank eyes, and disappeared back into its mouth-- a thin line across its entire face, reminiscent of a smile.
"who are you?" the man asked.
the gecko-dragon clucked once.
"you," it said. "you. you-ck. you-eck-eck-eck." ...
its fiery head alone was the size of a sixteen-wheeler, and its eyes were like great pools of iridescent oil slick. it stood towering over the man like a column of parthenon. its tongue slid up the side of its face to plop on one of its round, blank eyes, and disappeared back into its mouth-- a thin line across its entire face, reminiscent of a smile.
"who are you?" the man asked.
the gecko-dragon clucked once.
"you," it said. "you. you-ck. you-eck-eck-eck." ...
#family
#spiritual
436 reads
0 Comments
Prophecies: The Hanged Man
O Seer, in hands upturned now read:
that naught is thine, yet all for thee.
Which to the lock in thy chest is key--
of cards, the Twelve or Thirty Three?
What rest suspends thy grievance, Seer,
in branch and needle of these trees
shall be as much a scourge to thee
as capture to the starving free.
Count not thy sorrows, nor thy days,
let not thy heart the storm gale sway.
Unto thine Oathéd look, and pray;
thou shalt not fall. Nay, not this way.
that naught is thine, yet all for thee.
Which to the lock in thy chest is key--
of cards, the Twelve or Thirty Three?
What rest suspends thy grievance, Seer,
in branch and needle of these trees
shall be as much a scourge to thee
as capture to the starving free.
Count not thy sorrows, nor thy days,
let not thy heart the storm gale sway.
Unto thine Oathéd look, and pray;
thou shalt not fall. Nay, not this way.
#dreams
#faith
#fate
#spiritual
#sacrifice
358 reads
2 Comments
The Garden: Germination
who knew joy came in the form of little green shoots?
.
sometimes the waiting is hard. in all these in-between moments, when the wind quiets and the water settles, my head sinks down into where all the doubt and fear have sedimented.
and there, as time slows down, everything else in my mind speeds up. what if the seeds don't take? what if there are pests? is this enough light? is this too much light? am i giving enough water? am i giving too much? why is this taking so long?
(and i look at the calendar; only three days have passed)
i...
.
sometimes the waiting is hard. in all these in-between moments, when the wind quiets and the water settles, my head sinks down into where all the doubt and fear have sedimented.
and there, as time slows down, everything else in my mind speeds up. what if the seeds don't take? what if there are pests? is this enough light? is this too much light? am i giving enough water? am i giving too much? why is this taking so long?
(and i look at the calendar; only three days have passed)
i...
#nature
344 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by spdred (spidey)