Submissions by williamcook
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Sep 2009 2:09pm
27th Sep 2009 2:09pm
Asylum - from the asylum
Judgement engaged - time’s slave
slips whispers over the shoulder.
Love is the only one to never lie
those branding, burning words
that make the heart grumble
with the cold hands of the stranger’s dominion
presenting polarised arcs, of disparate monologue . . .
What the fuck . . . ?
The long day has only just begun
& still each evening winds it down.
Still the clock keeps cutting quarters
always gathering doubles,
for the Ark.
For the what . . . ?
Limbs as arrows, chains, & beds
supported the weighted...
slips whispers over the shoulder.
Love is the only one to never lie
those branding, burning words
that make the heart grumble
with the cold hands of the stranger’s dominion
presenting polarised arcs, of disparate monologue . . .
What the fuck . . . ?
The long day has only just begun
& still each evening winds it down.
Still the clock keeps cutting quarters
always gathering doubles,
for the Ark.
For the what . . . ?
Limbs as arrows, chains, & beds
supported the weighted...
821 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
27th Sep 2009 2:04pm
27th Sep 2009 2:04pm
Encaenia
You eclipse me & I have
stained the Sun with black love . . .
death from a bottle cools my ardour
for a while, until I see you again.
Damp distance bleached, then blackened
with shadows, flocks of shrill birds
screaming for my blood.
Bound hands swollen & sore
body, silently numbed.
You set fire to the straw
you stabbed around me,
now reddened, with my burning life.
In these blistered hours of insomnia
objects are like lead.
They are more & less than they are,
as if fewer of them would...
stained the Sun with black love . . .
death from a bottle cools my ardour
for a while, until I see you again.
Damp distance bleached, then blackened
with shadows, flocks of shrill birds
screaming for my blood.
Bound hands swollen & sore
body, silently numbed.
You set fire to the straw
you stabbed around me,
now reddened, with my burning life.
In these blistered hours of insomnia
objects are like lead.
They are more & less than they are,
as if fewer of them would...
843 reads
1 Comment
STORY POEM
Published
22nd Sep 2009 9:37am
22nd Sep 2009 9:37am
Ghost in a Blue Dress
Where the wild things run
through the grass & the pine-needles
next to the shore
you walk
blue dress
wrapped tight with wind
your arms folded around you
the pines creak & sway
the surf brushes against
wet sandy shores
now grey with rain
waves tumbling greenly
to a gentle swell
small ripples run
from each rain drop
heartbeats
for you
the horizon curves a white line
dark clouds refuse to part
& nowhere can I feel you
yet there you stand
in the dunes
your blue dress wrapped around you...
through the grass & the pine-needles
next to the shore
you walk
blue dress
wrapped tight with wind
your arms folded around you
the pines creak & sway
the surf brushes against
wet sandy shores
now grey with rain
waves tumbling greenly
to a gentle swell
small ripples run
from each rain drop
heartbeats
for you
the horizon curves a white line
dark clouds refuse to part
& nowhere can I feel you
yet there you stand
in the dunes
your blue dress wrapped around you...
1048 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
22nd Sep 2009 9:36am
22nd Sep 2009 9:36am
My heart is broken like your arm (after Shakespeare - sort of)
You are so cruel, yet are you as wise?
Please do not try my patience with your loathing
for my pain will be etched
with sorrow’s expression.
Under my love for you, I have learnt not to love
by your teaching: as sickness
is coveted by other virtues of health
from doctors financially influenced diagnoses.
If I fall insane with despair
I might speak badly of you in my madness.
This sick world has allied evil.
Madmen, by mad-ears, are believed:
in the hope that I may not be such
& be dissuaded of your touch,
my eyes stare straight,...
Please do not try my patience with your loathing
for my pain will be etched
with sorrow’s expression.
Under my love for you, I have learnt not to love
by your teaching: as sickness
is coveted by other virtues of health
from doctors financially influenced diagnoses.
If I fall insane with despair
I might speak badly of you in my madness.
This sick world has allied evil.
Madmen, by mad-ears, are believed:
in the hope that I may not be such
& be dissuaded of your touch,
my eyes stare straight,...
784 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Sep 2009 4:58am
21st Sep 2009 4:58am
The Moon Speaks to Me of You
Shall we dance into the night
you & I
our words but a whisper?
What is it
that makes this soft sadness
so indeterminable
so impenetrable
sunk so deep
into this endless night?
The broken light that comes & goes
between the darkness
either side of dawn
speaking of your memory
ushering in each day
each, as if a step away from you
as if, a step towards you.
I see your eyes
the moon, dancing in their gaze
with each tremble
of our sudden doom
& each song of ours
sang & played
in...
you & I
our words but a whisper?
What is it
that makes this soft sadness
so indeterminable
so impenetrable
sunk so deep
into this endless night?
The broken light that comes & goes
between the darkness
either side of dawn
speaking of your memory
ushering in each day
each, as if a step away from you
as if, a step towards you.
I see your eyes
the moon, dancing in their gaze
with each tremble
of our sudden doom
& each song of ours
sang & played
in...
828 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
21st Sep 2009 4:56am
21st Sep 2009 4:56am
Mystic Sickness
This magic now
Has been undone
No new night
Will break the dawn
And spread the sky
Across its face
Its bloody orb
Blinkless, dilating
Bloodshot with mystic sickness
Then bloodless with the fall
Of tears, smudged mascara
As it peers across flat lands
Of the mind
This third eye explodes
Unravelling time
Like loose spools of red cotton
Dancing in ancient winds
Has been undone
No new night
Will break the dawn
And spread the sky
Across its face
Its bloody orb
Blinkless, dilating
Bloodshot with mystic sickness
Then bloodless with the fall
Of tears, smudged mascara
As it peers across flat lands
Of the mind
This third eye explodes
Unravelling time
Like loose spools of red cotton
Dancing in ancient winds
884 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
17th Sep 2009 5:05pm
17th Sep 2009 5:05pm
Staring into the Sun
staring into the sun
white light
pure essence
the burning love
hypnotic fare
resolute dawn of darkness
the eyes succumb
thirst for pure water
to chill the warm blood
pumping to the charred cornea
essential will
broken by nature
made & broken
seduced by beauty
the danger of vision
i stared in wonder
til i could no more
senses flared
flaming
excruciating joy
the brilliance
incoherent, insolvable
now dead to sense
recoverable only in
the pagan ether of each new dawn
a twinge of soft light...
white light
pure essence
the burning love
hypnotic fare
resolute dawn of darkness
the eyes succumb
thirst for pure water
to chill the warm blood
pumping to the charred cornea
essential will
broken by nature
made & broken
seduced by beauty
the danger of vision
i stared in wonder
til i could no more
senses flared
flaming
excruciating joy
the brilliance
incoherent, insolvable
now dead to sense
recoverable only in
the pagan ether of each new dawn
a twinge of soft light...
901 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Sep 2009 5:00pm
17th Sep 2009 5:00pm
Perfume
i love
the smell of the city
the hustle-bustle brilliance
of life effective in every moment
sweet ambrosia of death
sits lurking
in the shadows of rancid alleyways
signposted with ciphers
symbols of strange forests
hieroglyphics of night’s construction
breathe in
the humanity
breathe out
the horror
the horror of concrete & steel
a flailing colossus
the smell of victory
over death
not too unlike
“the smell of napalm
in the morning”
lingers
like perfume in the back of your throat
the smell of the city
the hustle-bustle brilliance
of life effective in every moment
sweet ambrosia of death
sits lurking
in the shadows of rancid alleyways
signposted with ciphers
symbols of strange forests
hieroglyphics of night’s construction
breathe in
the humanity
breathe out
the horror
the horror of concrete & steel
a flailing colossus
the smell of victory
over death
not too unlike
“the smell of napalm
in the morning”
lingers
like perfume in the back of your throat
945 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
16th Sep 2009 5:34am
16th Sep 2009 5:34am
The edge of the night
I
A table spread in a tomb, dinner for the dead
the dead! Why did you pay a visit to my eyes last night?
Night is the time for angels of dreams
we who, each of us, will one day return
to our hungry mother the grave. The darkness comes
from knowing nothing is ours, except death
takes bites out of my heart. O Asclepius pupil
teacher Chiron, please bring medicine
to my dead love, and I forever understudy
will attempt some sort of attainment
to wake with a sore splitting back from the cold floor
in borrowed clothes and eyes, lent...
A table spread in a tomb, dinner for the dead
the dead! Why did you pay a visit to my eyes last night?
Night is the time for angels of dreams
we who, each of us, will one day return
to our hungry mother the grave. The darkness comes
from knowing nothing is ours, except death
takes bites out of my heart. O Asclepius pupil
teacher Chiron, please bring medicine
to my dead love, and I forever understudy
will attempt some sort of attainment
to wake with a sore splitting back from the cold floor
in borrowed clothes and eyes, lent...
920 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
16th Sep 2009 5:33am
16th Sep 2009 5:33am
It has been given . . .
What lies outside the heart and soul is restrictive decision
that leads an arterial bypass past life’s true intentions.
Love gone, never to be reflected in the passage of one’s lifetime
tradition all too familiar in the lives of many
too old to go back, to dream the dream
to partake in life’s big meanings.
Losing space in a trajectory of time
net advancement of four walls of fear
all else uninvolved, seems so far, so sublime.
Rain starts falling, damp blankets of ash
caresses turn from light to sodden
with frozen napalm kisses
the...
that leads an arterial bypass past life’s true intentions.
Love gone, never to be reflected in the passage of one’s lifetime
tradition all too familiar in the lives of many
too old to go back, to dream the dream
to partake in life’s big meanings.
Losing space in a trajectory of time
net advancement of four walls of fear
all else uninvolved, seems so far, so sublime.
Rain starts falling, damp blankets of ash
caresses turn from light to sodden
with frozen napalm kisses
the...
911 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
14th Sep 2009 3:32pm
14th Sep 2009 3:32pm
These Things
I:
these futile lines
bleed heartfelt sorrow
regret falls
on deaf ears
a mute heart
clenched like a fist
to have a response
anything . . .
anything, would do
& yet i know
this miracle does not exist
in this world
that this gift is something
no-one wants to give
the false illusion of love
has fooled me deeply
pulled me darkly into depths
my senses dazzled
with the promise of it all
with this fiction
these words
now uttered
they must be said, these things, this way. For this, is my...
these futile lines
bleed heartfelt sorrow
regret falls
on deaf ears
a mute heart
clenched like a fist
to have a response
anything . . .
anything, would do
& yet i know
this miracle does not exist
in this world
that this gift is something
no-one wants to give
the false illusion of love
has fooled me deeply
pulled me darkly into depths
my senses dazzled
with the promise of it all
with this fiction
these words
now uttered
they must be said, these things, this way. For this, is my...
905 reads
2 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
14th Sep 2009 3:30pm
14th Sep 2009 3:30pm
God is not an American
david bowie said:
“god is an american”
nietzsche said”
“god is dead”
madame blavatsky said
“there is no religion,
higher than truth”
i say:
“truth & religion
are non-compatible”
by the way,
this is not a political poem
or a religious poem
my views (contd.):
a poem is an expression of interest
potentially, entertaining
possibly, thought provoking
usually, annoying
seldom, enjoyable
always, didactic
drivel – essentially
but this poem
is not meant to tell you
what a poem is or isn’t...
“god is an american”
nietzsche said”
“god is dead”
madame blavatsky said
“there is no religion,
higher than truth”
i say:
“truth & religion
are non-compatible”
by the way,
this is not a political poem
or a religious poem
my views (contd.):
a poem is an expression of interest
potentially, entertaining
possibly, thought provoking
usually, annoying
seldom, enjoyable
always, didactic
drivel – essentially
but this poem
is not meant to tell you
what a poem is or isn’t...
992 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by williamcook
