Submissions by Bowtruckled (Shelley Marie)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Images: Gather the smoke from the candle into a jar so that it can be viewed plainly from all angles.
The Way I Love You
The way I love you
is like the unfolding
of the petals on a spring blossom –
new, gentle, and willing
to open up in the light,
sway with the changing winds,
and hold on through the storms
that bend the bough.
©Shelley Marie
I'm not really one for love poems... but we all need a little love now and then :)
is like the unfolding
of the petals on a spring blossom –
new, gentle, and willing
to open up in the light,
sway with the changing winds,
and hold on through the storms
that bend the bough.
©Shelley Marie
I'm not really one for love poems... but we all need a little love now and then :)
171 reads
4 Comments
Madness
My vision becomes blurry:
the impulse begs for control,
muscles twitch in anticipation;
my knees cannot withstand the quaking –
a crack resounds as bone meets stone.
I cry because it is too much to bear!
Grabbing my shirt by the neck,
I rip it – as much as I can –
I destroy it.
I look down: rags, scars
and my nakedness.
Someone gasps,
another whispers.
My vision clears:
I see them all watching,
staring, and gawking
as I wither within –
exposed before them.
But then – ...
the impulse begs for control,
muscles twitch in anticipation;
my knees cannot withstand the quaking –
a crack resounds as bone meets stone.
I cry because it is too much to bear!
Grabbing my shirt by the neck,
I rip it – as much as I can –
I destroy it.
I look down: rags, scars
and my nakedness.
Someone gasps,
another whispers.
My vision clears:
I see them all watching,
staring, and gawking
as I wither within –
exposed before them.
But then – ...
129 reads
3 Comments
The Storm
In the forests,
the woody ancients
bend their brittle spines,
creaking and cracking.
In the streets,
the masses
beneath their umbrellas
reach upwards suddenly,
as their protection
is plucked from them.
©Shelley Marie
the woody ancients
bend their brittle spines,
creaking and cracking.
In the streets,
the masses
beneath their umbrellas
reach upwards suddenly,
as their protection
is plucked from them.
©Shelley Marie
67 reads
4 Comments
With A Ghost
Silence perches on my shoulder,
while the cold rubs a curling finger
down my back.
©Shelley Marie
I went out on a limb for this one. Honest feedback is appreciated!
while the cold rubs a curling finger
down my back.
©Shelley Marie
I went out on a limb for this one. Honest feedback is appreciated!
96 reads
6 Comments
Noose
A rope moans with weight as it slowly rotates
the delicate form it was given as prey:
Her eyes are bloody, yellow, and bulging;
a cloth over her lips hides her
gaping mouth – her last scream
was silenced. Her thin arms are snapped,
bound behind her, trails of blood trace her
legs, and her toes drown in a scarlet stain
beneath her.
© Shelley Marie 2013..
the delicate form it was given as prey:
Her eyes are bloody, yellow, and bulging;
a cloth over her lips hides her
gaping mouth – her last scream
was silenced. Her thin arms are snapped,
bound behind her, trails of blood trace her
legs, and her toes drown in a scarlet stain
beneath her.
© Shelley Marie 2013..
81 reads
2 Comments
Three Young Boys
Three young boys sat
in the wicker porch swing
swinging just enough
to cause a creak
in the weathered chains,
an easy summer’s night
wind teased each head of hair
while in the silence
each young mind cast a wish
upon the star that could be seen
smearing itself
upon a blackened canvas.
©Shelley Marie 2012
in the wicker porch swing
swinging just enough
to cause a creak
in the weathered chains,
an easy summer’s night
wind teased each head of hair
while in the silence
each young mind cast a wish
upon the star that could be seen
smearing itself
upon a blackened canvas.
©Shelley Marie 2012
68 reads
4 Comments
Great Blue Heron
When the sun rises over the eastern hills
and glides across the glassy water
of the Shuswap in the morning
he is stalking his reflection in the shallows
his neck recoiled to his breast
surveying himself in discovery
singing grotesquely.
©Shelley Marie 2012
and glides across the glassy water
of the Shuswap in the morning
he is stalking his reflection in the shallows
his neck recoiled to his breast
surveying himself in discovery
singing grotesquely.
©Shelley Marie 2012
148 reads
10 Comments
Tonight
It is late
and I am alone;
the house is still,
and growing cold.
A light turns on –
even though
I have not moved.
I almost missed
the flicker of shadow
across the hall;
silence.
I wait in the cold
while the chill
sweeps up my back.
My breath is paused;
perhaps it was nothing
…
Suddenly, the light is off;
I sneak a breath,
stifle a shiver.
The house is quiet
and the cold is lingering.
©Shelley Marie 2013
and I am alone;
the house is still,
and growing cold.
A light turns on –
even though
I have not moved.
I almost missed
the flicker of shadow
across the hall;
silence.
I wait in the cold
while the chill
sweeps up my back.
My breath is paused;
perhaps it was nothing
…
Suddenly, the light is off;
I sneak a breath,
stifle a shiver.
The house is quiet
and the cold is lingering.
©Shelley Marie 2013
125 reads
7 Comments
In My Small Hands
In my small hands
your morning is spent,
as you hold for me
an organic blend from China –
donated by mother
earth and jasmine –
I hold your form,
small, solid and smooth
with my warming fingers –
we exchange body heat
as my morning is spent
with you
in my small hands.
©Shelley Marie
your morning is spent,
as you hold for me
an organic blend from China –
donated by mother
earth and jasmine –
I hold your form,
small, solid and smooth
with my warming fingers –
we exchange body heat
as my morning is spent
with you
in my small hands.
©Shelley Marie
58 reads
2 Comments
the Lake
I
Alone in the lake,
away from the strangers
(screaming and trashing
the beach – its soft surface
jagged with holes made by their
brightly colored weapons, sharp-edged-scoops,
plastic and flimsy but perfect for building
temporary structures)
is where the waters’ breath would tickle
her ears, filling and emptying as she swam
to escape the winds’ prodding fingers – cold
from travelling constantly.
II
At the far side of the lake,
where the woody skeletons stood jagged
and naked as victims of the...
Alone in the lake,
away from the strangers
(screaming and trashing
the beach – its soft surface
jagged with holes made by their
brightly colored weapons, sharp-edged-scoops,
plastic and flimsy but perfect for building
temporary structures)
is where the waters’ breath would tickle
her ears, filling and emptying as she swam
to escape the winds’ prodding fingers – cold
from travelling constantly.
II
At the far side of the lake,
where the woody skeletons stood jagged
and naked as victims of the...
78 reads
2 Comments
I Am Female
I am beautiful
But I am not confident
I am talented
But I don't believe the compliments
My eyes they sparkle
But not back at me
My figure is ideal
But not from what I see
I am very loving
But I hate myself
I want to help others
But I don't deserve any help
I am a shining light
But my thoughts are dark
I have soft, clear skin
But I cut it leaving marks
My voice can sing on tune
But it cries alone at night
My mind is learned and smart
But too weak to win this fight
I could make it far in...
But I am not confident
I am talented
But I don't believe the compliments
My eyes they sparkle
But not back at me
My figure is ideal
But not from what I see
I am very loving
But I hate myself
I want to help others
But I don't deserve any help
I am a shining light
But my thoughts are dark
I have soft, clear skin
But I cut it leaving marks
My voice can sing on tune
But it cries alone at night
My mind is learned and smart
But too weak to win this fight
I could make it far in...
144 reads
10 Comments
secrets
in every dream
there is a moon
with a face and hands that point
at the earth because it’s time to wake up.
in every morning sky
there is a blue whale flying
through the orange clouds
that are stirred into a warm stew
by the breath of his fanning tail.
in every passing stranger
there is a hidden gaping hole
that has lost its saturated cork
and has begun to leak black ink
soaking and staining the satin
that covers their nakedness.
in every book that has been...
there is a moon
with a face and hands that point
at the earth because it’s time to wake up.
in every morning sky
there is a blue whale flying
through the orange clouds
that are stirred into a warm stew
by the breath of his fanning tail.
in every passing stranger
there is a hidden gaping hole
that has lost its saturated cork
and has begun to leak black ink
soaking and staining the satin
that covers their nakedness.
in every book that has been...
127 reads
11 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Bowtruckled (Shelley Marie)