Submissions by MadameLavender
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Awakening In The Promised Land
(Written for the "I Don't Want To Be Here" competition)
I watched along the banks of the East River,
My Euphrates,
As God gathered Time together
For one brief moment—
A preview,
And I am taken back
With each note from your guitar.
As Abram was delivered from Ur of the Chaldeans,
So shall I be freed into the city,
The Canaan of my world,
Where you are there, waiting patiently.
I memorized your touch,
Your eyes,
And the feel of your skin upon mine,
And awoke in the Promised Land.
I live by the Law...
I watched along the banks of the East River,
My Euphrates,
As God gathered Time together
For one brief moment—
A preview,
And I am taken back
With each note from your guitar.
As Abram was delivered from Ur of the Chaldeans,
So shall I be freed into the city,
The Canaan of my world,
Where you are there, waiting patiently.
I memorized your touch,
Your eyes,
And the feel of your skin upon mine,
And awoke in the Promised Land.
I live by the Law...
60 reads
2 Comments
And New York, Sighed
(Written for Atakti's "Beyond Mouth and Mind" competition, photo courtesy of The Robert Mapplethorpe Collection)
The city held its breath, and waited, letting the rain weep down around them, but never quite touching them to extinguish their fledgling flames. Confident yet green, they were, Patti and Robert; she, not yet the Godmother of Punk, and he, soon to be the famed photographer, Mapplethorpe.
The awkwardness of their waif-like build, captured in one flicker of time, that moment when we all are most beautifully invincible and ready to fly:...
The city held its breath, and waited, letting the rain weep down around them, but never quite touching them to extinguish their fledgling flames. Confident yet green, they were, Patti and Robert; she, not yet the Godmother of Punk, and he, soon to be the famed photographer, Mapplethorpe.
The awkwardness of their waif-like build, captured in one flicker of time, that moment when we all are most beautifully invincible and ready to fly:...
56 reads
3 Comments
Smokin' Bones
(Written for Miki's "Rastafarian Vibration" comp)
Here's my reggae song
'Cause my dreads are really long.
I wear lots of tye-dyed shirts
And my hair kinda smells like dirt.
But if I wash my head,
Say "So long" to the dreads
And because of that,
I'll have to grow 'em right on back,
So I might as well be smokin' bones instead.
Here's my reggae song
I won't make it very long
I like to play steel drums,
Peace-sign tatoos on my thumbs
But if I wash my thumbs
They'll slip on the steel drums...
Here's my reggae song
'Cause my dreads are really long.
I wear lots of tye-dyed shirts
And my hair kinda smells like dirt.
But if I wash my head,
Say "So long" to the dreads
And because of that,
I'll have to grow 'em right on back,
So I might as well be smokin' bones instead.
Here's my reggae song
I won't make it very long
I like to play steel drums,
Peace-sign tatoos on my thumbs
But if I wash my thumbs
They'll slip on the steel drums...
88 reads
2 Comments
Coomassie Blue
(Written for Hades' "50 Decaying Shades" competition)
Now that I’ve laid down to rest,
I trust you now, to do your best,
For when I was alive, you see,
We never thought you’d autopsy me.
Pathologist, friend, I worked with you
Staining tissues with Coomassie Blue
And other cells with Oil-Red-O,
Ah, my soul—where did it go?
I’m laid upon the grossing table;
Marcia, do your job—you’re able.
Hold your tears upon your first cut,
I feel no more, my nerves are shut.
I know you’ll look within my...
Now that I’ve laid down to rest,
I trust you now, to do your best,
For when I was alive, you see,
We never thought you’d autopsy me.
Pathologist, friend, I worked with you
Staining tissues with Coomassie Blue
And other cells with Oil-Red-O,
Ah, my soul—where did it go?
I’m laid upon the grossing table;
Marcia, do your job—you’re able.
Hold your tears upon your first cut,
I feel no more, my nerves are shut.
I know you’ll look within my...
59 reads
6 Comments
Gethsemane
(This one I wrote a few months ago, and I guess it could be considered "dark" in the sense of the foreboding gruesomeness of crucifixion, and it's been entered in the "Dark Writers Glory" competition)
If there was any other way,
But there is no other way;
Abba, Father, take this from me,
This path
And where I must follow it to—
Golgotha.
They can’t even see;
They slumber,
Peter, John, the others,
While the Cast-Out One circles around me
Invisible to them,
Even if they were awake.
“Son of...
If there was any other way,
But there is no other way;
Abba, Father, take this from me,
This path
And where I must follow it to—
Golgotha.
They can’t even see;
They slumber,
Peter, John, the others,
While the Cast-Out One circles around me
Invisible to them,
Even if they were awake.
“Son of...
72 reads
4 Comments
Benedicto
(Written for Miss Indie's "Evil never has..." competition)
I cried out to the Lord
“Lord, hear my prayer!
The demons arose in him, again.”
Domine exaudi orationem meam
And the Lord answered
“He has never loved you as I have loved you”
I called out to the Lord
“Lord, hear my prayer!
The blame has been cast upon me, once more.”
Domine exaudi orationem meam
And the Lord answered
“The Accuser has never loved you as I have loved you”
I beseeched unto to the Lord
“Lord, hear my prayer!...
I cried out to the Lord
“Lord, hear my prayer!
The demons arose in him, again.”
Domine exaudi orationem meam
And the Lord answered
“He has never loved you as I have loved you”
I called out to the Lord
“Lord, hear my prayer!
The blame has been cast upon me, once more.”
Domine exaudi orationem meam
And the Lord answered
“The Accuser has never loved you as I have loved you”
I beseeched unto to the Lord
“Lord, hear my prayer!...
90 reads
10 Comments
Promenade Of The Souls
I will find them there
In Springtime’s blush of blooms—
The Dead
Brushing off their slumber
Rising for the walk among the arbors of green,
The Promenade of the Souls.
I take my place on the side,
Seated,
And I wait for them.
There—
Do you see
The first awakenings
As they flutter open their eyes,
Stretching
Moving slowly
From the long winter’s nap?
The dapper men
And elegant ladies,
Dressed in all their finery—
Ivory lace and top hats;
Sunday-best
As they stroll the Victorian grounds
Not...
In Springtime’s blush of blooms—
The Dead
Brushing off their slumber
Rising for the walk among the arbors of green,
The Promenade of the Souls.
I take my place on the side,
Seated,
And I wait for them.
There—
Do you see
The first awakenings
As they flutter open their eyes,
Stretching
Moving slowly
From the long winter’s nap?
The dapper men
And elegant ladies,
Dressed in all their finery—
Ivory lace and top hats;
Sunday-best
As they stroll the Victorian grounds
Not...
57 reads
6 Comments
f**kwit City
(Written for Hades' "Haiku's of Hell" competition)
Hear ye, now, demons!
I declare upon God’s name
As angels witness,
That henceforth your hell
Shall be called “Fuckwit City”
As ye are fuckwits.
Whiners, ye all are,
Cast into the herd of swine
By thine hand of God,
Cowardly pigs, drowned.
Satan did not rescue you—
He hid his own ass
And laughed as ye burned
And were sent to the darkness.
Your time is short, imps—
For the hell you made
Shall swallow you all into
The Lake of...
Hear ye, now, demons!
I declare upon God’s name
As angels witness,
That henceforth your hell
Shall be called “Fuckwit City”
As ye are fuckwits.
Whiners, ye all are,
Cast into the herd of swine
By thine hand of God,
Cowardly pigs, drowned.
Satan did not rescue you—
He hid his own ass
And laughed as ye burned
And were sent to the darkness.
Your time is short, imps—
For the hell you made
Shall swallow you all into
The Lake of...
48 reads
2 Comments
Yankee Meat
![restricted poem](/images/extremecontent.jpg)
103 reads
17 Comments
Lick It
Written for Missy's "Not me, Not I" competition, using the ice cream photo choice to write about
Lick It
(To the tune of “Whip It” by Devo)
And in case any of you youngsters don't know the tune--here you go back to 1980: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xbt30UnzRWw
Ho-lee Shit!
Ice cream’s lookin’ whipped—
Into the cones;
Take ‘em all right home.
When the ice cream comes along,
You must lick it;
The ice cream truck’s bell goes “ding dong!”
You must lick it.
Get your tongue right in the...
Lick It
(To the tune of “Whip It” by Devo)
And in case any of you youngsters don't know the tune--here you go back to 1980: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xbt30UnzRWw
Ho-lee Shit!
Ice cream’s lookin’ whipped—
Into the cones;
Take ‘em all right home.
When the ice cream comes along,
You must lick it;
The ice cream truck’s bell goes “ding dong!”
You must lick it.
Get your tongue right in the...
117 reads
6 Comments
Once Famous
(Written for Rain's "Wild Imagination" competition)
I came upon him in the woods,
Eddie—
That’s what it said on his work shirt,
Embroidered, blue lettering.
I couldn’t tell what he looked like
While still alive,
For time had erased his flesh
And left only white bones
‘Neath the now too big clothing he wore
Propped and tied against the tree,
Our tree.
So I imagined….
Sometimes he was Eddie Van Halen,
Sometimes he was Eddie Vedder,
Once famous,
But now all mine;
My Eddie.
I always...
I came upon him in the woods,
Eddie—
That’s what it said on his work shirt,
Embroidered, blue lettering.
I couldn’t tell what he looked like
While still alive,
For time had erased his flesh
And left only white bones
‘Neath the now too big clothing he wore
Propped and tied against the tree,
Our tree.
So I imagined….
Sometimes he was Eddie Van Halen,
Sometimes he was Eddie Vedder,
Once famous,
But now all mine;
My Eddie.
I always...
96 reads
12 Comments
The Prophet Child
(Written for a young boy, gone too soon. See this thread for details: http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/poetry/read/6847/ )
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The Prophet Child
(For Jeremiah Oliver 2009-2014)
Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people! Jeremiah 9:1
And slain, he was,
By the monsters of the world
Come out from under his bed
And from in his closet.
The Deceiver and the Devourer
Brought real,...
_____________________________________________
The Prophet Child
(For Jeremiah Oliver 2009-2014)
Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people! Jeremiah 9:1
And slain, he was,
By the monsters of the world
Come out from under his bed
And from in his closet.
The Deceiver and the Devourer
Brought real,...
75 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by MadameLavender