Submissions by jadielue (Jade.)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
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Bark and Bite
The bark doesn't seem to be falling off
but rather peeling away,
taking with it
a membrane of mucus
perhaps it is sick
with a cold
it is Winter now
but the sick doesn't show
it only moves.
bubbles, and slithers,
cause their mothers taught
them that it is impolite
to show
when you are hurting
and it is only
to be seen
when you
want something.
I wondered then
why the bark was showing
me it's ill
and I found out not much later
that it was
hungry.
but rather peeling away,
taking with it
a membrane of mucus
perhaps it is sick
with a cold
it is Winter now
but the sick doesn't show
it only moves.
bubbles, and slithers,
cause their mothers taught
them that it is impolite
to show
when you are hurting
and it is only
to be seen
when you
want something.
I wondered then
why the bark was showing
me it's ill
and I found out not much later
that it was
hungry.
22 reads
0 Comments
Water
In the ocean
I feel like the option
to float
doesn't exist.
There is only
being pulled under.
I feel like the option
to float
doesn't exist.
There is only
being pulled under.
31 reads
1 Comment
Frozen
I had gotten
so fresh
with the body.
so fresh
with the body.
61 reads
1 Comment
Shipwreck Beach
Hungry tempestuous men clawing feral at
the sand.
Their clothes are a poor man's and it suits
their peasant names shone on their scowls,
and the beggars they are with hair unkempt.
Is it strategic to light fires for warmth? they ask
with their dumbed eyes, and in truth they just need
a friend.
Because horrifically splintered and calloused
hands from holding on for dear life,
all of their life,
makes them tire and hunger for a woman's
touch.
No, not in the way they'd say or readily admit.
From their mothers they...
the sand.
Their clothes are a poor man's and it suits
their peasant names shone on their scowls,
and the beggars they are with hair unkempt.
Is it strategic to light fires for warmth? they ask
with their dumbed eyes, and in truth they just need
a friend.
Because horrifically splintered and calloused
hands from holding on for dear life,
all of their life,
makes them tire and hunger for a woman's
touch.
No, not in the way they'd say or readily admit.
From their mothers they...
63 reads
2 Comments
Even Bees
Trading dignity for flowers.
All yellow, some green because they are unripened,
all at the same time.
Does no one think the bees are hurting?
No, not because of global warming or pesticides
but because they think they're ugly.
Their thoughts buzz around their heads too,
defacing their purpose and divination, depressing
them to the point that they stare back down at their
stingers again and think about pulling the plug.
Or will I take someone with me?
The flowers don't care, they wouldn't notice me.
When...
All yellow, some green because they are unripened,
all at the same time.
Does no one think the bees are hurting?
No, not because of global warming or pesticides
but because they think they're ugly.
Their thoughts buzz around their heads too,
defacing their purpose and divination, depressing
them to the point that they stare back down at their
stingers again and think about pulling the plug.
Or will I take someone with me?
The flowers don't care, they wouldn't notice me.
When...
70 reads
2 Comments
End Haiku
The sun is frozen
and my eyes are pointed ice.
Someone has to know.
Weather falls in heaps,
blanketing the ground I walk.
I don't think it's fine.
The siren is slow,
it is broken and injured too.
I loved music so.
and my eyes are pointed ice.
Someone has to know.
Weather falls in heaps,
blanketing the ground I walk.
I don't think it's fine.
The siren is slow,
it is broken and injured too.
I loved music so.
56 reads
0 Comments
Crash
The superfluous accident
of ex's and wives
combined in your heart
like garbage
or traffic.
with jeans
and white dresses
muddy
from the water
to accumulate and fester
until you acknowledge one or
all
sometimes simultaneously
to make you sad
because sorrow is too big a word
when you have none left
to say.
of ex's and wives
combined in your heart
like garbage
or traffic.
with jeans
and white dresses
muddy
from the water
to accumulate and fester
until you acknowledge one or
all
sometimes simultaneously
to make you sad
because sorrow is too big a word
when you have none left
to say.
57 reads
0 Comments
too slowly, it comes
I couldn't write down who I am.
if I had a gun pressed to your head
and you had to write it yourself
you'd do okay.
I'm different than that though,
you're different too,
I think that's why we're locked in this room
with a gun, a pen, a paper, you and I.
if I had a gun pressed to your head
and you had to write it yourself
you'd do okay.
I'm different than that though,
you're different too,
I think that's why we're locked in this room
with a gun, a pen, a paper, you and I.
62 reads
0 Comments
As Useless As Metal Lights
Your eyes are bronze cathedrals
of blue
why must I have you when you're so
used
no,
I shouldn't think that way,
you shouldn't make me think that way
I shouldn't have you.
of blue
why must I have you when you're so
used
no,
I shouldn't think that way,
you shouldn't make me think that way
I shouldn't have you.
47 reads
0 Comments
I Forgot You
When I touched my lips to your glass I forgot you,
I stole a kiss from your picture, the paper lips of yours
not quite the same, but better than the cold, dry desert air I see and breath and feel when I open my eyes.
There is a candle in this house, and there is nothing else. When the candle is lit and burns and burns it swallows the house slowly, the only end to this is to open the door.
I hate it when you're not here, and before I remember what you do with your hands and the expression that you wear when you walk out of our home.
Stop me, in this memory,...
I stole a kiss from your picture, the paper lips of yours
not quite the same, but better than the cold, dry desert air I see and breath and feel when I open my eyes.
There is a candle in this house, and there is nothing else. When the candle is lit and burns and burns it swallows the house slowly, the only end to this is to open the door.
I hate it when you're not here, and before I remember what you do with your hands and the expression that you wear when you walk out of our home.
Stop me, in this memory,...
70 reads
0 Comments
Bent
Foreign bodies in the turbulent air adhere
to the light fixtures, and to the ends of your
lashes on your closed eyes.. The cloudy
blue of your irises, which are momentarily hidden
strike me as original, though
I've seen that color thousands of times.
You're new to me, made up of old, known things,
and you own them well, with care, and I am frozen
for lack of a better gesture.
You are funny sometimes, in your actions, and your
naïveté, but it doesn't matter.
Because I accept them as you must no doubt accept me.
to the light fixtures, and to the ends of your
lashes on your closed eyes.. The cloudy
blue of your irises, which are momentarily hidden
strike me as original, though
I've seen that color thousands of times.
You're new to me, made up of old, known things,
and you own them well, with care, and I am frozen
for lack of a better gesture.
You are funny sometimes, in your actions, and your
naïveté, but it doesn't matter.
Because I accept them as you must no doubt accept me.
126 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by jadielue (Jade.)