Submissions by mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Oh, Mike the Engineer can build your brand-new hip, or synth your pills. But engineers left unfulfilled poor Mike's creative writing skills.
Valiant
Her heartbeat echoes lonely in her empty self;
I can only hope her soul rallies
From its shattered, defeated state
To keep her heart company before it gives up too.
I can only hope her soul rallies
From its shattered, defeated state
To keep her heart company before it gives up too.
224 reads
0 Comments
given up
laying fetal on the bed
more empty fixture
than human
her serenity
belies her eyes
dead to the world
painted glass
matching the wall
she's facing
i've seen this thing
before
dark and hideous
invisible but obvious
and it grips her
like a demon
i've seen it yes
once before
one week later
i saw
a casket
fighting down
cold dread
that choking
paralyzing
PANIC
she's given up
it seizes my chest
the most beautiful girl
in the world
(inside and out)
no...
more empty fixture
than human
her serenity
belies her eyes
dead to the world
painted glass
matching the wall
she's facing
i've seen this thing
before
dark and hideous
invisible but obvious
and it grips her
like a demon
i've seen it yes
once before
one week later
i saw
a casket
fighting down
cold dread
that choking
paralyzing
PANIC
she's given up
it seizes my chest
the most beautiful girl
in the world
(inside and out)
no...
272 reads
4 Comments
Given Up
She lays fetal on her bed,
More empty fixture than human.
Her serenity belies her eyes—
Dead to the world, painted glass,
Matching the blank wall she's facing.
I've seen this thing before...
Dark and hideous, invisible but obvious.
And it grips her like a demon.
I've seen it yes, once before;
One week later I saw a casket.
So I'm fighting down cold dread,
That choking, paralyzing panic.
She's given up, and it seizes my chest.
The most beautiful girl in the world
(inside and out)
No longer...
More empty fixture than human.
Her serenity belies her eyes—
Dead to the world, painted glass,
Matching the blank wall she's facing.
I've seen this thing before...
Dark and hideous, invisible but obvious.
And it grips her like a demon.
I've seen it yes, once before;
One week later I saw a casket.
So I'm fighting down cold dread,
That choking, paralyzing panic.
She's given up, and it seizes my chest.
The most beautiful girl in the world
(inside and out)
No longer...
231 reads
0 Comments
Unique
"I'm really just unique," you say.
Are you? Really?
Because there's only about twelve types of people.
You should have stopped talking after "My name's Jess"—
There are so many less Jesses
Than there are people
Who think they're unique.
Are you? Really?
Because there's only about twelve types of people.
You should have stopped talking after "My name's Jess"—
There are so many less Jesses
Than there are people
Who think they're unique.
240 reads
1 Comment
Static Radio
We coincided at the party, music pump loud
And drank ourselves to a dancing state.
As the basslines roped us toward the floor,
The music, it beat hard and steady.
In that weekend-world of fleeting hedonism
it was the most stable thing.
We could brace ourselves on it,
let it carry the weight of the world
for just those few minutes.
So we danced and gyrated through the heat and the sweat and the press
And found ourselves further along than when we started.
The hits set us up like blind dates.
And through it all, the radio played on.
...
And drank ourselves to a dancing state.
As the basslines roped us toward the floor,
The music, it beat hard and steady.
In that weekend-world of fleeting hedonism
it was the most stable thing.
We could brace ourselves on it,
let it carry the weight of the world
for just those few minutes.
So we danced and gyrated through the heat and the sweat and the press
And found ourselves further along than when we started.
The hits set us up like blind dates.
And through it all, the radio played on.
...
269 reads
5 Comments
Crossing Paths
I remember a time when I didn't hate
the sight
the awful SIGHT of her.
She haunts my dreams
as she haunts my days—
that is to say,
dangerously random. Nary a moment
she couldn't befoul
by sticking her finger in my
open wound of a heart
and twisting (gouging!).
If I break my own heart, is that criminal?
It should be.
Drawn and quartered
to match my torn-out soul.
But remembering she exists is the worst.
the sight
the awful SIGHT of her.
She haunts my dreams
as she haunts my days—
that is to say,
dangerously random. Nary a moment
she couldn't befoul
by sticking her finger in my
open wound of a heart
and twisting (gouging!).
If I break my own heart, is that criminal?
It should be.
Drawn and quartered
to match my torn-out soul.
But remembering she exists is the worst.
321 reads
2 Comments
Hearts Entwined
When two hearts lovingly entwined
are cleaved down the middle,
It is impossible for either soul
to leave the other still whole.
Both leave part of their being in the other's embrace
and themselves with raw wounds.
And each keeps a piece of the other forever
because to part with it is too painful to bear.
are cleaved down the middle,
It is impossible for either soul
to leave the other still whole.
Both leave part of their being in the other's embrace
and themselves with raw wounds.
And each keeps a piece of the other forever
because to part with it is too painful to bear.
279 reads
1 Comment
I could kiss her tears away
I could kiss her tears away.
It's amazing how a dozen less wet drops
tearing long shiny furrows down a pain-wracked face
being nobly intercepted by two knightly lips
passionate in sympathy,
emissaries sent straight from the heart,
make all the difference.
I could press that cracked facade against my shirt
and bury it in my shoulder
and envelop the pain.
I was a sink for every hot prick in her eyes
and every ragged breath
saliva, salty tears and all.
I took them and stood my ground.
My love--always the conquistador--could take...
It's amazing how a dozen less wet drops
tearing long shiny furrows down a pain-wracked face
being nobly intercepted by two knightly lips
passionate in sympathy,
emissaries sent straight from the heart,
make all the difference.
I could press that cracked facade against my shirt
and bury it in my shoulder
and envelop the pain.
I was a sink for every hot prick in her eyes
and every ragged breath
saliva, salty tears and all.
I took them and stood my ground.
My love--always the conquistador--could take...
291 reads
6 Comments
Vivisection of a Moment in Time
She looses her words in the moonlit woods—
I cannot bear to be the recipient.
"I guess I just don't know how to be single."
As the loam pads our naked bodies,
holding us up like a pedestal: proud of our nakedness.
Infatuated with our newfound power
to bare ourselves to nobody and feel like it's to everybody.
Those words, sliding among the whisper sighs of leaves
like the very breezes themselves.
My heart knots for her.
"I'm just so confused."
Not confused, poor girl—your heart long since...
I cannot bear to be the recipient.
"I guess I just don't know how to be single."
As the loam pads our naked bodies,
holding us up like a pedestal: proud of our nakedness.
Infatuated with our newfound power
to bare ourselves to nobody and feel like it's to everybody.
Those words, sliding among the whisper sighs of leaves
like the very breezes themselves.
My heart knots for her.
"I'm just so confused."
Not confused, poor girl—your heart long since...
362 reads
5 Comments
Literary (de)construction.
Why has the literary world forgotten foot and meter?
It used to be the first device passed to student from teacher.
Although real skill and talent are required just to master,
Rhyme seems to have become arcane--A misinformed disaster.
Five-iamb lines have lost their place atop the poet's cadre
Of bright-gilt tools with which they crafted elegance in heyday.
And sonnets are displayed with all the Seven Worldly Wonders
As masterpieces of their time--but which now would be blunder.
And people say that rhyming works are childish in sound,
But...
It used to be the first device passed to student from teacher.
Although real skill and talent are required just to master,
Rhyme seems to have become arcane--A misinformed disaster.
Five-iamb lines have lost their place atop the poet's cadre
Of bright-gilt tools with which they crafted elegance in heyday.
And sonnets are displayed with all the Seven Worldly Wonders
As masterpieces of their time--but which now would be blunder.
And people say that rhyming works are childish in sound,
But...
264 reads
5 Comments
Five Years Later
Five years ago. How long ago it seems,
That judgment day for thousands,
The day the world pledged justice:
Oh, what a day. The memories,
Children huddled in small clusters
In the cafeteria, waiting for parents
To pick them up: military parents.
Would they see them long? They didn’t know,
Possibly spending precious time before duty called.
Then home, to watch eight seconds for three hours.
Oh the promises we made,
The fearsome stamp of words. I,
Not knowing what to do, cried “We Will Not Forget”
With the rest....
That judgment day for thousands,
The day the world pledged justice:
Oh, what a day. The memories,
Children huddled in small clusters
In the cafeteria, waiting for parents
To pick them up: military parents.
Would they see them long? They didn’t know,
Possibly spending precious time before duty called.
Then home, to watch eight seconds for three hours.
Oh the promises we made,
The fearsome stamp of words. I,
Not knowing what to do, cried “We Will Not Forget”
With the rest....
237 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)