Submissions by patrickbirdener (Patrick Birdener)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Hmmmmmmmm...
../../../.....
(this is a repost of something i posted within the last half year or so, but which a casual observerer here might miss, though i think it of great importance. so, here it is, again...)
a poet dies young.
the ghost drops in on its older self
from time to time.
a poet dies young.
the ghost drops in on its older self
from time to time.
30 reads
4 Comments
old poem from a jaded year, about poetry...
How much leeway would you give
a poet,
for perpetuating inspiration through the ages?
What lusts
would you allow him to feed, if he feeds the world
what?
What if she’s a confessionalist? What if he’s like me? Would you have to
eat the plate it was served on? What constitutes
a poem?
“The sky’s the limit.” What constitutes
a work of art, which you frame?
“One person’s trash…”
Shall I just toss these scraps of paper
onto a large, blue one, and call them fish?
Or maybe waves?
Let’s...
a poet,
for perpetuating inspiration through the ages?
What lusts
would you allow him to feed, if he feeds the world
what?
What if she’s a confessionalist? What if he’s like me? Would you have to
eat the plate it was served on? What constitutes
a poem?
“The sky’s the limit.” What constitutes
a work of art, which you frame?
“One person’s trash…”
Shall I just toss these scraps of paper
onto a large, blue one, and call them fish?
Or maybe waves?
Let’s...
35 reads
5 Comments
The King of the Poetry Underground Pt. 2
his fans cry out, pleading to have their praises heard.
the prince of the poetry underground
will not hear them.
his father never wavered, never changed his way of playing the tune,
he craved the same-sung praises so.
he died with his reward, the Lord of His Dark Verses.
that is not the prince’s curse.
he ponders deeply every rhyme and style
into which he wanders,
lost in love awhile, with its bright young flame,
until he sees it flicker, sees its weakness flutter in the breeze,
and listens to the whispers of other ways taking...
the prince of the poetry underground
will not hear them.
his father never wavered, never changed his way of playing the tune,
he craved the same-sung praises so.
he died with his reward, the Lord of His Dark Verses.
that is not the prince’s curse.
he ponders deeply every rhyme and style
into which he wanders,
lost in love awhile, with its bright young flame,
until he sees it flicker, sees its weakness flutter in the breeze,
and listens to the whispers of other ways taking...
41 reads
2 Comments
The King of the Poetry Underground
the king of the poetry underground
has many fans he listens to intently.
they sing his praises, raise his banner,
push his throne as it slowly rolls to extinction.
...
has many fans he listens to intently.
they sing his praises, raise his banner,
push his throne as it slowly rolls to extinction.
...
30 reads
2 Comments
jack and jack and jack and...
(I published this piece, also, within the last few weeks in the forum "playing around". but, also, i wrote it a few years ago.)
"Jack and Jill went up the hill--"
While Jack and Jim went 'round the rim
And brimmed their cups, and had their fill.
Jack and Jane at home, remained,
But Jack and John went on and on,
And conned 'lil Jane to a walk in the rain.
Jack and Joan were long gone, long gone,
By the time Jack and Jordan could look for them,
And failing, lay down, wailing and moaning.
Jack and June struck up a...
"Jack and Jill went up the hill--"
While Jack and Jim went 'round the rim
And brimmed their cups, and had their fill.
Jack and Jane at home, remained,
But Jack and John went on and on,
And conned 'lil Jane to a walk in the rain.
Jack and Joan were long gone, long gone,
By the time Jack and Jordan could look for them,
And failing, lay down, wailing and moaning.
Jack and June struck up a...
28 reads
2 Comments
poem...
an old poem, from 2 to 3 years ago...
i did post this recently in the "playing around" forum...
Where is the beauty that was there?
--Classically gone.
--Slipped out the back.
“How’s things?”
Things is good right now.
Things is going fine.
Like rhinestones on the water
shine until compared
by practiced eye
or layman’s eye.
The poor laywoman wept.
...
i did post this recently in the "playing around" forum...
Where is the beauty that was there?
--Classically gone.
--Slipped out the back.
“How’s things?”
Things is good right now.
Things is going fine.
Like rhinestones on the water
shine until compared
by practiced eye
or layman’s eye.
The poor laywoman wept.
...
35 reads
4 Comments
.../.../../../.**
(i wrote this about three years ago. i was going through my first experiences of some odd things at the time. maybe it has some soul, for that reason...but, of course, the dots at the end are a new addition.)
so life’s a carousel and someone’s pulling on the plug. so
have a cold one hit the wall cool your head.
let them roll, bleeding oil, sleeping in the middle again.
no one cares what you’re doing tonight either.
tomorrow you’ll be dead.
no one knows what they’d write on your tombstone,
including you.
"leave your heart at home...
so life’s a carousel and someone’s pulling on the plug. so
have a cold one hit the wall cool your head.
let them roll, bleeding oil, sleeping in the middle again.
no one cares what you’re doing tonight either.
tomorrow you’ll be dead.
no one knows what they’d write on your tombstone,
including you.
"leave your heart at home...
27 reads
5 Comments
../../../old poem em...em...could've put in "shoulder shrug." em...em...cough.../.../.../.........
apathetic nurses coaching
couchfuls of atrophy
to relax.
a mouthful of medicated
butter
makes the sitting sweeter.
switch off the light on your way out.
couchfuls of atrophy
to relax.
a mouthful of medicated
butter
makes the sitting sweeter.
switch off the light on your way out.
36 reads
2 Comments
"but..." said the...person...
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28 reads
3 Comments
, he said...
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you can take my advice from my younger years.
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i’m taking this.
42 reads
3 Comments
trains
(an old poem comprising two trains of thought. the statements of each line are carried on by the line two lines below it. there may seem to be some overlap possible depending on interpretation, which i had intended.)
That’s where it came from, friend,
I’m ending.
The hole from whence Idea sprang.
In a moment I will dig again.
Its form, as I recall,
This earth is falling elsewhere now.
Had its birth in living
Vs. not living.
Industrious boredom was its womb.
In every moment lies a tomb.
A verse was its first...
That’s where it came from, friend,
I’m ending.
The hole from whence Idea sprang.
In a moment I will dig again.
Its form, as I recall,
This earth is falling elsewhere now.
Had its birth in living
Vs. not living.
Industrious boredom was its womb.
In every moment lies a tomb.
A verse was its first...
31 reads
2 Comments
cats and cars
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our cats are all waiting for us to come in and play.
53 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by patrickbirdener (Patrick Birdener)