Submissions by patrickbirdener (Patrick Birdener)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Hmmmmmmmm...
Dracula cuts himself./
Dracula cuts himself.
He has tried to be something he truly isn't anymore.
So he goes to a bathroom counter and bleeds down the drain.
This is difficult as his wounds keep healing.
It gets easier.
He has tried to be something he truly isn't anymore.
So he goes to a bathroom counter and bleeds down the drain.
This is difficult as his wounds keep healing.
It gets easier.
319 reads
5 Comments
Her whole world reads like a fairy tale./
Her whole world reads like a fairy tale.
But her evil stepmother and her fairy godmother
both shoot up.
And Prince charming was no help when one of her glass slippers
shattered at the stroke of eleven.
And she would've taken her pumpkin carriage home,
if the driver hadn't gone in search of better fares.
Now she's walking home, and the story ends
at the end of the trail of blood,
because at home, someone has recklessly lit a cigarette
and fallen asleep,
leaving her home in cinders.
But her evil stepmother and her fairy godmother
both shoot up.
And Prince charming was no help when one of her glass slippers
shattered at the stroke of eleven.
And she would've taken her pumpkin carriage home,
if the driver hadn't gone in search of better fares.
Now she's walking home, and the story ends
at the end of the trail of blood,
because at home, someone has recklessly lit a cigarette
and fallen asleep,
leaving her home in cinders.
264 reads
2 Comments
My silent acedia has become/
My silent acedia has become
an ancient inside joke.
That's the only reason I'm not laughing
after the man in my head asking questions says to me,
"If that's the way you see it, then there's no hope for you."
I give a little smile.
"Better to have loved and lost"--
slaked one's lust,
had fun and been busted in youth?--
Truth wears many faces.
Mine's one in the back.
I pass people on the sidewalk.
Behind their eyes are memories of
kinds of places I've never been.
They snicker at the way I walk.
an ancient inside joke.
That's the only reason I'm not laughing
after the man in my head asking questions says to me,
"If that's the way you see it, then there's no hope for you."
I give a little smile.
"Better to have loved and lost"--
slaked one's lust,
had fun and been busted in youth?--
Truth wears many faces.
Mine's one in the back.
I pass people on the sidewalk.
Behind their eyes are memories of
kinds of places I've never been.
They snicker at the way I walk.
200 reads
3 Comments
Lend me an ear/
Lend me an ear,
and watch me walk away with it.
Surrender your mind,
and feel it spreading to the wind.
See your heart fall to the floor.
I'll sweep up the jagged, bleeding pieces.
Am I really such a charming speaker--
or do you just take things really hard?
and watch me walk away with it.
Surrender your mind,
and feel it spreading to the wind.
See your heart fall to the floor.
I'll sweep up the jagged, bleeding pieces.
Am I really such a charming speaker--
or do you just take things really hard?
251 reads
1 Comment
Just talking to myself again
Do you really want to go,
and stop saying goodbye to life's
manufactured meanings,
that can fracture so terribly
after breakfast?
After all these years, your
face in a shattered mirror, pieces of
your mind scattered in whatever direction
the wind is blowing today,
and tattered fragments of your heart you
would've held together, but--
to be forever alien
is to be alone with a mirror, no
comparisons made, no
friends to coax or chide, no
sludgy social judgments, no
reason to hold it all together, and
being shattered...
and stop saying goodbye to life's
manufactured meanings,
that can fracture so terribly
after breakfast?
After all these years, your
face in a shattered mirror, pieces of
your mind scattered in whatever direction
the wind is blowing today,
and tattered fragments of your heart you
would've held together, but--
to be forever alien
is to be alone with a mirror, no
comparisons made, no
friends to coax or chide, no
sludgy social judgments, no
reason to hold it all together, and
being shattered...
182 reads
2 Comments
There, there,
There, there, honey bear. Let's
look like rain.
We'll kiss the ground
and caress the truth
to find out if the future
is or isn't.
Hush, hush, dear one.
Can you hear the gentle wind?
It brushes a tear drop from your eye,
and tousles your hair, and tries
to gently wash away the troubles on your mind.
It loves you today of all days.
You are its kind, now.
Tut, tut, little one.
Let's make like blooming rose petals.
Life was broken,
and dry as baked earth
until now.
look like rain.
We'll kiss the ground
and caress the truth
to find out if the future
is or isn't.
Hush, hush, dear one.
Can you hear the gentle wind?
It brushes a tear drop from your eye,
and tousles your hair, and tries
to gently wash away the troubles on your mind.
It loves you today of all days.
You are its kind, now.
Tut, tut, little one.
Let's make like blooming rose petals.
Life was broken,
and dry as baked earth
until now.
219 reads
4 Comments
We are the wall people./
We are the wall people.
The dog won't have to fetch the ball,
if it bounces right back.
We are the wall people, the pond people.
There is never any shortage of fish.
We eat little.
They propogate madly.
We don't even have to fish. They just
pop up and plop into our nets,
flopping in shock.
We have seen the world in our pond.
We've had visitors from the outside. We
used to be the more thoughtful, philosophical ones.
Now, we take a rest--it's all relative, anyway.
Just...
The dog won't have to fetch the ball,
if it bounces right back.
We are the wall people, the pond people.
There is never any shortage of fish.
We eat little.
They propogate madly.
We don't even have to fish. They just
pop up and plop into our nets,
flopping in shock.
We have seen the world in our pond.
We've had visitors from the outside. We
used to be the more thoughtful, philosophical ones.
Now, we take a rest--it's all relative, anyway.
Just...
221 reads
3 Comments
Spent Moment
Spent Moment
"I quit," I mutter to a friend I should be sitting with
at the bottom of a staircase, lighting up a cigarette that
could be hanging out of my mouth,
slumped shoulders,
angel of choking and smoldering ashes.
"I quit poetry," I say, stoking my
dreamed-up, cheapened-down peace pipe.
"I'll swish and spit once more into poetry's
fish bowl, then quit
again."
(Actually never quite quit it, though I've had those down times, probably like everyone else.)
"I quit," I mutter to a friend I should be sitting with
at the bottom of a staircase, lighting up a cigarette that
could be hanging out of my mouth,
slumped shoulders,
angel of choking and smoldering ashes.
"I quit poetry," I say, stoking my
dreamed-up, cheapened-down peace pipe.
"I'll swish and spit once more into poetry's
fish bowl, then quit
again."
(Actually never quite quit it, though I've had those down times, probably like everyone else.)
187 reads
2 Comments
He wakes up, and pets
He wakes up, and pets
a metaphor, wanders into the bathroom,
and ponders mathematics.
She flashes a quotation mark smile
in the kitchen, walking softly in slippers
of cliche.
Something here is simmering like
a simile.
Another opened paper to
dress the issue.
Another pot of coffee to
stain the taste.
a metaphor, wanders into the bathroom,
and ponders mathematics.
She flashes a quotation mark smile
in the kitchen, walking softly in slippers
of cliche.
Something here is simmering like
a simile.
Another opened paper to
dress the issue.
Another pot of coffee to
stain the taste.
235 reads
5 Comments
A Snapshot Reconsidered
A man judged your life based on a snapshot.
Then he walked a hundred miles in your shoes,
and took it differently than you had.
Then he walked a hundred miles in your shoes,
and took it differently than you had.
255 reads
8 Comments
The day is sun and shine and I have/
The day is sun and shine and I have
written dribble over less.
Not very deep in the bowels of some house, there's a
sibling quibblery, over trifles until
one tears a thread from one of the other's dreams.
There's a happy couple, carrying on and waiting on
the day their marriage has aged like wine
or dynamite.
written dribble over less.
Not very deep in the bowels of some house, there's a
sibling quibblery, over trifles until
one tears a thread from one of the other's dreams.
There's a happy couple, carrying on and waiting on
the day their marriage has aged like wine
or dynamite.
208 reads
4 Comments
We saw you in your prime/
We saw you in your prime,
when we were children.
We've known you while you've aged,
grown down just a little.
When you're finally all washed away by the waves,
or utterly drowned,
we will be the splash just behind you.
when we were children.
We've known you while you've aged,
grown down just a little.
When you're finally all washed away by the waves,
or utterly drowned,
we will be the splash just behind you.
214 reads
6 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by patrickbirdener (Patrick Birdener)