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13 Responses to “Submit Here”

  1. PHotoAgnostic Says:

    I see all of your dead secrets
    Lined up on the window sill
    I sometimes take pot shot at them
    Keep a tally of the broken people
    The pain filled nights, so dark, so long
    I used to enjoy them with you remember
    Holding you close in the cleansing rain
    Thunder rolling over us like blankets of wool
    Lightening our spot light, our cue to act
    And now those times are dust in the attic
    Innocent and pure , now yesterdays obituary
    The secrets are not the same without you
    The wine, the pain, the tears are pointless
    Now that you are gone
    Another casualty of fear, chance corrupted
    A spiral of our twisted smoke filled energies
    Blackens and damns our souls with repetitions
    It ties us together throughout all eternity
    And yet it will never be the same now
    An unfinished story that im left to write
    For all time knowing I will never end the journey
    A trip you took, we took
    A trip we had to take, we had to
    I remember still your eyes that purple dawn
    Our secrets raw and passionate still
    Our poor dead secrets

  2. The Deadlurk
    by Alice

    I have a confession to make
    To anyone who cares to listen
    It is this
    I have never woken up with anything or anyone
    I have lived too long
    And I have a few pennies to my name

    These stairs grow colder every day, although I cannot say how cold that is
    My bed, the smooth wear of a thousand trudging footsteps is comfort enough
    I have no pillow, but my head is not that heavy
    It is not filled with thoughts or dreams like yours
    Jealousy, guilt, lust – those lead-laced emotions
    Hunger is an emotion of the stomach, my dear. That will always be
    (My heart is a bog. Have you ever heard life-blood squelch quite like mine?)
    But less of that, none of that.
    I could sleep anywhere I choose, you know
    I am a starling, free, graceful
    With many nests

    The pistons in the factory opposite stamp cold, hard
    Metal smacks, dancing as loudly as man has ever known
    (I danced once)
    And the factory owner must be dancing too
    At parties, his parties, breath thick with port and tobacco
    He does not dance well
    My legs kick like pistons when I am surrounded by pigeons
    I snapped one’s neck the other day
    It fell to the ground like a sack of apples
    (It was actually nothing like a sack of apples
    It struggled for a few minutes
    And then died on its back)

    My friends are not society’s friends
    Fractured little children
    My child, her child, yours
    You would not stoop to pat them on the head, ruffle their hair, sit them on your knee
    (You did not pat them on the head, ruffle their hair, sit them on your knee
    Remember?)
    Hollow spectres, all work and no play makes Jack dull of wits
    They have helped themselves to your purses and pocketbooks, and now they are wolfing down borrowed bread
    Sometimes their engulfing seems to me so hurried, clumsy, I worry they might eat their own fingers, hands
    One final banquet
    Stop it. Less of that, none of that.
    Less, none
    I don’t think I’ve ever heard a child cry
    For the odd coin they’ll call me ‘ma’am’
    And it always makes me laugh

    My clothes are not clothes
    This dress is frayed, you must have noticed
    You can have it for a shilling, it’s (a) good yarn

    Summer is long gone now. Last night I slept in hail and wind. I can’t stand it anymore
    I need some. I’ll take any. You want more?

    (Please address any responses to ‘Alice’
    And leave them where you danced
    And I will in due course reply
    If I have the chance)

  3. A Woman Fallen in the Shadows Says:

    ‘The Bleakness of Beauty in Cold Winter Lodgings’

    Despite the grim, pale light outside, I smile.
    Despite the cold, damp interior, I luxuriate.
    I turn my head on my gin-spiced pillow
    and glory in his half-starved form.
    The love we made a fleeting spectre of the night now spent,
    he is mine but a few precious moments longer.
    I long to reach out, to caress his dusty features –
    too careworn for his young years.
    His eyes open, unleashing the shadows caged,
    forbidding the slightest tenderness.
    I reach out nonetheless,
    tracing the arch of his collarbone with my ragged nail.
    I marvel at the beauty existant within his bleak yet perfect form.
    The rumble of our bellies a goulish taunt,
    I groan to my feet to survive another day,
    and paint a whore’s face over my own.

  4. ‘I Cannot Love You’.

    My body is a window to the world,
    I cannot love you – I am made of glass
    and you are made of flesh.
    Impossible to talk, to think, to eat –
    How can I love?

    What would people think of us?
    They already know you’re mad, like Doctor Victor in his lab,
    As lightning flashes and rain rain rain
    hits hard on brittle things.

    I cannot love you.
    What use am I to you or you to me?
    A trophy wife that’s mute and deaf,
    Walking source of energy for a husband who, I know, is a father too.
    My icy eyes and smooth hands are part of a whole that’s not all there.
    A broken puzzle; a square peg.

    I wish that I were you.
    I wish that I could speak and open this rictus grin of mine
    and let the wordless howls pour out.
    To tell you what I need.
    A dream. A home. A heart. A world to call my own.

    Are there more of us?
    Others who can feel what I feel inside – around – my bones?
    The marrow made of other peoples’ flesh,
    Nerves and memories ingrained in your sick fantasy.
    Is it a joke?
    You control me with a coin-flip, dice-roll.

    I am that word on the tip of your tongue.
    I am balanced on the edge of your knife.

    I can’t shut myself down,
    So I’ll let you do it for me.
    Not a kind lover – not the loving kind,
    Take me in those arms of yours,
    And you can turn me off.

  5. Major R. Thunderbolt gripped the sides slightly harder, clamping his jaw tightly together. (Not that it made much of a difference; clamping his jaw could not stop this flimsy contraption falling apart.) If he had one of his favourite cigars in his mouth, he would have ground its stump to a pulp, a thing which he only did when he was nervous (which wasn’t very often). Major R. Thunderbolt was hurtling through the air at breakneck speed with a crazy professor in front of him in a flying machine. This flying machine, which had been clapped together by the eccentric, seemingly mad scientist Silas Arrow, had two propellers at the rear end of the craft. Of course there were wings, but these didn’t seem too sturdy. Two seats were in the body of the craft, which were currently occupied by Silas Arrow and Major R. Thunderbolt. Major R. Thunderbolt seemed much taken in by the idea that this day could very well be his last. To think that he had survived so many battles, sieges, sniper bullets, bombs, attacks, assaults and missions only to get finished off by a malfunctioning flying apparatus seemed to weigh heavily on his mind. He closed his eyes, hoping he would miraculously wake up in his bed from this exceptionally bad nightmare….. after all he had not planned on actually flying in this machine. The excited professor had insisted that the Major test the co-pilot seat for comfort. Then the engine started and Silas Arrow shouted with glee, “Off we go!”

    “Well, that was quite a spiffing flight, wasn’t it?” Silas Arrow queried, excitement written all over his face. “Next time you could be a bit more specific about what you’re going to do with this flying contraption of yours,” the rather annoyed Major growled, and felt to see if all his bones were in place. “That thing nearly shook me to pieces,” he muttered under his breath. “Well, I’m sorry about having taken my little machine for an early ride,” Silas shrugged. “SORRY? I nearly fell out of that thing!” said the Major, pointing an accusing finger at the machine, which hadn’t completed the neatest landing. “I –” His words were cut short by the arrival of three men. Both Silas and Major Thunderbolt didn’t like the appearance of these men, especially the latter, who had many bad experiences with shifty characters. The three people advanced, and the Major and Silas instinctively pulled back. One of the men, who seemed to be the leader, advanced menacingly. Major Thunderbolt’s mind told him something was not right. “Where were the other two men?” he asked himself. He got his answer soon enough. Suddenly both he and Silas Arrow were attacked from behind! Then they both lost consciousness.

    THUMP! When they woke up, they were bound and gagged. Well, what a turn of events, thought Silas. Outside he heard crashes. Evidently the robbers were searching his house/laboratory/work-shop for anything useful or valuable. That’s strange, Silas reflected. Hardly anyone knows that this place exists, and even fewer people know what I do. Suddenly Major Thunderbolt sat up and proceeded to untie the bewildered inventor. As soon as his gag was taken out he asked, “How did you get free so quickly?”

    “An old trick I learned,” was the reply. “Well, what now?” The inventor asked. “Distract them, get a big stick and give them a ding on the coconut, then tie them up neater than an Easter ham.” “If you put it that way…” The Major then found two suitably large objects to knock the intruders with. But Silas had a better idea.

    The ransacking assailants could hardly have been more surprised when they heard a very loud “Hallooooooooooo” from a corner of the inventor’s workshop. One of the rogues grumbled “If yer didn’t tie those knots tight, Bill, you’re gonna be in trouble!” “I always tie me knots tight, Bob!” retorted the man who was known as Bill. “Bert, go see what that noise was!” commanded Bob. “Why is it always me?” whinged Bert. “Just go!” Bob shouted. But before anyone could go see what was going on there was a mechanical hissing noise followed by several grinds and clanks. Suddenly a strange-looking vehicle ploughed through the mess that the bandits had created and screamed to a halt. The vehicle had treads, with two seats and a triumphant Silas Arrow and Major Thunderbolt sitting in it!

    After the three villains had been tied up and been taken care of, Silas rushed off to see if any damage had occurred. He returned with an unhappy look on this face. Major Thunderbolt said, “Well, I suppose all’s well that ends well,” “That’s all right for you to say,” said Silas dejectedly. “These barbarians practically tore apart this place!!!!! Most of my creations have been obliterated!! It will take me months, maybe even years before I get this building back into the state it was before these philistines ploughed in!” “Well, then you’d best get started right away,” Major Thunderbolt said as he proceeded to light one of his favourite cigars.

    The End

  6. Grey skies
    Great me back at home again and
    My dark eyes
    Recede into my head and despair

    At the thought of me
    Going one more week
    In the longest battle
    To retain my dreams
    Of a different world

    One more day
    Is all I can really take
    In this distant town
    my mind is falling down

    It’ll be the end of me
    Of all my hopes and dreams
    Need to get away, find a different place
    Get away from this broken town.

  7. Miss April Showers Says:

    We all fall downpour

    Oh, I can hear the noise out in the street
    Where marionette people still meet and greet
    But I am here, hidden, beneath my sheet

    Thick curtains block out their childish call,
    leaving only a halfpence of light on the wall,
    Much too little to see much at all

    Soon shall I have to attend their cries,
    Have to smile as they repeat their lies,
    and do my best to avert my eyes

    I know he’s there still, somewhere outside
    Smoking that damned pipe with that damned pride,
    Perhaps thinking of his broken bride

    Oh, I can hear the noise out in the street
    There’s sudden commotion, and running feet
    Carriages creaking, could it be sleet?

    Why yes, I do believe it’s rain!
    The noise as it charges down the drain
    So I must hurry out into the lane,
    drench in the deluge my inner pain

    And gentlemen scurry under soaked hats,
    And the ladies scream like backroad cats,
    And the children scatter like acrobats,
    Into the gutter with the drowned rats

    There in the storm stands shattered me
    Wrapped in glassy glistening glee
    And in the puddles, I think I see
    Glimpses of the girl I used to be

    Oh, traces, faces, of yesterdays,
    Of meadows, of wandering bridleways,
    before that time I met his gaze,
    and set my tinder heart ablaze

    The icey tempest takes this old town,
    frozen diamonds are crashing down,
    and as I stand in my soaked nightgown,
    I laugh, I laugh, for I may drown

    I am speaking my voice, I haven’t in weeks
    And my pockmarked self then springs leaks,
    But as I laugh, I can hear the creeks
    And I know I am the one he still seeks

    I think he’s here, wanting his old treat,
    He must be slithering through the sleet,
    And then comes the echoing of his feet,
    I silently sound my regretful retreat
    Return to the sancutary within my sheet
    Oh, I still hear his noise out in the street

  8. Martha Hayward Says:

    The entomologist

    Slowly a hooded figure crept down the street along the dusty smoky cobbled Victorian street and tapped three times a manhole “have you got it” he asked the hooded figure “the very best” the figure replied smoothly, they quickly
    Exchanged packages and separated. Down in the manhole Gurtus Ogden opened his bag and a long red hairy leg poked out of the bag “well Everard sure picked a beauty” Gurtus muttered to himself. Gurtus was an entomologist and his partner Everard was a dealer. He put the spider into a pot to be examined the following morning and rolled back onto his back and thought back through his life, he had been married to a woman called Victoria but she had died of Black Death and he had gone out of his mind with grief and after several attempts to kill himself he was put in a asylum for his own safety. Gurtus had escaped when they were at the zoo and just outside he fell down a manhole and decided to live there. Now he was eighty-two and had a gammy leg but he still loved insects! The next morning Gurtus was examining the spider when he realised something, he stood up suddenly banging his head on the ceiling and slumped over the table unconscious. He felt a tickling sensation on his neck then pain beyond pain he was at his wife’s funeral, he was in his home at the asylum hating everyone and then……..darkness.
    Tap, tap, tap, Everard was tapping on the manhole when there was no reply he let himself in. His first impression was how nice Gurtus had made the place look but the he saw Gurtus lying at the table dead suddenly he felt a piercing feeling on his left fore finger and the last thing he saw was two puncture marks on his finger then blackness. No one knows what street that sewer was in but if you were to go there you would discover two corpses, I don’t advise it though that spider could still be alive!

    By Martha Hayward age 10 5h Oakland’s primary school

  9. The Endless Sleep
    Never more will I hear the knocking at my door,
    the endless sleep doth save me,
    from the rapping of the door,
    and the cowering on my floor,
    my life never advancing,
    yet never quite retreating.
    The endless sleep doth save me,
    and it’ll never end,
    for it doth save me from myself.

    I am here lying on my floor,
    no tapping nor cowering doth hold me anymore,
    my life has retreated from my final decision,
    the knife lays beside me,
    and the blood trickles,
    the endless sleep has saved me,
    only now do I have peace.

  10. apricotdreams Says:

    When empty rooms
    Cease to echo with laughter
    And silence lifts its solemn gold head
    Then truly the funeral is about to commence
    For the love affair is now dead

    A gaunt thin frame
    Of gilded memories
    Remains to cover the wound
    A small black cross
    A souvenir of
    A love forever doomed

    Hang the silence
    On your door
    Crucify love for a while
    And hope your lover
    Cannot see
    The sadness in your smile

    Let the corridors
    Sink in silent sleep
    As your thoughts of love must do
    Fill rooms with music
    Haunting songs
    That whisper words to you

    Dream sweet dreams
    Of solitude
    Console yourself with madness
    Leave love alone
    For lovers bring
    Sweet joy but also sadness

    Live in a mansion
    Of forsaken loves
    And memories of them
    Then fill your days
    With hope and faith
    And love’s sad requiem

  11. Dorian Green Says:

    Marie,

    I am somewhat troubled by your most recent correspondence regarding the education of my children. On leaving, I was perfectly clear that they should receive a traditional and proper education in keeping with their rank and status.
    I demand that you get rid of this infernal new “governess” who you speak so highly of as if she were a personal acquaintance and not engaged contractually. If you continue to disobey me then I will be forced to return from my business here in London and complete the task that you seem incapable of doing yourself.
    I have already corresponded with the Headmaster of Eton Public School for Boys who assures me that there is space for two more pupils. You are trying my patience on this matter and may force me to react in a manner befitting my role as husband.
    George.

  12. The Wanderer Says:

    Penny Penny
    Do you know what you do
    How all the things that you say
    All make a change

    Penny Penny
    Will you ever see
    Your actions have reactions
    That you’ll never see

    Penny Penny
    All that you’ve done
    There for the world to view
    We’ll never forget you

    Penny Penny
    I need a reaction
    You’re the drug that I crave
    But you always escape

    Penny Penny
    Why does it hurt
    How you make me aware
    But leave before I start to care

  13. (He asked us if we had the time. I had no way of telling exactly what time it was, although I guessed that it must be the afternoon [-my intuition is usually very good-]. The man with the broad shoulders and only one arm, saving us all from the embarrassment of not being able to aid this gentleman, pulled a watch from his right jacket pocket and dangled it in front of his mud-brown face. Given that it was his left arm that was sadly no longer with us, this was something of an awkward process, and I couldn’t help but pity him as his oversized hand felt clumsily for his timepiece, pawing about for it like a perplexed dog. “Half past one,” he said, “give or take a minute.” The short one murmured a conflicting time, but I had sensed she would do that anyway, for she was usually not content with accepting truths that were not her own. The gentleman, having now established the time, tipped his hat to us and murdered us senselessly. He left the short one to last; perhaps he was not sure what to make of her.)

    (The gentleman then led us into a small courtyard, his hunting knife still warm with our intermingled blood. He asked each of us our names. The short one said she did not have a name, as she had never truly been born, and we all laughed, including the gentleman. “Most people laugh when they have nothing to say,” she remarked coldly after our chuckles had died down, and then curled up on the stone floor, presumably to rot. “Don’t worry about her,” said the man with the broad shoulders and only one arm. “She’s been that way since I met her. Give her an inch and she’ll take a mile.” The gentleman with the knife turned to me now, a warm smile creeping across his face. I stated my name, much to the disgust of the man with the broad shoulders and only one arm, who told me plainly that I was under no obligation to tell him my name, referring to the gentleman’s actions a few minutes ago. “Well my name is not Alice anymore,” I said, “I suppose now you are in a unique position where you can call me whatever you wish.” The gentleman’s smile faded, although I could tell that my answer had pleased him as it returned quickly. His hand moved swiftly across his chest and wrenched a small button from the seam of his waistcoat, and I shuddered at the violent ripping noise he had so thoughtlessly created. He offered this button to me, which I took as a gesture of good-will, and though I had no use for it I thanked him as it was of exquisite workmanship. I had clearly been distracted, as the man with broad shoulders and only one arm was now wrestling with a dog; he flailed his arm wildly, trying to balance himself as the beast sunk his teeth into his quivering foot. Luckily I managed to shoo it away, screaming at it until it ceased, and it skulked off into the corner, licking flecks of blood from its maw. The man with broad shoulders and only one arm staggered clumsily towards the gentleman, and sobbing wildly proceeded to beat him with his fist. Why did you do this to me why even now are you allowing this to happen are you not satisfied enough he said, not expecting a response from the gentleman, whose face was now a hollow cave. The short one’s motionless body had been engulfed by a dense fog of flies [-my intuition is usually very good-]. The dog spat out a Bible.)

    (He leaned forward and whispered in my ear “I will call you ‘my lovely’.”)

    [body found at 2:17pm in St. James Park, near West entrance – deep lacerations to face, neck and chest, likely assault [sexual] – items on person: black button [does not match clothing], handwritten note [see attached transcript] – exact cause of death unknown]

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