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Nat Lipstadt Sep 2014
The Godfinger has not yet
colored-come this far south
from up in the North,
but soon inexorable, marchingly quietly
to finger paint reds and golds
that are calendar scheduled to arrive

the idea of them, their visual,
burrowed  but easily retrieved,
for in the poet's mind's eye
he foresees their forthcoming blaze,
smells them in the not-quite-autumn
sea breeze

colors welcome for many,
for they serve to awaken and ravish
inattentive-to-nature wooly brains,
distracted by new work projects
diluted multi-tacking senses,
back burnt by responsibilities,
**** deadlines,
term papers, too soon due

full well knowing fall colors incipient,
this summer man piety engorges on
the embering remains of his beloved season,
His Summer Surround Sound Environment,
reflecting on his insignificance,
the seasonality of life,
the sad-always finale for grownups
that is the year ending
December,
no longer a far away,
inconceivable concept

these robust leaf colors, product of
chlorophyll properly chilled,
signal mark
all hope lost for the summer warmth,
the life force of this
poet's body and soul's
his sun tan lotion ****** cleanser, restorative,
all sold out, no longer on the store's shelf,
and a new conceptual,
2015
low growling while on the prowl

but for now,
it's still land-greens and water-blues,
though tarnished are the hues,
the grass, an admixture of
ugly straw yellow and a sickly green,
the bay green blues darker, uninviting,
the surface sun glints duller, less charming,
but close enough to the
real thing
for him to embrace passionately

he thinks bemusedly, out loudly,
writes smilingly, out loudly,
for he is in his trademark chair,
adorned in summer garb,
t-shirt and shorts,
holding on for as long as he can,
grabbing errant sun rays,
breathing salted bay air that's
cleaner now, for the summers sailors
all gone ashore to dry dock ports

while his woman, sensible ever,
acknowledges the frosty wind that
necessitates blanket, a full dress uniform,
complete yoga outfit and anorak,
the dress code de rigeur for combat
against
the September brilliant and undeniable chill

Springsteen and Cassidy hum his
melancholy perfectly and he wonders
about the ifs and of's his chosen life,
about the why's and wherefore
of his poetry that he sometimes writes
under assumed names

these contradictions,
me, summer,
she, cloaked in wool,
these natural nature inconsistencies,
even though unrealized,
the inevitability clashing sounds of vibrant colors
overtaking greens wilting,
all to be winter-denuded,
mark the day,
mark the man,
his poem,
mark this moment of
inconsistent colorations
September 20, 2014
r Apr 2018
You are fallen darkness,
the ghost ship
in the wake of a quarter-moon

Your depth
is like a blue grave
looking back
from a burial at sea

Your hands are shadows
over a campfire
lustering against the lightless
river, palms folding
like prayers over
the embering heat
of driftwood and deadfall
retreating into ash

You are heaven's shoal
of dead stars, the obsidian
lip of the shoreline
I approach without light

The shallow groundswell
of sand un-printing my tracks,
as if to refuse my sunless steps

You are streetlights left behind me
back home, softening now
beyond their dead-end streets.
I have left the imprint
of my body

on your wild grasses
under your wild hedges

I have slept the sweet
sleep of an embering fire

in your arms
and known

your lips on mine
as a sweetness of the

dancing rain on leaves
your soulhands have

blended me together
like the scent of meadowflowers

sweetening the air
and I have been embraced and

enearthed
in the ground of your sweet being

been received by and have received
your sweet soul Love

you have made of me
a meuse

an imprint in wild grasses
under wild hedges

in your generous and generating
heart


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
annh  Jun 2020
Frames Per Second
annh Jun 2020
Stick girl embering,
Lollipop meandering,
Molten toffee trail.

'We discovered that one of the strongest links among us was questions about the morality
of what we do: when do
you press the shutter release
and when do you cease
being a photographer?'
- Greg Marinovich, The Bang-Bang Club: Snapshots from a Hidden War
Sean C Johnson Jul 2013
I remember my life avalanching on a ***** of no particular location worth remembering
I recall the fire of our love fading and embering
The hot coals of your soul turning black with the breeze
That swept over the car as you tore a life apart
I remember wishing to tear out my heart
If I could only take it from your lockbox of love
Where I misplaced all my trust
You would sprinkle on your fairy dust
Explaining how it's best for us
Even how I should've known this was coming
These god forsaken legs won't start running
Better to bear the brunt of your blade slowly slicing two lives from one
I remember my life avalanching on a ***** of no particular location worth noting
I remember you walking into my life but can never recall you going
Ayn  Dec 2019
Alight
Ayn Dec 2019
Set me on fire;
Put a match to my clothes
Watch me rise in a pillar of flame,
Listen to my livid screams of pain.
Feel my existence slowly fade
As my body finishes fueling the glow,
As my screams mellow into the silent cracks.

In time, the fire will turn to embering ash.
I will have been consumed by a long gone inferno.
And when I have been burned to the ground,
I know that the only place I can go is up.
Im not sure why I write so much about fire. I mean I don’t think it describes me or anything.
When you look at me
Do I not have glory about me?
Am I not a shimmer of Light?
This is my body
This is my soul:
A flowing, shimmering,
glowing incandescence of passion
expressed in the sensuous lines of my body
An incandescence like none other
A fire within and without
Embering all of me
I spark all who approach
I spark all who stand away
My incandescence encompasses all who think of me
For I am a constellation of Light -
A galaxy nursing new Lights -
A womb incandescent with Light
I am thou and
You are me
We are sovereign and encompassing
Sing my Light on the throated cords of Love.
Tiffany Marie  Dec 2015
Stare
Tiffany Marie Dec 2015
[S]ecret
[T]elling
[A]nd
[R]embering
[E]very beautiful person you see!


    Your eyes they wander they look all over espcially on me. Staring, yes I caught you. But come a little closer see what happens. Stare at me again. Stare a little longer. What happens? You must know your the one who should know. Let me think, of a new thing to do if I catch you staring at me again. Oh I remeber now staring at me never ends, properly....
Stare random inspration when i was thinking of an amazing person who stares at me a lot
meadowbrook  Jul 2022
Devil's own
meadowbrook Jul 2022
This is a tender love -
tentative and bittersweet

Oh, I could never tend a garden
I lack the patience, the sensitivity

How could I be trusted with
a little warmth,
a frail, embering coal,
a glow almost ceasing?

I could
crush it up,
***** it out
easily

There is violence in me,
do you know?

This is fire you play with,
this glow

You know I’m quite sure
I am the Devil’s own

Yet I try not to walk down those roads

(But, oh, how they feel like home.)
Johnny Dust  Apr 2022
X
Johnny Dust Apr 2022
X
That feeling is embering through my chest again,
Cause that drug makes everything focused and everyone a friend.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
Ireland 1916 was a typical
example of the mythical
metaphor :

Ashes Re Embering.
The Easter Rising was the chosen
symbolism of Jesus returning from
the dead. It was the Phoenix, or the
Raven on the shoulder of Cu Chullain
who was assumed dead, yet, he was
holding his sword with a firm grip.
This is the contradiction, and that
sculpture can be seen at The General
Post Office in Dublin, the site of Irelands
resurrection.

— The End —