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Ashlyn Yoshida Nov 2020
Burned wood can become charcoal
Compressed charcoal can become a diamond

I will become a charred and squashed corpse
Norman Crane Sep 2020
The luminous grey undersides of clouds
Travelling a charcoal sky, speak my thoughts aloud
As thunder
                    Reflections of my mind's wandering eye
Dave Robertson May 2020
The balm of sun and charcoal smoke
instantly evoke lost togetherness
from the very first time in the eighties
when beguiled by a well fired banger
and Russ Abbot opined a party

Hold fast to the Proustian rush
as soon enough the dim seasons will return
and the muted, sterile days withhold
all but a sense of cold and pause,
so revel in the glut and sing
Kairosclere May 2020
Each stroke of my charcoal pencil,
Scraping against paper,
Scratched out yet another scar
Masking my feelings
As they bled on paper-
Black rivers running scarlet,
And locked it there,
A dam brimming
Unleashed,
Wiped off, in a brave
Attempt to never
Be uncovered again,
Sunken
Under alluvium.
Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
Via email bhama26@gmail.com
On Pinterest  @_kairosclere_
On hello poetry at https://hellopoetry.com/Kairosclere/
And my blog https://kairosclere.blogspot.com/

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Thank you for reading <3
Corbyn Mar 2020
I never knew black could look so dark
A tar like sludge rushing down my throat
They told me I had to
That it wasn’t a choice

Cherry flavored charcoal has ruined my mind
It was a darker black than anything I’d ever seen
It was either that or death
One dark black for another

As I downed two bottles of what no one should ever ingest
I cried and cried at the mess
Dark black in my mouth, on my face and in my mind
In a way it saved be but is another way altered my mind
Anastasia Jun 2019
ash
i called him ash
as charcoal was a bit obvious
and i loved him
so of course
i had to keep it a secret
c.b.❤
Strung Jun 2019
I’m thinking all my charcoal thoughts—
Scorching on my mind—
I’m thinking all my crumbly words
Are worth the dark’s dull time
I sit here in the dark
And watch the embers burn
The feelings of the faces here
Mean nothing in the urn.
I sit against cold tiles,
Hiding in the dark
The fire burns me inside out
I’m alone, I’m hurt.
I sit deep in the fire
I have no more bones to give
All my blood is boiling
And my eyes have all but caved
I sit here in the fire
And think my charcoal thoughts
I want nothing else to do
With anything but dust.
Burn the legs and up the arms
I’m done with walking free
Burn the brain, the heart, the soul
I retire to the dream.
Canis Latrans Feb 2019
The graphite colored smoke, that rose from your charcoal covered body, in billows of silver.
The ferocious orange and yellow flames, that dance at the thought of bringing your bones into the sun.
The smell.
Sandalwood and gasoline.
c Mar 2019
He’s shaved like a survivor of something
And this is the first time I’ve realized, his
Head normally baubled under a dark cap

His arms spindle, bark bent at shoulder and elbow
The leaf of his hands shiver around a 6B
I watch him become a Broadleaf before my eyes

He stretches long around the room
Determined to crowd every corner
Trundling, truncated at root

I wish to be as I see him
A beautiful tangle, loud in motion and
Silent in speech, sprinting full speed

His feet pound in dirt,
Name sprawled on the walls in capital BLACK
Demanding to be heard or at least recognized

He is the mystery of the day, every day
The jumbled stranger, in pieces strewn
& unsolved

--
c
Falling in love with a stranger/acquaintance
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