"blazed" poems
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.
You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!
It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.
Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!
In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!
I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.
Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.
Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.
There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.
Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!
How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.
Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.
And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.
This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!
Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!
From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.
You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.
Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.
The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.
Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.
Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
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I thought I saw him,
Standing so elegant,
No single expressed whim,
His skin and body vents
Can't smell what he sees,
Only the breeze through the leaves,
A forest fire blazed,
But the tree always stayed
Yeah, I've felt the wind,
And I've heard the birds,
Through the flowers I grinned,
I tasted the words
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
You wanted only rain today
And clouds from far anon.
I watched their fingers smudge the sky
And cast away the sun
I brought upon the downpour
And trembled as it fell.
Chilling every molecule
And drenching every cell.
I could not wish this rain to cease;
It was necessity
To end the all-consuming flame
That blazed through you and me
Still I felt the damage
Of burns beneath the skin
The outside seemed undamaged
Though truth lie deep within.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
Highland Park is the stoner park, everybody knows that. You go to Highland Park to smoke **** you don't take your kids to Highland Park. Well, you might if your kids are total potheads but then you'd have to buy a lot more ****
-Belle B. Blazed
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
Moons fall,
Eggshell snow,
Blurred illumination,
Dreary lights,
Twinkles disintegrate,
Blazed sparks fade,
Faint complexion,
Awkward tree,
Ornament shadows,
Fuses burn out,
Connection lost,
Spirit dies out,
Yuletide lie,
Imperfection.
My eyes are dark as Halloween night.
Suns shine,
White angel,
Luminous site,
Multicolored pigments,
Rosy cheeks glow,
Rays seep through,
Vivid hue,
Elegant she,
Majestic gleams,
Beams strike around,
Fascination found,
Neon dyes around,
Joyful cry,
Pulchritude.
Her eyes are bright as Christmas morning.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
I am the love killer,
I am murdering the music we thought so special,
that blazed between us, over and over.
I am murdering me, where I kneeled at your kiss.
I am pushing knives through the hands
that created two into one.
Our hands do not bleed at this,
they lie still in their dishonor.
I am taking the boats of our beds
and swamping them, letting them cough on the sea
and choke on it and go down into nothing.
I am stuffing your mouth with your
promises and watching
you ***** them out upon my face.
The Camp we directed?
I have gassed the campers.
Now I am alone with the dead,
flying off bridges,
hurling myself like a beer can into the wastebasket.
I am flying like a single red rose,
leaving a jet stream
of solitude
and yet I feel nothing,
though I fly and hurl,
my insides are empty
and my face is as blank as a wall.
Shall I call the funeral director?
He could put our two bodies into one pink casket,
those bodies from before,
and someone might send flowers,
and someone might come to mourn
and it would be in the obits,
and people would know that something died,
is no more, speaks no more, won't even
drive a car again and all of that.
When a life is over,
the one you were living for,
where do you go?
I'll work nights.
I'll dance in the city.
I'll wear red for a burning.
I'll look at the Charles very carefully,
weraing its long legs of neon.
And the cars will go by.
The cars will go by.
And there'll be no scream
from the lady in the red dress
dancing on her own Ellis Island,
who turns in circles,
dancing alone
as the cars go by.
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"As the sun and moon
aligned in the sky,
they illuminated each other's shine.
And the closer to each other they moved,
the brighter they shined,
and the higher the fire
inside of us grew.
As we raced through the days
on that fling,
each footprint we laid
blazed away that piece
of the earth's entire lifetime of beauty
in the brief second it touched our feet,
leaving nothing but ashes beneath us.
Until we had no ground left to stand on
and nowhere left to flee.
And now that we've turned away
from our fire
to face the days that remained
unburned by the flames,
and learn to gaze at them
through sane eyes
one day at a time.
We can look back at our book
with clear sight
and give it the ending
that we never got the chance to write.
And while I know it's too late
to pick up the ripped-up pages,
I will admit,
I still think of our little prince.
And sometimes I go outside
and look up at the sky
and think about what planet
he might've gone back to after he died.
Then I imagine the three of us
living up there as a family
in another lifetime.
But for now, you have your own life,
and I have mine.
And we have to live them
the way we would have
if we could go back to the day
we conceived our child
and were able to see what
our manic eyes were blind to at the time.
When the sun and moon finally came
as close as they could be
and the fire inside us rose
to its highest peak,
it leaped past
the fading ashes of our flesh
to burn our love into eternity,
through our baby.
That eternal flame
that could blaze brighter
than our manic one ever could
on its brightest mania days,
but that would also sustain. "
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
Every inch of my body is screaming, blazed with fire
There's lightning between my shoulder blades
Rain dripping from my dewy greens
And electricity weaving between my tendons
There is a chainsaw cutting my bones
There are needles piercing through my chest
There is lava rushing through my veins
There is a hurricane in my head
I can feel my cells shrinking
I can feel my branches breaking
I can feel my leaves crumbling
Everything hurts and there is no remedy
This is the life of inevitable misery
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
I grew up in South Auckland, Takanini
the only Pakeha in the caravan park,
I learnt how to be tall, smart and skinny
how to raise the end of my sentences in an arc.
At school, we were told words held power;
but for teachers words were flowers,
and my friend Cruz had two brothers
Harley and Davidson - they belonged to Black Power,
their fists tattooed with something like “Smother”.
But there was never violence on our street, gang was family;
I usually never felt more at home around Bourbon,
loud Reggae, bags of **** and men so manly
they’d cry over love, and I wouldn’t get a word in.
Though my Father votes National and thinks Michael Laws is right
so moves us to Dunedin where it’s ninety percent white.
I stopped reading Lenin and picked up Rousseau
became a vegetarian, thought it was so cool you know,
even wrote a blog that discussed rise from below.
But I’ll never know below again
until I’m drunk in an old shed at 3am on a school night
singing along to Bob Marley in Maori,
sunk deep into the mattress propped against the Harley,
the one you and I would cruise on until dawn together
as police took to the streets in riot gear -
we’d get lost in the country and learn to smother
our thoughts in starlight then stagger over,
listen in to the darkness,
and just slowly breathe
the crisp, cool air of the kiwi tundra.
They say New Zealand has two flags,
but in the country, when you’re blazed
on the benefit, ****** on the disdain
for positive discrimination, you can pick out
all the small bright koru unfurling in the stars.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC
She was a raging inferno,
Touch her and perish,
A roaring inferno,
Burns your soul to ashes.
As she raged against the dying light,
Crazy, I craved only for her,
Praying she would go gentle in the night,
My eyes blazed for her like a meteor.
Within me, her anger raised sensual emotions,
With my gentle love, I desired to tame her,
That was my firm resolution,
And one day,on her lava soil would bloom our little flower.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 6:10 AM UTC
He was pale as death,
running down like an over-wound clock
Beneath his eyes,
dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams.
The pale gold odor of his lips,
Parted with a series of beginnings.
He was confounded with wonder at her presence
That voice held him most
Swathed in rose and lavender silk
The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light.
His eyes,
a deep tropical burn,
on fire like the World’s Fair
remotely possessed by intense life
like a trembling match
stained with creative passion
He searched for her night and day
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain
a deathless song
a faint flow of thunder
he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky.
her well-loved eyes,
smeared with tears,
glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor
Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers
Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain
Its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
full of aching grieving beauty,
told of unexpected joy
Are you in love with me?
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
Have the trees all fallen?
/
In my absence,
Did the lights turn out in Santa Fe?
I’m walking in a shadow,
Cast by who knows what because
The skyline’s bare
/
Now the leaves are gone,
And in their wake the branches
Lie gutted on the pavement
Stripped to shiny bones
That smile and smile,
The call to arms blares out
So sickly sweet
/
A mind rang out across the room
That blazed so hot we’ll never know
And in one blazing human breath
They breathed their last
/
to think they were children
they were just children
/
I feel a great and quiet darkness
Has snuffed out those sparks
That could have ignited the world
And so I wonder
How many million seconds, meant to be,
Now never will?
/
Do good men die so other men
Might learn, or worse still, win?
Will those sparks
Snuffed out in Santa Fe
Ignite this world of apathy
To shame?
/
I ask again,
Have the trees all fallen
Down in Santa Fe?
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
You know what the stories say
About me. They call me silly,
Foolish, disobedient. They say
I should have listened to my
Father. Now he was a guy
Worth listening to: the one
Who built the labyrinth -- the one
That caged the bull-headed beast
And sent virgins, hopelessly
Lost, to their deaths.
He made me a pair of wings
And when he was finished
told me to contemplate my
mortality. And not to fly too close
To the sun. For the feathers
Were joined only by wax and days
But the sun was made of
molten fire and eternity.
How could I listen though?
When after so long
Penned in the cool, dim labyrinthine
Depths of his workshop, I was finally
Free. A soft warm shaft of sunlight
pierced me through and I was lost.
On my ****** flight, I was ecstatically
lost, rising madly to the shivering
brink of infinity.
Imagine me with my great white
waxen feathered wings circling
(Circling) (Circling) spiraling
Higher and higher to a crisis.
Oh I melted.
Then I fell.
I do wish they'd asked me how I'd have
Liked to be remembered though: Not
the merely foolish bull-headed kid
who refused to obey,
But the dreamer with wild eyes,
The one who once flew
too close to the Sun
And briefly,
(All too briefly)
Blazed.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
Breakup Letter to Route 34
Everyday you and me me and you we'd punch out for an hour, maybe two
Only separated by obsidian rubber our toes kissed as the clock ticked
Just a pair of bodies and the aqua sky
the clouds will be our blanket as we sleep through the ride
We didn’t even need the stars to be our guide, just the yellow line.
The string connecting the seams of my double life
Every year I watched your colors change I watched the buildings rearrange I watched people I loved become estranged
But you, good old road, you stayed the same.
Like an invisible diary I scratched my thoughts into your black skin, wrinkling with erosion
And I shed my tears into your core, watering the tufts of grass protruding through your cracks
And I whispered my secrets to you, to the barren bark lining your lanes.
I have always been holy to you! but it seems like soon we won’t be seeing each other every day at four and noon.
O, But don’t let your dam release too many drops from your lagoon
I have blazed your path for too long, I need sometime new
And just remember, good old road, its me- not you
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
A visit was due.
It had been a while since our last one.
I buttoned up my coat,
for winter had come.
The walk was short,
my father at the lead.
He held the bouquet and cake
and he moved with speed.
We came together to celebrate,
Each of us bringing something to the feast.
It was her day.
Yet he sat in his seat, uncaring at the least.
I had to be civil,
so I walked on in,
and shook his hand,
I wished him well, though I think I lied. Was it a sin?
No, then I realised I meant it.
Not for him, but for her,
to ease her worries and cares,
because I cared for her, she was my grandmother.
The room was full.
We were together as planned.
The fire blazed.
Cake in our hands.
Her favourite show came on,
but he called for a change as his attention drifted.
It was her day, I thought,
and she deserved to do what she wanted, to do something different.
It was getting late,
and he wanted to go and rest.
But as she helped him up, he produced something,
A necklace of silver, pure and brilliant, and whispered, ''You're the best''.
Then as he exited the room,
I wished him well once again.
He nodded.
I nodded back with love this time, not disdain.
I realised then they were from a different age,
An age of hidden emotion,
but it was theirs,
and they loved each other through the quiet and the unwanted commotion.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
Locked in your fiery eyes i submit
naked, **** exposed to be exploited
by Your will i lay before you awaiting....
to begin Our intimacy
wanton to please
Breathing in the anticipation
i am frozen by Your hesitation
for i crave
Your touch,
Your lips,
Your embrace
in every rise of my *******
breathing deep
my thoughts creep
and time slows
In Your soul, i wish to peek...
Behind the lurking darkness in Your eyes
Is it love or lust hidden in disguise
i acquiesce
my forbidden fruit i wish to bare
the entrance to my sacred chambers
ripe with carnal desire
may it be Your pleasure
To imprint Your sting
forever seared
upon my redden flesh
so that it lingers in tenderness
long after Our journey
Your caress against my flesh
in piercing pleasure resonates
up the curvature of my spine
releasing infinite electric butterflies
i cannot hide
You plunge deep below the surface
infusing Our bodies as One
rhythmically in motion
edging each crest before plunging
deeper into the next
into the depths of brazen hunger
i want to surrender
though my growl cannot be hidden
‘neath the rumble of my heighten instinct
to soar in expletive exclamation
my animal within
my pounded thighs spread wider
below pulsating muscles
beating louder, harder, deeper
my cavity contracts
howling in blazed heat
i scream
through my glare
into Your eyes
of consent again, release me
in the allowance of your’s
entwined
Allow me to feel you
as you fill me
emotions untethered
in Your mind
Your body and spirit
The rapture of Your release
i capture
in my mind
my body and soul
anchored to my memory
Our journey
In gaping breath
We fall ...
Entangled in blissful euphoria
Your shivering body envelopes mine
a sweet embrace
a tender kiss
long has it been since I’ve felt such passion
i admit...
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
256
If I’m lost—now
That I was found—
Shall still my transport be—
That once—on me—those Jasper Gates
Blazed open—suddenly—
That in my awkward—gazing—face—
The Angels—softly peered—
And touched me with their fleeces,
Almost as if they cared—
I’m banished—now—you know it—
How foreign that can be—
You’ll know—Sir—when the Savior’s face
Turns so—away from you—
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her lucid mind clouded as
she felt nostalgic over the
memories. In her hand, a
cigarette blazed. Whilst she
spoke she exhaled the smoke
of which kept her sane.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Twenty-five pigeons are doing **** rips in my living room.
In the middle of my living room
twenty-five pigeons
are doing **** rips
of **** that they bought
off my next door neighbor
who just happened to have some lying around.
There are twenty-five pigeons
doing **** rips in my living room,
and they will not stop watching
Battlestar Galactica.
The twenty-five pigeons
doing **** rips in my living room
ate all of my Cheese Nips,
and they drank the last
of the RC Cola I bought.
I try to get
the twenty-five pigeons
doing **** rips in my living room
to leave,
because I hate it when they do this,
but they just coo at me
and that shuts me up.
One of the twenty-five pigeons
doing **** rips
in my living room
accidentally knocks over
the ****
and spills bongwater
all over my ******* carpet.
The **** cracks.
They start flapping their wings really hard
and ******** everywhere,
because they're pigeons
and they're mad.
But then,
one of the twenty-five pigeons
produces some hash wax
from under his wings,
and now there's twenty-five pigeons
doing knife hits
of hash wax
over my stove,
and quite frankly
I'm ******
I run in
and start waving my arms
around,
and scream,
"Get the **** out of here,
who let you in anyway?"
And the head pigeon drops the knife on accident,
and they all fly out of my living room
and into the sky,
all really blazed,
leaving me here,
mad,
with a bunch of stains on my carpet.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
When I was a child I saw
a burning bird in a tree.
I see became I am,
I am became I see.
In winter dawns of frost
the lamp swung in my hand.
The battered moon on the slope
lay like a dune of sand;
and in the trap at my feet
the rabbit leapt and prayed,
weeping blood, and crouched
when the light shone on the blade.
The sudden sun lit up
the webs from wire to wire;
the white webs, the white dew,
blazed with a holy fire.
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The surface of the water at Garrett Lake
is a ballroom floor, the bluest of hardwoods.
Hiding itself within its leafy forest green walls, which
if looked upon closely, one would swear you can see the woods.
We blazed a trail past a fallen trunk,
presumably lightning struck
whose roots had twisted
into the shape of a moose
fallen to sleep or endure breathe no more,
past the row of trees split
by the trail. One side
Life, the other death.
We found our way to an elder pine
who wanted to be a pier
and dove down so we could
sit upon him, no longer on land,
legs dangling like a chandelier above the ballroom.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
Where we live it is no desert for the rains still fall.
Where we live the cacti stand tall,
proud and green Men and Women
defending rocky slopes of heaven.
Where we live the bat flies with the nighthawks,
dog fights at twilight against hordes of insects.
The lizard and snake fear a Greater Roadrunner
who laughs at passing cars, for it shall outlive
The Petrol Race centuries forward.
The Sunrise seems like The Mountains'
live birth to a bright blazed star.
The Sunset bombs a horizon
filmed with faraway layers of dust.
The milk cloud of stars and cosmic debris.
The Moon rising, a pale beacon beyond The Mesquite.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 4:04 PM UTC
The pretty lass
moved fawn-like
behind the counter,
her thin flowered sun dress
grasped her sleek-form
so delicately,
grinning behind glasses,
she mesmerized me
completely.
A bit sassy,
with an
air of confidence,
her craft spoke volumes.
She had
a keen eye for detail,
her quality
was impeccable,
burnished ancient coins,
Apollo & Diana the huntress
hung near iridescent colors,
Macaws & Amazons
blazed their vibrant hues.
She sold me Roman glass
wrapped in Sterling,
handcrafted by
her beautiful hands.
If she only knew
how much
it truly touched me.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Come prisoned moon in steep cloud-fastnesses,—
Throned queen and thralled; some dying sun whose pyre
Blazed with momentous memorable fire;—
Who hath not yearned and fed his heart with these?
Who, sleepless, hath not anguished to appease
Tragical shadow’s realm of sound and sight
Conjectured in the lamentable night?…
Lo! the soul’s sphere of infinite images!
What sense shall count them? Whether it forecast
The rose-winged hours that flutter in the van
Of Love’s unquestioning unreveale’d span,—
Visions of golden futures: or that last
Wild pageant of the accumulated past
That clangs and flashes for a drowning man.
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