"campfire" poems
Science says that there's a mathematical equation that explains everything in life.
But I say that not even physics bears an explanation for...the guidelines of attraction.
Our primal reactions are multiplied in...the highlights of passion.
These laws of love that linger like a lanterns lost illumination...
Like the campfire light on a clear night, leaves coals of culmination.
Sweat beads lead to bare threads and bare bodies.
And oh my, how bare bodies lead to imaginations running wild.
Cold winds inspire warm kisses and close skin.
Sincere actions aren't sins.
Bodies wound in union, formed by light and tightly bound.
Together, these twisted vines penetrate the hardest ground...
Together, harmonic souls produce passionate sounds.
Yet, still somehow, love gets lost more than love gets found.
This equation is unending...like numbers off lips that kiss the air.
Body language spoken...Our physical bonds parallel eternity and pi squared.
And you know that every moment that we share is nothing short of...molecular love for the masses...
Now held captive by gravity and magnetism...
See, the last full moon marked retrograde...and if the moon affects the tide of the ocean...and our bodies are roughly 75% water...can we assume that this is the only body powerful enough to keep ours apart?
This gravity...
This pull...
It's pulling me apart...so let me pull you closer, stop pushing me away!
Hold on tight, dont let these planets drift away into a dark rift of decay.
Let your love lap upon this solid stone like a river riffles smooth sandbars into hills of higher ground.
Because baby, without your water on my beach...
I'm nothing but a desert, dry and deserted.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 10:53 PM UTC
Let's sit around a campfire
And condemn coffee together
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
These photos are a gateway to my memories;
They're the only remnants of things I no longer see:
The twinkling stars at the peak of twilight;
The terrifying tales around a campfire so bright,
The heart melting gaze of my new born brother,
The crash of waves as I build a sand castle with my mother.
And although they are torn and hard to see,
These photos are a gateway to my memories.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
He forgot his soap
What a dope
No one here can cope
He's worse than campfire smoke
He could of brought it on a rope
So he wouldn't have to *****
Instead he'll mope
For friends he's got no hope
They run when they scope
The boy without his soap
Rolling down the slope
Singing baroque
Like the pope
He tried a bath in coke
Oh what a joke
Because the sugars provoke
Mosquitoes to bite and poke.
Still he stinks like BO and oak
Smells like a singer of folk
Whose hair is matted into rope
Cause he won't use soap
What a dope!
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
Last night I cried myself to sleep thinking about you,
the ********** chemistry that we used to share over
the midnight campfire, our sleek bodies rising in passion
with each bursting flame, deep shifting fingers pressed
up against thick sheets, as our ankles and thighs
harmonized and smiled, glossy green eyes filled
with lust and immense thoughts. Your soul was
calling out to me in the nighttime sky,
vibrant skin sifting inside timeless climaxes
and rewinds, shimmering lights and hypnotic
gleams, an ocean of water and poetry gliding on
booming beats. The world began to sink inside
our romance, the horniness of our hot flesh sizzling
in sparking temptations, deep designs and glimmering
patterns. And as our nations made music over earth’s
creation, brilliant escapes and captivating depths,
you were the magnificent star inside my kingdom,
the purest existence that could illuminate the fire
inside eyes.
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
Darling if you say you love me, I will never leave.
Darkness, all surrounding never ending, consumed me starting
from my very soul, but I had no right to mind it.
My world changed from the moment I have met you, it was
alike a candle which has been lit, emitting gentle, golden, yet
still dim light, becoming warm, bright...dependend of this flame.
The darkness, has no way to lose I thought to myself, as I threw
my mind into the book which I was carefully reading.
After all, it is everywhere, patient and generous,
Just wating for its chances to get to ones soul
Under my feet as I desire to take a walk,
In my food which I must consume once I am feeling hungry,
In the wood, which gentle burns away by a campfire.
But seeing you, I have come to one realisation,
In its greatest strengh, relies its greatest weakness,
After all, a sole candle is able to make it back off
But dear, love is way more than a candle,
It gave me a whole bright star and made it shine.
~ Umi
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 1:31 AM UTC
~
think again if you believe
light is but a rapid blur,
consider that the spark
that lives between
two lover-friends, is light
exchanged in slow fashion;
the slow burn of a campfire,
the sparkle of her passion,
the flicker of a candle,
whisperings of the starlight,
the way a moon beam
bends the tides,
and makes her eyes twinkle;
each my confirmation,
of light that moves
so satisfying slow,
allowing flames to ever grow
ever higher, higher,
kindling sparks into a fire,
for love that lasts
is not a spark alone...
no,
love’s passion is a bon fire,
a sunset setting sky aglow;
an ever-building slow,
to effervescent ether;
a gently flowing kiss,
a living, colored tapestry
of drifting twilight mist;
this the speed of light...
my heart’s desire,
mirrored in my lover’s eyes.
~
*post script.
love at the speed of sunsets and star gazing;
evenings spent round the campfire
with only the light of the fire,
the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes...
falling in love, all over again!*
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
My body
mind's lobby
old-time-y lobotomy.
*Surfing kaleidoscope time waves,
baking green tree eurythmy cookies,
singing campfire folky-tale lullabies.
We enjoy tasting dawn-squash memories.*
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
Here.
Attempting to write something
To match your eyes.
Something that will make you see things
The way I see things.
Noticing.
Every mark.
Torn by fences climbed
To get away from those who didn't take your hand
And fly.
They left intricate laddered rips in your jeans,
Though you try to hide the fact that you know,
That I know that is the case.
We play childish games of denial
Because all romance is to be transported to a time when we were innocent.
Back to a place where ‘I love you’ is what your parents said
When all the screaming, laughter
And the innocence of loud noises stop
And is replaced by silence.
‘I love you’ made that warm feeling
Growing and radiating out
Eventually finding the tips of your fingers and ends of your toes
And bursting out,
Moving through to the next person you touch.
*Contrary to popular practice,
‘I love you’ is not just three words to be said
When you are trying to break the awkward silences
Left between two people who have simply gotten used to each other.*
I love red licorice.
It gives me a warm feeling of sugary goodness.
Though artificial,
In the times when the weight of the world is the weight of your sheets
That lay a top of your body
Which you tell yourself over and over and over
It is not good enough for that person
Who gives you the inner warmth
That a campfire gives your shins;
I find that artificial red licorice warmth is good enough.
And sometimes good enough is the best we can get.
Here.
In the hope that the words that must be said
Stream from ink to page.
I hope my hand moves so fast over the page
That smoke starts flowing and my words mean something...
But no words come.
No letters.
No ink scratches the page.
I just want you to see the way I do.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 7:48 AM UTC
Tiny wrists.
Tiny rivers of blue.
Translucent.
I'm thinking about making myself a home
Beneath your pale skin.
I'd float along your lazy blue river
Until I make my way to your ghost chest
And burrow myself a tunnel
Deep inside your heart.
Light myself a campfire,
And pitch a tent.
Looks like I'm gonna be here for a while.
I am rocked to sleep with each beat:
Onetwo. Onetwo. Onetwo.
And my heart-house dreams
Intermingle with yours.
Maybe if we dream hard enough,
We can create a world of our own.
Where red blood cells sing like angels
Housed in four chapel-chambers,
And each artery stretches up far
Like a rainforest canopy
Riddled with exotic capillary-flowers.
Can we be safe here?
The heart has tender walls
But it is a soldier.
Though it may be kicked down,
It forges on
And picks itself right back up again.
Always beating,
Always winning.
Your heart is a soldier.
A fighter.
A protector.
I think I feel safe,
For the first time in a long time,
Within the home I've made for myself
Inside of who you are.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
Our backs hold stories
Not even the spine
On a book can handle
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
Love feels like coming home
But I've found homes in many people
Every home I make is different, fit to hold the looks and laughs between us
Love is like taking a hot shower when the cold has seeped in from all of the cracks in your broken armor
After feeling like a dog licking at empty water dishes it's like realizing you have thumbs to turn on the faucet
It cannot be fit in a poem
People are not lists or metaphors but shelves of novels, walls full of paintings, flaws and idiosyncrasies.
Love is warm blood, messy mad hearts, and wild wolf loyalty.
It's faltering footsteps and tears after the moon has risen.
It's campfire pops and crackles, twisted bed sheets, and moments intertwined like fingers
Love isn't finding your way through a hurricane or boots stomping through a garden.
Love is like coming home.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
Stepping in the middle of a hurricane fire waiting for the winter to blow
Somebody was listening but you were on your way to Mexico
Down there, they won't care if you want to run around town
The women don't love you but the one you do sleeps in a Minnesota town
Can you see the horizon falling like a diamond in the middle of the violet sky?
You thought you were clear until a tear came to your eye
Everything was moving along and you had your pride in your hand
Now you've got a decision, do you run or fight like a man?
Somewhere in the city where everything was pretty, you found the windowpane
You saw her silhouette burning like a jet through the campfire rain
You shouted out and saw her open up the window to her moonlit room
As a man grabbed her waist, froze you in place, now you've gotta move on too
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 9:47 PM UTC
There's gods all around that pound you
While the men in high heels surround you
How much longer 'til they've found you?
Suzy, do you know what you've done?
She had her ways of seduction
A femme fatale if there ever was one
A high class killer and a smart one
But everyone fails once or twice
You spent the night in the hacienda
Curled up on the white veranda
To kingdom come they'd like to send ya
Suzy, do you know you're on your own?
The sun will rise tomorrow
Do you need some time to borrow?
Listen to the morning swallow
You've got to come up with something quick
How does it feel to be a rebel?
To wake up dead next to the devil?
You've got one more deal left to settle
Suzy, I hope your aim is good
Is that smoke in the distance?
Is it a campfire or an instance?
Is there anyone out here to witness,
Whatever Suzy has up her sleeve?
The gun that she carries
Belongs to the man she married
And tonight, along this lonesome prairie
Suzy will meet him once more
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 2:28 AM UTC
up the hill I go
on and on
up and up
I can't see the top
but that's not important
the journey is everything
by the campfire
alone in the night
with starry blanket
draped around me
looking down upon the lake
I'm looking into the dreams
and the sadness
and the feelings
in the cold I shiver
in sadness , emptiness
I shake
Hush ! Lay down , go to sleep
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
Stomped earth with broad feet
Fastening fresh saplings into
Whole forests
Eight feet by eight feet, the grid
Through winter month's
To early spring
Line of tree planters, twenty
Sometimes less, sometimes more
On Shasta, on Lassen, on Trinity Alps
Douglas Firs and Ponderosa Pines
In Mendocino, in Eureka
Planting baby giants, Redwoods
Sequoias in Sequoia National and Klamath
Young men with hoe-dads
Knew some old ones too
Women as well, though few
If you could bear the snow, the rain
If you could bear back-breaking pain
The glory is yours
As was once mine
Reforestation
Go plant your line
To be eternally in
Mother Nature's good graces
And kinship known by campfire
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
Warmth
What a great feeling.
The same sensation of those sweet orange rays of the sun.
When the sun rises is brings warmth to all its searching beams touch.
Warmth is the subtle heat from a campfire.
When you and friends are roasting mallows.
Warmth is not only physical
Is it also emotional
Warmth is when somebody is kind to you.
Like giving you a hug on a bad day.
Warmth may come from a significant other.
Maybe when they hold your hand
Maybe when they say the three magic words "I love you."
Warmth is also when you do the same kindness for others.
Not only will you be the warmth in someone else life.
You might add a little sunshine to yours as well in return.
This warmth physical and mental keeps us toasty
in this otherwise bleak and cold world.
May your day be full of sunshine and happiness.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
My Estranged Dear
Why couldn't we piecemeal the past
The pieces that crashed
Over dinner and a cup of joe
Over the branches that glow
Why did the leaves fall from their limbs
Before the Autumn hymns
Before their time
Our days lost in chime
Why do two hearts sever alone
Confetti tomorrows falling to stone
Why my estranged dear do you dread
A benevolence served over broken bread
A posse of good nature willed
In fall of olive branches milled
To my estranged dears
Collectively over the years
I sat in front of the mirror
Farther away than nearer
Pondering the same sad old song
Of where golden went wrong
Was it being on the ruler of the river
With no catches to deliver
Being next to our campfire
Small flames freezing your heart's desire
Was the heat of the night
Dancing in plight
Were the words I spoke
Just a convoy of smoke
Was it sleeping in the restless tent
Your pent up passion spent
On black bears in others, you see
And not in me
To my estranged dears
My eyes were blind to your fears
I admit with regret
And knowingly I know my debt
Yet I can only wander on the past
In hopes that an ember is cast
A ruler I was not
Though vetted by such for naught
Logan Robertson
8/11/2018
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
Span the hour of dark intent,
the raven's flight slips through the night.
Phantom shadows dance by campfire light,
and gossimer moonlight shines.
Unseen footsteps heard in the dark,
some black nightmare approaches.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
I want my Grandmother,
to be at my college graduation.
I want my Grandmother,
to write me letters while I'm away.
And if you won't let her,
Take me back to when I was a child.
Sitting in the sun on Grandmas lap.
Catching fire flies while she sat,
around a campfire with my Grandfather.
Telling stories of how they first met.
I want my grandmother.
Dear Cancer,
I want my grandmother.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
I stuck chickens in my baggy tie dye shirt
nuzzled on the couch, coffee in hand.
I enjoyed a deep conversation with a willow tree
and asked how it felt about the other species.
I slid cookies in the back pocket of my tattered jeans
before biking through the morning air.
I smiled at old Ted in the nursing home
with a wink, he smiled back.
I dribbled the basketball with the strong scent
of campfire coming from my backyard.
I danced in the shower
the warm droplets falling on my skin.
I smoked in the sparkling cove
with strangers that became my friends.
I flew off the high rocks
and submerged into cold crystal waters.
I looked into those faded blue eyes,
and chuckled cause' we do that.
I balanced on the fallen limb
and hopped up onto the beautiful stump.
I giggled with my sisters
cause' we made some really mean jokes.
I ate spaghetti with my friends,
and laughed so hard we choked.
I tumbled over tree roots
got back up and kept on trailin'.
I thanked God for this life
and he said you're welcome.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
I keep telling myself that if I lay here long enough something's gonna swallow me and it's not because my heads been somewhere else lately it's because I sleep on the floor. Even when I don't. I sleep on the floor. The mattress has holes because mattresses get holes sometimes when you don't have blankets to cover them and you're too cold to put the cigarette out on anything other than yourself or what you have to sleep on now. Last year I'd spend every day in bed with a little bag full of drugs and a map to the bathtub just in case I forget what I took two seconds ago because I think it happened yesterday and I take more. And then I'm shaking, not because I'm cold this time. I'm seizing and nobody is home because everybody leaves me for preachers or church or a campfire or someone prettier. This part is foggy. I remember again a bathtub, an empty hotel bathtub and my mother and I say mama did you leave the door open on purpose and she says I went to church. She went to church. She went to church. Bathtub. I sleep there. Even though we are in a hotel I sleep in the bathtub because I like the way my anxiety sounds when it echoes. I like to hear it. Play it back. Memory. Back to the only house I've ever lived in alone. I'm seizing. I stop. I hear you. I somehow forget that it's 4 in the morning. It's my birthday now, nobody knows but it's my birthday now, teen years behind me but still a teen year drug addiction and you tell me to look out the window so I do. And the sky's on fire. I don't fall asleep again for three days but the sky's on fire. And so am I. And so are you. And I don't want to go back to the place I go to when I see the faces but I put myself here. I push and push and push and then I act surprised when something falls off the edge. I'm alone now. Even when I'm not. I'm alone.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
I don't want smart.
I want spontaneous.
I don't want roses and a candle-lit dinner.
I want drunken nights by the campfire.
I don't want a boy that says 'I love you'
Because I don't believe in love
And, even if I did,
I'm not emotionally capable of feeling it.
I want a boy that's okay with that.
I don't want a boy that showers me with compliments
or a knight in shining armor.
I don't want mushy love letters or romantic get aways.
I don't want a boy who's looking for a wife
because I don't believe in marriage.
And I don't want a lover.
I want a partner in crime.
I want a boy with chaos flickering in his eyes.
I want a boy who smiles a lot.
I want contagious laughter.
I want loud.
I want steamy kisses where he presses my body into his and my skin tingles.
I don't want late night phone calls or 'Good morning' texts.
I want a boy that calls me out on my ********
I want a boy that pushes my buttons.
I want a challenge.
I don't want a boy that makes me feel pretty.
I want a boy that makes me feel alive.
I want a boy that taps on my window in the middle of the night
And brings me on a starlit adventure.
I don't want a boy that makes love.
I want a boy that will **** me raw.
And I want a boy that will let me pass out on him afterwards.
And I want a boy that won't get offended if I move away in the middle of the night
Because cuddling hurts my neck and his heartbeat is keeping me awake.
I don't want a boy that holds hands.
I want a boy that drives too fast.
I don't want a boy that babies me.
And I don't want a shoulder to cry on
Because I'm not fragile
And I can take care of myself.
I want a boy that pushes me into oncoming sprinklers
And doesn't hold anything back.
I don't want a boy that's looking for forever
because forever seems like a really long time.
I want a boy that goes day by day.
I don't want safe.
I want to go fast.
I want to live on the edge.
I want exhilaration.
I don't want to be wanted.
I want to want.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
There are trees,
And buzzing bees,
There are mountains,
Between them the sun rises,
Like a beautiful golden fountain,
The Cool wind blows,
And some prancing doe,
It exists amidst a forest,
There is a flowing brook,
Inside the Hut is a singing cook,
Cooking a tasty meal for the tribe,
There is no electricity,
No gas mobility,
No Internet,
People using fishing net,
To reel in their catch,
During the campfire,
They have a singing Match,
At night,
The mosquitoes bite,
But no one puts up a fight,
The wolves howl in the eerie night,
Howling at the moonlight,
This is what other tribes pillage,
And this is an extract,
Of my hometown village
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC