"campfires" poems
They drove me across the country,
from the busy city where we departed
to intimate villages where they recessed,
and spent a star filled, moonlit night
singing songs,
their bodies casting long, wavy shadows
from campfires they huddled around.
Just as I got too cold and my wheels
couldn't turn anymore
did they finally turn the spark plugs,
revving and igniting my despair and sensitivity
producing heat.
Sometimes they pushed
until I shoved
and scraped my rubber
on asphalt,
on rocks,
on sand,
on boulders big and small,
and I hit a flat-line;
the air I could hold in
no longer.
They rode me into a forest
whose undergrowth was as thick
as a bears' fur during the winter,
and redwood that spanned the horizon
you thought it could pat the constellations.
A forest teeming with life that
one would react like Wendy from Peter Pan--
never wanting to leave Neverland.
And I could see it in their
soft faces and squinting eyes,
bright and lit up with joy,
every detail apparent
as if I burst my headlights into high-beam,
directly on them.
It was there I ran out
of gas and my engines
parched for oil,
from the endless adventure
that was exhilarating and memorable.
One could, as a result,
easily forget responsibilities.
There was no service or refill station nearby,
so I was abandoned where I parked,
flat tires, rusty hood, broken chassis,
dilapidated suspension.
I've proved my worth
from when I was brought in
and over time
it wasn't enough.
Only repairing, never maintaining.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
Introduction
There they stood; keeping silent company.
Yet of His face, wept searing electricity.
To the lovers of life
Here they stand, keeping silent company.
No utterance dealt; yet clear in both their minds
A single, brilliant truth:
He longs for her with a savage delight.
And it cries from every fibre, exalting!
It is in the bearing of his eye;
Rifling through her tender flesh
In search of what he knows, from voices ages old, is there:
That her heart will beat for no other as it beats for him right now;
That in this moment, their Souls are bared
To each other’s glares- naked, and blemished, and cowering-
Yet his eyes remain fixed and sure:
And for this, she loves him.
For they have seen each other for the First of Times,
Truly! And as with many the Ancient Laws unfurled,
They stand aware, in lack of ever being taught,
Aware with every atom, every straining tendon tight
That their time's so very short.
And so they drink… wordless
To each other, to their youth, and to their bodies
Shining like never before in the noonday air
Garbed in cloth that snaps and furls around their waists.
They imbibe with electric eyes,
Eyes that are new born to this world of light
And come out screaming, living, and sensitive
For lack of ever being touched.
They revel in their new-found joy;
Pouring from Her figure,
Of Her sleek, supple waist and the arch of her back,
Bristling with delight,
Of His strong hands and easy smile,
That spoke of laughter scattered
Across countless campfires of summers past.
Their light does burn intense as any fire,
And when their brimming anticipation
Overspills its crimson chalice
The silence shall SHATTER.
To find peace again in each other's arms.
Fumbling in sweet darkness-
Of heavy lids, of earthy flesh,
With lips embraced...
In ravenous finality.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
I have a hiraeth
To be back
At the place nestled in mountains
Covered in snow
Illuminated by the bright sunlight
I have a hiraeth
To be where
The people listen
And sing around campfires
The flames crackling in the cold air
I have a hiraeth
But it will always be one
I could never fully reach
The wondrous, incredible
Magic.
I have a hiraeth
To be back home
Where the air is always fresh
And the nights always starry
Where there are no worries
Where I am meant to be
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
You've always been in my heart
Where you've stayed since the beginning
You're like a little sister to me
Like the twinkling stars are to the beautiful sky
Like the driftwood is to tiptoe across
Like the romantic couples are to sandy beach strolls
Like the glowing campfires are to cooling nights
Like the soft music is from crashing waves
Like the white seashells are to listening ears
Like the gigantic ships are to the rolling sea
Like the wiggling fish are to the squawking seagulls
Like hungry people are to their picnic lunches
Like the playful families are to the never-ending coast
Like all eyes are to the breath-taking view
Like the smiling faces are to the digital cameras
Like the crying children are to their tearful goodbyes
You're like a little sister to me
We've always been, one way or another, the best of friends,
And we'll forever be, until the end
Copyright 2014; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
No more than a rumor
Or a legend spoken in whispers
Mischievous folklore
Foretold around campfires
About a man
Skin black, birthed under an Eclipse
Who stalks the dark forces
Casting his might over them
Fending off the evil
Which festers across the land
Bleeding gold ink
That soils the crop and livestock
Wherever life thrives
Evil musters its footprints
But wherever it may be
He is there
Baffling their kin
Striking like thunder
Swift and silent
Like the humming katana
Making clean kills
And fading back into thin air
Being seen as a ghost
When more is known of him
For he is flesh
Great in heart
And vibrant in sight
As the father of judgment
Carrying out his given cases
That are closed by his steel hands
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
There is nothing more comforting than warmth
Rays of sun painting my cheeks red
Blistering campfires that tickle my toes
My own blood trickling down my arm
As I looked into the bathroom mirror I felt nothing but
Warmth
Toxic words that had been spat at me disappeared down the sink
A blurry fist fight faded to memory
My black eye and bleeding nose ceased to pain me
All I felt was the red blanket coating my arm
It doesn't hurt
I feel nothing
Silver pens write terrible tragedies in red ink
But they also write happier endings for troubled minds
I am my own demise
My destruction
There is no conductor and my train is off the rails
Spinning, racing out of control
And stopping at a red light
Red lights that pool into one in my palm
Translucent, reflecting the light above me
I see red
I feel warm
I taste fate
She can't hurt me as long as I am warm
I will leave this world with no blood on my hands but my own.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
How sweet the name of Cthulhu sounds
In raving mystics' screams!
It drives them mad, enflames their brains,
And troubles all their dreams.
It brings insanity and dread
Into the world of men,
This world which once seemed safe and sane
Shall not make sense again.
We gaze upon thy face more dread
Than any watchful dragon;
And sing the eternal hymn to thee,
Ia ia Cthulhu fhtagn.
Cthulhu! my dead yet sleeping king,
Thy cults shall be restored,
Thy tomb shall rise to air again,
Just, r'lyeh, r'lyeh, Lord.
Weak is our twisted woodland dance
And cold our campfires cursed,
But when the stars shall rise aright,
We shall be eaten first.
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
Every weekend at summer camp the
Memories of the midnight walks we made,
The rushing of the silvery creeks
As well as the daily art and games,
Entertainment as well as molding clay,
The mountainside at night gave good
Presence, the moon offering her halo,
With the memory of endless essence so,
During this time of adventurous fun,
A story telling we campers would all go.
Her raspy voice, I can remember well,
Those cute sparkly playful brown eyes,
We walked side by side, she told me that
The truth was being denied, she was a
Girl in disguise, how I dream of her
In Garnet, Alexandrite. That feeling of total trust,
Now I will probably never be close to
Anyone I love again, already grown old,
To old to ever dream, but what a dream,
A lovely bliss to know that she was my friend.
One day, when the time is right, we'll find it,
This feeling again, of wild spirited joy, campfires,
Of following the forest path, now innocence lost,
A time that is long-gone and past, and if it
Never happens again, the darkness of night
With quiet whispering, story time moon light,
I will never forget her, never will I forget that
Beautiful freckled face, those beady eyes,
No, never forget you, not for all time.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
He told me he stopped smoking.
Threw away the packs of Mayfair
into the river next to his house.
The river where we once spent the evening
talking about why stars align the way they do,
As if they know what they are doing.
Neither of us knows what we are doing.
We are tea stained maps,
And fragile lungs,
And he is bruised fingertips from writing ‘I don’t love you. I’m sorry.’
I am shallow breaths in early winter.
Waking up at five to five to wait for the sun to rise.
He is made of sugar cubes
And campfires;
Glowing in the dead of the night
As if they have a right
To be the main attraction.
We are 3am scribbles in notebooks
And origami warriors.
You folded me so easily
With your piano playing fingers.
And when I wasn’t looking,
You made me into a boat and pushed me onto that same river.
Lit matches for a sail and finally, let me burn.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Stars, brilliant, yellow and white, they pierce the total black dome arching over the trees.
Campfires spew sparks, dragons fly and jump to meet the stars,
Miniature electric lights; a spritely accent around the RVs.
Night choristers, peeping, honking voices dispelled by dawn
Morning light creeps up
Dew
Dripped, rivulets ran down the side of the tent
Campfires, lit anew
Pancakes, sausage, oatmeal.
Noon
the heat of the sun bakes the ground, dew dispelled.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
chapped lips
sticky and sweet
the popsicle melts
and stains my crisp white dress
a seagull steals the french fry out of a little boy’s hands,
he begins to cry
the busker’s sing songs
of love and loss,
whiskey and wine
the boardwalk creaks
and i dream
of a cold beer on the beach,
the melody of waves reuniting with sand
like long lost friends
the soothing slap of sandals on pavement
freckles and homemade jam
midnight adventures to the park
skinny-dipping in a strangers pool
hopscotch and chalk
freshly painted toenails
the sun gifting us with golden skin and golden hair
adirondack chairs and campfires
fishing in lady evelyn and portaging in temagami
braving the falls at muskegoe
and counting the stars while lying on the bridge
catching frogs in the pond
while drinking coolers in paddle boats
sweaty palms and first kisses,
nervous anticipation
red skies mark the beginning of endless nights
i dip my toes in the fresh water
and the ripples skew my reflection
the man in the moon is happy
and so am i
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 3:26 AM UTC
home is where the heart is
and my heart lies in the mountains,
with nights of hot cocoa and campfires;
with the soaring trees, bad cameras.
and in the center of it all, laughter and midnight games.
the dresses, the stars, the countless walks. . .
my heart belongs to those in the beds next to mine,
and in the eyes of him. loud songs and braided hair make me smile.
and yes, my heart is with you.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
Jordan gave me rose quartz prayer beads. Freddy picked me up and spun me around.
I kissed the beads and kissed my hand and blew it to the stars, over and over again.
Thank you universe, for the kind hearted people you have dropped into my existence.
Thank you universe, for the good music, the good **** good wine, and good company.
Thank you, for the smiles, the laughs, the cigarettes, the numbers given out on backs of receipts.
Thank you for the swing sets, the campfires, the coffee and tea, the cars we drive around in.
Thank you for emotions.
Thank you for the feeling I get when someone kisses my forehead,
the feeling when someone compliments my smile,
the feeling when I notice the moon for the first time that evening.
Thank you, for the moon, the stars, the clouds, and the autumn breeze.
Thank you for the sounds, the crickets, the leaves rustling, the clinking glasses,
and the sound of small kisses.
Thank you for the snort I get when I laugh to hard.
Thank you for the bass, the guitar, the drums.
Thank you for the shouts, the soft spoken, the loud, and the whispers.
Thank you for the doors, the staircases, and the windows.
Thank you for everything that ever was, is, and will be.
Thank you for the indefiniteness of the now.
Thank you for everything.
I once read in a book, that the likelihood of our proteins folding just so to make us what we are is comparable to that of a twister rolling through a junkyard and assembling a jumbo jet.
This is something I like to remind myself daily.
It is so miraculous that we are here today to experience everything and everyone around us, and be able to document and share it.
I hope one day someone can look at my photographs and writings and feel these immense and overwhelming emotions that I feel in these moments.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
Butterflies in the day
Fireflies at night
Adding more beauty to my surrounding
Here in the middle of July
People head for the pools to splash around
The laughter of children what a beautiful sound
People lathering up and soaking up the sun
The middle of July; everybody is having fun
There are concerts and festivals, state and county fairs
Summertime fun can be found almost everywhere
Amusement parks and swimming during the day
Campfires and outdoors concerts at night
What a beautiful month; the month of July
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Let's build a fort out
of pillows and blankets
and holey sheets and stuffed
animals and couch cushions.
Let's go climb some trees
and jump in a strangers
pond with all of our clothes
still on.
Let's go catch the fireflies
in the middle of an open
field on the hottest
night in July.
Let's dance around campfires
and drink until we fall over
into the grass.
Let's fall asleep in the dewy
green as we look up at the
stars trying to figure out our future.
Let's stay this way forever,
let's never grow old,
let's grow young together.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
I remember her distinctly,
she wore green flannel & cargo shorts,
Che cap & a stuck sunflower,
her braids exploded from under it.
She was proud of her antler-handled side knife
& jump boots, traipsed around
like she was on the nature boardwalk,
I heard she stalked Sasquatch once.
That girl was
the consummate outdoors woman,
she knew all about trapping,
skinning & first aid,
could make water
spring from the ground.
Her grin was infectious,
a true aura of love hung
like dander around her,
her sensuality screamed
silently from her twinkling eyes,
the color of azure.
I was with her for one summer,
then I moved out of her sacred-valley.
Every time I look at the stars,
I remember her campfires
& the times we spent
at Moondipper
in each others arms
tasting marshmallows.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
i've spent months like moths between poems
sacrificing gods for endless answers
but always losing the light or dying on a too-hot bulb
unable to comprehend infinity as a spiritual fly-swatter
but i'm learning how to surrender to silence
diminish into campfires
wash in busted fire hydrants
meditate inside the figurative dumpster of solitude
perhaps forever this time
but my attraction to her is raw
like the sun today at 3pm
burning away my anxiety and shadows
not fueled by selfish lust or vanity
but by surprising vacuum
she is frightening in her beauty
her mind filled with incandescent chaos
her voice a softly spoken flute singing in a canyon
her hair a delightfully suffocating gas
her belly, her smell, everything from
her nostrils to her feet marching
through my tingling limbs
she was from the far end of the universe
a dream of the temporal lobe
polluted by the spike-and-wave blips of computer music
halos around mouths chewing ecstasy pills
her mystic lips curled and eyes lightly fluttering
over a simmering can of cherry coke
my hands an unsteady inch away from
her heated and heaving rib-cage
my lips whispering breaths onto her ivory throat
after a 4am romp donald duck explains
childhood memories from a buzzing television box
the smell of man-musk and sandalwood
spilled whisky and patchouli thicken the air of the room
as weak dawn light streams in through philodendron stalks and fingered leaves arrested by the wind
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
The night sky lights up in a colourful array of
blues, reds, yellows, greens.
Spectators ooo and aaah over the display.
Loud bangs makes the little children flinch and squeal in delight.
Making memories with friends and family on these warm nights.
Plenty of food in the coolers and the kitchen to share
Board games on the table and lawn games on the grass to play.
Fireflies twinkling and dancing on the front lawn at twilight.
Campfires red and orange flicker softly in the dark,
warming the coldest of feet those nights.
Stories are passed on from generation to generation,
and silly campfire tunes are sung and danced.
It's summer time; ice pops to be eaten,
laughs to be exclaimed, photos to be taken,
friendships to be formed, and all-nighters to be pulled.
It's summertime, yes, it's summertime.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
And the chapped sun-baked tire
swung on the aged and frail rope attached to the most outright branch
of the sheltersome oak tree by the carved up picnic bench.
Children fought for such a throne on warm summer days,
Not many cared for clawing and snatching in attaining it,
But it was a necessary fight in those days.
Once they sat in their highest place and swung to the skies,
All they could see was the wind-ridden flow of treetops
rustling and swaying, creating nature’s static,
This why they fought,
This is why only the battered
and bruised cooled their cuts with forest breeze.
It broke one day,
after being a shelter in storming youth,
Charles Ferger snapped the rope
on a smooth swing to reach the sky.
They knew the clock was counting down
and no one could see how much time was left,
but they still hated Charles for being the one it broke on.
It wasn’t his fault, and they knew it,
but they had to blame someone.
No one ventured to it for the first few weeks,
The sight of it only reopened healing wounds.
At a certain point, years later, after the kids
had gone to high school, it was fixed.
No one knew who fixed it or when,
since the kids still went out there once in a while
to drink some nights and have campfires,
but they were glad it was fixed,
then news of the resurrection spread.
And on one MLK day,
no one remembers which,
they had a bonfire and swung as high as they could
to christen it back to its precious worn state once more,
fighting over it with the intentional caution they
used to use when wrestling for the uninhibited freedom
that in lay dormant in the crusty black tire swing.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
Hydrophilic Am I
Whenever it comes to you
As you carry me on my back
Light as a feather
Willing to go along with you
Because you'll always be there
And if I ever need a reminder
On how much you love me
I just count the waves
For I know the love you have for me
Is deeper than the submerge of a Cuvier's beaked whale
I Do not fear when you carry me ashore
A surrounding I don't know
For I know you were just taking a rest
For the next journey
You're going to take me on
If you were to ever play too rough
I Just swim beneath your tides
Because you'll protect along this rough ride
As along as we're together
We can face challenges
As high as the sky
I want you to be there with me
For every step I take
As the moonlight helps guides new life
Into your door each night
How the lobster and crab tickle you
Or when the sting rays decide to play Hide and Seek
I'll be there to witness the coral reefs decorating your floor
You've been around for years
And all you want is a friend
So I do not fear when you take me in
For it's a welcome like never before
All you want is for me to take this journey with you
For your friends usually come and go
Your shores go from being filled with laughter to the silence of the night
No more picnics or campfires
Just trash to remind you of the times you had
When the Bonze Sphere is no longer hot
No one comes to visit you anymore
it's like they forgot
I see it in your eyes that you long for lasting friend
So just know when I step foot inside your door
I'm here to stay for a little while more
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
Hide underneath the stars with me
and peel back my skin layer by layer,
starting at the cold fingertips
missing the tenderness his touch caused,
twisting up damaged limbs and wounds of my woe,
past scars from childhood stories
- the ones not meant for campfires -
and around hairs that used to stand
when your breath danced like two ghosts
- you and I -
down my neck and into my bloodstream.
Peel me back until I am nothing,
but that little boy cowering on the bathroom floor,
with flickering lights, bruised elbows,
a lump in his throat and pain in his chest,
crying for something that no longer
existed.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
To hell with maintaining a fire just so faces could be seen.
I danced on the embers extinguishing little stars and I scribbled in my notes and waited for that one girl to shut up about Twitter and Halloween costumes so I could hear—
the fog dragging its tongue up the valley.
Finally she began to realize the contest she was losing,
took the quiet advice of myself and the wind and went
to go tuck herself
into the tent,
into the safety of ceiling.
But,
you and I
opted to be
coyotes on the hillside.
I took the trail away from our sleeping counterparts,
and flayed you on the dirt where I stripped you of your fur,
howling to the fog and plowing valleys in your flesh,
your legs grew into roots, and wove length by longer length
‘round all the sturdy angles, the anchors of my hips
and you, oh you,
you would **** the marrow from my bone.
And when we lay out, raw and steaming
knees bleeding from the drainage ditch,
a gnawing fades out, falls to dreaming,
we, peeling off a well-known itch.
Then we play a game with satellites
Where bouncing mirrors reflect our minds
And laugh when the reflections never fit.
I gather up my skin, step one foot in and
stumble when the tightness traps my leg,
You pin up your ******* to please our sleeping guests
that wouldn’t take to anything irregular.
On the upward hike ten million lights, ten million lives
herded on the table of L.A.
A Serengeti of fire, a mass migration;
mammoths marching, tusks dipped in flame
Sitting around campfires once taught vocal apes to rhyme
but a million conversations
bleaches each the other white
and now a million electric campfires
bleaches L.A.’s lower sky.
And though I stomped out ours
the ash remains a scar
where we had nearly forgot
how to speak by choosing to not.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:22 AM UTC
in all fairness
it isn’t your fault
that you graced me
with all you beauty
only the gods could’ve made
and the angles could’ve woven
and I cannot blame you
for my little beating heart
lies in the sidewalks of you smile
taking camps building campfires
in your burning eyes
in second and third degrees
in all fairness
you’ve done nothing wrong
but be perfect as you are
lashes long
tattoos along
all is just to heavenly in feeling
and I cannot blame you
in all sense
that I can wring out in my
dry but full mind
filled with me
falling deep into you
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
The way
You cradle my ***
Steals my comfort,
Like a thief true to the black mask painted on you
You are not wood, but a trees revenge.
Plaguing my body with discomfort
Repercussive of the agony from flannel coated lumberjacks, way back when
Four legs
Must be sneakier
Than two, for no two legged beast has yet robbed me.
But my chair,
Does so daily.
Yet I
Come back to you, I
Sit atop of you
Expecting in your apparent antiquity
To soak some of that wisdom so often attributed to my elders around campfires.
I guess you only give me that gift when you burn.
And so
I should have known
By the hollow shout I hear
Echo when I trampoline my knuckles on your skin
As Dorothy knocked upon Tinman, finding not his heart-
Neither do I find yours.
Or is
It admirable
Perhaps, that you support me even as I presently slander you
As Atlas supported the world,
Whose stars that stabbed him in the back
For that
I certainly will
Return to you tomorrow
And while you are not the most sittable chair
you are at least my loyal chair
A ha!
The wisdom promised
Is found, without striking a match
And dancing around
Your burning, crackling corpse.
In fact,
I promise you this
I shall save you first
In the event of a fire.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 11:17 PM UTC