"cinders" poems
Heat beats down upon the street
Birds too hot to fly,
Blistered sand you cannot stand
Drenched with sweat am I.
Cows collect in shadow deep
Panting sheep hang head,
Goshawk flies in cobalt skies
Hills of grass stand dead.
Whisp of smoke, a puff of breeze
Sirens scream in air,
Running men in squads of ten
Emerge from everywhere.
Now the rising wind takes charge
Runs with leaping flame
Into crown of eucalypts
To rage across the plain.
Too late the tenders hoses pour,
Too late the fireman’s shout
Inferno hot has run amok
And all control a rout.
Generating mighty winds
The fire charges forth
Spiralling in furnace air
To incinerate for sport.
Vanquished men exhausted stand
Watch with useless eyes,
As raging flames consume their truck,
Inside a good mate dies.
A live thing in the burnished night
It writhes and spirals high
Across the flaring treetops
Hot, red smoke fills the sky.
As sudden as it starts, it stops
A wind change in the air.
Ravaged forest stark and black
Hot ashes everywhere.
Hills of cinders smoking now
Stock in death’s repair,
Homesteads rendered charcoal like
Farmers in despair.
A silence in the ravaged hills
Birdless in the sky,
Bushfire horror, death and smoke
Enough to make you cry.
Marshalg
In support of my Australian brethren and their torched nation.
30 January 2013
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
YOUR bony head, Jazbo, O dock walloper,
Those grappling hooks, those wheelbarrow handlers,
The dome and the wings of you, ******
The red roof and the door of you,
I know where your songs came from.
I know why God listens to your, "Walk All Over God's Heaven."
I heard you shooting craps, "My baby's going to have a new dress."
I heard you in the cinders, "I'm going to live anyhow until I die."
I saw five of you with a can of beer on a summer night and I listened to the five of you
harmonizing six ways to sing, "Way Down Yonder in the Cornfield."
I went away asking where I come from.
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I'm cold. A chill in the air.
Wood fire dwindling to smolders.
Ash crisped cinders to share.
Cotton between our shoulders.
That endearing musk of burnt wood.
A soft kiss on your cheek.
My arm wrapped round you.
I whisper in your ear
those words I do love to speak.
"I'll distract you not from the beauty of this world,
nor the loves you've counted.
I'll never let you waver from your hearts dream.
Stay true - look up ahead and mine will be seen."
This faint light up ahead.
It flickers and dances.
Clawing and bubbling to break.
Daylight will be upon us, no chances.
Don't blink or you'll miss this.
The birth of life - light years away.
An explosion of color flooding the sky.
Life inspiring feeling - opposite to grey.
Rain of warm power filling my voids.
A dream born anew each day.
A love found in you.
Explored in every single way.
A never ending gift.
If only we're awake.
Just then as it broke.
Did you feel it?
I felt yours and you mine.
Our hopes and dreams become one.
A valley of trust now glowing.
Warm tones red through yellow.
Delivered by the morning saint.
My dream revealed.
Endless passion only the sun could paint.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Never lie to the same poem twice
save it for the next one
or better yet don't tell it at all
for a lie no matter how beautiful
it may sound
or sweet it may taste
rolling off the tongue
will always leave behind
a sour smell
to linger in the mouth
of the past and present
and more often than not
carry knives into the future
Never kiss a new lover
with an old prayer on your lips
it will not bloom
to love or lust
only heartache and embarrassment
be alone and lonely and miserable
until there is no stain or trace
of old fire burning
or cinders glowing
or ashes still smoldering
forming the face and the name
that no longer cares
for your prayers
Never tell the truth to a kiss
that whispers only lies
when speaking of love
and dances with serpents
that tend to planting seeds
of venom and lust
in the skin
and the core of pleasure
that will only wither
and rot on the vine
be patient with yourself
be kind to yourself
time and life will pass
and pass too quickly
and pass too slowly
wait and listen
you will find
what you need
as it finds you...
unexpectedly
and then you can
kiss the love
that whispers in dreams
while only speaking the truth
Aug 19, 2017
Aug 19, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
***Lure of lust
Love’s lost
Burning passion
Cinders remain
Heart’s remnants***
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
In this life
we are sculpted down
to bone
burned to cinders
and our ash
tossed without regret
into the four winds
I wish I could live.
Be a man.
Find comfort in the sun.
But every cell in my body
revolts against time
cries out against the sun
speaks in tongues
for the sole purpose
of creating an outrage
against God.
Oh Lord!
How did you make us thus?
And why?
Above all
why?
We are made metal
and in the end
alloy with the sun.
Our breath is drawn
to fuel that fire
bring life to a boil
and
if luck prevails
to wake each morning
in comfort
and with a smile.
Perhaps the last sweet smile.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 3:19 PM UTC
there’s a network of vigilance
around the guarded causeway
of walla walla
the stacked cinders
and smoking rails
leave nothing
but black hooded fate
gray halls
and razor scrawls
mark the hellion crust
abandoned overtures
and dead fill
cloud the horror
and retribution
of this hell hole
bloaters and skin heads
(with wretched memoirs)
shout incessantly
from the second floor
adolphus greely
reading over the
rights of nantucket
and banging his head
on the bent steel bars
with pockets pinched
and tumblers dangling
the stone walls soften...
a seminal moment
crosses the roo house
as mother mary
and the good painted warrior
loosen a finely tuned grip
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
Let the bird of loudest lay
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing
Save the eagle, feather’d king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak’st
With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,
‘Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence:—
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none;
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
‘Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.
Property was thus appall’d,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was call’d.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either neither;
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried, ‘How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.’
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
THRENOS
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix’ nest;
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity:
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
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The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.
All night there isn’t a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.
My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I’ll not be knowing,
Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
No matter where it’s going.
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The fairys laugh in their play-
letting the sugary pollen flutter onto pale lashes,
with their pixie dust drifting into the darkest of ashes.
I'm going to lay back down,
Amongst the fleeting flowers.
For I swore I saw the remedy,
Hidden with in your golden heart.
Alast, I could have it wrong.
Was it not you, who dare to tell me, "be brave".
But is it not your spent heart,
at her feet as the blackest of ashes.
Glittering fairy dust, could not hide the ruins.
For evils wicked had already been undone.
A curse; a curse, upon your wretch soul.
Sweep the cinders in a coffer-
Lock them under key,
Cover your tracks.
Hide the way.
I forgive thee:
I do, I really do.
But please, my love.
Leave.
For if not, she will find ye--
And it will hurt only me.
Hurry forth now, The witch sends her huntsman.
The howls, I hear them dancing on the winds.
Run.
Do not look back.
But please, my dearest of dears, forget me.
As I have forgiven you--
Now go: A thousands I loves you.
Leave me be.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
Oh beloved princess,
I'm just a commoner,
I just drink cannabis,
Lime & shank I have.
You are daughter of the king,
I lack any maids or servants,
You are protected by shawls,
I lack even a blanket or rug..
Get married to a moneylender,
Marry a lucky man...
I have pieces of purity,
But I'm just a commoner,
I just drink cannabis,
Lime & shank I have.
You live in the palaces,
I roam the wilderness,
You are not used to it,
I am used to roaming.
Get married to a rich man,
Marry a lucky man.
I just have purity in me,
Yes, I'm a commoner,
I just drink cannabis,
Lime & shank is all I have.
I carry on my austerity in incense,
I drink a slurry of cinders,
I tame hundreds of snakes on my neck,
I will scare you off my saturnalia.
You need a man with wavy hair,
A man with wavy hair.
My hair is dishevelled,
I am a commoner,
And I drink cannabis,
All I have is a lime & shank.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
Lonely and cold,
I wait for love
beside the frosted window
while dreams of fireflies
sparkle in the snow.
I sip black coffee
from my mug, quietly,
so I don't wake them...
Because I know when summer comes
I’ll have found someone
and I want to make sure they're all well rested
so they can swirl around my lover and me
when our soft lips spark
for the first time
like flint,
so I can watch them drown out
in that new lovelight
that'll glow furiously when dusk
cinders into darkness.
But for now
I'll have to deal with the darkest months
alone
while they lay on the lawn
asleep under the moon
with beautiful dreams.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
I need to cleanse it, free myself
Of this burden tainted upon
My being. Cinders are drenched on
Flesh
Spirit
Expunge
That which writhes is not burnt away,
So I must eradicate its stench
It violates upon my being
I unburden the pressures so released,
Pyroclastic flows breath exfoliation on my
Soul,
Pealed,
Freed
Of that stench scorched into oblivion
I relish in the torment of those below
Freshly parched earth as lungs burn breath,
"Fallen misery descends in singed flesh"
I release the Feathers weighted down
Haemorrhaging as crimson flows to the
Stems, expanding into the beauty
Of death, I am
Released,
Liberated,
Redeemed
Upon the fallen as I step upon ash
"Bones, death, rebirth"
As no longer afflicted,
I am once again blanched as purest darkness
Is Neither black or grey
"But lucid white"
"As purity is only clean"
"I am purity of darkness"
And the taints of humanity are flakes upon
Silent statues upon the ground, I am malevolent incarnate..
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
The veins in my heart,
rooted down to my stomach,
and from these roots began to grow a tree,
and on its branches caterpillars did roam
right there in my stomach,
they made their home.
yet I was alone.
Enter the lumberjack.
The caterpillars cocooned,
ready to begin the transformation
from girl to woman, oh, the sensation!
Time ticked on,
the lumberjack and I,
with that little spark in our eye,
from the tree, grew a garden, into woods
our love resounding above the forest canopy
the feral instincts, the cinders, the shade
until finally the Sun no longer shone
so the wall of qualms had to go,
in the form of trees,
one by one.
chopped.
Yet.
the wildfires had sparked
and the cocoons were now butterflies
and the forest we grew together was ablaze
what he didn't chop, my cinders singed,
ash by ash life was ceasing to be,
and then from the woods,
were we forced to flee.
and the butterflies flew free
the blossoms,
the trees,
burned
but the butterflies flew free,
in my stomach,
they are free
so now a bit of our dead forest lives in me.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
To my dearest monsters,
I hope this letter finds you on the brink of your doom, rotting away in your sinister cave. Because it's what evil like you deserves. To rot and woe, to know the pain of fading, before you fade away. Because your longevity is short lived, for most of you will die come first daylight.
I hope you know, there is no home for you here. But if you try and build one, It will be burnt down. Every scrapped cinder and discarded log crushed to black dust. The substance of your soul, you're made of cinders, burning away at the human you once were. And if no one else will stand against you, know I will. Don't mess with fresh fire, lest you get burn away too.
Sincerely, I.
Mar 10, 2025
Mar 10, 2025 at 9:48 PM UTC
you began a man in your uniform
uniformly lined in manhood
but unmanned in your last line of defense
the soldier, bleeding in his solidarity.
his head held down by the weight of his thoughts
and his heart held high by his idealism
in this century, he bleeds for your sins
and you, bleeding for the sinners.
bleeding for the sinners.
bleeding from the cinders; burning holes in your flesh from the fire you'd put out in a last-ditch effort to save the "smokey the bear" imagery from your childhood.
didn't you know it'd burn down too
as you dreamt of being an adult
in this distant, futuristic adulthood
where you'd be bleeding out again.
not forming in singular lines
not forming anything but time
in the singular exsanguination of a generation;
they're bleeding for your singing.
bled out and torn about, they die.
dreaded and thrown about in the last ditch efforts of life, they cry out again to the demi-gods and goddesses they believed in for your sins.
they bleed.
Purely.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
Cottony smoke curled under my nails, on hands too clean, clearly, for the task that would send them one day to bones. Perhaps without the cinders and ash burning peacefully away at the underside of my tongue, I’d find the strength to understand. Though in the darkness, one little gnat of color was a world of fascination. My mind withered in the fire and ignited in that small, red-black glow, wrapping into its strings. Wishing I could burn away too, and burn away everything.
It is no wonder, that….
Being toasty in frosty air, unable to feel my toes, and quite unable to care.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC
Taffeta dress.
Pink bows and ribbons,
Plaited elegantly through her shiny hair.
Shoes made of crystal glass.
Azure eyes that allure.
Princes and spinsters.
All vying for love.
In ball gowns.
Feel the frowns.
The pauper descends.
Out of place, amid friends.
Pretences of sisters who whisper and moan.
Two sisters and mother that clamour the throne.
They're trying for love.
Met on the staircase.
We really don't really care case.
Sisters on ladders of heels,as they stagger .
Their mouths filthy as bladders and bowels.
Nasty creatures.
Vile in lust.
Lustful greed.
Maternal demon seed.
Stepmother, toxically crumbles to dust.
Crone godmother.
A quick sip of milk.
Cinderella my lovely became but a sylph.
Dispelled stepmother and daughter's that cussed.
Transport to the princes ball.
In a pumpkin, should maybe have been made into a sickly sweet pie.
Lizards as footmen, stood fast on the back on the coach pulled by white mice.
The creatures were shocked.
By the changes, all the rearrangements.
Built up with Cinderella before, a creature comfort kind of rapport.
Be back by midnight said the fairy godmother, she knew he'd really grow to love her.
Midnight came midnight went.
A glorious evening only lent.
She tripped on the stair,
Nobody cared, except the prince and cute cinders.
She lost her shoe, in a hurry to flee.
Prince himself picked it up, unable to believe in lady luck was meant to be.
He searched his dominions far and wide, just to find his princess bride.
All the best things found in fairy tales.
What do I find?
Just slugs and snails.
Yep, you guessed it I'm a bit of a cynic.
(c)Livvi MMCV
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Like mourning bells ringing,
I woke to hear trumpets playing taps,
Next to a funeral casket.
I observed quietly,
With some foreign melodies filling the void between my temples.
Showing disregard out of mere respect,
Really.
Not for myself,
Certainly.
For I was as dead as the corpse I was grieving.
Falling into my fog again, screaming the names of ex-lovers
Over and over and over.
Needing infatuation
On uneven planes of judgment,
As if I were seeking insight from an invalid.
But there was a time when I lacked even more
Than at that loathsomely lonesome moment.
And it went slithering on inside of the void
Like some ******* disease that was ripping the holy living **** out of my heart.
Seeing the casket lower
Under a cascade of flowers,
My temples went silent,
The melodies burned away like thousands of distant cinders,
And their voices occupied the void, as if my mind was their soapbox.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
the complicated patterns here
that i've drawn into the snow
feel like a labyrinth
look like a puzzle
and i'm trying to find the answer
before the pieces melt away
and even though i know i have the time
this cold will stay, it's only december
i still feel like the moon's hands
are ticking, beckoning me
forward, telling a story
where i speed through the next few months
and arrive at that fork in the road
the numbers don't add up
there is too much here
too many words, too many pauses
too many buried feelings
and possible causes
of probable scenes that play out
in my head
and the figures just don't work
pencil after pencil
lead, graphite and ink
crumpled paper, metaphoric cinders
and this is when i realize
i have never been good at math
and now it's finally catching up to me
as i try to add
you and me
together
and the equation just doesn't work out
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
My land has been ripped.
Its seeds trapped beneath
cinders of ash and rock.
Its root suffocating.
Its branches
no longer branches,
and its buds weeping
somewhere along the edge
of heaven looking
down upon bent cities
mourning those whose
flesh are screaming
to kiss the innocent
skin-like fingernails
of newborn children who
have been burned to death.
And the children!
Oh! The children!
They are sealed within
the winds that dance along
Lebanons green motherly lands
as the embers and crumbs whistle
an eerie tune through the
emptiness of the streets;
My heart is burning with
the souls that have died
a thousand different ways.
Somewhere over the mounds
of Lebanon, souls
that once breathed her air full
of joyous pride, clutch
to the sadness and adorn her
in prayer.
I believe with all that I believe that
somewhere deep within the forests
of her beauty,
Lebanon is smiling
awaiting rejuvenation,
awaiting a nation
dancing in
illumination
One day we will open
our dead eyes and find
that the capital of heaven is
Beirut.
Finally salvation.
-Arizona
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
...
*You're cupping embers
in antique palms
that were meant
to harvest moonlight.*
*Raindrops ghost over earth's skin
nebula clouds map universal eyes,
and you're just a masterpiece
who is best friends with time.*
*Don't let those pianos play you,
serenade and masquerade you
because we all seem to
fall in love with the right music,
and all the wrong notes.*
*That friend lit a fire in your room,
seven embers destroying
unfamiliar wallpaper.
You burnt your dream catcher,
to cinders and charcoal;
Now you pray for sunlight,
all you've got is a lonely candle's flame.*
*But from the nightmares and windowsill,
moonlight slipped through
and in your palms
you held
my words.*
Fire doesn't last forever, Leonie.
...
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
THE POLICEMAN buys shoes slow and careful;
the teamster buys gloves slow and careful;
they take care of their feet and hands;
they live on their feet and hands.
The milkman never argues;
he works alone and no one speaks to him;
the city is asleep when he is on the job;
he puts a bottle on six hundred porches and calls it a day's work;
he climbs two hundred wooden stairways;
two horses are company for him;
he never argues.
The rolling-mill men and the sheet-steel men are brothers of cinders;
they empty cinders out of their shoes after the day's work;
they ask their wives to fix burnt holes in the knees of their trousers;
their necks and ears are covered with a ****
they scour their necks and ears;
they are brothers of cinders.
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You don't need me
I don't need you
Those are obvious facts
None that were ever true
Remain persistent
Thoughts consistent
Where ever that went
It was time well spent
Not a moment too soon
Should I release my consent
I found it dwelling beneath
All of my black crude arrogance
Lays in the smoldering cinders
Of what once was our hope
No future between us
Only decades apart
Do we truly start crumbling apart
Decayed and blown ashes
We cross paths as dust
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC