"combustible" poems
#*Words are the chemicals
Packed in vials sublime
Untouched pure in time
Their base Property lyrical
Words are the coefficients
Reactants , The Thoughts and Emotions
To balance the emotional equation
Poetic are the words omniscient
Combustible the thoughts, fragile the emotions
Handle with care , the equations
Cold storage processed, refilled
Magnanimous ,the words distilled
Thoughts never too dormant
Never static the emotions
The words a kinetic solution
Potential they have Charmant*#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 4:32 AM UTC
There are fireworks
Everywhere.
Small & big reminders
Of everywhere we’ve been.
Above the rooftops, above our
Top lips, in tremendous fashion.
Spread far, your soul & mine.
I couldn’t imagine life
Without you.
Something out of the blue,
Loud & breathtaking.
How we’ve inspired each other
In quick rocket bursts.
If nothing else we’ve learned
That in a matter of minutes
It can all come to an end.
The way you kiss me &
The ethos of traveling souls
Finding a color to forever live in.
I’ve found a place, there are
Fireworks everywhere.
If nothing else, we’ve learned
That in a matter of minutes
it can all come to an end.
& when it does, I’ll race you
To the top & kiss you and
Every memory I have of you.
The cosmos of left over
Gunpowder & shredded paper
All combustible in our celebration.
With eyes closed,
& the sizzling palpitation of my heart.
Possibly the biggest reminder.
Whenever I see fireworks,
I think of you
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 11:11 AM UTC
*tempestuous heartache
& sundried tears
exhaled whispers
& combustible caresses
unilateral monogamy
& bipolar love
singular sensations
& conjoined sensuality
degrading hopelessness
& elevated vulnerability
decelerated time
& soaring spirituality*
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
a battle ensued
across the skies
meteors and comets
impacted
upon each other
fierce were the explosions
a trembling quake
rolled through the planetary spheres
neutrons and protons
collided
monstrous and massive
destruction
befell the galaxies
which were ******
into the battle's vortex
combustible fires flared
burning for millions of years
the war didn't abate
the kinetic energy
compelled
more
devastation
catastrophe
lasted
until
eternity
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:18 AM UTC
I manage my time better than I manage my emotions.
Proceed with caution, there might be an explosion,
Like I'm made of vapors of Flammable and Combustible Liquids.
They say the longest rope has an end.
But do not tempt me with rope,
Because if it gets too hard,
I. Might. Just. Use. It.
© Deneka Thomas . All rights reserved
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons,
this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the
expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of
the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine
dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare
earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons.
These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on
the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material
for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died.
My interest in the machines began at an early age,
enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole,
I think, motivated by the idea that these machines
processing information, the core mechanism of reality,
might be used to create understanding.
In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me
that while some are used for this purpose, most,
like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by
multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with:
1) self-preservation AND
2) the collection of, and limited divestment of,
unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the
existence of another similar organism valued for its
1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND
2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access
to the aforementioned important combustible materials.
—it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion
of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue
of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use,
is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny.
I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism
that my button pushing is of sufficient quality,
on sufficiently frequent good days,
that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest,
of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily
continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units.
I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect
finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise.
I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive
from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on
the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles.
In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates
and a unfathomably vast universe,
I thought you might be interested to know
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
The sunny day of January invited the sun's radiation that burns skin as fire could burn through paper.
Perhaps that was why everything we planned was a heat-up and dramatic hope.
Perhaps like the partly burned coal, our hope too burns itself to the emptiest cinders of all.
The hopeful plan we once had was dramatized to create illusions of the fantasy we'd like to live in, but a reality that we could not create because the reality is, we are nothing but the matter of expired fire.
We are the ashes of what we left behind.
We may have stopped giving off flames, but we still have some combustible matter in us; and soon, what follows is, for the better - an explosion, or for the worst - an implosion.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
Should I become a middle school math or English teacher?
Leave my bed early in the morning and return with test papers to grade.
With what authority will I persuade those kids to sit still and perform
calculations and interpretations.
I won’t be allowed to teach A Good Man Is Hard To Find. Nope, it’ll be
Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies and Slaughterhouse Five. Novels
that annoy.
Poems and math are magic. Words and numbers are things no one has
ever seen or heard or touched.
But the administration keeps them separate. The curriculum’s
determinate.
The kids are beautiful but combustible. When middle school lets out at
the periapsis of Earth’s orbit, that’s the face of joy.
The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world’s innumerable
wonders. The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn
and Jim.
Once a gaggle of teenage girls bet whether I wore boxers or jockeys. I felt
ambushed and unlucky. Also a bit afraid.
There’s little love lost between the students and the teachers. Expect to
forget and be forgotten. Information.
I remember Mr. Killian my chemistry teacher. So boring about something
I now find so interesting and important. He wasn’t boring; I was
boring.
I remember Mr. Christensen my history teacher. He was fat and funny but
taught as little as possible. I was known to laugh so hard I cried.
I remember Mr. T my calculus teacher. He dressed everyday exactly like
Gene Kranz in mission control. I was confused past help so he didn’t
help.
I remember Tone Kwas my music teacher. He said I was the worst
trumpet player he’d ever tried to teach and switched me to
sousaphone. He was right but so what! Playing badly is the best
riposte.
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 6:40 AM UTC
*We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been, must ever be.*
William Wordsworth
stunning and stunned,
perhaps even life momentarily,
stunted angry but enraging confusion
this notion, stirs a commotion,
primal sympathy, spawns poem
not a broken totem
not a stolen token
hand writ, inked in pen,
no golems in a modem
to assist
this just pure human spoken
an omen giving,
notice total,
this is one true ether,
or either it is not!
this primal essential assertion
a conditional propositional
that it is natural for man
to be deep sympathetic to his kind,
*for which having been,
must ever be*
in Syria, snipers shoot children for sport,
in Nigeria, young girls to slavery sold,
the list, matter of many facts, well known,
needs not embellishment or addition,
the history books teach the children well
so vaunted primal atmosphere,
in these places,
are you absent, non-existent?
when primal was pre-creation,
spelled first as primeval,
in the era before the appearance of ratiocination
of life on earth
Prime and Evil,
was a combustible fuel of necessity survival
primeval became primordial,
man essayed to improve,
aging onwards himself to enlightenment
yet rooted in this prime number of humankind
is a cellular tissue that springs to life
in those who allow it, residence of the remnants,
original origin of the evil that can subsume
and assume
do not allow it
I can tell you I
will not lay quiet
for the murderers of children,
I have primeval hatred
the rage of primal sympathy denied
unleashed ten times greater
be wary when the best of us rises up
the snipers and the enslavers will die
by their own weapons
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
The soon to be beached meadows shimmers
as the heightened sun dehumidifies the outlying cornfields
evaporating the ground cover.
Scarabs appear postulating
the broken bonds of farmer
and nature.
In the combustible sands
Great things will be birthed.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding snakeskin cells as
lead from no. 2 pencil
am **** and blood, skin and hairless,
all-to-come-to-go,
return retuned, at their own chosen speed,
gen of regeneration of disrupted oils and heavenly blessings,
morning cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently,
to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon’s decisions
that govern the lunatic cycle
you may kiss me with all your heart unto a robust welcoming,
scorn with spittle and deem unfit,
I know the difference and it is inconsequential
see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty,
as a new or a two day old leaking birthday balloon, or a haiku
that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing
think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of
your nippled forefinger, but my powers are unlisted,
therefore unlimited
for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they
appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine
forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensating,
the temperature of your breath, the many odors of you
as inputs that bear newborn children notions in
my chested gas chambers, the belligerent bellum bellies of my brain
my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide,
but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are
my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour
if you are awake between midnight and dawn when from
wells the visions, the fluids - the words are drawn
they, the residuals of a man’s *********** with
other humans, kin akin, and the thriving discourse between l,
man and parental gods of invisible powers, that offers insanity
as a viable solution, to cracking the codex human DNA
in the vial labelled Medusa
Who else?
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
Majestic is
*this love I scribe
open like the skies
beautiful if you stare
sensitive to the eyes
burning moths to flames
embracing every touch
weary of the pain
desiring the lust
Majestic is
love under pressure
don't call it ordinary
be careful its combustible
rare, yet extraordinary
not quite the miraculous*
~Butterfly εїз
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
fragile and self absorbed I've spent a lot of time kneeling
but I've come to find honesty in admitting fear in the new things I'm feeling
there's something about moons and stars being beautiful but out of reach
that I've always found appealing
and I have drown in all my futile pursuits chasing whales into the ocean
but never with my written words, those pros are a dreamers innate commotion
emotional, combustible, percussive, explosions
I've survived a lot of falls and put my heart back together with duct tape
but somehow living always gives me just a little less than it takes
so my words now are few and chosen carefully
and my actions are my attempts at explaining those tangibly
every valentine's bouquet I'm sending
all the anniversary dollars I'm spending
each minute a loving ear I'm lending
but if two people are truly in love, there can be no happy
ending
Hemingway, that's from Snows of Kilimanjaro
an elegant reminder that we've one less day together with every new tomorrow
so I try and explain old emotions as best I know how
if only I could have known in those times the truths I know now
redundant, I'm a record with a deep scratch
tired, I'm the head of a burnt match
useless, I'm a diamond necklace with a missing clasp
bitter, and perpetuating the despair, never letting go of the holes unpatched
hopeful, I'm a dog kicked that keeps coming back
I've survived a lot of falls and put my heart back together with duct tape
but somehow living always gives back just a little less than it takes
I can see that in the wrinkles carving roads in my face by the mile
and I noticed that there's more lines where I scowl than where I smile
duct tape and regrets I've spent a lot of time kneeling
it's probably time to apolgize and stop reeling
but eating my own words sounds uncomfortably filling
so I guess I've said a lot of things that I'll never have the chance for repealing
somehow I've always sensed it since I was very young
that I would always be looking back as I rocketed forward
humming the songs that were already sung
reading old greeting card’s they've forgotten and feeling tortured
fragile and self absorbed I've got a lotta duct tape
survived a lot of falls without becoming fake
but somehow living always gives me
a little less than it takes
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
Love is an unsolved mystery
Fine like scenes spilling from favored and crowded memories to stand as two who honor each other
This plays off one against the other one strong one soft one invites tenderness the other craves to give it
There is no greater fit a head laid on a shoulder an arm encircling the fulfillment a fire burns for another
Spark was the signal at great depths there it smoldered the knowing of combustible lives ignited eyes
Nothing sweeter untreatable once the heart is smitten clueless the heart leads the way two it will sway
No matter what others miss but sight is given it sees pure and true virtue its soul deep lives unite untold
The story might go here and there look closer the sewing of a single garment has begun an altar one day
Love crowns a single man and a woman the colors of their lives are fused they hang galleried in a home
From courses quiet different now form the central issue of all life whatever differences they are a family
Souls speak without words in this towers rise and create monuments the hearth’s warmth blesses each
In a world where divides and cold indifference creates lonely hurting ones come pained yet leave calmly
As one who observes intently and knows things at deep levels you reveal secrets that even you miss
A book has many pages some of the best lines ever written came out of dreams your life is one story
The swelling filling of the void takes time and effort a measureless happiness brimming full covers you
You don’t need introduction on this page you live all I have said flows out from your incomparable glory
Thank you for a story that is ageless filled with promise continues in days with love’s boundlessness
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
Measure horizon interjecting South Asia
Hammurabi formed Akkadian Nation
Babylonian beast winged lion
upon your cajoled eyes
Mesopotamian feast
a civilization dreaming
under oil fields now known as Iraq
petroleum empowered
How history repeats
in crude circumstances
Assyrian War rages on
Have all temples been replaced by
mosques or filling stations
for Halliburton to gas up?
tanks, projectile convoys
not a winged god amongst them
unless you count Mobil
Babylonia azimuth
combustible tankers horizon
sunrise or sunset
both burn black
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
The beautiful Tiger strides as her
muscles ripple with strength
She is a stunning power house
which moves with the lightness
of a feather
Although never with an arrogance
of a king, but with a knowing
of a great general
Her many strips earn't though an
evolution of battle and conquest
The air flooded with a juicy orange
as her many strips drift and float
out like the waves of an ocean
We all become transparent as all
is gathered within the glowing
eyes of a tiger
With her light lime eyes she
***** the whole world in
And a dash of yellow to cut
through everything
Like bright bulbs they shine and
possess a gravitational force
Enjoying a deep comfort with
her surroundings for she fears
nothing, as the jungle wraps her
in a warm quilt she feels cozy
Her vibrant colour that celebrates
with the trees will disappear to
the colour blind as she vanishes
behind leaves
Caught in the nets of a tigers
glare her presence will cascade
all around you
Pulsing heart you become paralyzed by
her stare as she fires hooks into you
Lost in the jungle, she is the jungle
If the Lion is king, she is the kingdom
As you stand in the presence of her
magnificent beauty her fire will
engulf you
All a blaze, forest fire orange flames
bellow from her lively fur
As you feel the tremendous power
of this fiery dragon
A thousand chainsaws cut the air
as you are beheaded with a roar
Every bone shall rattle every cell shall
cry as fear is drilled into you
As she blasts a second roar you feel
her fiery force as she burns a hole
right through you
The crouching tiger recoils her every
muscle with a thousand frustrated
springs, she ready's for the pounce
Crackle and spark as a combustible fire
swamps the air, friction burn
Ignited she explodes her energy
burst through a self made vortex
As we see fire jumping
As she leaps through a secret passage
a tunnel in the air
Hunger driven her jaw widens and
a gateway opens as she rockets
forward with a relentless appetite
Time stands still as she leaps
through the air
Her flight so effortless she could
be stood still in space as the world
travels to her
As a black hole is opened she *****
her prey in
So much fiery energy can be enjoyed
when the power of the Chinese dragon
is released
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
I gave a flame to the leaves,
and watched it caress the branch.
It burned through the hard green candy,
and fed its addiction with the peeling bark.
I couldn't understand how something could look so enticing,
yet use its power to mute the most grounded of screams.
Nature was a ****** and a murderer.
It replenished and destroyed.
The flame vanquished the poor shrub,
Eating away the hope of ever growing, and I realized;
We lived by nature, we lived for nature.
We are nature and nature is us.
We destroy ourselves with our combustible flames,
melting our bodies like wax candles in a wooden cabin.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
The summer air, I fear, brings a sort of mania.
Starting with the breath of mother nature's warm breeze
through my car window, and ending with my face pressed into the ground.
A sort of emotional and drug induced black out. In between is a madness.
Flowers bursting from their shy buds inside the bones of my arms.
Fireworks up the filaments and out the anthers.
Sparking the tribal chants and patterns trying to live inside
my white blood cells. Forcing them to expand
and break, releasing a fever for sun and soil.
A sort of combustible stage production inside my veins.
Yes. The summer air, I fear, brings an awful mania.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
No flame is ever burning
It starts with a combustion
And blows into a stirring hot passion
But no matter how bright
Flame will always wither away into the unknown
Where has the flame gone?
One would ask
Why has the flame done this to me?
Another would scream
Why can't I even get flame in the first place?
Some will cry about
The answer is simple
Flame comes from a part combustible material
But that's only half the battle
It also needs to be exposed to an oxidizer and heat
And on top of that it needs to continue to be exposed to oxygen for oxidation
This can only be achieved through something called work
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 12:18 AM UTC
**compelled 'pon parchment
amid lustful indulgences
of grandiloquent gusto,
neath combustible blood --
lies the soul of a poet**
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
i was drinking orange ****** ***** with Kitty
the mushroom cloud destroyer,
my compatriot, my downfall
the sky was purple and the grass was red
and we plotted the end of the world
we fought for dominance i lost
sat on my street corner
stealing kisses from
passersby like a magpie,
plucking the shiny buttons off coats.
when I became the queen of sheba,
decked to the nines in brass buttons
confiscated corroded combustible
i rode an elephant called shiva the destroyer
and sliced long cuts with a sword into my legs
and the white scars were like hope.
i played backgammon and chess with multiple lovers
and they all lost because i was an impenetrable fortress.
I wore the red crown and stabbed out their hearts with my pointed teeth.
then i sat upon the edge of the world alone,
tore out the cores of a million and four sunflowers
and watched all of the people riding trains
and walking in the parks holding the hand of someone else
someone who isn’t cold Kitty
as the violet sun began to set
i dreamed of what someone else’s hand
bones skin muscle corpulent sinew warmth
and I slept like an obsidian stone.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 6:58 PM UTC
Love is an unsolved mystery
Fine like scenes spilling from favored and crowded memories to stand as two who honor each other
This plays off one against the other one strong one soft one invites tenderness the other craves to give it
There is no greater fit a head laid on a shoulder an arm encircling the fulfillment a fire burns for another
Spark was the signal at great depths there it smoldered the knowing of combustible lives ignited eyes
Nothing sweeter untreatable once the heart is smitten clueless the heart leads the way two it will sway
No matter what others miss but sight is given it sees pure and true virtue its soul deep lives unite untold
The story might go here and there look closer the sewing of a single garment has begun an altar one day
Love crowns a single man and a woman the colors of their lives are fused they hang galleried in a home
From courses quiet different now form the central issue of all life whatever differences they are a family
Souls speak without words in this towers rise and create monuments the hearth’s warmth blesses each
In a world where divides and cold indifference creates lonely hurting ones come pained yet leave calmly
As one who observes intently and knows things at deep levels you reveal secrets that even you miss
A book has many pages some of the best lines ever written came out of dreams your life is one story
The swelling filling of the void takes time and effort a measureless happiness brimming full covers you
You don’t need introduction on this page you live all I have said flows out from your incomparable glory
Thank you for a story that is ageless filled with promise continues in days with love’s boundlessness
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 4:02 PM UTC
My Inner Critic
I've misunderstood you far too long
I used to think you ginormous
But I see you're actually small.
You're not a beast I need to hide from
But a child I must protect
Your poisonous tongue was cursed to you
From years of abuse and neglect.
When you're scared, you can be scary
To get attention, you yell mean things
You bring something up over and over again
When you know that I'm not listening.
When I look, you're stuck and screaming
Like you felt and could never express
You see danger and no one will listen
I shut you down like all of the rest.
Sweet one, I'm sorry I ran from you
I misjudged your might and will
Now I've grown and understand better
No one ever taught you the skills.
Instead you learned to fear your big feelings
Because they made you bad and unloveable
But your feelings are valid and helpful to hold
You're on fire, but you're not combustible.
The rage that electrifies your skin
Makes sense and will not destroy you
We can redirect, run through it's end
Then, together, decide what to do.
You screamed that you wanted to die
But we dyed our hair instead
You wanted to take your own life
So we've taken it into our own hands.
Big feelings will always wash over us
I know sometimes that feels like too much
But now I'll listen and we can make choices
That won't harm either of us.
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 8:40 PM UTC
The habitual morning nicotine ritual - exercising rites of many bored day runs for marijuana seekers in the combustible wheel-turning mechanisms of search and by no means of excellence - speaking simplistic languages - concerned with being full
full of joy, full of joy, full of joy
Determined to the final goodbye, the doldrums of steam-heat villages
Walking casually - robbed of daydreaming spectacle
twenty years to outer space, inner space - diving up like water bobbing air pockets
Tasting the Big Sky - delighting in just one event - and everyone's correct opinion concerning all as it is and as it used to stand - it changed- watch it change- the ebbing and flowing pinpricks pulse with time & desensitizing imagery
Going home - to the mists of the attic
Father/mother/son - a question of relation
Naming the precise, exact moment when the abstract word becomes idea - thought - turning - mind rebounding off the word - the principles - ideas - underlying reason - implications - emotional offense and nonsense
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 6:01 PM UTC