"combustions" poems - Hello Poetry

Strange times. When I speak of caressing your mantic lungs I don’t know what I mean, but I know I would hurl you under proper circumstances. Darling, one whisper falls from a tree silently so as not to wake the ghosts from their siestas. Your robe has holes I can’t write of. I can fathom getting there, what that might entail, wrapping, as I am prone to, my fingers around your furry pincers while I wait for you to read my rights to the ceiling fan who whirls above our renovated combustions like the glowering eye of our Lord upon the teary-eyed wicked. I am not looking to escape through the window, darling. I am diving for your diamond-in-the-rough, peeling off barnacles, making moustaches of seaweed. You threw it into that ocean- sized trough in which you drown lizards as way of stress-release. I don’t know what I’ll do next. The poor man. You give me your hand, darling, and your robe, your robe is shiny like a pubescent star, and it shimmies like a wagon piecing itself apart, as you piece yourself apart, starting with your smile, which was always more like a photograph of a dune in a textbook. You give me your hand. It is a blue egg dusted with microorganisms. I sprinkle it with our fragrance, what’s left of it. I wish happiness upon your sleep-life, doldrums upon your late-night haunting. I am tired and these machines are so convenient, bringing me on all-expenses- paid visits to the site of your burial. Or is it your sister’s? I quote, my heart is like a walled onion. The poor man is tired. It is not 1904 anymore. You are not smiling anymore, darling, but you give me your hand. You give it in a basket with parsley and cheese and cut-outs from The Waterlogged God. You give it almost grudgingly but I will keep it. You tell me you’ve been dreaming again of train stations. I wonder what that means. I wonder about your eyes. There are many spiders inside the wall, and along it, and on the chandelier’s fingers, and inside the spiders. I quote, a dream is worth a thousand dustpans, but you, darling, are worth so much more than dustpans. But I grow weepy, as stated. What do those dark blue lines mean? Your fingers, darling, smell of a dark cloud in an electrical storm. Your palm is a circus. Your nails ticket stubs. That one’s from the alligator show. You dislocated your throat. I had a plan. If you stare into someone’s eyes for more than six seconds, you’ll want to lick them.

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May 25, 2010

May 25, 2010 at 8:20 PM UTC

timothy-essex

My Life as Heiress to Your Throne, Darling

Strange times. When I speak of caressing your mantic lungs I don’t know what I mean, but I know I would hurl you under proper circumstances. Darling, one whisper falls from a tree silently so as not to wake the ghosts from their siestas. Your robe has holes I can’t write of. I can fathom getting there, what that might entail, wrapping, as I am prone to, my fingers around your furry pincers while I wait for you to read my rights to the ceiling fan who whirls above our renovated combustions like the glowering eye of our Lord upon the teary-eyed wicked. I am not looking to escape through the window, darling. I am diving for your diamond-in-the-rough, peeling off barnacles, making moustaches of seaweed. You threw it into that ocean- sized trough in which you drown lizards as way of stress-release. I don’t know what I’ll do next. The poor man. You give me your hand, darling, and your robe, your robe is shiny like a pubescent star, and it shimmies like a wagon piecing itself apart, as you piece yourself apart, starting with your smile, which was always more like a photograph of a dune in a textbook. You give me your hand. It is a blue egg dusted with microorganisms. I sprinkle it with our fragrance, what’s left of it. I wish happiness upon your sleep-life, doldrums upon your late-night haunting. I am tired and these machines are so convenient, bringing me on all-expenses- paid visits to the site of your burial. Or is it your sister’s? I quote, my heart is like a walled onion. The poor man is tired. It is not 1904 anymore. You are not smiling anymore, darling, but you give me your hand. You give it in a basket with parsley and cheese and cut-outs from The Waterlogged God. You give it almost grudgingly but I will keep it. You tell me you’ve been dreaming again of train stations. I wonder what that means. I wonder about your eyes. There are many spiders inside the wall, and along it, and on the chandelier’s fingers, and inside the spiders. I quote, a dream is worth a thousand dustpans, but you, darling, are worth so much more than dustpans. But I grow weepy, as stated. What do those dark blue lines mean? Your fingers, darling, smell of a dark cloud in an electrical storm. Your palm is a circus. Your nails ticket stubs. That one’s from the alligator show. You dislocated your throat. I had a plan. If you stare into someone’s eyes for more than six seconds, you’ll want to lick them.

46

you float like an enchanted nebula in my mind, pass like the clouds inside my veins, are the easiness of breathing in my dreams you forget me for millions of seconds in the imaginary time you are more real than reality itself in your spontaneous combustions so that I destroy you each day inside my bones, I ignite the narrative of dawn, the blueness of your ribs I forget about you like I forget crying in the aliveness of lovers I need to forget you like one forgets faraway explosions, storms and miracles because I love you with all the songs of the wind, the wind that spreads the seeds further away from each other the same way the flow of mystery so precise is carring us further and further away towards ourselves

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Jun 20, 2023

Jun 20, 2023 at 6:53 AM UTC

irinia

flow

you float like an enchanted nebula in my mind, pass like the clouds inside my veins, are the easiness of breathing in my dreams you forget me for millions of seconds in the imaginary time you are more real than reality itself in your spontaneous combustions so that I destroy you each day inside my bones, I ignite the narrative of dawn, the blueness of your ribs I forget about you like I forget crying in the aliveness of lovers I need to forget you like one forgets faraway explosions, storms and miracles because I love you with all the songs of the wind, the wind that spreads the seeds further away from each other the same way the flow of mystery so precise is carring us further and further away towards ourselves

10

burst to the slow summit of motorways at dawn there's a freedom here golden sun off blinding laurel bridges people with no need to rise so early no greater need than you do you ever think it when you're going so fast do you ever think that you could die do you ever will the combustions and metals that carry you to meet their absurd shadows stretched out before them faster than you, but getting shorter and getting slower roll away the glass embrace the roar magnify it and feel the chill that is not. the light washes the trees of who they are the avenues of salute from obsolete lamps that draw you into these little cities whose peoples are the steel and the concrete whose bridges are megaliths that ancient whispers foresaw cutting brilliantly through seafoam wheat my mother always looked at me peculiarly but, god! - she tried i fall to reality with the rising sun but not of loosening night simply of greeting stasis anaemic-light-tunnels built in visions of what the future used to be false days in darkening motion that make the tundras seem so small and marries the hue of beauty, of brutality here, upon a hill, something red-brick there, beyond the mist, something stone perhaps a church i care not the age of the concrete speaks to me the distances wrap around me

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Aug 14, 2013

Aug 14, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC

isiah-turner

taking you to the airport

burst to the slow summit of motorways at dawn there's a freedom here golden sun off blinding laurel bridges people with no need to rise so early no greater need than you do you ever think it when you're going so fast do you ever think that you could die do you ever will the combustions and metals that carry you to meet their absurd shadows stretched out before them faster than you, but getting shorter and getting slower roll away the glass embrace the roar magnify it and feel the chill that is not. the light washes the trees of who they are the avenues of salute from obsolete lamps that draw you into these little cities whose peoples are the steel and the concrete whose bridges are megaliths that ancient whispers foresaw cutting brilliantly through seafoam wheat my mother always looked at me peculiarly but, god! - she tried i fall to reality with the rising sun but not of loosening night simply of greeting stasis anaemic-light-tunnels built in visions of what the future used to be false days in darkening motion that make the tundras seem so small and marries the hue of beauty, of brutality here, upon a hill, something red-brick there, beyond the mist, something stone perhaps a church i care not the age of the concrete speaks to me the distances wrap around me

42

DO YOU WANT THIS THE INN AND OUT DRIVE THROUGH PLUNGE INTO STARS –MY STARS ME- DIPPING UPON YOUR NORTH POLE TO EXCITE AN EXIT OF YOUR MILKY WAY I’M YOUR VENUS YOU ARE MARZ HITTEN ME LIKE -SHOOTING STARS SEND THESE CLOUDS BELOW A HIGH 9 MAKE THE SUN STAY QUIET …….. SHHHHHH SHE IS SLEEPING LEAVING THE FIRE BURNING IN HER SLEEP AS WE WARM UP TO ANOTHER LEVEL OF OUR –STAR CLUSTER AND WE ARE GALAXIES SCREAMING TO A UNIVERSAL SOUL INSERTION STRAIGHT INTO MY GALACTIC STARS YOU –MARZ THE KING OF ALL PLANETS –REVOLVING –CRASH INTO HEAVENLY LOVE WE CAN MAKE ANGULAR MOMENTUM AS MANY AS YOU LIKE YOUR HEAVAN IS COSMIC RAYS UPON MY SMILY SPACE YOU ARE MY ABUNDANT HYDROGEN EMBRACING YOUR GIFTS AND THE HEAVENS SMILE CANDID BUT WILD AND NOW- THE SUN AWAKES SHE AWAKES SWOONING TO OUR COMBUSTIONS HER HEART RACES –WATCHING….. SHHHH –BLUSH AND WE'ER RUNNING WITH SHOOTING STARS SHOOTING UP STAR-WARS SHOOTING INTO ME SHOOTING UP UNIVERSAL ****** (INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM JAGUAR HAWAII) © Copyright 2014 S.T. Parish Rebel of Eden

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Sep 13, 2014

Sep 13, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC

fallen-rebel-of-eden

UNIVERSAL ******

DO YOU WANT THIS THE INN AND OUT DRIVE THROUGH PLUNGE INTO STARS –MY STARS ME- DIPPING UPON YOUR NORTH POLE TO EXCITE AN EXIT OF YOUR MILKY WAY I’M YOUR VENUS YOU ARE MARZ HITTEN ME LIKE -SHOOTING STARS SEND THESE CLOUDS BELOW A HIGH 9 MAKE THE SUN STAY QUIET …….. SHHHHHH SHE IS SLEEPING LEAVING THE FIRE BURNING IN HER SLEEP AS WE WARM UP TO ANOTHER LEVEL OF OUR –STAR CLUSTER AND WE ARE GALAXIES SCREAMING TO A UNIVERSAL SOUL INSERTION STRAIGHT INTO MY GALACTIC STARS YOU –MARZ THE KING OF ALL PLANETS –REVOLVING –CRASH INTO HEAVENLY LOVE WE CAN MAKE ANGULAR MOMENTUM AS MANY AS YOU LIKE YOUR HEAVAN IS COSMIC RAYS UPON MY SMILY SPACE YOU ARE MY ABUNDANT HYDROGEN EMBRACING YOUR GIFTS AND THE HEAVENS SMILE CANDID BUT WILD AND NOW- THE SUN AWAKES SHE AWAKES SWOONING TO OUR COMBUSTIONS HER HEART RACES –WATCHING….. SHHHH –BLUSH AND WE'ER RUNNING WITH SHOOTING STARS SHOOTING UP STAR-WARS SHOOTING INTO ME SHOOTING UP UNIVERSAL ****** (INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM JAGUAR HAWAII) © Copyright 2014 S.T. Parish Rebel of Eden

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i cannot be defined by words, but by my actions, by the way i have two signs of destruction, the act of self-destruction or by shutting down on myself. in hopes of keeping these spontaneous combustions less erratic and vehement, lately, i've been donating my skin, replacing it with metal. maybe becoming a cyborg, makes me a different person, but it just makes me feel like a doomsday clock. my blood has been replaced with gun powder, my skin coated into titanium pallets, my words creates the ignition, set to go off. i've become an active volcano that hasn't made any progress in being active, and as much as i yearn to explode to you with these thoughts inside my head trickling in my thoughts like gasoline, my words become the lit cigarette to start a fire, my memory has fallen in love with the idea of you and the fact you could destroy my world just by ignoring me. but you don't. your heart stays active while mine is on standby. - kra

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Apr 24, 2015

Apr 24, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC

screampoetry

doomsday clock

i cannot be defined by words, but by my actions, by the way i have two signs of destruction, the act of self-destruction or by shutting down on myself. in hopes of keeping these spontaneous combustions less erratic and vehement, lately, i've been donating my skin, replacing it with metal. maybe becoming a cyborg, makes me a different person, but it just makes me feel like a doomsday clock. my blood has been replaced with gun powder, my skin coated into titanium pallets, my words creates the ignition, set to go off. i've become an active volcano that hasn't made any progress in being active, and as much as i yearn to explode to you with these thoughts inside my head trickling in my thoughts like gasoline, my words become the lit cigarette to start a fire, my memory has fallen in love with the idea of you and the fact you could destroy my world just by ignoring me. but you don't. your heart stays active while mine is on standby. - kra

22

I'm going to sip your fire through a straw and let its embers ignite in my eyes explosions combustions eruptions fire flies stuck in columns of my spine my blood is lava and yours is the sun my heart supernovas every time you burn me your sweet heat plays with the bones of my hips I love the bonfires you light on my lips when we collide, its sunrise and sunset from every point in the raging sky nuclear fusion melts our cells to one another you've injected yourself into my veins and burnt me to a blissful crisp a firey drug an explosive love addicted to your flaming fix

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Apr 1, 2011

Apr 1, 2011 at 11:53 AM UTC

emma-jacobson

To be 17.

I'm going to sip your fire through a straw and let its embers ignite in my eyes explosions combustions eruptions fire flies stuck in columns of my spine my blood is lava and yours is the sun my heart supernovas every time you burn me your sweet heat plays with the bones of my hips I love the bonfires you light on my lips when we collide, its sunrise and sunset from every point in the raging sky nuclear fusion melts our cells to one another you've injected yourself into my veins and burnt me to a blissful crisp a firey drug an explosive love addicted to your flaming fix

16

Everywhere's a center stage, The largest zoo of a billion cage. You can sit in front of your TV screen, Or go outside to see smokes rising from the scenes. It's a scorching sight to behold, yes, But we'll enjoy it nevertheless. You can switch to a hundred channels, Featuring all of the biggest scandals. Each show set ablaze by different combustions People killing people, cities, and nations. Glorifying carnal desires like gods of men, With knowledge of sin and the intent to do it again. The list just goes on like the raging flames, People getting beaten in their own wicked games. Leaders waging wars with their toy soldiers, The media deceiving their susceptible viewers. Followers losing faith in their God and church People not finding love no matter where they search. Let's enjoy the spectacle, there's no need to rush, We can paint the view with a worn-out brush. Fuel to the fire's as infinite as people's wrath, From the trivial problems, issues, and whatnot. To the most intriguing dilemmas confronting man, Too busy he forgot how the world should be run.

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Jan 21, 2018

Jan 21, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC

larry-potter

Let's Watch the World Burn

Everywhere's a center stage, The largest zoo of a billion cage. You can sit in front of your TV screen, Or go outside to see smokes rising from the scenes. It's a scorching sight to behold, yes, But we'll enjoy it nevertheless. You can switch to a hundred channels, Featuring all of the biggest scandals. Each show set ablaze by different combustions People killing people, cities, and nations. Glorifying carnal desires like gods of men, With knowledge of sin and the intent to do it again. The list just goes on like the raging flames, People getting beaten in their own wicked games. Leaders waging wars with their toy soldiers, The media deceiving their susceptible viewers. Followers losing faith in their God and church People not finding love no matter where they search. Let's enjoy the spectacle, there's no need to rush, We can paint the view with a worn-out brush. Fuel to the fire's as infinite as people's wrath, From the trivial problems, issues, and whatnot. To the most intriguing dilemmas confronting man, Too busy he forgot how the world should be run.

24

Long before daybreak With eyelids so heavy Beseeching, let me sleep! Never-ending, indefatigable thoughts In waves, each more belligerent Than its foregone, Sang of tempestuous oceans Of Winters of long-lasting darkness. A bewail - of bleakness - For souls convoluted amongst alb foam. To frank such thoughts Dry them underneath moonlight Obviate nefarious whims. To coerce the ways of rational kin, Eradicate rapt, impetuous Combustions fired by The cholera of heathens. With herb and candle, enthrall, With hammer and anvil, fashion! Worming out the Eye of Dystopia I wage war, Quill in shivering fingers - si vis pacem para bellum.

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Mar 18, 2021

Mar 18, 2021 at 2:53 AM UTC

mofitas

Eye of Dystopia

Long before daybreak With eyelids so heavy Beseeching, let me sleep! Never-ending, indefatigable thoughts In waves, each more belligerent Than its foregone, Sang of tempestuous oceans Of Winters of long-lasting darkness. A bewail - of bleakness - For souls convoluted amongst alb foam. To frank such thoughts Dry them underneath moonlight Obviate nefarious whims. To coerce the ways of rational kin, Eradicate rapt, impetuous Combustions fired by The cholera of heathens. With herb and candle, enthrall, With hammer and anvil, fashion! Worming out the Eye of Dystopia I wage war, Quill in shivering fingers - si vis pacem para bellum.

25

What I love Your soul is within your eyes. The colour, the pupil, the lens to focus the light. Your visions are put together like a family photograph. Click! You stole my soul through your camera lens. Give it back! I’m no Demon; I am Human-e, that is for certain, Because if I had the power to change the world for the better, We would all live in paradise, forever and ever. I would make every Human marry their equal And a self-destruction button would be activated, If they were ever unfaithful. Spontaneous combustions like stars falling to the ground. Everyone is guilty; everybody cheats love if they are fooling around. So I would be the last man standing, Before you my love, speaking the truth; being genuine. Please accept that you are all that I need. If at the moment you feel differently, It doesn’t mean you should just ignore my true feelings. Yes it is possible someone loves more than you do. No it is impossible for me to cheat on you. Leave you I will, if I think you have strayed. Wait for proof? Never again. Drove me insane, it did for sure; So I cannot be your ***** Use another body; anybody. Just please do not use mine. My broken heart stares up sadly, at my broken mind. My soul is shattered! I… I love… I love y… It doesn’t matter… …what I love. (C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

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Sep 20, 2018

Sep 20, 2018 at 9:22 AM UTC

aa-harvey

What I love

What I love Your soul is within your eyes. The colour, the pupil, the lens to focus the light. Your visions are put together like a family photograph. Click! You stole my soul through your camera lens. Give it back! I’m no Demon; I am Human-e, that is for certain, Because if I had the power to change the world for the better, We would all live in paradise, forever and ever. I would make every Human marry their equal And a self-destruction button would be activated, If they were ever unfaithful. Spontaneous combustions like stars falling to the ground. Everyone is guilty; everybody cheats love if they are fooling around. So I would be the last man standing, Before you my love, speaking the truth; being genuine. Please accept that you are all that I need. If at the moment you feel differently, It doesn’t mean you should just ignore my true feelings. Yes it is possible someone loves more than you do. No it is impossible for me to cheat on you. Leave you I will, if I think you have strayed. Wait for proof? Never again. Drove me insane, it did for sure; So I cannot be your ***** Use another body; anybody. Just please do not use mine. My broken heart stares up sadly, at my broken mind. My soul is shattered! I… I love… I love y… It doesn’t matter… …what I love. (C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

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