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riley minteer Nov 19
warm is the fire that burns under stovetops
warmer is your knitted alpaca coat
you made us a dinner
yams,
veal,
whiskey and cornbread...
let me assist you,
enjoying your labor

honey, you are deserving of ev-er-y welcome
ev-er-y welcome deserving and true
if we could keep this warm autumn night
always,
i'd choose to have it,
always with you.
-riley minteer
“crackle”
(from “mind soul heart”)
Tuesday, November 19, 2019
Poetoftheway Aug 2018
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)




<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
CK Baker Apr 2017
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls

Army bands prepare for march
(their trench members filling packs with canister and cane)
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle

Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms

Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues

Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from their perch
an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly with a cold reflective stare

It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and sharp broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****)
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
are a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
Tom Spencer Jul 2018
white clouds swell up
anvil bloom

a lowering gloom
scuds by

stacatto drops
on the windshield

punctuate  
powerline sway

radio crackle
sparks

sheets of tenor sax
and blunt

gusts of cool
I lower the window

and steer
into the storm


Tom Spencer © 2018
L B Nov 2016
Tired clot of night
in the moon’s slight of hand
in the moon’s slight—
place to hang my hat....

Winter clouds come tumbling toward
the gray
Raked clean by barren trees
Yard waits with its leaves
tucked in corners by the wind
along hedges, stairways
mingling with renegade trash
Stuffed in layers like elderly keepsakes for—

no one cares...

My yard—a neglect of winter woods
but for towels waving stiffly on the line
and the squealing crackle of my footsteps—
Being there

Stairs sigh differently coming home

Blind search for a key hole
I could die searching!
the frustrations of the blind
the fumblings of “locked out!”
I—
know where to go....

Pretend
in my warm lonely
fling—mittens on the table
Survey the ***** dishes...and
close my eyes
There's been nothing but wind and cold for several days here.  Makes me think of January, almost, when walking in snow below 10 degrees F actually does squeal and squeak.  We're getin' there.
writerReader Jan 2015
i hear her
crackle and her
cackle and her
clomping and
her stomping and
i feel her
silver hair and
her
rotten
air
Ormond May 2015
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                           
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
King Lear is a tragedy by William Shakespeare in which the titular character descends into madness after disposing of his estate between two of his three daughters based on their flattery, bringing tragic consequences for all. Based on the legend of Leir of Britain, a mythological pre-Roman Celtic king.
.
You get
Bad eggs
From bad crows,
Your tangled tongue
Tickles my toes,
Punished for the crime
Of trying to please?
Those aren't the flames of love
Around my knees,
They're the cackle and crackle
Of a crocodile's lies.
Remember when it was you
Licking my thighs?
Belly blackens,
Blisters swell,
I'll come back for you
From the fires of Hell.
zebra Jun 2017
she loved thunder storms most of all
the crackle of white hot bolts ripping through the sky
the shear immensity of power
she always thought it was him
her beloved God
big boy
Thor
with his flowing blond hair
blue aquatic eyes
washboard stomach
and delicately curved *****
finally a man good enough for her
even if he was fly by night

when the heavens thickened gray
like soggy cotton
she could feel atmospheres shift
it made her ******* pert
her mouth would salivate
like a lurid peach
her ***** swelled and dampened
tears of adoration and enchantment
filled her eyes

no longer able to contain her self
she would strip naked
fling off her *******
and run out to the lush verdant meadows
calling at the top of her lungs
yoooooooooo hooooooooooo

as the cool rain descended
she ran thrilled to the mud between her toes
seeing great claws of white lightening  echo
through the sky

without hesitation
she fell to the cool earth beneath her
wallowing in the delicious sloshing ooze
positioning her self on all fours
head thrown back
*** up high
calling to the heavens
come on, come on big boy
ive been waiting for you
let me have it good
her clitoral lips
drooled with anticipation
her ******
a pulsating aching

the sky rumbled
with stretching streaks of fire
like a great freight train
spanning infinity
while the earth shook like a
hollow moon
she swayed her hips
rhythmically to and fro
whispering a love song

oh sir
i need a man like you
wont you love me
adorations true

i kneel before
my sweet Lord Thor
where's that hammer
come on and score

you are so big
and im so little
how about it God
just a tickle

hit it now
give it to me good
kisses baby
like you only could


tears of desire cascaded
down her pink cheeks
as she recited her love mantra
her mouth naked wet

suddenly
a great bolt of lightening
shot down from heavens throne
entering her ******
splitting her in flames
her head turned dark mahogany
sent careening fifty yards
leaving her mouth
a yawning twisted smudge
of fossilized obsidian
with eyes
blackened flaring hollows

her tender pink ****
a chard flower
smoldering
like a
petite
grilled
calamari
Elizabeth Grace Apr 2017
I wonder what it'd be like
To be a tree
Growing, growing, gone
Cut down and taken
Away from your comfort zone
Away from your home
Everything you knew has changed
Someone strips you bare
Exposes your pulped insides to the world
Takes away your shielding bark
Then into the flames you go
You crackle, you spit
And still, you turn to ash

I wondered what it'd be like
To be a tree
But only after thinking, visualizing
I understood
I knew exactly what it was like
Jamie Sep 13
Crackle of light,
Shacking with fright.
Beaming white,
Eliminating the night.
Nothing remains,
My life drains.
Everything fades,
I search for aides.
It's all gone away,
The words I want to say.
The only thing left,
The one thing no one can theft.
My still beating heart,
My last part.
It still belongs to you,
Something I can't undo.
My heart, I can't get it back, I don't want it back..
Stu Harley Oct 2018
oh joy
what precious thing here
on earth that we share
then
what is joy
really my friend
what is it
joy always comes in
the early morning
with the cheerful sun
and joy fills the heart up
with a glee and
a special kinda grin
but still, joy is sweeter
than  honey-maple syrup
where joy begins
with a snap crackle pop
and a wee
when you least expect it from me
let joy in
Jade Charlotte Nov 2018
I am a sensitive creature
A body of water
I swell
    I sink
My bones clammer
    clink

    I glug herbal concoctions of bourbon and chamomile

Lillies like stars float upon a still lake
    Whispers of the wind cause the surface to ripple

Darling
    I'm going for a walk with the night
I will be back in a little

    Remnants of honey comb crackle beneath my boots
Honey seeps through my fingers

    The sun rolls across mountains that protrude from the land like gods

Sweet and sticky

    6am Tonatiuh lights his orb by rubbing two sticks together rigorously
The most intense of fiery friction

    Wrapped tightly in a wool shawl
A coyote at my ankles
    I turn white
        To light
             To air

Everything becomes nothing and if you look closely you'll find anything everywhere.
Veronika May 2017
Hug
Hold me tight
Hold me like a gun you will not shoot
Just embrace being the keeper of fate
To have the power to end it all and thus end this momentary suffering
Hold me like a mother, countless of times comforting her child and letting her soft cotton top soak up the tears
Just take me and squeeze me so I don't feel
So that the only thing I'm aware of is your touch and my body is a log and my brain is a dock and the waves crash
The buzzing wind in my ears
The crackle of the bones
The wetness of the shore
I look up, lifting my head above water
Your eyes warm and blue-grey with seagulls
I'm your little baby
And your prey.
Osiria Melody Mar 20
Reassuring flames of warmth mitigate his loneliness from time to time, but not enough to completely eradicate the monotony of his life
Ah yes, the fireside is where he always retreats to, a receptive listener that never shuts him out for his delusional utterances or fluctuating mood swings

Beyond these imprisoning walls of modern Victorian beauty,
He yearns for the freedom of ingratiating himself as a "normal" individual
What constitutes normal is not within his reach, for he was brought up with the concept that wealth is the ultimate authority

Therefore, he indulges in this hedonistic lifestyle for twenty-five years, a handsome young man who did not have to give a single **** about being self-sufficient
You see, this young man knew that deep within his selfishness, that he was not a man

He is like a boy
A reclusive, insolent, boy

Heh, but can you blame him?
Yes, just like the crackle and tackle of the glaringly-blinding flames,
He snaps, "**** it. It's all or nothing."
He packs his amenities and boards his private jet of luxury into oblivion to accomplish something

What had transpired to shift his stubborn heart?
He grew weary of the same old, same stone, fireside

He is a man
A new reflection of the blurry mirror that he once was



Melody
3/20/19
I knew that I had to write this piece when an image of a fireside burned into my mind.
Paul Hansford Aug 2017
The ground is covered with snow.
   There is ice on all the plants
      like stone flowers.
                                                (by Darren)

The frost is cold.
   Spiky blades of grass
       crackle under your feet.
                                                  (by Peter)

The sky is black,
   the moon shines on the ice,
      the ice is silver.
                                                    (by Sarah)
OK, they didn't count the syllables, but could you say they aren't good poetry?  And since they are about the season, we'd be justified to call them "modern haiku".
Michael Solc Feb 2013
Sun-dried moss
hangs in clumps
from the eaves trough.
Morning dew glittering
in the dawn.
The floorboards,
covered in peeling
gray-blue paint,
crackle and creak
beneath my bare feet.

My joints feel rusted,
and my eyes don’t see
as far as they did before.
Before all that happened
happened.  
My hand on the doorframe
is alien to me.
But it moves when I ask,
so it will have to do.

I stagger through
the warm porch,
where a soft,
sweet-smelling breeze
drifts in through
torn metal screens
and cracks in the
rickety door.
I open it as quietly
as I can.
There is only me here,
but I like the quiet.

Three wooden steps
down to a gravel drive
that passes side to side
out front.  
Bare feet,
too well-worn to
feel the stones,
tip-toe across
to the rough,
brown-green grass.  
My feet are wet
now, and
when they find
the sand just beyond
the patch of grass,
it clings.
I scrunch up my toes,
digging, until I find
the cool, dry
layer below.

The lake is clear,
and the soft rustle
through the pine trees
along the shore
reminds me again of years
gone by.
Sticky fingers,
covered in sap,
pine needles sticking
between my toes,
and scrapes on my shins
that hurt back then,
but sing sweetly in my memory.

I sit on the little beach
between the trees,
crossing my legs,
and plunge my hands
beneath the sand.
Peace.

And what a joy,
to be here
and feel it
in the coarse sand,
the cool caress of morning breeze,
and the utter
silence of the still lake.  

Have I come so far,
to wish for so little?
Have I lost something
along my way?
The anger has faded,
and in its place
sits a quiet resolve.
The games they play,
I’ve long since lost,
but finding myself here,
I wonder if I’ve not
come out ahead.

The water calls to me.
I may visit her soon,
once I’ve had my fill
of sand.  
The wind grows bolder,
and the pines whistle.
A loon calls out,
somewhere unseen.
I wonder if today I’ll
climb that same tree
from so long ago.
Wonder if it has held
its form better than I,
and which may break
a limb first.

I smile,
because I know
it’s foolish,
and the beach is so
soft beneath me.
Warm and yielding.
But oh,
the sweet,
stinging memories.
Kewayne Wadley Jul 2018
When I'm near you I'm anxious.
At any moment I can explode.
A coloration of floral hues printed across the sky,
Covering you; the night.
Appropriately expanding.
A sizzle awaiting detonation.
Catapulted high.
Nothing to do but fall.
Fall in love with you.
Plummeting down unable to sit still.
Your hand the stripe that surrounds me.
Stars; echo in a crackle.
Change is inevitable.
The glory of being held close,
Counting every second until we burst into pieces.
Wandering around your essence.
Wandering in turquoise yellows & purple strawberries exhaled in smoke.
The moon forever jealous
Every night July everlasting.
The closer I get to you
Nigdaw Jul 28
Removed from paper inner sleeve
shiny black disc
catching light, rainbows across the groove
carefully placed on turntable's
spinning platter
to keep finger marks at bay
spinning, 33 1/3
snap, crackle, pop
the needle takes flight
leading in to
the rumble of bass
crash of high hat
singer's lyrical weavings
a density of sound
the smell of vinyl
a whiff of aging cardboard sleeve
artwork fit for a gallery
Kewayne Wadley Apr 2018
And like incense our scent takes to the air.
Ascending before we fall.
Her and I.
We burst into fire.
Our eyes a gaseous mixture. 
Ignited by the touch of skin.
Kindling the many thoughts we keep of each other.
A crackle blown out.
Accented in desire,
Our yearning ignites.
We hold ourselves unselfish,
Keeping warm.
Separate stems bonded as one. 
Our inner voice visible. 
Bypassing worry, our doubt.
A piece of us both, dissipating in a slow burning.
To give more than we've taken in unspoken communication.
We fell in ash.
Our scent a prayer sent to heaven. 
To always remain this way. 
Even after our extinguishing.
May we linger.
Forever more.
Falling fast asleep in each other's arms.
Leading each other to a place we call love.
Until the last ash drops
Emma Mar 26
Feel the energy
crackle through your veins

A quiet power,
sound in structure
but never to be tamed.

It ignites your bones
and opens your mind.

You are alive.
You are awake.

Lightning only strikes once
and you are one of
the lucky ones
to be touched.
Ruzica Matic Jul 2017
a breaking of a tooth
a crackle crunch of pain
and a perfect dapple
of a dying drying oak
coming together
in the eyes and ears of a storm

that's the place to find all your days
to remember all your sinewy sins
to let the honey-heavy heat of shame
wash you clean
down to your yellowed toes

that's the place to cry
and to listen and to lie

your red rosy fingers blurring your face
and your ordinary eyes
just a common brown

they could always see
so well
Jade Charlotte Nov 2018
Encompassed by oak and pine
A heron nestles in a valley of red
She cranks her neck to peer through a diamond frame
The image of the valley below is a kaleidoscope of autumn;
Murky waters,
Dry grass,
A still mountain with snow sliding down its shoulders.
Squirrels with cheeks stuffed full of nuts scurry in a frenzy
The sky is a cold heavy
Ice and bricks
The people are wrapped in fishnets and wool scarves
Candles are lit for the death of long days
Night hugs us tightly with warm hands
The moon
She hums and howls
The trees rumble in the night
You are awakened by a crackle and thump
The pine and oaks have lost limbs to the seasonal wind
Goodnight,
Bears of summertime.
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