"douse" poems
Artists are like crystals
Must be handled with care
One slip
Oops!
You loose it all there
However
On the brighter side
Even if they shatter
They still glint
Whatever be the matter
Crystal cleaving
May scatter the lusture
But the process
Can never douse the dazzle
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
Droplets tap the dusty windows
Tipping pleasure on the pane
Dribbles every time the wind blows
Prophesize a hurricane
Kisses linger on the backseat
Desperate to delight in more
Suffocated by the heat, but
When it rains, it starts to pour
Panic storm that quickly closes
Smashing waves upon the sand
Tension tearing up the roses
Stuttered poems, shaking hands
Though the pressure keeps you floating
And the ocean licks its shore
There's no way of sugarcoating
Once it rains, it has to pour
Stick a finger in your ceiling
Let the plants hang onto youth
Sunday jazz, petrichor feeling
Hear it tripping on the roof
Smell it shifting all around you
Leaking through your drying veins
Leave your stagnant dragonfly blue
Open up into the rain
When it rains, it pours
I'll blossom being yours
Downpour cleans the ***** traffic
Rippling madly down the drain
Paints the artist something graphic
While he's waiting for the train
Laughter echoes in the morning
Licking soil and clouds to raw
From the vision that's been dawning
Once you rain, it has to pour
Spitting bombshells pelt your raincoat
Tears in quiet pools of green
Holes inside your getaway boat
Water's sweet but can be mean
You've avoided all the warfare
But the stars rampage for more
Douse the thin comfort you still wear
Once it rains, it starts to pour
Stick a finger in your ceiling
Give the plants a thirsty truth
Fairy lights and freedom feeling
Tunes of our torrential youth
Smell it changing all around you
Bursting through the shrivelled veins
Leave your crippled summertime hue
Open up into the rain
When it rains, it pours,
I'll bloom so much being yours
We're a perfect storm, I guess
Fire has been stopped with less
When it rains it has to pour.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
*Misguided fire of passion
Burns one’s own abode
Even the tears of remorse
Can’t douse the raging inferno*
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
"The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall." --Che Guevara
Shake the tree as hard as need be,
To make the apple fall,
Be it green, or red or yellow,
Be it ripe or still too green,
Succulent or rotten to the core,
Shake the tree and make it fall.
If shaking the tree does not suffice,
Plant a worm most carefully,
Let it eat the apple's heart,
Break its spirit as it feeds,
Sap its strength most thoroughly,
then just wait until it falls.
But if that tactic also fails, don't lose heart,
Rip out the tree's protective bark,
Salt its roots,
Strike it with chains,
Until no beauty remains,
And await the apple's fall.
And should the ****** tree still stand,
And the apple cling to life,
Take an axe,
Sharpen it well,
Chop at the tree, bring it down,
Force the apple to the ground.
And should the apple still cling,
To a branch devoid of life,
Douse the shattered, useless tree
With gasoline, light a match,
And burn apple, branch and tree,
All to gloriously fine ash.
Do this always in my name,
For "If you tremble with indignation at every injustice,
Then you are a comrade of mine."
Wear my face with pride over your heart,
Shake raised fists in indignation, scatter the ashes to the wind,
What does it matter that ashes can't be eaten, so long as we win!
If interested, you can hear my reading of this poem at https://open.spotify.com/episode/6MlOmVvH3n8QehG1dzH4Za?si=MWl_rE0YQLy3bQvS8dbtOA
Author's Note: No political philosophy has wreaked as much misery as Marxism in every country it has touched in the 20th and 21st centuries. Fascism and Marxism are two sides of the same totalitarian coin, and while we rightfully condemn fascists, somehow too many folks in the media, academia, and entertainment worlds continue to have a soft spot for Marxism and Marxists/Communists old and new. Here, I've taken two quotes attributed to Che Guevara whose life has been romanticized in books and movies, including the popular Motorcycle Diaries, that focus on the young revolutionary in a positive light as a freedom fighter. The real revolutionary was quite different--a hardened, cold-blooded murderer who executed countless people without mercy, due process, or regret, including fellow Marxist revolutionaries who disagreed with him. The end justified the means for him and for all Marxists--and their equally deranged polar opposites, fascists.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 6:02 PM UTC
this fire breathes
loud inside my head
the clang and crash
of my combustion
trying to douse the flames,
my bucket 'o water
has merely served
to excite the element
groaning breath clamors,
its loud vapor screams
my rapid oxidation
waiting beast
inside my head,
you'll have your
meat soon enough
and i, seared upon
your spit,
once again.
--bruised orange
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
Samhain's Eve With Friends
The Lady's light is ripe and full and orange
so heavy the sky can scarce bear her up
as I tread slowly tap tap my staff clicks
my feet in their hurry crush sweet maple and acrid fir underfoot
and the early evening mist grasps at bare tree limbs like heart broken suiters
It's an early celabration Samhain Eve
No Matter
tis me alone and of course The Lady
Slowly I find my stone grove and rest a bit ... price of a Crone
No musicians tonight
Ah the tape will do well enough
No Sisters tonight
too far to come obligations trick or treat ...
No Matter
Circle swept and Caste,Quarters called
next all in turn music soft but building
insence sweet shrouds me
Fire my element crackles and spits with blessed heat
Time to steppe the Circle
This Dance I know so well
This Dance I have taught and danced and dreamt it always
Eyes Closed Cleansing Breathe
Bells on wrist and ankles chime
Now swaying stepping Luna's great course across the sky
once this way next reverse
slowly gently all recedes
there is nothing now but
me and She
She Morghanna Isis Gaia Mother Maiden Crone
My Lady
The flute is faint and hard to hear now
but the drum is strong heartbeat strong slow and deep
suddenly there are voices far yet whysper close
so soft full of laughter and secrets
..ghostly hands Sisters past, lost to me and spirits new entwine with mine and voices long forgotten soar
So Sweet
and my feet so clumsy and slow seem to fly and I hear the flute in the chime of Her laughter
She Has Come
Welcome My Lady
I hear nothing now but the drum and the rush of the wind through my hair
The Drum The Sisters The Fire
and My Lady
Suddenly my step slows no longer is it sure
aware of the stones beaneath and my hand blest but a moment ago now feels the loss of my Sisters grasp
but we are never far from one another
no matter the side of the veil
I tire and stop
the night has waned
the tape has stopped..when I cant recall
Never Mind
Close the quarters with thanks
Sever the Circle
Douse the smudge
and
Thank The Lady for a
Samhain's Eve , with friends
Solita Arcanes ShadoeWalker 31/10/10
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 2:50 PM UTC
Let's pull those knees close,
and think of childhood.
We were fragile beings of light.
Now we're heavy black glasshouses
throwing skipping rocks in the dark.
I wish I went to sleep-away camp,
like all the cool kids.
I could skip rocks,
and learn slip knots,
and maybe how to swim.
Sit by campfire
and tell scary stories,
and spill my first kiss
as the truth in a guts game.
"It was third grade.
She was a big black girl-
and we wanted to practice
for our shared boy crush.
Baby tongues danced
and I just liked it more than I should have."
And then someone would
douse the flames
with a bucket of lake water,
to put an end to the horror.
Today she's having a baby,
and we haven't spoken
since grade school.
I wonder if she ever reads my poetry.
The kids would have teased me.
Or perhaps never believe me.
The holes keep getting bigger.
They let the light in from outside.
Let's let our knees go.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
(10wx2)
~...i'm balancing ~...~...~
~...~...~ wading on cool
~...~...~...serene waters
...~...~...preparing
~...~...~...to douse,
.....a volcano,
...burning fervidly...
.......................
imperatively,
it musn't spew
..........its brew.
Sally
Copyright September 17, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
The mirror above the washbasin
Reflects a lonely face,
Eyes sad cheeks shaved clean,
They tell of an inner wilderness.
A space that you alone traverse
There's none but yourself to converse
Outside the teeming world roars
You are shut within closed doors.
Soon you compromise for a sleep
No dreams to soothe no relationship
No lullaby to douse the heart's fire!
You embrace the dark, slip into its mire.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
Full moon... Full moon...
Shine your light down on the sea.
Caress the beast inside of me.
Let me know you're there.
Full moon... Full moon...
Can I ask you a question?
How are you so **** comforting,
When you're a million miles away?
Full moon...
How can I be patient,
If I want to see you,
I'll have to wait and wait all day?
Full moon...
Twinkle twinkle little star,
Admire beauty from afar.
Twist my lone and eager heart.
Full moon... Full moon...
Heal all my hurting wounds.
Douse the pain in rays of you.
Make it disappear.
Full moon...
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC
Is love a lie?
What's the definition of it?
Asking myself time and time again
If it could ever be worth it
Giving your all for someone else
For the people you deem worthy
Pushing it all for the hope of a pretty memory
Is it really going to be pretty?
Tonight I douse myself in tears and lies
Yelling to myself it's all well
Tonight I continue whispering
The quiet screams of an emergency
What could ever be worth it?
Someone please show me
Whilst I try to convince that this
Will actually all be just my...
...overthinking
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
Douse them
Spark the match
Ignite the flame
release it
unto everything,
everyone
They forgot
I must remind them
what it's like
make them remember
everything beautiful
about life
For what is life
without sparks?
For what is life
without fire?
They forgot
and its been a while
Spark the match
Ignite the flame
forever burning
from within
© 2013 Christina Jackson
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
***Being a ***** means.......
I stand up for myself and my beliefs
I stand up for those I love
I speak my mind, think my own thoughts
or do things my way
I won't compromise whats in my heart
I live MY way
I won't allow anyone to step on me
I refuse to tolerate injustice
It means I have the courage &
The strength to allow myself to be me
So try to stomp on me, douse my inner flame,
Squash every ounce of beauty I hold within
You won't succeed
And if that makes me a ***** so be it
I embrace the title and I'm proud to be a *****
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
You are scared, me too
Your eyes are shaded
With the color of passion
Tiny hues of anticipation
Come here, hold my hand
You are shaking, me too
I want to touch you
burning with anticipation
Do not be scared, I am here
My arms will protect you
We will douse this fire
And there will be no more
Anticipation ...
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 3:44 AM UTC
the end is now in sight
terror comes encroaching
don’t let the perilous dusk
douse the flame that leads you
the dream inside you burns
yet darkness wants to dim it
when you want to quit
hear the summit calling
and when’s the sky’s sunlit
and faith is at its brightest
the blackness strikes again
the apex is still higher
tho’ energy now spent
you vow to keep on going
just when the crest you’ve reached
you slip and fall now dangling
hanging by a nail
a famine then come robs you
feed on your inner will
to see your destination
you break free and go on
the wind strikes now the hardest
resist not but take flight
set sail to elevation
your spirit will not break
your eye’s upon the zenith
but next the snake will bite
let passion be your tonic
it burns right through your veins
your skin molting peels off you
metamorphosis has changed
the venom to elixir
then illness strikes quite fierce
you sink into a deep trench
reach down throw up your twine
towards the light you see it
no strength left yet still walk
you are not to be broken
stop gasp and catch your breath
you are at the top now
a phosphorescent light
envelops all around you
spin it into gold
throw rope to those still climbing
you who’ve scaled the mount
tho’ scarred have high ascended
fear’s an illusion here
love’s altitude has conquered
never give up hope
tho’ night is at its cruelest
hang on to see the sun
the pinnacle is magic
©2016janetaylor
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
Read, watched, Listened for snippets
Wore the buttons,
Devoured anything…
Apartheid
Had my own personal
Bedroom Revolution...
Jumped high…In place… with the best of them
Little balled up fists…
Pumping…
Chanted the chants
Sang the song
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
Freeee-ee Nelson Mandelaaaa
And I meant it!
Oh My God I meant it from my
young revolutionary soul
Cried adolescent girl cries
For our South African brothers and sisters
All of the martyrs
Known and unknown
STOP APARTHIED!
STOP APARTHIED!
Free Nelson Mandela!!
To this very day
I love me some Nelson Mandela
Love the man he is
Mourn the man he was
Big Fine Educated Pugilistic
African
Man
Passionate
Compassionate
On that serious mission
Who, though technically still breathing upon his release, in reality
Gave his life
To promote the cessation of
An idea more merciless even than the Rwandan genocide
In that Death
Seldom came quickly
A system more sadistic even than the African Slave Trade
In that it was not based economically
Therefore ALL the
“Kaffers”
Could be maimed or die
And it wouldn’t cost a thing…
Monetarily speaking
A society wherein
Each Black death
Someone’s Job… or
Someone’s Entertainment
Every atrocity’s purpose to serve only to
Douse fuel on the already
Brightly burning fire of
Hate and torture and hate
I love Nelson Mandela
For making like David
And having the *****
To take on the Goliath
Apartheid
Satan is creative
His minions resourceful
We will never know the indignities;
Can only imagine the violations
My Nelson was forced to endure
Imprisoned for 27 years
I love
Nelson Mandela
For having the strength
To keep living
When so many others couldn’t
Still able to put
One
In front of
The other
Albeit gingerly
But still locomoting
Out of hell
On his own two feet…
That alone makes him a hero
To me
In my heart he will always be
The
Big
Fine
Educated
Pugilistic
Passionate
Compassionate
Hero
That the young revolutionary in me
sings about…
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
The first light of day sprung,
as the sleepy town awoke from it's dreams.
The cool spring breeze sweeps across the land,
making colorful dresses and shirts billow gently.
Wispy cotton-like clouds douse the sky,
only letting the robin egg blue peek through.
Silver bells hung on the wooden doors chime in unison,
creating melodic music as the baby grass sway back and forth.
The sugary sweet smell of warm buns linger in the air,
just pulled out of the oven from loving hands.
Children's laughter echoes all around,
their colorful chalk covered hands imprinting the pavements.
And as soon as the yellow light began it ended,
wrapped in a dark cloak.
Tiny shimmers sprinkle the sky,
illuminated by a frothy round.
Slowly, the sound dies,
and one by one the lights go out.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
When you shed that chrysalis of clothing
Releasing the dragonfly wings of your longing
Wholly among the sanctity of your skystrung ribs
Your hips gyrating on the revolutions of the moon
The astronomer in my belly burns to look up to the sky
And see you spreading yourself among the singing night
My fingers, matches skywriting
The contours of your body
With the lingerings of fire
Nails soft scratching the runes of desire
Among the hidden temples of your skin
A secret language you twistup and rumble
In like the sea swallowing a storm
Inviting me to wade in your waters
Till the lighting comes
To reunite you with the heavens
Let me lick a long crusade
From summit of spine down
The long whirling dervish of your legs
Relight wildfires only to douse them in all
The tsunami of your wet
And wash you in the convergence of thunder
As it rumbles among the fault lines of your bones
Till we rattle the pearly gates loose
And quake the caverns of hell
Grind yourself upon me into
Something so much
Sweeter then stardust
Break your body open
Into a firefly and ignite
Upon the rough embers of my wings
This friction will elicit a diction
Spoken only in vowels and the
And in the crescent arch of your spine
As we sling ourselves skyward as fireworks
To rupture open the night
Suffocate me on the whirlwind mane of your hair
There is a lioness behind those lips waiting to devour me
A sacred hunting upon moonlight to take me in the dark
Don’t you see
All of this is yours
The rumble of the earth
The heavy breath of the heavens
The match
The candle
And the sweet rush of the burn
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
Velvet touch; scarlet passion
Shake me down, blissful you
Wrap me in security
A fine embrace will do
Fill my void with your masculinity,
Harmony and adoration
Firmly grasp me with your voice
Let’s speak without anticipation
Selfishness and selflessness;
Opposites will surely attract
I’m unable to douse your flickering flame
I’m full of emotion you can’t extract
Scratch my shell with your snide remarks,
I’ll feed the ego that fiends
I’ll shower you with infatuation;
Satisfy all of your emotional needs
I hold you in my heart with high regards,
though you caused it much ache
You swept me off my feet last Spring
I failed to feel the ground beneath me quake
The escape to a distant plane was easily the best
We held each other’s hand until we laid to rest
No barriers between us, no confidence to wound
I dreamt of you so often; it all ended too soon
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 10:56 PM UTC
Under the blanket of slanted waters, streaming down,
Behind the silver linings of the distant thunderclouds
The eternal sun lies suffocating, sheathed by the storm.
The rain smears the gray heavens. The world
Drowns behind the endless battery of the downpour.
Each trickle, each moment, quickly falling. Fading
Into the cesspool of dirt and debris. The pit
Of emotions and forgotten truths, washed away.
The leaves twist and turn at every droplet's touch
Crying out in soft thuds on the heavy roofs above.
Like the tin roofs and the sun and the heavens
And like the leaves and the dirt and debris
I gently whisper my pleas to the deluge:
*Rain.
Purge me.
Douse the embers
of false passion and ire.
Absolve me.
Cleanse this melancholy.
Ease these memories.
Purify me.
Rinse away the guilt.
Sink these doubts.
Restore me.
Clarify my vision.
Refine my thoughts.
Heal me.
Replenish my soul.
Bring about forgiveness.
Rain.
Revitalize my roots.
Soothe my mind.
Soak my bones.
Calm my spirit.
With your perennial blessings,
Bathe me in your sacred waters
So that peace
May finally find me.*
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC
In this small coastal Village,,setting out to explore the Many caves. My heart raced with 'TALES OF TREASURE" ! SO--Off I went. After a 2 hour Jeep ride, Flashing Lights from the Sky, Dropping containers , as if floating to the Ground, each was about 5' by 5' with an ENBLAZENED MARKING on the surface. As I came to the first the Pulsating-Flashing from the MARKING ,,SIMPLY FORMED THE LETTER "D". WOW, I THOUGHT " A CASE OF "D's"....T he warning on the latch,in SMALL CAPS: "OPEN AND SHARE"! **I DID AND I AM ! ! ! Millions of pieces of Parchment, folded with a Gold-Leaf "D" on each ! ! Here's "WHAT I SHARE"----(# 1)= DASHER-MAN= "The person who,no doubt with great training, HAS the Particular ability to "PUT-DOWN" just about Everything that YOU deem to be Fair and Upright. (# 2)= DOUSE-SPREADER = A device used to and for the express purpose of putting out those Little Fires that seem to Crop Up JUST at the wrong time ! ! (# 3)= DUBIOUS-CLAMPS = When those thoughts you are having don't seem QUITE RIGHT,, THESE Tools will keep them in check ! ! ( # 4)= DRAB-SHINERS= Highly trained folks, with the Special ability to Really bring some BRIGHTNESS to Your day, When it has been Particular DULL ! ! ( # 5 ) = DRIBBLE-CLOTH= When a Person keeps on HARPING on the same subject and sees no other solution, use this SPECIAL CLOTH to Wipe the Surface clean,,,THEN "try-again" ! ! ______N O W___ INSTRUCTIONS SAY ;;;'" MEMORIZE THESE" ***AND THEN WE"LL GET TO SEE SOME MORE OF "DEEEZ"
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 3:48 AM UTC
Sadness isn't just one emotion
it's a blanket
that warms the others
Warm, how unusual
yet all my sadness
is never cold
never cool
I like things that are
cool
and I do not like sadness
no, to me it is warm
uncomfortably so
as though lit by the fires of a hell I don't believe in
a torment in false hopes
hope that is so warm
just like sadness
which is like
hope and despair
seasoned with twinges of guilt
and anxiety
like the horrid blush that comes
when you've done something naughty
burning so hot you fear your face
will melt
that is what sadness feels like
to me
wretched and horrid and never enough shame
So silly, to think there's something that ought to go with it
as though sadness itself were not enough
perhaps they were right
you can become addicted
to a certain kind of sadness
like a drug of sorts
a chemical cocktail you brew in your mind
to douse your feelings when you don't want them
because sadness is safe
it's familiar
and you know how to deal with it
so you think
even as it eats you alive from the inside
you think you can control it
that you can stop whenever you want
and that's the lie of it
because
sadness
isn't just sadness
it's everything else we don't need
don't want
shame
remorse
regret
fear
why hold on to them?
yet I can't seem to stop
it pulls me back
addicted to the drug of familiarity
funny, I think, to be addicted to shame
touted so long as something to shy away from
that regret is not worth the effort
and remorse a thing
to let go of
yet here I am
clasping them in my hands
breathing life to them
when they wither
terrified when they are gone
a curse that I know will return
so why wish for it to leave?
A life can be lived in the warmth
not a good one, albeit
but a life
instead of a lie
an addiction to sadness
rather than
happiness
at least I shall never be disappointed.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
I remember when you took me
corkscrewing down kaleidoscope tunnels for the last time
mounting hummingbirds to fly through the crystallized sky
air splashing against our skin
like an intoxicating perfume, dizzying
old daydreams, new friends like
humans with spectrum eyes and hair that coiled around their shoulders like serpents, all donning galaxy cloaks
reptilian monsters that sprouted raven feathers while chasing each other through smoke trees
silhouettes with rusty-nail teeth who danced like leaves in a gale
inky, spindly limbs reaching
trying to catch the moon
fingers entangled like a dreamcatcher
We were more then the kings and queens, heroes, idols
We were gods,
ruling from the velvet mountains to the silken seas,
everything beneath the candlesmoke clouds and the caramel sun that drips like wax
everything shining beneath the stars
made out of that smoldering purple dust we know so well
always whispering to us in scritch-scratch voices
reciting elegies and hush-hush songs of longing
but then,
reality ignites and burns beneath us as we soar,
elysian fields crumbling,
flames consuming the wonderland we’ve built
that is nothing but a paper thin house of tarot cards
the future written with seeping poison ink
We are left keening in the ashes,
tears to late to douse the inferno
but maybe
they will help some seedling fester beneath the scorched earth
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC