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Styles Mar 2017
Slowly unfold,
as you fold into me.
Two explosions that explode
imploding our senses with sensory overload
too intersections that intersect invisible
connected through connectivity
magnetized magnetically
galvanized genetically
when energized
this pleasure is derived
riveting her visibly
I convulse as you implode
Extinguishing our misery
With pleasure beyond measure
Thirst quenched physically
satisfied, apparently.
David Ian Baker May 2010
A brisk pace set makes my heart beat so fast
The thrill of the run means I feel no pain
With every step onward, strong as the last
I'm lost in my head with the drops of the rain
Wet as the puddles my feet slip into
I glide through the air, floating on pride
The prints in the ground show where I've been through
The grin on my face shows where in my mind
I love the feeling you get on a run
When nothing else matters but what you see
The sights I notice before I am done
The feeling of such raw intensity
The passion inside burns the creator
But I save its hot embers for extinguishing later
ChinHooi Ng May 2015
Vines crawling
on the old mottled wall
fog bypassing
the fence
enveloping the entire
the mystic sky over the castle
a lightning awakening
the gloomy valley
ghosts and goblins floating
extinguishing white candles
a witch with a broom
the silver haired wizard in a black hat
standing in the darkness of spells
the enchanted princess sleeping
in the black chalet
prince charming leading a team of
sinister roses blooming quietly
spitting murky fog
tongues of flames light up the dark tunnel
the prince kills the bloodthirsty bats witches and
a clan of phantoms
the prince kisses to wake the princess who’s been asleep
for a millenium.
Sam Temple Jul 2014
foundational fluctuation
as flatulence is introduced
that’s right
**** jokes
destroying families
undermining relationships
damaging friendships
ending love
breaking the mold
extinguishing the fire
eliminating the excitement
drowning fun
and smelling bad –
pretentious vegetarian
wind walker
kale excretions
cabbage attack
cauliflower bandit
spreading propaganda
and funk
while talking trash
about cigarette smokers –
I could go on for days
making egg comments
referring to the arrival of Eddie’s
big brown shark –
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
Raphael Uzor May 2014
The intermittent, distant rumbling in the skies was suggestive of chronic flatulence. The sun struggled in futility to shine – like a crying child who had been forced to smile. Lightning flashed in quick successions, momentarily throwing brilliant streaks of white light across the room. The angry growl of thunder that followed was enough to send a troop of Howler monkeys scampering for safety.

The lights flickered as though unable to make up their minds to stay or not to. But apparently, the wind had zero tolerance for such petty indecisiveness. And like an enraged, stimulated, demented animal, it gusted through the windows and doors, hauling loose papers, light bulbs in every direction, shattering the bulbs to smithereens, as if to punish them for being so fickle. The lights died.

Thick black blankets eerily stretched across the skies with gusto, menacingly extinguishing whatever was left of the sun’s brilliance. More rumbles and flashes followed in royal herald of the impending storm. And in no time, slick sheets of rain torrentially came pouring down, cascading the roofs to form puddles almost as soon as they hit the ground.

​I looked in horror, fervently praying that whoever God had appointed to build the ark in our time had not diverted the funds. I was trapped in the office, and I knew exactly what this meant…flood, scarcity of buses, hiked transport fares, heavy taffic and very likely, at least one month of blackout.
It would be another three hours of steady downpour before the rain eventually stopped, as gracefully as it had been ushered in.
I picked up my bag, rolled up my trousers in earnest anticipation of the inevitable flood, and made my way home.

​To my utter bewilderment, there were no floods! The lights from the street lamps cast a soft golden glow on the slick roads, seemingly creating mirages of pools of water from afar off. But they were mere illusions. The gurgling sound coming from the underground drainage was proof of where all the water had gone. It was a strange sight. Like some alien cyborg from space had been fiddling with a time machine that had accidentally propelled us twenty years into the future.

My new world was a three-fold utopian dream. So surreal!
I could see beautiful, high-rise, state of the art edifices with mind-blowing architectural designs that blatantly seemed to defy the laws of gravity. I could see world-class hospitals that admitted ailing dignitaries from around the world and top-notch schools that offered scholarships to deserving indigenous and international students.
Sure enough, this was Nigeria! The Nigeria we all dreamed of.

And there was light…electricity! - In myriad of colours that seemed to have been dispersed from several colossal disco ***** via *“wireless fidelity”
technology. I strained to hear the noise from generators, but I was disappointed. I couldn’t even hear the all too familiar cacophony of horns blaring, conductors shouting, loud discordant music, rattling vehicle engines etc. It was like everyone and everything had taken a crash course on orderliness.

I saw a vibrant transportation system that included high speed railway lines, paved road networks that looked like a child’s doodles, first-class air strips and efficient sea transportation.
I saw a working government - one that had provided the critical infrastructure for her people.

I saw a nation with a large industrialized economy, where the dividends of democracy had been delivered to the people by their government. One consciously founded on equity and honesty of purpose, and courageously sustained by unfaltering faithfulness and unwavering patriotism.      
A nation whose economic boost did not come solely from crude oil exploration and production, but also from crude oil refining, agriculture, manufacturing, infrastructure, food, services, tourism, automobiles, transportation, education etc.
A nation that thronged with international investors from all walks of life, who were not in the least afraid to invest in her.

And then, I saw her people. A people proud of their citizenship.
A people proud to be called NIGERIANS.
A people who were not given to religious, political, or tribal bigotry.
A people who individually and collectively, gallantly bore the torch of the vision of their heroes past.
A people who earnestly and persistently worked to see only goods “Made in Nigeria” sold in their markets.

Where there was once despair, I saw hope. Where there was once fear, i saw security. Where there was once disgruntlement, I saw satisfaction. Where there was once poverty, I saw wealth opportunities and where there was unemployment, I saw jobs. Death had given way to life and life to hope.

I started, as I felt something cold and wet trickle down my forehead. It was droplets of rain from a leak in the roof just above my head. I was still in my office, I never left. The rain had lulled me to sleep. Even more sadly, I realized it had all been a dream.
Slowly and regretfully, I packed my things and left for home. It was pitch black outside as I carefully waded through the polluted waters, jauntily holding my bag, more because I was afraid to lose it in the flood than in a hopeless bid to dignify the situation.

Two hours later, I crawled into bed. I did not have to turn the lights off…the electric poles had gone for a swim. A very long one.

This is NOT my work, but I found it amazingly share worthy.
Edward Coles May 2014
The tightrope expires
And the skyscraper hollows out.
This hate is vicious and repeated,
Repeated; repeated on the news reel,
And in a Hollywood romance.

We’re skipping generations
Through faded vinyl sound
Of dust mite and crack;
I’m folding digits over chords,
Extinguishing lovers
By turning them to songs.

Oh, reality convenes, convenes
On the mind, and on the consciousness
Of fact. Don’t steal my job,
Don’t **** my land,
And never fall asleep
Under the sun.

There is poetry to mathematics,
Scaling the harmonics of the sound,
Some universal language;
Some bottled message to our brothers
Who are looking back at us
From the distance of the stars.

And, terror is called from every side,
Until we’re terrified to eat or breathe,
In the tremor of a terror
That can never come to be.

The tightrope fell down with the buildings,
But its idea, it still lives on.
We could be on the precipice of better times,
Or under the shadow of a nuclear bomb.
You were the crisp fresh air I breathed in
Awakening my soul
Clean and bearing no weight
I effortlessly inhaled you
Taking you in
Embracing you and everything about you
Chilled by your presence
Sending goosebumps down my spine
You were the opening of my eyes

But at the same time

You were the foggy air I breathed in
Suppressing my soul
Foul with a hefty weight
Choking as i tried to force you out
Slowly extinguishing me
Avoiding you and everything about you
Sickened by your presence
Forcing me to stop breathing
You are the sludge coating my lungs

Making me want to never breathe again
Peoples’ lives are dying in consistency;
Greed in their pedestal has corrupted this world’s societies.
A fruitful opportunity, a gold rush was encountered!
Underlying the main ambition of many unfortunate ambitious desires.
Persistently seeking an object of materiality,
Children have become contracted to labor endlessly till mortality.
The corporate pose has overshadowed humanity,
Predetermining existence through living in a vision of obscurity.
Freedom has evolved in many attaining their dreams,
Yet, failing to realize their limits in overstepping boundaries.
Morality has been compromised to new opportunities.
Ultimately, corrupting one’s essence in living spiritually.
We have eluded to perceive the subtle communication they have established you see.
Projecting honesty while planting a seed, they enrich themselves invulnerably.
Enabled through the loophole of ignorance attracted by social mediocrity,
Revealing a battle between each other secretly disguised as insecurity.
Asking how do I seek success, freedom, and happiness endlessly.
Indubitably, the answer relies inside, secreting awareness internally.
Discovering that the war begins within may end the violence indeed.
Extinguishing eternal destruction of the world through peace and harmony.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
ZinaLisha Apr 2014
Still a good man.
A good friend,
who really does
stick around to the very end.

One who ignored my sin
blowing upon me
Like an extinguishing fan
to quench the fire burning in man

Oh God, what a good son!
he granted me life
offering peace, calming strife
How can I thank him?

Is there any way?
"Happy Easter"
is probably not the most
gracious thing to actually say.
Anna Wood Apr 2012
Life is like a blooming rose
It starts out peaceful and innocent
Naturally finding its way
And time will continue
Until the rose is in full bloom
The next few weeks are perfect
For it is composed of pure beauty
But, like life, an end is near
And eventually that delicate rose
Falls, brown and lifeless

So enjoy the time of pure beauty
For yours could be long and great
Or yours could be like the rose
Stunningly beautiful in every way
But short lived and extinguishing
BB Nothing Oct 2011
Call me crazy, but I want to live
In a world where love is given as I give.
The fire of my passion burns as you don't know
Not even I can keep it under self-control.
And I'm not bragging, not trying to be vain,
I'm just trying to survive in the terms of being sane.
If you think I'm misguided from the truth
Then I'll tell you that love breaks the innocence of youth.
But even so I know that what is real and is fake
So sorry if I lay down but won't ever wake.
Ellis Reyes Mar 2015
Happy Unicorn Poem

Prancing in the meadow,
Warm sunshine on her face
The happy unicorn did not see
The hunter’s hiding place.

Eating rainbow candy,
Smiling ear to ear
The happy unicorn did not know
The grim reaper lurked so near.

Singing gentle lullabies
To the butterflies,
The happy unicorn did not know
She’d cause them all to die.

Lapping at the trickle
Of the crystal, sparkling stream
The happy unicorn did not hear
The hunter’s arrow ZING.

A chipmunk tried to warn her
Squeaking out in fright
But it was simply much too late
With the arrow fast in flight

A pretty yellow songbird
Tried to knock the arrow off its path
But the arrow’s razor edges
Cut the songbird right in half.

Then a fuzzy little bunny
Jumped as high as he could jump
When the arrow passed right through his throat
He fell down in a clump.

A brightly colored butterfly
flew into the arrow’s way,
the arrow was not diverted,
It was not her lucky day.

Only three feet later
The arrow found its mark
Extinguishing forever
The creature’s living spark

The hunter popped up in delight
feeling quite a thrill.
That he would soon be famous
for his magical creature ****.

He bounded through the meadow,
running toward the woods
yelling out in victory
“I always knew I could.”

He kicked aside the chipmunk,
He stepped upon the bird
He booted the bunny’s body
into a pile of mud.

He was almost to the butterfly,
When he stopped.
Dead in his tracks.

What he saw before him,
Caused his body to go slack.

He did not see a unicorn,
Lying lifeless there,
But it was his precious daughter
his own arrow in her hair.

The Old Enchanted Meadow
With deep magic all around,
Teaches lessons to all of those,
Who trod her sacred ground.

Today the hunter learned the most painful one of all,
A man who would **** a unicorn does not deserve beauty at all.
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
Your rapid fire
Heart's desire
Is a high octane
Bullet train
Bouncing between destinations
At widely varying elevations
Stopping at mysterious stations
Where I experience deflation
In between these stops is a track
Where everything is black
And you attack
Until the merciful sun finally shines
You then say you'll always be mine

There are quick flashes of light
But also sick gasps of fright
And it's a big task of might
So the trick is to grasp right
When the speed of your movement
You claim to be an improvement
Creates fire extinguishing wind
So the flame you lit you rescind

Your ride was aridly adrenalized
Which is why I was penalized
In a poison prison incentivized
By your many mental lies
Eluding my sentinel kind
No love I find
Only tire marks
In entire dark
That lead to nowhere
While I scream no fair

You were an explosion of pleasure
Whose interest I tried to measure
Instead of being happy
I saw your train lapping
Familiar phantom spots
When emotions ran hot
Through my heart you shot
At a velocity I once thought
To be completely impossible
Proven wrong by bullet holes
And only lonely bullets know
What's inside my heart
They take those contents
To make me repent
Your speedy intent

That was fast
Smoking past
Things that last
Into broken glass
Until we were cut
By our rushing rut
I couldn't take anymore
So I sped to the door
Andrew Rueter Jul 2017
The clock struck midnight
With an informative pang
I couldn't face it's music
So I turned counterclockwise
But time kept moving forward
As my wisdom dissipated
Bad times I anticipated

As I wandered through life
Burdens grew
Weight added with each step
My feet started to sink into the ground
So I got in my car
And drove
And kept driving
The more I traveled
The more I witnessed
The less I talked
As I grappled with the futility and necessity of communication

The clock warned of night's approach
I decided to continue driving
Luminous fireflies pelted my vessel
Their lamps exploding upon impact against my vehicle
The ability to destroy light
Exhilarated me
And I became addicted
To extinguishing that which shines
Until darkness flooded my engine
And an abysmal order was made by my abyssal odor

I had to exit my vehicle
And consult a mechanic
He explained my engine wouldn't work
Unless my windows were down
Which solved my darkness problem
But those ****** pests pervaded my car
Their locust glow disoriented me
The slight variations of their unique displays
Manufactured chaos within the light

My eyes grew accustomed to entropy
My brain grew accustomed to impairment
Commuters noticed my erratic driving
And offered to assist me
By attempting to ram me off the road
But the impenetrable light created a force field
Impalas couldn't run through
For my light bugs too much
Buffering me from others
And driving others from me
Leaving me alone
As a giant pulsating light that never stops moving
Is this how a star is born?
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”
Hannah Feb 2014
I'm barefoot in 46 degrees and I must remember that my perception of things must not encapsulate how I truly perceive. Soldered commentary  is bleak but is all I've left, all my years have given me and my years have been few.
To be constantly bombarded with the question, "what is it that I really want?" is fervently exhausting and consistently hypocritical and I'm a hack. The conclusion is always that I'm a hack without a win to present or a failure to fall back upon. As a hack, I've left myself with very few plans to alter or hungry mindsets to feed.
After glistening the only thing that remains is to burn out and the thought of extinguishing so prematurely provokes a physical falter and frequent respiratory failure.
Ask your brother if he lingers at times. Ask your sister if sometimes, she means what she says and she should always say no. Ask your friends why you should be anyone's friend and whether or not the chance to swing into hyperbolic criticism ever affects how they make their choices, hoof their steps.
Their answer should always be no and their input should always be invaluable.
Ask yourself if brain power should always be set to alter mind power and ask yourself is alteration is ever even possible. The answer should always be no.
The conclusion to draw should always be his. The choices you make, always expert and ground out by consistent respiratory failure. Ask yourself if you'll always be an animal and when will that stop. Ask yourself if time will determine whether or not this "thing" is worth doing or this "thing" is worth composing. Ask yourself why you're not the young girl who sings soul on the street, whose tremble sets off car alarms and inner requisitioning. The answer will never be the same.
Shane Leigh May 2017
I often wonder how many steps would take me to Mars;
Whether the Moon, indeed, casts its shadow over us; or
If we truly see the gaseous rays of the Sun.
Do we truly wish to be different from another?
Do dragonflies and lilies dance in the fading colors of the day?
Such beautiful reds, and blues, and purples until finally,
Giving way to vast lights of fireflies in the night sky;
Oh! How I wish to catch you and keep you.
The jar I’d keep you in would be glorious.
So glorious!

“I have caught a star,” I’d shriek;
But, as I’d look at you, I’d pity your existence.
Are you not safe in my jar bright star?
Safe from croaking frogs and wide-eyed lizards;
Safe from extinguishing lights of your light.
Oh, how I pity your existence fair firefly.
I’d set you free and watch as you fly
To the night above where, again, I’d wish to capture you.

All is fair.
I listen to the howling of distant wolves and wonder
If those wolves, with sharp fangs and glowing eyes,
Would relent to me.
Relent to me creatures of fair coats and mesmerizing eyes
As we swirl into the endless black hole that is my imagination.
It ***** in all things and spits them back out
With vibrant color and –
Let us journey to Mars and back: Come … Come!

It’s beautiful,
The dark sky and its vast space full of blinking and sparkling
Street lights bright with colors – on and off like strobe lights.
It puts me in a peaceful trance
Like my dearest aunt’s sweet lullabies
Before it goes dark.
A spotlight blinding my half-opened eyes
And the touch of a hand firmly against my head.
Pulled taught are my legs and arms;
Tightly held my ankles and wrists.
A jolt of electricity;
Again, more darkness.
Then the sparkling lights of far away fireflies,
And I ponder,
Just how many steps would take me to Mars.
© Shane Leigh
jerard gartlin Feb 2010
your heart pumps kerosene
to your matchstick veins,
& maybe i imagined things,
but i remember your eyes as ember rings
& i can't wipe my memory clean
of the dingy debris--
the delicacies of your legs & knees--
this fire's not extinguishing!!
those ashes you disguise as eyelids
won't keep me from the iris
i know i'll find inside them

& i'll skim past your skin grafts
to your smoke-smothered stomach
then plummet to your flame-engraved pancreas
((scarred from swallowed promises)).
these propane x-rays
can't scan the barcodes
on the charcoals
that the holes in your heart hold
Collily Sep 2014
Encrypted lies whispered,
kisses blown.
Two strangers fall in love.

Encrypted lies deciphered
encoded as the truth.
The norm of hearts in denial.

Encrypted lies wrapped
in rose petals
reeking of punctured promises.

Encrypted lies discovered
extinguishing the flame,
fingers pointed.
Who is to blame?

Encrypted lies forgotten
but love not.
Heartbreak is an easy price to pay than to fall for false pretence.
Donall Dempsey Nov 2018

Seated beside her
in the pew

her doll listened intently
to the Saviour who

emerges from
the old priest's mouth

an ectoplasm of words
as He manifests before her.

"Is there a doll heaven?"
she wonders.

Her little mistress however is
bored very bored indeed

much more interested  in
a sunbeam genuflecting

before the altar
extinguishing the priest's voice.

Or the ladybird
landing on a lady's foxfur

it more jewel
than the jewel worn.

Picking her nose
as the host is

held aloft

a bird perched upon
the left shoulder of

the crucifix
the Christ a mere cypher

how the artist
fancied HIm.

The crucified man smiling at her
despite how boring the sermon is.

Sunlight becoming colour
travelling through stained glass.

Her doll nods off
falling at her feet

"Shhhhhh!" father scolds
both doll and daughter.

Doll's head broken in four
nothing inside but an emptiness

all her thoughts

The smile still fixed
on her porcelain face.

Incense like death
walking upon the air.

The tiny ******
of a bell.
“Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.”

John Donne
What potions has thou produced

That makes the hottest

Of all summers in my mind

Causes global shifts of dramatic register

In my being, yes and brings to rebirth

A series of discontinuous functions

Tell me, tell me what is this potion

That strays the clocks at noon

And brings a vagrancy on the day

And by night prevails in scarlet custom

Whose crimson vale does me entangle

When stars are opt to play

Bringing a rampant start to the

Extinguishing of the day
mark john junor May 2014
living a charmed existence in the
shade of the seaward palm tree
but a telltale whisperer in hearts depth
sends doubters and scaremongers
like skulking figure's into the late day shadows
something darkly this way comes
some nameless faceless thing stalks this heartland of light
few pondered the night
few thought about what lay out there in the deep

brazen the lighthouse keeper
stokes the fires and keeps the lamps burning
no rumor of night will lay darkness at this door
no faint echo of footfall shall haunt this hour
again and again the lighthouse keeper
treads the midnight cold path of stones
along the seawall checking that all is well
raising his lantern and peering with old eyes
at the crazed cracks in the ancient wall
but none gave sign of weakness
none gave sign of peril

far out in the deep of the wider world
for the love of money and the greed of gasoline
something set in motion
some terrible beast of steel
and just as the moon set
in the final hour before dawn it came
heaving and rattling with such horrendous sounds
with bone rattling force laid its terrible hand on the seawall
and smashed the stones like it was no more than sand castle
this terrible thing so darkly come
unforgiven of wretched creature misguided soul
come to harvest the land of light

breathed with heavy burnt oil
breathed with mechanical labors
pulling its weight onto the shore
toppled the lighthouse extinguishing its light
darkness fell upon the scene
and with dreadful night returned once again to this shore
the seaward palm tree wither and die
no charmed place safe
from savage of dark
morning light never to return
in the shade of metal and oil fires night
the savage of darkness
ccd Jul 2018
there’s a million worlds right in front of me
twirling, surging, spinning, and extinguishing
like a hopeless flame; ****! they’re gone forever
right before my eyes
these worlds also sometimes collide
they fight with everything they have to keep fighting
but it’s never enough
I reach my hand out
so, so gently like a daydreamer’s sigh
in the fleeting chance I might hold one
but the only chance I have is gone; extinguished
my mother’s call is telling me to go now
but my own call tells me to stay
in the fleeting chance I might hold one,
I close my eyes, open my palm to the sky and
I don’t know how, but I think those tiny worlds
those twirling, surging, spinning things
aren’t just extinguishing with the breeze;
they’re running, twirling
as fast as they can
fighting with all they have
to escape my grasp
so I leave,
deciding that I’ll return tomorrow
in the fleeting chance I might hold one.

- c.c.d.
Margot Apr 2019
We lie amidst Ripe mountain herbs,
The nightingale has just begun its summer trill,
This hymn for golden vocal cords
Composed no owner of a writing quill

So sweet were melodies produced
That I mistook the front row lady’s cheap perfume
For blossoms, above which haunting hornets mused;
For an aroma of our Shakespeare love in bloom.

The serenading cardboard creatures –
Those thieve their voice from birds with no address.
Meanwhile a glass raised in a playhouse features
But colored water, as red as gipsy’s dress.

When the last spectator goes,
Having not found at least one genuine sun,
As actors, we recede into descending roles;
Electric blood in lamps’ capillaries feels numb.  

A lovely ladybug, I doubt, I will ever catch,
A lifelike flower, dipped in a painting fusion:
All this, fine artists tenderly attach  
To lifeless decorations, for aid they do us in a willful staged illusion.

Three burnt sienna pearls run down your spine
Yet after a big round of applause
These jewels are no longer signs of the divine,
But witches’ marks or, rather, unalluring flaws.

After the play I went to buy a notebook from my shopping list
To store the overgrowing verses, such as these;
A sheet of paper guarantees
To treat them like extinguishing bees

Cashiers ****** the change into my hand,
You purchased hothouse roses with;
And up those pretty useless beauties stand
In someone’s vase, whose name remains a myth.

They give me back those polished dimes
You traded for a pair of shoes.
I’ve seen you marshal through onstage lifetimes,
Yet to disclose personas’ traces the theater walls refuse.

Your chocolate hair has just fallen from the hairdresser’s hand,–
That’s how I know the summer’s coming to a bitter end.
This poem I dedicated to a local theater actor Julian. During one of his plays I thought of this fictional plot. Thank you for reading!
vircapio gale Nov 2012
energy surging,
             heat begetting heat
expands to dark expanse to cool and brew what slow restocking weight
with white supernal flare between
around an equipoise of center you imagined as you write
and what non-being-being residing in beneath the deep?
inspired by the question-thought embracing
death beyond what death to value life a blissful state
in even darkest reaches found
the pain a sundered gate of joy you capture with poetic greeting ploy,
that coin is split to join opposing worlds
as when blind Shiva blinded world
unbridled lust arrayed from hut to hut
obliging them his ***** to rip
but then extinguishing their rant
to foster pleading for the dance again
collecting yoga as viyoga
                               in samanvaya chiaroscuro maya-vidya
or adept on cosmic player focus
hate-trancendent into vast eternal love
which even Luke (14:26) dropped lovely clue to
un conditioned by contingent fondness
for what myth of real  play
we stage together evermore
to frolic in the uncut hair of graves
                                                          ­                                                          (greene­st grass to know what past)
whose leavings are for future sunrise lush to celebrate another self envisioned
in another set of singing eyes
the literal, empty, formless mien
a synthesized good-bye recursion rush

रजस् (rájas) n. the second of the three guṇas or qualities (the other two being सत्त्व​ (sattva, "goodness"), and तमस् (tamas, "darkness"); rajas is sometimes identified with तेजस् (tejas); it is said to predominate in air, and to be active, urgent, and variable)

    Change, mutation;
    passion, excitement;
    birth, creation, generation.
Outside Words Nov 2018
Like a flame igniting an old engine
A frisk of energy sparked
Turning my rusty, frozen gears
And restoring my memories of you.
In a hidden corridor in time -
A dimension since locked away
We two share an instant -
An unobtainable, infinite moment.
Like a fog creeping in on my soul -
An ironic, melancholy nostalgia;
I dream of sunlight on canopy roads
In a place I once called home.
Trapped in a reality without you
We've since broken our promise,
Extinguishing the embers
We swore to smolder forever.
This life is a sort of purgatory -
A spiritual test and journey;
A short waiting period before
We again walk hidden corridors.
© Outside Words
Robert G Page Mar 2015

Beautiful rain, so life giving where it needs it most.  My spirit glides through the beautiful rain,  refreshing my thirsty soul, extinguishing hell’s fire that sometimes got to close. The Lord won’t let me burn when my frightened soul cries out for forgiveness. Please cover my friends as the wide scope of your beautiful rain clouds sit over my head and stretch out to protect my friends and family…thank you Lord…rgp
ryn Feb 2017
Will you stand with me at the water's edge?

As my beats quicken and intensify
Likened to the pounding of war drums
Fuelling the skirmishes within

As my lungs remain obstinate and insatiable
Voraciously consuming every breath till they overlap...
As if the abundant air wasn't enough

As my mind races out in a million different directions
Crestfallen thoughts layered upon angry ideals
Violated principles versus tattered resolutions

Will you stand with me at the water's edge?
And watch me as I choose between
extinguishing the raging fire
that burns in my heart and mind

Or drown.
My body ached as I erased you.
You are everywhere.
You are in everything.
For I fear one day I wake and you are gone.
I fear for what will replace the thought of you.
To hell with maintaining a fire just so faces could be seen.
I danced on the embers extinguishing little stars and I scribbled in my notes and waited for that one girl to shut up about Twitter and Halloween costumes so I could hear—

the fog dragging its tongue up the valley.

Finally she began to realize the contest she was losing,
took the quiet advice of myself and the wind and went
to go tuck herself
into the tent,
into the safety of ceiling.

you and I
opted to be
coyotes on the hillside.

I took the trail away from our sleeping counterparts,
and flayed you on the dirt where I stripped you of your fur,
howling to the fog and plowing valleys in your flesh,
your legs grew into roots, and wove length by longer length
‘round all the sturdy angles, the anchors of my hips
and you, oh you,
you would **** the marrow from my bone.

And when we lay out, raw and steaming
knees bleeding from the drainage ditch,
a gnawing fades out, falls to dreaming,
we, peeling off a well-known itch.
Then we play a game with satellites
Where bouncing mirrors reflect our minds
And laugh when the reflections never fit.

I gather up my skin, step one foot in and
stumble when the tightness traps my leg,
You pin up your *******, to please our sleeping guests
that wouldn’t take to anything irregular.

On the upward hike ten million lights, ten million lives
herded on the table of L.A.
A Serengeti of fire, a mass migration;
mammoths marching, tusks dipped in flame

Sitting around campfires once taught vocal apes to rhyme
but a million conversations
bleaches each the other white
and now a million electric campfires
bleaches L.A.’s lower sky.

And though I stomped out ours
the ash remains a scar
where we had nearly forgot
how to speak by choosing to not.
kMargaret Jun 2013
They call it being the big spoon
The Big Dipper of the bodies
And you insisted on that being your job.
But it was the middle of the night
And you turned over
Letting me press my body against your back.
Fitting myself into all your open spaces
Nothing breathed between us
You reached out your arm
Pulling mine up and over
Hugging my hand to your bare chest.
And I
My ear to your back
My hand to your heart
We beat in unison
And I
I couldn't tell who's heart was who's.
Tracing the freckles on your back.
Using the tips of my fingers
And my lips
To connect the constellations
Your skin glowed as if touched by stars
They are imbedded in your skin.
How were we supposed to know
That beneath the surface of your porcelain
That you were burning alive.
For the stars weren't those you wish upon
But those that scorch you from the inside out.
The ones that set you on fire
How were we to know that the constellations imbedded in your back
Were not constellations at all,
But veins filled with poison.
A cancer feeding on you
Destroying what you are
Burning stars,
Poisonous, deathly stars,
That big spoon
Pouring hot acid through your bones
Extinguishing the light that once enveloped you.
You lay here
And your eyelashes
They start to fall to your cheeks
You cry and
I say
Glowing from the inside out,
I traced the Big Dipper into your back
How was I to know you were burning.

Make a wish, baby
It's not over until you stop fighting.
Westley Barnes Jun 2014
Regret is not
The fleeting deferral of
some brief romance
Regret is
the inability to react
to the irreversible moment
of something created
slipping away

(My boy Jamie being led
  into that bitter cold by
  a hand that should have
  been none
  but my own)
faded pulpit dark and
winter noon grey
are but the same as
extinguishing candles
to mark , instead , what
could have been done
for the world

(I thought they were better off
being together
with their own kind
so I used to hurry past
them waiting for the trains
their children tidy and
smiling, nevertheless)

And the Angelus bell
will continue to ring
long after we all rot.
And the ghosts we share
will take all but their
names with them, to
be dug up for some
purpose of record
to fissure a cause for disquiet
along the nuns' walk wall.

(Before that, she had been
such a carful girl
and these days I
wince at the sound
of giggles which
remind me of hers.)
All inverted lines are invented, but based on testimonies of real events.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
addressing my southpaw weakness...
don't know... my left hand is a bit...
   started to train it...
   by extinguishing cigarette
butts on each other knuckles...
have two vacant slots to fill...
and plenty of whiskey...
  i paid my Shylock...
  i was **** with the Gorbachev
**** on my right shoulder blade...
now comes the fun part!
the lesson...
of boxing, with not boxing gloves!
i want the ******* knuckle
to... hurt... the... the most...
like Tom Waits'
circus narrative...
  **** these teenage girls cutting...
how about their start burning
with hot, metallic objects?
how's that?
less blood!
   ha ha!
                 two knuckles down...
two to go...
    i'm giggling with anticipation...
while, i, eat,
the, pain! ha ha!
who gives a **** about
preachers / theologians
or stock brokers?
so who?
the Turkish barbers,
the English tailors,
the French chefs?!
              the roof, the roof,
the roof is on fire,
let the ******* burn...
we don't don't need no
water let the ******* burn,
let the ******* burn...
      i'm a simpleton...
catch the genie... catch the lamp
sort of scenario...
  bon voyage / bon soir /
    mon amí!
   god, i hate the french!
         it's like...
you want to lick them...
face to face...
and then... punch them...
        my type of ****** nationalism!
comes the third knuckle...
and the cigarette...
it will be put out onto!
- like an interrogator might...
you show the victim undergoing
the torture, with yourself
   and then?
  torture the **** out of them! ha ha!
i.e. who's the buckle,
who's the knuckle, and who's the knee?!
oh please! please!
don't mention the oysters
of the elbow!
  have some common decency!
Joseph Valle Aug 2012
Make candles dance
they love to, just ask them.
It’s no hard task to make them,
which makes making them,
no longer making them.
They gleefully step on the floor,
hum tune, whistle even,
into the wee hours of morning
performing breathtaking displays
of charisma and elegance
and eventually
their light shines no more.
Wax has wandered
away in search of better form.
They decide,
you, for them, that is,
that extinguishing is the ultimate.

Burn out,
well, burned,
so they
ignite again.
Lisa Hudak Sep 2012
Get me out of this hospital bed.
I feel as though I'm trapped in time
and like the Cheshire cat,I wish I could just disappear
instead of being tied down and made numb to the world around
if only I could escape, make my retreat...
You'll find me sitting on a couch on a beach

listening to the waves

holding a bottle of wine and a cigarette
imagine the feeling of a setting sun
like dimming a lantern
slowly, extinguishing the flame
finding comfort in the coolness of nights embrace
reflections lost in an unfocused gaze
transparent pieces being put out of place
So the fallout begins.
No steps to retrace.
Jonathan Witte Oct 2016
Our road trip memories align
as we pass a Farmall tractor,
fire engine red and rooted
roadside in a field of alfalfa,
a relic washed by cloudburst,
a workhorse dried in sunshine,
arrested air stack,
rusted crank case,
supple spider webs
in chaste wheel wells—
immutable old machine
somehow extinguishing
in the reflected acreage
of the rear view mirror.
Are you leaving?
Are you going away?
Like an extinguishing light
Like a bumble moth in flight
Bea Nov 2012
A battleground
The enemy; the state
As tanks lined the street ways
In the dark of the night
Like gasoline
Coating skin
Matches in a hostile hand
Suffocating; breathless
As poison exuberates
The sewer lines
The dirt; the grunge
The sunlight
Its first stream of rise
Golden on the alleyways
Where fear reverberates and strives
Like radiation seeping through
The walls
Filling the empty space
Until it bursts and fills
The residents  
Hallow; shallow souls
The people fill the town
From outside their wooden doors
And pour into menacing streets
With the lies promising in their eyes
Foreboding air fills their lungs
Like innocence and love
They look into the barrels
Of guns made out of steel
Silver shinning in the dawn light
The sleek shiver down their spines
The taste of ammunition
Like liquid on their tongues
They cling to one another
Like smoke to its flame
The ash of propaganda
A fire extinguishing their pain

— The End —