"firebird" poems
Red, orange, yellow;
the fire.
Scarlet, gold;
the Phoenix
rises from
the flame.
He screeches.
The earth shakes.
The people cower.
A shadow blocks
the sun.
All fall to
the ground before
the mighty firebird.
From the ashes
he has risen,
and to the ashes
he will return,
only to be reborn.
Phoenix immortal;
Phoenix eternal;
Phoenix undying.
All powerful,
and indescribable.
Phoenix
of the ember;
Phoenix
the firebird.
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 11:52 AM UTC
I thought I might be a musician
Mom couldn’t afford my lessons
My eyesight wasn’t great
I couldn’t read notes fast enough
Practicing annoyed the family
I only managed last chair, 2nd violins
But still
I got to play in High School concerts
In shiny dresses with glitter in my hair
However
I haven’t held a violin in years
I loaned mine to a Bluegrass band
The leader died - and it was gone
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought I might become a dancer
But my fingers can not touch the floor
I couldn’t kick much higher than my waist
Choreography was hard for me to learn
I had the stamina if not the skill
My partner wanted someone else
But still
I danced on stage in a college play
And Morris Danced at the Old Globe Theatre
However
I’ve forgotten how to keep the beat
And all the dance floor moves I made
I’m too self conscious now to try
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I fancied I could be a singer
I knew the words to all the songs
And I could keep the melody in tune
But I had a voice with no vibrato
And the quality was thin
My range was very limited
But still
I sang Blueberry Hill at a talent show
In a black lame’ dress and surprised a few
However
I couldn’t get the hang of harmony
And found I fit best in a choir
My family wouldn’t hear my solos
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought that I was born an actress
I practically got that one right
I had a lead in an Ibsen play
And toured the state with Macbeth
But Hollywood was one big casting couch
And I could see no way around it
But still
I got to be on TV shows
Winning games and merchandise
However
I sold the Firebird Convertible I won
I needed rent money more than a car
And rules allow you only three shows in a lifetime
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I always thought I was a poet
I started young and never stopped
But family ignored and scoffed
Then I got trapped inside my mirror
And only wrote when all was beak
Somebody said my stuff was dreary
But still
I stumbled on the HP website
And found a group who like the words I write
However
When I read the others’ writes
I realize how limited my skills
And fight the need to run away and hide.
∞
It seems I dabbled in all the arts
Looking for the one that fit me
And finding they all needed alteration
And I never had the proper needle
∞
Still, a moment in the sun
Is better than a lifetime in the shade
I had a taste of everything
Though the banquet was not mine.
ljm
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
FIREBIRD,,,,Firebird,,,, Winging thru the Air. Colors of GOLD and FIFTY more. Wings are AGLOW with such a Radiant FIRE , That create a LIGHT which ETCHES the SKY ! I wonder oh Mighty FIREBIRD, are you a bird of distress? OR: Perhaps ONE who will be bringing to me Pillows of HAPPINESS ? YOU Shine and Sparkle in the Sky like Diamonds HELD from Heaven ! FIREBIRD,, Firebird,, have You come to take me away ? Put Me in the OUTER-REACHES of the day ? What can I say to such a GIFT,, My Bird,, My Firebird,, WING,, WING AWAY .. Is it "CLOUD-FLYING" you're bringing my way? Will THERE BE *ROOM for Special Guests, I REQUEST ! ! The FIREBIRD whose wings so Stir the Air, As I wait for the ADVENTURE to SEE that which has been UNSEEN !~! HOW could ANYONE Believe that such a HEAVENLY ride Does Exist ? I discovered YOU, Just beyond that Rainbow. AND instead of answers brought to me, I Found that ONLY Questions Dominated my MIND!'! "AND"__An Overwhelming desire to Tell the World, IF, but by searching, YOU CAN BE Found? OH,, Beautiful FIREBIRD, WHERE oh Where do I Begin To TELL??
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 10:47 AM UTC
*"To the East, to the East"
Cry the Ibis and the Locust Beast
"To the East and the Sycamore Feast!"*
The call of the Firebird
crackles in mid-air,
The Ash of the Sycamore
blowing in the wind
echoes of tomorrow
As silent slave bells bear
creaks at the gateway
Sing:
"Catch-ink; catch-ink!"
*"To the East, to the East"
Cry the Ibis and the Locust Beast
"To the East and the Sycamore Feast!"*
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 6:46 AM UTC
_Elegantní Lebed_
On Vltava waters
I saw a Graceful Swan,
Peaceful and modest
Full of quiet confidence
She looked like a Fawn
I fall in love with her
From thousand miles away,
Frightened of thoughts
My crazy mind created
Swan spread her wings
To save me from darkness
I was one step away from jumping,
She embraced my sadness
And it felt like a heaven
Invited me to her secure haven
She patiently waited
Playing down her strength
Showing me a way to the calmness I crave
Above Vltava flow
In my mind I see
Gorgeous Swan dances
Twosome with Firebird
_6.7.2019_
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 1:50 AM UTC
Who is she but blood of that demise
In fiery passion her own blood consumes?
Like powder waiting for the heat of flame
Whose heat in lonely agony she bathes?
What is it but fire of that demise
Whose sacrificial prodigies be made
To keep him superstitious of the flame?
And in triumph, like fire, they consume.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
it’s a wild life
of magic and tales
of light and radiance
dreams and darkness
*firebird, firebird
will you bring it all for me?
firebird, firebird
will you transform all things for me?*
what we dreamt yesterday
was once reality, what we never imagined
is current, and eats us day by day
desires fade and palaces appear
demons roar, and sirens kiss us
and induce ******* and bless us with erections
*firebird, firebird
let all whispers come real
firebird, firebird, firebird
let time stand still where I want it to be*
clouds are rocks and earth is liquid
my flesh burns and the Princess of Far-off gyrates
Mean King objects and the Jester holds court
Kingdoms collapse and new ones come in their place
dreams, dreams, dreams die
and are re-born in the Heavens in Our Heads
*firebird, firebird
burn the ground
and let illusion and reality be one
firebird, firebird, firebird
let despair be hope, and love be lust
one the other, the other the one*
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 7:25 AM UTC
“that’s a Simpson’s sky,” you say,
pointing to the fluff strewn across the highway sky,
I smile and nod, concentrating on the music
we’re driving to Cornwall in the curb lane,
pointedly avoiding what’s uppermost,
halfway there from Toronto
“driving makes me think,” I think to myself
and turn up the volume on Buddha Bar III
and talking fades into the rearview mirror
black Firebird, racing stripes, eager to pass me
I hold steady – he should know how to use the passing lane!
he bobs and weaves and nips at my fender
it washes in waves over you so palpably
I feel it crash on my shoulder -
your father passed away yesterday
rolling the window down slightly, you light a cigarette
I roll down mine and light up, too
our ritual – one feeding off the other
we’re driving to Cornwall, to family,
to mother, alone now among children
“what will you say to her?” I ask you silently
we’re driving to Cornwall
towards loss, towards hope
with a black Firebird close behind
I move the wheel slightly
to avoid a can of Pepsi rolling in the lane
the rear-view mirror catches the firebird
deliberately swerve to hit it and exlode
its contents in a little puff of vapour -
highway music
bonaventure saptel
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
*The last firebird flied
over her as she stood
on the last crumbling
mountain.
Prickley pine trees
shivering above the dew,
the first breath of the
winter in her soul was
icing through the flowers.
She fleed the Golden-emerald
city, heart broken by the
gong of war.
Sinking her nails deep into
the ground.
Sheding tears of a dragon
from the crystal eyes
of the universe.
Falling down
her porcelain face.
A work of art.
Her lips red,to seem like
cherries in the spring.
Casting a glance at the pale moon
while the wild wind was
howling to the north.
Ruler of the skies
as the morning stars sang together,
looking different today.
In the shadows of her lace fan,
the silky blossom on the
kimono dress.
Embroided with the silver thread
of moonlight, encrusted with
the diamonds of night.
The great ocean waves can't destroy
her purple throne.
Although left all alone, she will
never surrendor.
The obediance will suffocate
from her light, rising like the sun
after the dusk once again.
Because she is... the Empress*
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn't a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time... For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars... And yellow leaves, from the maple trees, that lined our street... Or my grandmother's hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper... And the first time I saw my cousin Tony's brand new firebird . I guess I could be pretty ****** off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
I was taken by surprise
when her Dad handed me the keys..
“I have a meeting in the City,
Could your drive her to school for me”
That day I had not thought to drive,
My own “K” car was in the shop.
I was having the rear brakes replaced
because sometimes I like to stop.
My car was an econobox
but for my purpose fine.
His car was a Red Firebird-
Top down, top of the line.
The day was clear and drenched with sun-
The perfect top down day.
We waved goodbye as Barb and I
pulled out and on our way.
We heard something from Stravinsky
On her father’s Classics station
As we drove across the Bridge
to her college destination.
The Cross Bronx, unexpectedly,
was light of cars that day.
Traffic on the Bronx River
seemed to yield us right of way.
I pulled in near Bathgate Avenue
And gave my girl a kiss.
I would have liked to linger
But that final she couldn’t miss.
The engine gave a gentle purr
on my return trip down.
I met up with her father
And he dropped me off back home.
With both hands in my pockets,
I watched as he drove off.
The car would prove a classic,
The girl proved, alas, aloof.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
Prometheus.
That's what they call me.
Your heart, phoenix fire.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
we were all born crying.
wailing, raw pink lungs
gasping,
choking, on new filtered air.
but maybe, we cry not because
of a cold chill
and fluorescent state of confusion,
but simply because we've been born once again.
maybe we cry because our past lives
will never repeat themselves-
no more grandkids, the splintered back porch with the hissing screen door,
no more ten day vacations at the spare house in Spain,
no more dates at a drive in, the 1981 firebird where the windows would always steam,
no handprints along glass,
footprints on the subway.
no more
"welcome home" kisses from your dog,
"goodnight" kisses from your wife.
when we are born,
maybe we cry because
in that simple movement toward new light
our hand lingers along the wall behind us,
and flips off the switch.
every painful lesson,
heartbreak,
first times,
failiure.
all of it recycled;
repetition that never comes to end.
maybe, we cry because
we have forgotten the words
of the song we know we've heard.
the one you once danced to
at your wedding;
the one they cried to, at your funeral.
maybe we cry because
we have forgotten the color of the ink
scratched on our past suicide notes.
maybe, because
we think the gunshot did not take us
to heaven.
but there are angels
and they don't wear halos and stroke harps-
they roam the earth.
instead of showing you the light,
they teach how to form the flame inside yourself.
we were all born crying.
and it is not from loss or fear itself;
not because our soul is homesick
for the house it can't recall-
we cry for the warmth of our mothers worn hands.
the new rhythm slow in her chest,
amber hair falling
from the foreign slope of her shoulder;
we are just one soul on this journey
body to body, heart to heart.
maybe we cry because
in that moment, we ourselves realize
that each life is, a miracle.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
the phoenix arising
from ashes of the fire
of passion ignited,
by the heat of desire,
ever hungry, forever wanting,
Searching for her mate.
Five hundred years she soared the skies,
Over mountains, fields and sea,
With hope of this meeting,
Which is never to be.
Her fate to be solitary,
Although ever hoping,
to unite with her lover,
for whom she is longing.
Complete within, the phoenix,
The male and female melding,
who needs no other to be whole
an androgyne- the perfect being.
Although perfect the phoenix is,
She, like humankind, desires
with her true mate, a Unity,
which fate denies her eternally,
So she may show to all of us,
That within us each, is present,
That absent one, for whom we cry,
Our true lover, whose name is “I”.
Because desire for another,
True purpose, she forsaking,
The gods then bade her burn
on the pyre of her own making.
from her wholeness,
emerged a new creation,
from what remained ,
the ashes of her desolation.
she lives again, another age
so that all mortals, remembering,
Through myths of her, the firebird,
Same it is – the ending and beginning.
But, if return will someday bring
At last, to us, our lover true,
I, a mortal, and like the phoenix,
Will bravely go with hope anew,
With all forsaking,
Ever yearning,
through pain of the fire,
of my own making.
From desire, the chains of matter feeds,
Upon the spirit which must be free.
Then, we must, as the phoenix return,
to the same cycle, which is always to be.
When no longer we seek beyond,
When desire is stilled, and in sleep lie,
We will then hear that whisper from our heart,
And we find our true lover, whose name is “I”.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
They say if you stare into a fire long enough, it'll clear your memory
If only that was so
They say if you try to forget something, that with time it will work
That's something I don't know
I've been replaying that night over and over in my mind
Trying to believe it was worth it, but my thoughts haven't been so kind
I was mesmerized by that fire, by that bird going up in flames
That a tear had escaped my grasp, and nothing would ever be the same
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 9:23 AM UTC
Grassy field..
Ocean shore..
Moonlit night..
Morning star rise..
All the places where I have awaited the end.. In these dreams silence takes over all sound.. Here in these places the purples in the sky are coming slowly..
The morning star rises face to face with our old sun..
Its as if 2 suns shine the neverending day.. The old phoneix spreads its all colored wings.. The Morning star was the light egg the Phoneix came from...
The beast of fire, the firebird, Feathered dragon of the sun returns.. Its song takes over the silence.. A song of firey happiness.. The morning star rise.. This moment is mine to keep.. And I share this dream with you.. A dream of what I thought was the end.. A dream where I finally begin...
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
Meditations Over the George Washington Bridge
For Tyler Clementi
1.
I could hear the faintest of notes crying in the wind,
As if your fingers were still nimbly holding the bow,
Striking chords on your violin,
As my car rolled over the George Washington Bridge.
I think about how beautiful this is,
This feeling of suspension, how life is held
So taut on these wires, how simple it is to find
Weightlessness over all this water. My mind questions,
Did you second guess yourself? Did you know you
Were worthy of being held, cradled in more
Than just cool air and metal grates and wetness.
But I guess some higher being knew you better,
Than anyone did or could. Knew how those fingers could string
Harps and violins and heart strings, and you,
You were more than all of this, this wasteland
Where desires and kisses are taken for mockery,
And your love can be twisted against you
To make you feel light enough to float away into sleep.
2.
You flew that night. I could tell. Spread your arms like wings
Like a firebird descending into waves, looking to extinguish
Itself, and to take the world with it, to burn out the innate
Inhumanity of human beings. What they found floating
On those waves was a mere carcass, the shelling of your being,
You shed the unholiness of your skin off to alight yourself,
And blaze us with our ignorance.
They were too blind to see you flew that night, let yourself
Unravel into the sky, ripping through the darkness like a seraph,
Like some holy being, some light meant for a higher calling,
But I know what you did, I could see the shadow of you in the night
Gracefully floating. You, you are a testament to language spoken
And silenced, to the words stuck on tongues prying themselves
Through gritted teeth, you birthed meaning to the need for some sort of justice.
3.
You served your time well,
You messenger,
You,
You young,
Holy creature of God,
And I wonder as I pass over
Your take off spot,
How long you will string
Your notes over us
And how you would have fit
Into the Philharmonic
And looked walking up
For your degree
And how long your memory
Will haunt me
And how long your memory
Will stay a lesson learned
For us all.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
people always talk too much
and I try to sleep anyway
but silence is hard to come by
and you must silence
everything
with a knife.
(purebred aggressiveness
is preferable to casual ******
even when solace arrives
in the morning,
as punctual as the mail,
your bloodstained hands
have still come away empty
and you still want to be held.
(too bad you don't let nobody
touch you, too bad they get the idea
after the riposte to the heart)
Of course they have survived it;
we lived in a civilized day and age,
after all,but they will still
steal furtive glances at you,
like they're waiting for something to
drain away the remaining time
until you next explode.
it's a fair price to pay
for the skill to breathe words
like mere ambient gases,
for free thought
and a good pen.
at least , I fell for it.
I was never good at bartering,
and what more could I ask
than to wield words?
and so the cycle continues!
life,death,ashes to egg,egg to
firebird,
firebird to ashes.
people will continue to
misjudge where they've stabbed you
and you will continue to
obediently burn all letters
and end up
listening
to Thom Yorke sing about
cheap *** and sad films.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
tonight I am elated
I feel just fine
things can change
people can learn to be kind with time
you can find me at the edge
cause I'm close but never ready to jump
you can trust me to never fall
drive against the coil
so I may not find peace
because tonight I can be anything
to feel good I don't care how
my desires grow I don't care why
close to the edge
tonight I want to feel fine
I don't care anymore please
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 6:40 PM UTC
Nobody else knows me like you do.
And I know nobody quite like you.
When I needed love, and you were afraid,
I swallowed my feelings, and stayed.
You decided to be the best friend
And I tried my hardest to make feelings end.
But sitting in your firebird, as the rain sprinkled down,
I talked about how love is fake, you didn't make a sound.
You let me pour out my soul, as I cried right beside you.
You looked me in my eyes and said, "That might be true.
But I'm sure it's not. Every time you look at me, I see,
What love is supposed to be."
We pull up in my drive way, at a quarter until four.
Just as you opened the door, the rain began to pour.
I remembered your gift and ran inside so I could give it to you.
You opened the wrapper and smiled at me and replied, "Of course you knew."
The rain began to simmer down, and you took off your sweater,
You hugged me, and I smelt your scent, I think I like this weather.
You never paint, but for me you did, and you take my breath away.
I don't know what I can possibly do to make you decide to say,
"Don't be afraid to love, because your heart is safe with me,
I'll be your knight, and you will be my lady of my dreams.
He didn't deserve you and he let you go, I can't believe he's so dumb,
But it's okay because we both have known all along that I am the one."
Maybe I'm just overreacting, and maybe that's okay.
But in the rain, on a friday,
**I F
E
L
L in love again.**
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
what's inside?
a fish? a duck? a bird of paradise? candy? lizards?
or something more exotic -
a dragon?
a platypus?
a firebird?
pterodactyl? sea serpent? roc?
maybe a village, or a girl, or a death, or all three?
eggs are wild cards. fate puts a baby [___] inside, and it claws its way out when gets impatient of sitting pretty. we are all basically eggs waiting to assume a shape and shake off a shell of past dreams and childhood nicknames.
yes they're delicate. so they can break apart when needed. so they can enclose themselves gently around a realm of potential, but it is a maze, not a prison. escape is the ultimate end. birth is the ultimate end.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
The potential quarrel only,
And I say only, is the thought
That 'us' would not be us
After our kisses.
We will never be just one flame,
One firebird in the distance
Pecking at mimosas.
And there's just too much flaw
If we are perfect for each other.
I could be the day of our starts,
And you, the day that begins.
I don't know.
You tend to over-think,
And often, I think of you,
Etcetera,
Vice versa.
So one by one, we secretly seek
Each other's secret;
One by one, we hate
How we hated each other
Till other things remain
In other things.
And so we think of each other
Only,
And then we kiss.
And I say:
Let love be a kiss,
For when two people kiss, it never mattered
Who stoops or reaches more.
© 2010 J.S.P
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
Some days when the sun doesn’t
come out in
the morning and the sky is dark and
grey, sometimes she just wants
to run out into
the storms with her arms out to the sky.
She wishes she’d be struck by
the lightning that
tickles the tops of the trees towering
above her and that her ashes
would fly out
over the winds to some faraway place.
There she would rise like the phoenix
in the stories her
grandmother told her about when she
was but a child and she would
be herself again.
Or maybe for once she’d be
someone else, one of those people
that have enviable lives.
The ones that were like her
mother, or the way she thought
her mother was
because she’d never really known her
in the first place.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
You were a beautiful, late 70's Firebird. Charging through life with the power of 100 horses, easily going 40 over the limit from day one.
During the summer I became a stormy night, The ditch that caught you when he turned into an oil slick. I got to hold you for some time.
She is your tow truck, arriving just as you started to welcome me as a home.
All the while, since the day I met you. You became a shelter for the storm that has been brewing for years.
Now you are gone & let me tell you something darling, It's ******* hurricane season, and I'm just a lighting rod, all I feel is the lighting ripping my chest apart more and more with every strike.
I might as well be one of your father's burger wrappers because you threw me out with a slight sense of disgust and ease.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
In the mystery of its soul
Light holds a soulful secret.
When darkness casts its conceit over the horizon
in monochrome shades of melancholy,
it resurrects as a Firebird
in golden silhouettes of flame,
illuminating the warped convictions of a
perverted darkness.
Light once knocked
at the stony tomb of your conscience
calling out your name.
But you feigned, refused to leave
the comforts of a pretended ignorance!
You didn’t realise you’re my thoughts
incarnated in charming colours of a conundrum!
How long will I call out your name
before you allow the light of my resurrection
to shred the shroud of a deathly pretence?
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 3:35 AM UTC