"firecrackers" poems
I'll light every
Firework that I can find
For you.
Every ounce of you,
Including the parts
That you like to hide.
They deserve to be seen
And heard too.
The next second
Not to mention the next year
Isn't promised.
Although not the same
As overseas,
There is still reason to celebrate
The crackle of firecrackers,
The release of red lanterns,
To light the street of your heart,
As well as the sky.
We're not as young as we
Used to be.
But that doesn't mean that we have
To act like it.
The fire that courses
Through my lungs can't wait
To get out and roar
Like a dragon,
And break the silence
In celebration.
A red envelope wrapped in fire,
And sealed with the flash
Of prosperous smiles.
Every time I see you,
It feels like New Year's.
And when you kiss me,
My soul sizzles,
Stirring up this fire
That dances through my body.
The next second
Not to mention the next year
Isn't promised.
Tomorrow may not come.
If there ever was a time
To burn down and sweep up
Pieces of our old selves,
Why wait?
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 10:55 PM UTC
Firecrackers to frighten the animals.
Shadows of mountains run
On the surface of the fords.
3.9k
Muelle de Binondo Street,
Barangay San Nicolas,
Old Manila.
My dad's fate
Will always be muddled
With nostalgia:
The mid-afternoon
Traffic of fruit vendors,
The toothless strains
Of my grandfather's voice,
Bouncing off
The warehouse walls
Like folding cardboard,
The ceramic gallops of horse-
Drawn kalesas taking him
From school to
My grandfather's offices,
Every day and back,
Up and down
The cardboard box river
To Tondo. There, he hurriedly
Buys ten
Asado buns
From a stall across the
Street from their
School - a voracious
Schoolboy
Forever late for class, forever
Putting on basketball jerseys
Too wide for him,
Basketball shorts too
Short; body
Always too gangly,
Too long-limbed, wide eyed
And fleet footed
For his dreams to catch.
He once could dunk.
He is still a baby boomer -
Scared of firecrackers,
Weird penchant
For popped collar shirts,
Pointed shoes, and
Sequins - he, was an avid
Lover of stars - his old
Dust-strewn bed posts
Giving way, I imagine,
To iron bars caging
The luminous starry night,
Floating high above
The sewage
And the freight trucks
That weigh him so.
They sang to him.
In the tune of
My mother's voice -
The only album
He ever possessed.
Song set from
His favorite band.
"Apo Hiking Society."
His favorite word,
Was "leap."
A disciple
Of MJ, Dr. J,
And Magic,
Samboy, and Jawo,
Icarus on hardwood
And leaping
From the free throw line.
"Son," he once told me,
"You gotta leap
"If you wanna live."
He was always afraid of heights.
It wasn't until 41 that
We made him ride a roller-coaster,
That he had even seen a roller-coaster.
"You gotta leap
"If you wanna live."
I think my favorite
Memory of my dad
Is still him wringing my fingers
At Space Mountain with
Eyes so tightly shut
That we forgot
Our fears,
And screamed instead:
So.
This,
Is how the stars look like
When unbolted
By folding cardboard,
And iron bars.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
Our souls
are one thousand firecrackers
each stick waiting to burn.
Sometimes our souls are quiet,
and the firecrackers are stagnant
and wet.
And sometimes we burn slow,
the firecrackers smoldering sweet and terrible,
the ashes falling in poetic teardrops to the ground.
We are tied down and the firecrackers
are screaming to burst out with a jubilant
expression of WOWWW!
But they are denied.
Until that one moment when all the pieces are set
and finally the firework of our soul is
let loose and explodes with loud, sulfuric glory,
spreading its light and smoke and wonder
across the quiet plains.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 5:28 PM UTC
It is victory of light over darkness.
But his eyes filled with bleakness.
It is victory of hope over despair.
But a poor child with no one to care.
Jam packed are shops of sweets.
But pitiful child has got nothing to eat.
Crackers stealthily they all buy.
His stomach is empty, lips are dry.
Bursting firecrackers, light and sound.
Hapless child quietly sitting on ground.
To burn people have enough buck.
But not enough for burning stomach.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
He lost his arm
By a cooked bomb
His world lit up like firecrackers
He was engulfed in fire and metal shards
Then his body went numb
So he was stitched up
And sent back home
There was a new brand of limbs
So he volunteered to be experimented on
For a prosthetic arm
As he went through new trials during the day
He suffered at night
He had night terrors about where he was evacuated from
Seeing himself holding a ticking time bomb
While bullets whisked past above
The bomb sunk into his hand like a solider in the slums
And as the time ticked one
His arm turned to glass and exploded
The shards from his arm imbedded themselves in his skin
This was his dreamed
He beg to be fixed
But even though they could give him a new arm
They couldn't fixed what he saw when he closed his eyes
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
i guess there are
some people
who just don’t realize
how preposterous they sound when
using social media.
yeah, maybe you’re one. no one
is safe from suspicion:
-the comedians (their own biggest fan types)
the witty commentators
jumping in from the far corner.
(you wonder how
someone who learnt every word they know
from about six Archie comics is allowed to
use social networking)
-oh and the girls
who post new selfies
every day. (in fact there’s one,
i swear, posts so often
so regular
i barely need a watch.
“here’s the three-fifteen cleavage shot.”
—she’s long since been hidden!)
and wait here’s that
fella who speaks out about injustices;
firecrackers taped in a doberman’s mouth,
which is awful, sick, repulsive—and bravo
for making the universe aware, i applaud thee,
but it’s the rambling included about what you’d do
if you ever caught them
(curbstomping, mutilating, beatings)
that gives
me goosebumps.
i don’t wanna see this kid’s mug in
the paper next week/point & say
“christ i knew it!”
..so maybe keep the ****** fantasy off the web, eh?
& then of course the weirdness
too weird to
properly recall
example:
an acquaintance's call for attention “i need a hug :(“
and the random girl
probably th’sister of a friend
(which is bizarre in its own right,
adding a friend's younger sibling..
but i
won’t bother delving
there tonight)
who replies:
*“hey you should come here instead
and see the skunk that just came
by my window
if you wanna?”*
—what is this absurdity?
and hey here’s an answer
to your original call:
internet hugs don’t work.
computers don’t hug in binary, man.
0110101110101101111001010010101011011010110101110101010101
>—O—<
—i’ll never understand it.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 1:42 AM UTC
film. prayer. kittens in a box. serene nudes thrusting the skylight. trinkets in a first floor gift shop lifted by a man dreaming beneath a decompression chamber. a one use snowglobe. ash.
hole in a rabbit. a woman who talks once a year to firecrackers.
earth on earth. a baby without toes applauded for having two heels. a pregnant person who’s played on god
a simple hoax.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
A chain of beautiful accidents
light up like strings of Chinese firecrackers.
I follow trails that may or may not be blue.
They tip toe to the coast and snake around wild peacocks.
Funny things happen when you close your eyes,
lines from A to B are never completely straight.
I come for the sun and stay for the drinks.
Sometimes my thoughts make spider webs in my eyes.
Twelve doves like fingers walk in and out.
Off centre circles revolve around shapes caught in my throat.
For the long nights I played movies
that I wanted and hated as much as cinnamon jelly beans.
I don’t really know what brought me here.
Perhaps I’ve fallen through the rabbit hole, but
Maybe it was only a chain of beautiful accidents.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
This is for all the men
Who tell me I am beautiful
I can't hear you
Through all those years
Of being an ugly duckling
This is for my dog
Big blue eyes
My baby snugglebug
Sniffing for donuts
Chewing my hands in the morning
And the nail biters
And the chefs
Who lose fingers to the meatgrinders
And the farmers
Staking lives
On a drop of rain
I am vain
This is for the men
Who have faith
I am not the ****** Mary
Just another pretty face
Another lacy thong to take off
This is for the underwear makers
The firecrackers
This is for the characters
Who explode in the night sky
Like the fourth of July
And ordinary people
Are blinded by the colors
This is for the mothers
And the big brothers
And the Prozac poppers
This is for the bees that have stung me
I've eaten their honey
And my cakes would not taste
So sweet without it
This is for the surgeons
And musicians
And fishermen
For the men who have bought me dinner
And never seen a return
On their investment
This is for the beards
And chest hair
This is for my little sister
Who is finally growing up
The word "love" on her tongue
And this is for America:
Land of the free
Home of the mancave
Beauty is only as deep
As your mineral rights
The copper and coal mines of your eyes
Beauty flies as high as kite
Melts away like cotton candy
After a baseball game
This is for the men who called me beautiful
For all the beauty in the world
All the beautiful
This is for you
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
The sweet, honey colored love
that pours from every cut
every other girl made on you
You let me kiss it better
inhale its sweetness.
In turn, the salt that pours from my own wounds
from black eyes dealt
and flesh cleaved for the pleasure of greedy wolves
it mingles with your flavor
and I hope it sets you onto the same dazzling track that I find myself on.
I use the word 'fireworks'
'firecrackers'
those two words
they have leaked into everything I write
because it is just how I feel
How I used to hate dance music
and now my hips sway to a beat that you showed me
showed me to smile
and I showed you where to cry
right here, right with me
Those sparkling lights over the ground
blasting off in gold and white
burning and glowing
and not stopping
a constant barrage of color and splendor
We were buried up to our necks just before we dug out
and now we're here
barely missing the stars
holding hands
and becoming
Honey
and Salt
and Firecrackers
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
When fireworks implode above us,
I understand why people say
"When I kiss you, I feel fireworks."
At first, it's like sparklers.
Small, short, but entertaining enough
to make you want to try again.
Then it gets up to firecrackers.
They get you heated, they make you
wanna throw a party.
Then they're fireworks.
It feels like you're exploding and
you can't help but be in awe.
And it's beautiful.
It's a moment you wish
you could catch on camera.
It's what keeps you waiting for
the grand finale.
It's what keeps me wanting
you.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
I want to smush my face in a big fat delicious frosted cake,
and blow out candle after candle and watch ice cream melt
as I dig through the moist sugary cake-bread with my fists,
and I eat everything I want in this delicious, nice restaurant
I want to pout at anyone else who makes grumpy faces,
I am the **** queen so it's my gosh **** party, dang it
I want to drink until I almost throw up and then do drugs
and grab ******* and scream with laughter and true fun!
I want to flash strangers and get birthday kisses and hugs
I want to smear lipstick all over my face, I want GLITTER
I want to roll in checks from relatives in far-off places
with the clothes and money and drugs that I will buy
I want to cry big crocodile tears over wrapping paper
and wear a pretty crown and take pictures, please yes
I want to smile so hard my cheeks hurt, ouch, and get away
with being a little ******** because I'll say sorry tomorrow
I want firecrackers and free things and fun fun fun fun fun fun fun
because it's my birthday, and I get to do whatever the **** I want!
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
I have a fear,
it's not that I'm afraid of the future,
I'm afraid of a realization,
one I had last week.
What if...
What if it's downhill from here?
My childhood was amazing,
my parents were excellent,
but the real issue was my friends.
The fun we had was real,
it's just not the same,
academic discussion,
scientific deduction,
dissection of stories and ideals,
what's it all mean?
My favorite memories are not of discussion,
but action,
actions I keep written on a piece of paper,
strapped tightly to my chest,
a eulogy of youth,
time spent as kids.
Through the haze of years I see,
low rate movies,
bonfires burning just a little too bright,
Wendy's runs in the dead of night,
skinny dipping out on the lake,
firecrackers bursting over head,
roman candles,
no small talk,
real talk,
girls,
near death experience,
you were there right?!
Mario Kart,
video games,
disgusting food combination,
skating behind the moped,
sledding behind the SUV,
basketball on black tar,
mustard spilled all over the car,
splints and broken wrists,
word games,
collective humor,
stupid and indecipherable,
socks with sandals,
up all night talking in the basement,
not a care in the world,
no ambition,
dumb little kids,
messing around doing dumb things,
throwing common convention in the fire-pit,
flickering flames,
nostalgia on release,
gone our separate ways.
I had realization last week,
those guys weren't my friends,
they were my brothers.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
Civilized mankind has a unique way,
To party and celebrate a most special day.
Potassium and sulfur, mixed with some coal,
Can reduce a mountain into the hill of a mole.
Gunpowder is thought to have China as a start,
Ceremonies commence, fireworks a part.
I always thought, it amusing to find,
Warfare and festival are two of a kind.
Powerful explosions that disable and destroy,
Have the ability to give the masses such joy.
Here we go, let the bash begin,
Guaranteed to give, your face a grin.
Let's add some luminosity to this summer blast,
Firecrackers and sparklers make the jubilee last.
Pinwheels are nailed safely to a tree,
Furiously twirls colors for all to see.
An aerial assault aloft, hear them roar,
Yellows and greens, in the air they will soar.
Flash flaming fluorescence, blue and red,
Envelop your eyes, dancing in your head.
See the trail of a missile, zipping in flight,
Shiny illuminations, all through the night.
On the ground at the end of a fireworks show,
Blazing stars and stripes, a flag created, watch it glow.
The fourth of July is America's time,
A birthday blowout, drinks with lemon and lime.
This frolicking is filled with food, family and fun,
Independence day, I wish it never was done.
Please visit poemsbypaul.com
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
my mind is like firecrackers
explodes with thoughts
of you.
- kra
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
rotting horse carcass.
green glowing filament by moonlight ******
& mistrust us.
radioactive drums of waste &/or dreams.
boys swimming.
fistfights at night
by headlight & tooth crackle. (spit) then bonfire pallets
lit & danced upon.
plumes
of gas-can outcries.
the days & abuelitas
& ghosts
pinched cheek - pinched cooler - grandaddy
on the grill.
his gasping yellow dogs.
judy is in the underbrush with a walkie-talkie
& a p.b.j.
desmond leaps from high rocks; he
descends into another world by way of molecular-mishap.
dove deep.
riding the portal boar.
wasps hover above spilt wine
& declare war upon brothers with b.b. guns
& firecrackers
& spf 50+. the saturday/sunday sagas
between beams of heat laughter breakdowns
to knees, to bees,
honey.
homecoming queen dead & wrapped
in plastic.
body found with
turtle bites.
fungi.
the slabs of granite.
old iron tractors bent & held by tree wives.
toast.
jam hewn hwedges of crisped bread.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
For you it is red, white and blue; firecrackers,
cookouts and American beer. How easy it
must be to assume that by saying “God Bless
Our Troops” you are patriotic. I have an
entirely different view of the 4th of July.
Every boom is an IED, every pop a ******
round. If your God was present when my
brain was shattered he did not show up to
see me through my recovery. You presume
that every soldier is a Christian like you.
I was an American soldier. I’ve bled and
killed in service for this country. I left behind
pieces of myself in faraway lands. It was my
choice. Do not use me to support your moral
propaganda. I am a veteran. I am not your
political stage-prop.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 7:57 PM UTC
Chinese Firecrackers
Celebrate New Year with firecrackers|
lunch time is good
the smell of food mixing with gunpowder|
loud noises
drown out the clack of chopsticks
red paper
strewn around is all that's left
apart from the ringing in the ears
Malcolm Davidson Feb 12th 2013
Chinese New Year
Chinese New Year is all around
red lanterns hanging from the trees
people laughing, boisterous
everyone goes home for the holidays
to share rice together
one big family
you can feel it in the air.
Malcolm Davidson Feb 1st 2013
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
The crimson flame
Of firecrackers
Snipping and snapping
Biting at your skin
Tempting terror’s sweat
To pour sweetly
With an adrenaline rush
Running recklessly
Till the asthma
Catches up
Till you can’t
Catch your breath
Killer Cramps
Cramping your style
Slight cuts
That glide across the skin
Thin lines of bleeding
It was better than seeing
That failed form in the mirror
That chemo skeleton
Dying hurt worse
Living to die or dying to live
What a terminal
Pain ******
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Firecrackers at night
Orange flash, saltpeter smell
Pumpkin flashes smile
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 10:49 PM UTC
Hot oil burning kernels
Jumping in stomachs
Exploding and delicious
Hot and steaming burning
Red like pokers
Molten from flame
Bursting lips spark heated
Words like firecrackers.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
Rocks know a lot more about time than clocks
Drive to the top of a mountain
Cinnamon gum
Noseblood
And rocks a lot older than clocks
Tell the older us we say hello
I am stuck between red rocks and a very hard place
Rockclimbing to rockbottom
I am a time hunter, rock hunter, pigeon hunter
(Let me tell you something about pigeon hunting:
Shooting clay pigeons isn’t as much fun when the pigeons aren’t clay
and their bodies shatter in midair like pomegranates in September
with red jewels sprinkling the sandstones
the sedimentary clouds and the fastfood signs)
Remember that time I tattooed the sky?
I wrote “time is a l.e.d. light” in a sacred heart
between the stars and the freckles and the ladybugs
none of their mothers were thrilled
Now I know time is a rock, a very heavy rock
A rock is a star, a star is a rock
And me? I am a rockstar
But I have all timers. Alzheimer's? No. ALL TIMERS
and a monolith growing on my sternum
Firecrackers. That’s what I wanted to talk about.
And when I say firecracker I mean fireworks
the way fire works his way between me, time and a rock
What is it with rocks?
Rock and roll
Rocked by doubt and rolled by time
Rock my world, please
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
watched three grey geese in a field fulled with wheat grazing
while Peter Piper pecked some Petunias
while Bitter Butter bit her lip gazing on the scene
of strangeness like writers on paper
wrapping alliterations softer than sleep
louder than firecrackers I had a dream.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Remnants of firecrackers litter parkgrass, splitting seams once encasing them;
exposed twine ribs attached, stretched out beneath shade like sunken reliquiae
dashed against the earth, as freedom is, withered paper husks abound.
What explosions in the sky were heard
above the quietus of patient submission?
Tracing the dotted white clouds to our horizon with thread and colored cloth,
held breath until nighttime, expelling then
-- as wind does each languishing puff of smoke--
from our lungs, sordid smells of Summer; vanquishing the past.
Isolating each other, like memories on kodak prints
we separately cling to that sleek filmy acquaintanceship of proximity and hue
-- disavowed pariahs and hearts lit anew.
Fused inside one sallow skull-box, which doubled once for holding shoes, we linger.
Ideas, impulses and infringements on the eye, until-- once--
bound, unbroken, encased and unspoken,
our ribs unwind with dew-- after,
unstitching seams outlined from heaven and inundating visions with brightness
we descend.
Violent fumes of childhood intercede amidst our shaking fuses lit.
--and BANG!
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC