"firepit" poems
my tainted love affair
a blood covenant
continues negative on the balance sheets
a constant power struggle
my soul and unwavering obedience the prize
secretly a grudge grows
(encouraged by continual love famine
inclined by love withdrawal punishment)
poisoning the source
uncomprehensible to me
why i am always found unworthy
fathers love, blessing and protection
unattainable
withdrawal, nonacceptance and deliberate bad wishes
fertilizes the acre
what will the harvest be
tug of war for my sanity
my Heavenly Father and mum
vs
the enemy and dad
forge in this firepit
born among ashes
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
Water the Greenhouse
Water the plants on the deck.
Walk Autumn Moon.
Salutation to the Sun
Yoga on the deck
Prayers
Angel of Air
Reading & Study with Ken
Sipping herbals & he, his coffee.
Pick up.
Moving the living room furniture
Rearranging. Sweeping. Mopping.
Clean the kennel.
Fresh bedding for Autumn.
A break for Sevenfold Peace in the sunshine.
Listening to the Holy Stream of Sound.
Playing with Autumn.
Laughing with Ken.
Continuing with rearranging & cleaning
Done!
Another break
With Ken, Autumn & Habibie
By the firepit in front of the shop.
Auti chasing water up and down and around.
Walk to Alli's, talk and pick up the key.
Cut broccoli, cabbage, carrots, & kale
Add a few pods of peas
Drizzle poppy seed dressing.
Two bowls with 1/2 cup of rolled oats each
Add cinnamon.
Taking a teaspoon
Half full with honey.
Dipping it into the center of the oats
Pouring boiling water over the honey.
Into the oats.
Stirring and stirring
Watching the cinnamon spirals
Mix into the sweet porridge.
Small cacao chips, sunflower seeds
A few raisins
Sprinkled as garnish.
Eating together
Smallville, playing with Autumn
Habibie resting near by.
She maybe carrying kittens.
Too early to tell.
Tired. Good night. Sleep.
2:30 am.
Ken up watching a movie on is phone.
My, my, how times have changed.
Return to bed.
Writing, writing, writing….now it is done.
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 1:07 PM UTC
I’m thinking of the faded checkered pattern that has been
smoothed away by time on the dark cloth seats of a Nissan Pathfinder
driving down Ryan Road on a hot day in June.
My mother, in the front seat, singing along to a Spice Girls cassette.
I’m thinking: red, plastic, crab-shaped sandbox and
McDonald’s Happy Meal toys.
I’m thinking: light princess pink, seafoam green, and robin’s egg blue.
I’m thinking of a framed cheetah cross stitch, hanging on the wall of what
used to be our bedroom at my grandparent’s house.
I’m thinking: Barbie doll houses and Hot Wheels and a cul-de-sac at
the end of the street.
The sweet smell of cigar smoke. The ice cold splash of the garden hose. The pop of a bubble. The sting of soap in the eye. Dreams by The Cranberries. As Long as You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys. A HelloKitty boombox slowly spitting out vapor when the deck builders hit a power line while digging. The deer in the backyard looking for corn. The faded wood of a playset that was never really played on.
My father: sitting alone on a splintered bench by the firepit at the edge of the woods, empty beer cans at his feet, chain smoking cigarettes, and humming along to a song that is stuck—forever stuck—on the tip of my tongue.
I do not know if this happened. I cannot ask him.
(I’m not sure if I would want to ask him.)
But I can make an educated inference that that line of
fiction is really nonfiction.
A memory that feels like a phantom limb.
Sounds like the sharp crinkle of static.
Covered in a gossamer, dreamlike haze.
There is a distinct otherness to this memory, to who
I think I was before the trauma.
We are two different people. A yin and a yang. A day and a night.
The hermit crab is soft beneath its hard shell.
The asbestos is not apparent within the insulation.
You cannot see the lead in the paint.
The mold inside the fruit.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 2:46 AM UTC
CHANGE...
Change can mean
So many things.
The loss of a loved one...
The birth of a loved one..
CHANGE...
The sale of a house
You grew up in.
All those childhood memories.
CHANGE...
The sale of a house
You raised your kids in.
The yard that had maple trees
And flowers which was
Planted with love.
A firepit that was a place
For neighborhood gatherings.
CHANGE...
Old home has new owner
New look, new yard
Everything has CHANGED..
CHANGE.....can be Sad, and beautiful.
New home, new friends
Added to old friends
A new set of memories to make....
CHANGE is just a way of life...
By judy
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
The memories that were made around
THE FIREPIT
My husband had a great idea
I'll build a FIREPIT
It will be like camping.
So with the help of my dad
They dug the hole,
Added built in benches
It was grand...
We had breakfast, hotdogs, chili
Oh yes, Marys chili
She made it on our FIREPIT
We added neighbors, and all our kids.
Of course samores were a big hit.
One night we hauled the little
Black and white TV out there
And watched THE BLOB....
With our just popped popcorn.
Back then SCARY.......
The stories that were told
Around that FIREPIT
Solving the worlds problems
Which seemed pretty simple back then.
The neighborhood was like a family.
The FIREPIT was a gathering place
for laughing, sharing stories,
And eating....
~
By judy
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
Soft rhythmic ticking of a mechanical heart,
You scream for silence,
But she ticks on.
You stand still,
Bathing in the winter sun,
Burning in the blinding snow,
Which way do we go?
Which route do we take.
It's a straight shot to the other side from here,
Formless spirits tempt you with dreams.
Break enough rules,
And they will crown you Eagle King,
Soaring above the common man,
In self appointed wings,
You watch everything,
You look down upon the lesser flightless creatures.
Dust covered unopened books fill up the library,
Once a prospering civilization,
They have been reduced to brainwashed moths,
They go where the light takes them.
Watchful eyes cover the walls of this city,
Every movement tracked,
Every voice heard,
Everyone watched.
The night offers the promise of freedom,
Climb the wall and escape,
The world is new,
The world is you.
Three hundred miles away,
Your ****** feet leave a trail,
The vultures are waiting.
Feast your eyes on the magic of a new power,
A golden city with candles afloat,
Sand haired women with velvet dresses
Watch you from across the street,
You're a stranger among them,
Prepare your eyes for the fall of life,
They hold a banquet
To celebrate the meeting of the wolf and man,
It starts to pour as they touch.
Unanswered prayers hum in the air,
Suspended on the strings of doubt,
They have been returned to the sender.
Across the firepit,
Six sick savages mock the fiddler,
The music stops, words are exchanged,
And there's blood.
Six shades of red fluid,
Creeping slowly to fuel the fire that stares.
I've had enough.
I retire to my tent and someone's waiting,
I am the eagle king,
Her red hair paints the sheets red,
My thoughts go back to the six shades
I witnessed moments ago.
There's a murderer on the loose,
I didn't ask for this.
Set off into the night
Towards the temples of the East,
I may find my peace,
In a little corner of the marble city,
Bow down to the idols like sheep in the crowd,
The blade comes swiftly,
I felt no pain.
The sacrifice has been made,
There's no more waiting now,
You'll have your answer in the mail tomorrow.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Dearest Darling,
The lights are awake, Love. Each one dancing around the sky, falling, burning,
Dancing in the firepit.
For you, the lights are awake, My Love. Chanting with their high pitched hum. Using rays of light to strum harpchord lullabies. And they do it for you.
They do it for you because I sent them, I wanted to see a beauty so fitting yours. I wanted to tell the world through impossible means that Angels don't fall, they are born.
And I wonder...
Had you fall'n, I'd have been there. Within moments of hearing Hell try to breath you through the dirt, I'd have been there. Reaching for your immortal soul, to save and cherish.
And in the hours spent wrapped up in each other, I'd have loved an Angel. I'd have seen the wings and how they glide, I'd have found myself understand how one could be so lost.
Lost in love,
Lost in mind.
Dearest Darling,
My heart races daily, when I see you again. My fingers find a pen and write to you, to tell you of all the ways you ravish me. How you conquer me, how I'm lost to you because I've not given my heart to wandering women...its been given to my Goddess. My Lover in the clouds who shades me from the sun.
I write words for you with the stars, that if you ever go back home,
You may use them as guides.
And when you've made your home again, up in the embrace of a cloud with my touch.
I hope you find yourself reading them,
Those starlight sonatas I've composed for you.
I hope you find yourself remembering me, My Immortal Beloved.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC
The blaze in eyes while stories trade
sings deep rhythms in sand
vibrating into dunes.
Build,
building like pyramids
the cries of slaves pushing boulders
tap toes in hesitant syncopation.
A voice mumbles freedom,
while the Battle Hymn hums
across the backs of necks.
Kisses hiss like water pops
as sparks ascend into stars.
Blue Ribbons are ambivalent
to the sober back of the mind
as words take a decidedly
winning turn towards life.
Alive like fireworks, words
hiss in water pops
as logs and laws disband
themselves into our firepit.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
The memories that were made around
THE FIREPIT
My husband had a great idea
I'll build a FIREPIT
It will be like camping.
So with the help of my dad
They dug the hole,
Added built in benches
It was grand...
We had breakfast, hotdogs, chili
Oh yes, Marys chili
She made it on our FIREPIT
We added neighbors, and all our kids.
Of course samores were a big hit.
One night we hauled the little
Black and white TV out there
And watched THE BLOB....
With our just popped popcorn.
Back then SCARY.......
The stories that were told
Around that FIREPIT
Solving the worlds problems
Which seemed pretty simple back then.
The neighborhood was like a family.
The FIREPIT was a gathering place
for laughing, sharing stories,
And eating....
~
By judy
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
You got your cigarette lit
Bathed in the back porch light
Gesturing madly with your drink
Lifting it to your lips
And taking a sip
The air is starry
And the sky is lit
Like the fire in the firepit
We lead ourselves astray
Into lives we never thought we'd leave
Say goodbye like we're saying hello
I can remember watching the shadows recede
On the white picket fence
But not the smile on your face
When it left me without a chance
Oh but these nights
They don't retreat
Oh, no they don't
Retreat
They stay so long
After the war is over
The kids are crying
You tell them it's alright
I take your hand
Pull you closer for the night
If we can keep it up
Play this charade
With our flawless facade
We can make it thru
Until the sun comes up
Oh but these nights
They don't retreat
Oh, no they don't
Retreat
They stay so long
After the war is over
Your cigarette is out
And the spirit's empty
Bottles on the floor
The fire is ashes
And they're burning out
Quicker than we can light the match
We lead ourselves astray
Into lives we never thought we'd leave
Say goodbye like we're saying hello
I can remember watching the shadows recede
On the white picket fence
But not the smile on your face
When it left me without a chance
Oh but these nights
They don't retreat
The don't
Retreat
There's broken dishes
And broken hearts
They litter this home
Like works of art
There's empty wine glasses
And empty conversations
They litter this house
Like works of art
Oh but these nights
They don't retreat
Oh, no they don't
Retreat
They stay so long
After the war is over
The war is over
After the war is over
The war is over
The war is over
After the war is over
The war is over
Don't retreat
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
The sun's setting,
though it may leave you darkening,
is the start of the burning
far under your soles.
The browning now crinkling of
Summer's endlesseeming greening
is but the start of Springtime's
asylum in Xylem.
Phloem's sweet ware will
flow in 'em somewhere
down the line.
It’s pithy, I know
but life is born in death.
And though, come Fall,
trees seem seemingly sapped,
there's an inspiration transpiring.
The firepit's cooling
it's embers cast only shadows
and shades of memories of warmth
and story
and light...
None gather round, the gloomy.
The dormant circle
an ashen reduction
of oak and of fir
but its blackdust when wetted
(yes, ink!)
and dipped in by brush
will one day,
with luck,
be the source of a poet's
enlightening words.
The monarchs have gone -
a silent orange rustle
and, all at once,
the milkweeds go dry;
the once-green
stalks stand stock still,
Rods of Asclepias whose
seedlings are ever
the earliest snows.
Leaving home:
wherever the Earthbreaths may
take them -
bleak, brokenhearted,
hope in a coma...
How unlike the joy of the
flutterbys whose time now
has fluttered by, a chorus
as uttered by
the ungiven hope
who, though unasked,
has wandered the winds
to bring its daughters
(each healing, each hopeful)
a deathgiven panacea
to lands now in their
own limited unlimited Spring.
And you! I know
your (sic) fiercely pretending
not to be crying.
Hell, to never've cried.
I know your lifework is
'manly' (your words) or
some other idiocy (my words)
and unbroken. Hell, unbent.
But think on this:
if she's gone far enough,
far enough along,
far enough away;
enough time gone by
since you broke into One
('broke in two' is NOT how it feels),
if enough not enough Her
has passed,
then she's also
more than halfway back
to you,
to Whole.
Nothing can go,
nothing is lost
for there is no
'away' within this Here.
No one now, either
at a loss -
for the knowing
is nigh.
Even the knowing
cannot be going
for long 'fore returning;
the yearning is turning
from far-off to nearby.
The Sky lives as well
in every dark puddle.
Its blues, now on Earth
where all even All is at Home.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
back when summertime
sadness was hip.
beating hearts felt like butterflies
trapped in a plastic water
bottle trying their hardest
to get out and bodies of water
that were frighteningly black but as clear as
broken glass and
worn down cowboy boots
and perfectly fragmented
scarlet and burnt orange
canyons
and crushed
beer cans by the firepit
and isolation and
inescapable infatuation.
the world was so beautiful and
almost ethereal but it wasn't
familiar. like it had been
taken apart and put back
together differently than before.
-z. vega
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
In the sand,
We met each other,
And names exchanged between friends
Turned into faces with personalities,
Characteristics, and ambitions.
In the sand,
We played together,
Building homes out of sand,
Pouring our heart and soul
Into the project,
And each other.
In the sand,
We walked together,
Side by side, hand in hand.
Bright sunsets become a backdrop to
Meaningful talks, important words,
And shared smiles.
In the sand,
We partied together,
The firepit blazing under the stars,
Music blaring and friends dancing,
Their forms basking in the fire’s glow.
In the sand,
We argued,
And harsh words were hurled,
Not unlike the terrible stinging sensation
Sand creates when trapped in your eye.
In the sand,
We parted ways,
Under the same sunset backdrop,
And I watched your footprints
Fade away.
In the sand,
I lay there lonely,
Babies crying and mothers yelling
All around me, with me trying to
Fathom the reasons why you left me.
In the sand,
Like a loyal leatherback sea turtle,
We came back to our beach, and
With tears in your eyes and
Sand in your hair, you apologized.
In the sand,
You apologized for your selfishness,
The way you jumped to conclusions,
And you confessed that you had never,
Ever forgotten me and our beach.
A year later, in the sand,
You went down on one knee,
And after saying yes, I thanked God above
That I had fallen in love with you
In the sand.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
my daughter is almost 5
and my son is nearly 2
I could simply say they're one and four
but when the number's higher it sounds a little better
they're less babies and more childlike
you know, bigger and more wise
I'm more wise
my daughter is almost five
and my son is nearly two
they're in our yard with twig berrets
and mud stained smiles posing for a postcard to make the hose drinking generation proud.
he straddles the ground, chest bare like he's Tarzan and howls at the blue sky
challenging the sun
I look at him like he's made of stone
she's a daisy pedal I crush in my hand and compress into a diamond
the toxins dripping from the curling edges of my lips burn the dirt from her face
the shine of the light washes out the blood on my knuckles.
a ring on my finger and my hands look clean
my daughter is almost five
and my son is nearly two
their muddy fingers comb their feral hair
and their green feet clip the grass till they find jagged rocks
they weep over skinned kneecaps and with one arm I pull her close
with the other I slug his shoulder, "buck up kiddo, you'll be alright"
I hold a stone in each hand, and call one a precious gem while I build my house out of the other
my skin has washed against those stones since they were none and none
built into the houses of a thousand graveyards I've watched daisies pile over golden sarcophaguses
watched them wilt at the bottom of alters built on stone
I won't carve epitaphs into these hearts I hold
my daughter is almost five
and my son is nearly two
we drag fallen branches to our firepit and dance to music next to the flames
like weightless stone his strength surges to his tippytoes
she powders his nose with ash and pretends she's a cheetah
her game isn't to **** she just wants to chase
princes have their feet welded to pedestals and the sport's no fun for her
my children aren't rocks, they're stardust
I won't make kings or queens I've no providence over their future
so I'll **** the venom from the sky and watch them walk back to the stars
I may not be a champion but I'll be their father
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 9:20 PM UTC
your words would set me ablaze,
a firepit for a stomach as it churns,
it burns,
and i am all warm inside
and all you did was give me the time of day.
all you did was speak to me so kindly,
and then
my face was red
and i shook.
maybe 5 am isnt the best time to rile me up...
not that i was complaining.
Jul 19, 2022
Jul 19, 2022 at 5:49 PM UTC
Just sitting there last night by the fire watching the sunset over the trees
Another pleasant evening, a cool breeze, peaceful. Or was it?
A few dark clouds overhead, they'll come to nothing
But then....Patter patter patter down came the rain
So what, I've experienced worse
So into my shelter snug and warm, a little rain will cause no harm
But then came the wind, not just any wind but a tearing screaming gale blasting the rain with the force of a bullet. Tearing at the skin, numbing the flesh
My firepit now a pool of ***** grey sludge, cooking kit scattered far and wide
OK, drop the sides so I'm watertight, one last warming scotch then I'm in for the night
Close my ears to that wild banshee screaming out there in the dark
0545am
The wind has lessened but still the rain is pouring down, a muddy swamp where was once hard ground
The gentle stream where I keep my beers cold now a raging torrent of ***** brown water
(I never lost my beers though)
I have a routine I rarely miss, a hot mug of tea after taking a ****
And I won't be beaten by a small summer storm
So into a dry bag where I keep some stuff, a few bits of wood and tumble dryer fluff
Between the roots of a tree a fire soon takes hold, on goes a *** and soon steam arose
On goes a pan with some bacon and beans
And then, out came the sun
To be caught in a storm like that isn't much fun but it's all part of the wild camping game
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
Over three hours highway view,
Sitting idle wanting to feel new.
Grasping for solidity, pining for the water,
The dirt, the rocks, the firepit, the Father.
This place, we say, holds the essence of Christ.
No other place has ever sufficed.
Acceptance is guaranteed, cliques are void.
Never leaving is a thought that's been toyed,
A thought that's been considered and desired.
When we commune, my heart's set on fire.
God's touch, his presence, his love, is within these borders.
The day we leave, we act like loiterers.
Longing to stay, to love, to praise,
To be with each other and encourage always.
Social networking attempts to keep us connected,
But nothing is equal to what that cross did.
The cross is a symbol, not only of Jesus' death,
But of community, of oneness, of the Spirit's breath.
Each visit to Heaven is filled with tears,
Reminders of memories shared over the years,
Reminders of pain, prayer and friendships.
Words of love and thankfulness breeze through my lips.
This ground, I swear, is full of grace!
Heaven on Earth, my favorite place.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
Turquose water barely exists in my mind
I am only familiar with murky grey
With clouds of brown mud, the splash of friends.
The best time to go is always when the lake is deserted
Just loved ones and the empty cavity above the rippling surface
Fully free to laugh, shreik, and be a kid again.
No explanations for the shorts I wear over my swimsuit
Those are the moments we don't care if our hair gets wet and stringy
We stay in as long as possible, until lips turn blue and toes go numb.
Then we swim back, back to the shore and ***** feet
Huddled around a cold firepit, we beg for coals and heat
With none found we finally put on damp clothes, utterly exhausted.
No amount of food is ever enough so like scavenging dogs we hunt
With vicious fingers and starving hands
Until every last crumb in the potato chip bag is consumed.
Those are the days I want to remember
That blissful feeling, the absence of the weight of the world
The days when the swim back is always farther.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 4:12 AM UTC
Slip like a
Fish through my grasp
And I will
Tear out my hair
Strand by paper thin
Lock
Until I am left eating
Raw magnetic tape
And finding new awe
In the constellations
Beneath the firepit
I will
Button my jacket
While tasting the cool, bitter
Smoke of memories
Whanging out of my head
As I do my best to
Keep from tearing a hole in my cabin
And fleeing out into the
Bitter crisp night.
Know that
It is not for myself
That I commiserate.
You and I,
We were lost at sea too long past
Before the ashen cement had dried.
The prolonged lingering of the heart
You’ve already forgotten.
-2019
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 12:00 AM UTC
We made it so
That lively rock found its way around the sun again
Firepit kicks up and we burn Christmas store shoeboxes to make colored flame
I love those tendrilled heat-waterfalls that fly towards the sky
And disappear almost instantaneously
Inside the boys sing lonely country tunes
The development walls encircle somewhere in the dark
I watch from the lawn chair and stare towards the interstate
Orion takes the dog star for a walk through moonlit sphere
In my flaming eyes what would be seen
I want to know, please tell me
Do you remember what I did? Had?
Nah, neither don’t I
Get up to stoke the fire
Starbright flames twinkle in between the airfoils
Two hundred year old phloem cracks under the stress
What would take my soul maybe eight minutes
Happens in the momentary second
If there was a stellar plane we crossed we wouldn’t have known it
Nor’th we could distinguish the areo-planes from the stars
Sixty more of these and the world will have come far
And yet we have never touched home
Light a cigarette or crack the can-seal
Lets make sure we forget this moment
I’m already buzzing with anticipation
To awaken in that dreamless bedspread
The flames sizzle out now
Someone poured a beer on them
They hiss with a rush as they dampen
A cauldron of dying time-snakes
Drunken songs fill the gravel as the procession begins
We repeat yesteryear for the lack of change
Detergent of any heat
And the ease in which we slumber now
Nature has its fill in the cracking
Flame
Drink them instead
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
i just jumped into the firepit
to relieve the burns cascading of your shoulders
and you strutted off, with terrible excuses,
maybe searching for water.
but you left me there to swelter:
you forgot to take my hand and
pull me out of the flickering
hell i was thrown into.
even though i only jumped 'cause you where there.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
At the beach house
you don’t need much
an old mossy table
the boards
collaged in pine needles
a firepit
domed by scorched
trees huddling
stitched together
as one quilted canopy
hoping for wisdom below
A snappy fire
fanning air
that
grows crisp
and birds
the birds
oh the birds
their songs above
always their songs
around.
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 10:12 AM UTC