"fizzle" poems
i think we still exist
somewhere in the universe
behind the sun
where all of earth’s abandoned
soulmates go to rest
i think i can see us
when i look up at the sky
and squint directly into
the rays of light,
your brown eyes burning
into mine
i think we are together
in the time that trails behind
the present, dancing
in circles until the last stars
fizzle out
i think that our promises
seeped into the soil, like
february rain, our souls sown
together, tucked in
beneath the world
i think what we had is
somewhere just out of reach,
pulsing in the dim spaces
between heat lightning
and although, in this lifetime,
we became nothing but shadows,
monsters that linger on bedroom walls
we are there, we are alive,
and we are still in love.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
I'm broke
and **** near broken
some days i can't eat at all
other days i eat too much
can't stand to look in the mirror
wishing the number i see on the scale would switch with my grades
things never go the way i want them to
too many dead ends
not enough ways out
got nothing to do
no time soon
i'm often forgotten like snow in summer
i'm breaking out
but not from this hole I'm in
my brain is constantly fizzling
hopefully soon
i'll get tired,
simply fizzle out
so this static can just
S
T
O
P
i need something,
or someone,
that takes the pain away
that fills my lungs with something other than this
undescribable
endless
void
i'm done
i'm tired of this body and soul
how many pills does it take
until i no longer regenerate?
is this a call for help?
or a way to let it all out?
but when you ask,
I'm fine
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
Hurry now, it’s leaving soon
Car door slams, gravel underfoot
And from the boot
Grandmas lil helper is lifted
Oh! Where did it go?
Wind twists scarf to snake
Released from frames captivity
I stoop and tug
Under your foot, Gran
She shuffles,
Ties it firmly around tiny shoulders
Bright colour against delicate skin
Paper thin, both,
One for beauty, one to hold the blood in
And may it hold the blood in,
Just a little longer...
The train awaits,
Monstrous,
Steele stark against surrounding bush.
Matt has a sausage,
Mum bothers about tickets,
Both fuss and fizzle,
I press lips firmly together
Deciding then and there
Never to let entertainment turn to stress;
It’s more than it’s worth.
We’re to be in the engine room,
The rest will be left behind -
As something faulty.
Matt lifts Gran up;
She’s tiny,
She’s flying,
She’s in.
And then we’re all in.
Crammed.
We stare longingly through grimy glass
At empty carriages
Can’t we be in there? It’s all a bit stuffy.
There’s a fire along the track
But we don’t go any further.
The smoke streams out over forest.
And jerking and bumping,
Dipping along,
We reverse back to whence we started.
Petrol fumes and smoke fill our tiny cocoon
Here, let me help you
Passenger to passenger,
Fellow human,
Compassionate eyes.
Gran has a seat;
She sways while we lurch.
Deep within
Railroad country
I make believe
I know something
Of the girl
Of the Plannies;
That sacred connection
To land and sky,
To Native country,
To Golden Macrocarpa
I stare over hills of tree ferns,
Kawakawa, Wheki, Punga
And, knowing no other,
I feel this land
Majestically
My own.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
On the 15th of May
In the French Laund-er-y
There was a small man,
The Chef De Partie
He was mixing and stirring
And stirring his sauce,
But his sauce wouldn’t thicken
He was at a loss
So he needed to think
and ponder awhile
Until on his face
Was a bright white smile.
“I have it!” He said.
“I know what to do
All that I need
Is a nice thick roux.”
No reductions or tomatoes
Or even puree
He needed the roux
It was the only way
So what he did next
was truly “the ****
He melted some butter
And dumped flour in it.
This mixture was gloppy
And looked like wet sand
The roux was ‘a cooking
But looked awfully bland
Morton must think
How to flavor this glob
Chef Tomas Keller said
“Morton its your job”
He thought and he thought
“Oh what can I do?
Bechamel or Veloute?
What to do with this roux.”
“Veloute I think
Sounds good for today.
I’ll make some of that.
Chef might exclaim, “yay!”
So he added some stock
Of Gertrude McFuzz
It was the best bird
It certainly was
Fond Blanc De McFuzz
Was clear and not milky
Morton’s Veloute
Ought to be silky
He cooked it awhile
Maybe for one half an hour
And when it began to bubble
The roux showed its power.
It thickened and coated
The back of a spoon
This stuff’s almost ready
It should be done soon
He strained it
removing the floury bits
It needed to be clean
No clumpys or grits
It was almost over
It was just about ready
It still needed some tweaking
“Can’t we eat it already?!”
“No” said chef Teller
as he took a lick
Was it good? Was it bad?
Was the sauce too thick
“You did a great job!
Trust me, you did.”
Said Teller to Morton
“You did good kid”
“One thing I will say
That you forgot to put in
It’s the most vital ingredient
In the entire kitchen”
“Its something that most chefs
Don’t use a lot of
It comes from within
The spice of true love”
Morton thought a bit
Like he often does
And then he said
“Chef! That’s what it was”
“It didn’t taste right
It was missing its pop
Its pep in its step
Its fizzle. Its hop”
He learned something there
From Chef Thomas Teller
Food needs more love
It needs to be stellar
After all that
And in the end
Morton threw it away
And started again.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Transformation.
To be transformed.
Seed to flower.
Child to adult.
Caterpillar to butterfly.
A wave can turn to a hurricane,
a flame to a wildfire,
a stormcloud to a tornado.
It looms,
it darkens the sky,
it frightens.
But does not the shore dry,
the forest fizzle out?
The sun sneaks out behind a seemingly never-ending stream
of darkness and devastation.
So, too, do we transform.
A boy became a man,
but not before
he was absorbed
by darkness.
Only thereafter
could he seek out the sun.
Peace comes after war,
recovery after illness,
healing after injury...
This transformation,
it is greater,
more magnanimous
because, too,
that process,
that search,
journey,
his darkness...
it stretched on for what he presumed was his
eternity.
He was scared.
He was alone.
And then,
he triumphed;
he needed no one.
And then,
out flew a newly
transformed
him.
Out to the world,
new world,
brighter world,
out he came...
a butterfly.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
Said The Raven
To The Raven
Which Raven are you?
I said The Raven
Am The Raven
Of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
And I said The Raven
Am The Raven
Of Edgar Allan Poe.
Apparently there's a rave on -
Shall we go?
Yes - let us go then you and I
As the evening is spread out
Against the sky.
But not like a patient
Etherised upon a table.
Let us like Thunderbirds
Not gentle go into this dark night.
So dressed in sable
White gloves
And whistles
They went on their way -
Not looking forward
To conversations about
Michelangelo at all.
For as we all know
Old age should rave and burn
At close of day.
And not just fizzle out.
More big shout...........................................
And rave until you fall.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Skies filled w/ fluorescent lights. Reminiscent of the different times that flashed before me. But as all lights, they burn out. They fizzle. They crackle. Their luminosity gives way to darkness. And then there’s nothing. Sometimes briefly, other times for prolonged periods. Over time, I’ve become accustomed to the darkness. The nothingness. The absence of a glow. No shine in the distance. No light in the future. So perhaps.. the darkness is the norm for these skies. My skies. Until another fluorescent light shows its face. To brighten my skies once again.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 5:53 AM UTC
I am waiting for this daydream
To fizzle out, die
For him to finally prove
This relationship is just a lie.
That everyone else's words are right
This ice is too thin
I must be crazy if I trust
And waste time with him.
I will only end up getting hurt
I know what's at stake
I'm telling you from the start
It is a chance I'm willing to take.
I might be a fool but I am
Ready for what turmoil may come
I am steeling my heart for the moment
When everything good comes undone.
I do not need your "wisdom"
Your bias and bitter advice
If he breaks me to pieces
You are not the ones who'll pay the price.
You do not understand my world
And to you I will not explain
I'm going to leave it at this
My happiness is worth the risk of pain.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC
\ . /
\ . ^ /..
= < • > =
/ V \
**/ /
\ \
| |
\ \
/ /**
••••••••••
••••••••••
sparking at the end
•eating away at my wick•
forcing me into a backward bend•
now by the second I tick...•I am truly
seething•I am... TNT•I am so close to
exploding...•I am...incendiary•it feels
like a crime•but..............there isn't left
much room•it's just a matter of time•
before I finally decide to go...fizz...
fzzzs...sszz...fizzle...ssszzfzz...
KABOOM!•
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
There was a ping pop and fizzle, I heard my new born grizzle, like fine rain it started to lightly drizzle.
There was a fizzle pop and ping, the force upset my ring due to the sting.
It took on a life if it's own and the poem went out the window.
It crawled out my ****** like a possessed rabid zombie, the worm had turned and gave a wink as it continued to slink out of my hole.
I swallowed the air which had thickened as a result of the gas creeping out the pores of the beasts own ***
This thing was a body in my body but nobody knew not even me!
I fell to my knees face to face with my creation not born from my mother but sort of like my brother.
Good grief! I had eaten a KFC bargain bucket the night before, I smiled and it smiled a gob full of corn on the cob teeth.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
Deep in the bottle,
where even the strongest minds fizzle,
perspective sways softly
and judgment is cutting
deep into submission
of stupor and stumble,
a profound lack of commitment
nodded off in the chair.
Wishing away
today and tomorrow,
but shadows can be patient
and wait for the dark.
The lump on the couch,
he bristles with anger,
fed whiskey and Winston’s
to dull those sharp cravings
for death ever-lasting,
for abyssal release.
You left the lump breathing,
withdrew your attention
to his core care and feeding;
you’ve taken to singing
serenades to the sleeping,
but memories keep bleeding,
that puncture your tincture;
for that lump is your fixture
of regret and remorse.
The lump does not whimper
until shadows are long,
the reruns on TV run into
the screaming of your song;
the drum solo hammers
on tomb-like front door;
a concert, just for husband and you;
the social worker’s knocking;
whatever will you do?
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
There were once men, playing a lying game.
They had no heart, they knew no shame.
Like Sirens, what their songs told,
were stories of flesh on beds of gold.
Merely this, is what their songs were about,
for wine and flesh they lusted sparing doubt.
For all their bubbles, fizzle, show and gleam,
true love for them was but a funny little dream.
Some, it is true, had the voices of blue suede kings.
Yet, danced on rubble, coughing smoke, 'n' kissing rings.
Thankfully, their lyrics were quite naturally cold,
faintly sparkling true hearts, despite their gold.
No songs can, in the spirit, ever remain,
or one's path meaningfully ingrain,
unless dotted by a hearty blood stain.
Still, some blind and sleepy were enticed,
those who dropped their heart, who'd lost their *****
Much like a robber, who rests his gun in a heist.
Others, scrambled to plug their ears
wishing to avoid both song 'n' tears.
They knew not, that when fighting fear,
'tis not enough to keep it from getting near.
Simply stuffing their ears with wax,
failed to fade the hottest new tracks,
cause tanks groove on these tracks.
As tanks, they pop 'n' roll till you die.
Therefore... relax, pick your time, and lie,
not to your conscience, but on the ground,
so they pass over you, leaving you safe 'n' sound.
"You cannot fear what you haven't tried."
Remember, Odysseus wasn't deaf, only tied.
He, chose to fight and listen to the Sirens' songs,
using threads of logic, to keep from snapping their thongs.
Tightroping on wrong, he but fell to the song.
He wailed and spat, yet, somehow grabbed the gong.
And after a short but needed rest, after this soul defining test,
he did not lament the virgins lost, but carried on with his quest.
He, knew the lying men and their calls were real,
but to forms he didn't kneel, nor aimed to cut a deal.
He, stuck to his dreams doing his best to warn and tell the rest,
that though Sirens charm, they harm. "'Tis Ithaca who gives zest.'"
So, next time you see the chanting men of lies,
and their enchanting plastic bunnies in bow ties,
know that rhyme and shine may polish coal,
but listening to your heart should be the goal.
*"With a twist of logic to correct your steer,
you will run through fear, and forever, keep it rear."*
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:27 PM UTC
The shooting stars danced across the night sky
Its tiny feet leaving behind fingerprints and memories on the scarred and broken
Shoot- bang - fizzle
It glazes the dark skyline filling every crevasse
Stars used to be my favorite thing
Now they remind me of you
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
The bubbles in a coke bottle
Oh how much they symbolise
Our torn, broken relationship
It makes me want to cry
Just as those same bubbles
Float to the top and quickly burst
So too you were with our relationship
Your true side finally emerged
Just as those bubbles
cling to the sides, so transparent
So too did you cling to my money
Your real intentions always apparent
Just as those bubbles
Can cause the bottle to explode
So too you affected my heart
As the gaping wounds you left, they moan
Just as those bubbles
Cause the liquid to fizzle and crack
So too you hear my skin tearing
As you leve the word "heartbroken"
Etched into my back
Just as those bubbles
Once popped can never return
So too now that you're gone
My heart's lesson can finally be learnt
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
Lithium, light they write,
Like it’s right, white delight
Striking bright, better tight:
Fine and dandy.
Glamourised in our eyes
The surprise as you rise
****** heroised,
Bitter candy.
Pump the *** dump the dot
******* it hot, spatter spot
Sing a lot, dream but not
Craving luncheon.
Skagging sweet sweaty meat
Blisters well under heat
Take a seat, come compete,
Beating truncheon.
Vie d’artiste, or at least
Rising yeast, bubbling beast
Trickling triste down your cheeks,
Ever daring.
Rising up, sup the cup,
Acid drop, fizzle pop,
Shoobie-doo-doobie-wop,
Death to caring.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
I had to look up
the word
'dating'
on Urban Dictionary
because I didn't know
what we were,
what we are.
And it said things like
'a socially acceptable
form of prostitution' and
'feelings of
puppy love that usually
dissolve
in a few weeks'.
But this is
not
puppy love.
This is not going to
dissolve or
fizzle out or
whatever,
you're not a
fizzle
you're a *******
fireworks display.
And you turn
everything in my head
into this
multi-coloured
turbulence and
I can't keep up with
how much I
adore you.
But the thing is
I don't know
if your view
is as good as mine.
What if you're
looking at something
a little less
beautiful.
What if I'm your
fizzle.
What if I'm as
temporary
as the flame you use
to light the
cigarettes
you find more
addictive
than my touch.
If that's the case
I'd rather
I left you
craving.
Because
if I'm your flame
you're my
forest fire
and you're burning
it all down until
the only thing left
standing is
you.
And I'll walk for
miles across this
carpet of ashes
just to feel the
softness of your skin
against mine.
And I'll cough
and I'll splutter
on toxic smoke
but you'll just
breathe it in because
you never realised anything
was even
lost.
You don't see me
crawl
you just know that
I'm here,
I'm here
I made it
I'm yours
I'll always be yours
because there's
nothing else
left.
And maybe
I can be
content with that
if only
you will see
that
you could burn down
everything
and I still
wouldn't put you
out.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
Here we are, awoke
Turning the effervescent wheel's
Lively spoke
And speaking of which,
Dreaming through the day
I sit awake and with God I
Note
"where have you been?"
In shining stars and spectrography
My surveying eyes alight to watch the
Topography
Shift and fizzle and burn and cook
To turn and dance towards a thousand ends.
Time a laughable wire severed
To hone the momentary soul
And yet
Let go towards the endless drone of ever
Lasting beyond the melting bones
It is a beautiful flower of a thing
The last through the door for rite of spring
Swinging, arms out on the galactic road
Aiming for all at that great unknown
And yet,
I stare up at a beautiful powder-coated sky
Watching the clouds curl and saunter by
Knowing this truth, never seeing the same thing anew,
And hoping somehow to be indemnified
Of what?
Again,
We speak the same
To reiterate the revolutive turn in all but name
The earth owes naught but dust and dirt,
To all which is and ever earned.
To not forget that which we come,
To not mistake the hand of fate;
That all that is shall once be done,
Then faith of life is ours to take.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
Fowl floating and flapping across an ocean canopy.
Lightly squawking and ascending in a calm summer sky.
Waves shine and melt into the beachfront in a dull roar slowly thundering in diagonal collapsing sectors.
The top of the ocean. The point of a sphere. Its water that falls slowly to the bottom of..... Here!
Ripples and puddles and drinks full of life, the clearest the murky and bluest in light.
Mountains and palisades can be rocks that reach skyward. God on a gravel road walking through.
The golden purple cattails glow in the sunlight like strawberry fields that fizzle on my hands in the wind that can dance. The vinyl green stem leafs sit stagnantly silently awaiting the moon.
Hoppers crescendo in a frozen moment singing in stillness that refuses to relent.
The trees around them bask in the energetic massage from the moving sections of recently called air vapors.
The Hi- C haircuts that nature reminds me it inspired bobble from the vectors.
This climate ecology scenery breeds the moments religions were made for me.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Muggy murky dawn clogged with gloom the abbey
Where his grampy sleeps ,
Through
the drizzles fizzle
As native orchids embosoms and blossoms in his lost vault.
like a curfew drawn in the church
The pew lost its crowd
With the paws of time.
Lone man sleep
In deep latin chants they petrify you
Before sheol purifies you
And litany literature lecture limbs you
When in overprotected embankments of battlements
They dry their garbs
Where your lore forayed growth
And sweat smeared smelt breathed wealth
Chagrin dreams washed ashore
lay as upon a cold mornings recollection on a tabloids sold column
which drew your freckles bolder
In a savour of remembrance
For your zealous zealots
Who on an another 'all souls day' reoccur revisiting
the truth of their establishment
in prayers
The good Lord adorn you
Let Lekker dreams cradle you
Your consorts concert never consume you
And earth never haunt you
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC
Collage of College
Sharpened carrot sticks
Twenty hundred lettuce leaves
We eat this salad
Fall Fails
Summer: The Sequel
Starring Flora S. Fallen
Directed by Son
Sweater Weather
Snow covered beignets
Cider and cocoa rivers
Gingerbread people
Mojito Vice
Muddled leaves of mint
Lime juice and syrup downpour
Ice cube avalanche
A *** and fizzle drizzle
A spri(n)g of mint to garnish
Meat meet Heat
Baritone beer belch
Sweet symphony of pig parts
Oyster orchestra
Beef, chicken composition
The sun sings A Capella
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
That droll, little romance
was my first cigarette
an Indonesian clove cigarillo.
A year or two gone now,
but I still remember the sensation,
all the adrenaline and the drugs!
It was that nice, accurate drag,
that perfect ****
of smoke and nicotine.
Love was a potent buzz.
It had laughter.
The high.
It - the passion and ardor -
...so good.
And the subsequent addiction!
I craved it,
took more than there was.
Smoked it to the ****
so fast
it was over before I realized it.
All that remained:
the fizzle of tobacco embers,
the quick-to-dry sweat
of the uninitiated.
Then the desperation.
I wanted it to work!
I smacked my lips for more of the sweetness.
Searched desperately inside
for only a sickness in my stomach
and poison on my tongue.
I’ve stopped smoking now,
but I will always be
just a little closer
to death
than I should be.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
Will you remember me when days grow cold?
When dark clouds close in and the ground dies under foot,
When all the world falls into slumber and oneness,
Will I fade from your consciousness?
When I am gone will it hurt?
Will I cry when you no longer think of me, and I die?
To exist only as a thought in your head.....
Life dependent on your thinking.
Even a memory... at least then,
I would be recalled from time to time, resurrected.
I can't even be a memory because I never was...
never really existed.
Just something you one day thought up.
I can only survive as long as you are thinking me,
and continue entertaining the thought of me.
You have no way to give birth to me.
No way to make me exist in the material world.
No way to make me solid.
I am no more then an electrical impulse
passed between the synapses in your brain.
When they stop firing me to and fro I will cease to exist.
What will become of me when you fizzle me out?
Will you simply reabsorb me into your cells?
Will I be cast out as waste?
I turn to face my fate, yet you keep thinking me.
Torturing me in a way, recalling me, adding to me,
making me bigger, longer, more intricate.
What price I'd pay for you to create me in reality.
Impossible, I know...
To be able to see you from the outside in, instead of inside out!
To know the you, you present to the world.
The strong, creative, mysterious, smart,
confident, emotional you. The quiet you.
Instead I know the inner you, the screaming,
raging, crying, laughing, manipulative,
intelligent, humorous you.
Would I think of you the same.....,
could you manifest me into reality?
Would you me......?
You would know me after all, you thought me,
you created me, you own me.
Breathe life into my veins.
You are me!
Can I become a memory... of a thought... you once created?
© Crystal Erickson 11/24/07
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
How can Belfast be so cold?
a breeze in a summer front
the unpredictable British weather
Of intermittent warmth and dull
drizzles of a torrential fizzle
The titanic stands erected
stilled by the western winds
In stiles as robust as steel
as shadowy silverly specks
reflect on the unused puddles
Southwards to the coastal shores
where green shimmers magnify
and blue waters justly testifies
of the beauty of the north-eastern waters
flowing from one glen to another
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:10 AM UTC
at the corner I hit both crosswalk buttons
and wait, eyes closed, to see if I can follow
the walk sign chirps like the blind men
I choose the first street that whistles to me
and walk to the opposite corner
the way the lights rotate, you would walk circles
if you followed the signs
eventually you must choose some arbitrary avenue
and either wait for it to welcome you
or test your luck in traffic
I choose left
then look up, hoping
to invent some new constellation
but the big parking lot halogens
bleed like blue inked milk into the sky
and the stars are specks, painted over
maybe for the better, I know too well
that I would see those galaxies spiraling
and dig dig dig into big big big questions
hitting all the major points
time and space and self and purpose,
purpose
and the mental ************ would be
a million endless tangents like a million little bits of magnesium
flashing in a firework, brighter than those parking lot halogens
but like every independence day
they flash and fizzle and then the sky is just smoky
and I start to feel small
so I walk into Big Lots to calm down
rummaging through the shelves,
not a single pad of paper outside of monthly planners
not a single blank sheet, not a single open page
not a single ******* one
no one wants to buy anything unless they know it has a purpose first
otherwise, it’ll end up in their desk,
blank and staring every time the drawer gets cracked open
and no one will have an answer for it
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC