"flameless" poems
#120715 #4:30PM
Just a thought,
To where **everything’s ******
Eyes in leer – flameless –
You are Beauty.
Open eyes, open skies
Open realm, open lies.
White as snow, I was
You’re the apple in spells.
As I lived, I have died too.
With rustic munitions,
You gashed my heart out.
With your circles in hoax,
You murdered me.
A sunless morning,
A moonless night,
An air so humid,
An unsalted oceans.
For in time so impeccable,
Befuddling in misdemeanors,
You’re the Beauty who’s a Beast.
Just in time,
Forgiveness is an erudite.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 3:27 AM UTC
I've felt passion
And I've felt pain
I've felt the warmth
On a rainy day
I've said goodbye
So many times
Each one with a kiss
And- a heart that I miss
But- when I'm here
and when I'm stable
My heart doesn't let me
Be loving or able
I've felt pain
In the brightest of places
Full of life
and smiling faces
I felt numb
With no desire
A constant stillness
A flameless fire
I felt passion
In the darkest times
I let my mind go
I forgot how to rhyme
I imagined black holes
A strong magnetic pull
A downward heavy spiral
Where my energy flowed
I've questioned myself
I've suffered in my skin
I've searched and wondered
Then began to begin
I let the sun kiss me
On my bare skin
Yet I felt freezing cold
Shivers from a deep strong wind within
I've broken the chains
Of my education
And I've bent the rules
For my own revelation
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
We are to come and leave and not return,
But hand our secret scroll to those who'd be.
I'll pass the writings on which passed to me,
And shrink to blackened ash with flameless burn.
As far as those who'll be--of whom will earn,
That secret scroll containing some of me,
Quite like yet quite unlike, in no way me--
They'll mourn for I'll have gone and won't return.
To live on in a heart or memory,
Is not living or life or anything,
But trite consoling words of sympathy--
A metaphor or best a simile--
suspending truth, and grief that loss will bring.
In truth no more am I nor shall I be.
(C)2015, Christos Rigakos
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
clueless versus innocence
there really is no difference
one is polite and one is offensive
neither is based on resistance
do you want to remain nameless?
blameless, i guess is subjective
like a fire pit that remains flameless
our language is defective
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
an eternal longing for a flame i cannot stand to feel. never will i comprehend the reason why my lips melt off when we kiss. they blister and bleed, so i pull away. i can’t bear the pain and stench of my burning flesh any longer. winter is approaching, the leaves will soon cease to exist. through this change i have misplaced my sweater. i feel the warmth though, i’m not quite sure exactly where it’s coming from. is it you? it is.
i can smell you.
i slowly creep my way over to your dancing flames. i watch in wonder, awe, and terror as your multicolored flames burn through the night. you’re breathtakingly beautiful, but then i notice something else. i manage to slip away from your beauty and see what i hadn't seen before. there are icicles dancing around you. circling your flame. your weakness… they sing and call to you. sirens they are, seductive and alluring. you let them come to you in the night, and corrupt you... you start to die down. slowly. sizzling. your light is dying flat. you push them away, for now. i stand watching mesmerized by your tricks. yet i'm sickened.
it’s dark now, pitch black. not a sound to be heard, except for the sizzle of your, what used to be known as flames. you’re nothing now. yet, i still stand watching. alone, in the dark. there is nothing left. you’re no where to be found and neither are they it seems.
i leave what i brought for you, on a rock beside your flameless pit.
matches.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
slight motion causes distant fog to swirl
as grey becomes blue
highlighting the green field
in the pre-sunrise morn
watery eyes look across dew covered grass blades
individually
weaving a tapestry of braids
soft chipping symphony
thrushes abound
startled hooves crash through unseen underbrush
and the first light at first blinds
then offers the tree line a perfect outline
refraction action dances through
millions of mirrors glisten
diamond style
and vaporize instantaneously
flameless fire engulfs
my peaceful meadow
claustrophobia grips me
as natures’ noises and notions
envelope me
frantic squabbling of scrub jays
elk whistle too near
branches crash as the wind storm
tears the mountain away
I lay still as a soft white light emerges
a beacon in the sky
signifying reality
home base
something to focus on
as the fog clears and blue replaces insanity
I slowly stumble across the shiny green
filling my hat
with enough fungus
to share with the community
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
In the early sun, a dew soaked swing set basks in rust as we play
I find your eyes at the window watching.
Smiling.
I am safe. I know this.
Concrete paints my knees red.
And you totter over with peroxide and a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
You'd find a path to the sun if only it stretched my popsicle lips into a smile.
I stalk home past midnight; a stomach gurgling with liquors I can't pronounce.
I find you on the couch flipping channels as your eyelids turn weak.
You approach me with a slap I was expecting.
Then a hug
Then a slap
Then a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
I'm panting with worry. My mind racing. Each thought like a poorly aimed bullet.
But you somehow find a way to extinguish them in your fists.
Until my smeary wet mascara stained cheeks swell into a laugh.
I am safe. I know this.
It is winter and you sense my eyes so flameless, fragile.
I am restrained by the presumptions of my fate.
My arms have been ripped from my sides so naturally you tear off your own limbs for my use.
Your appendage helps me to climb.
I'm out of the ditch. Because I am loved.
I am safe. I know this.
It is industrial where the stringent work. I cower at the mass of its stolidity. But even then I find you, the earths drippy clay molding to my quirky nervous and dissatisfied self.
Everywhere else.
I am safe. I know this.
And my dear mother.
You are loved. I hope you know this.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
You know that feeling
you get when
you drive at night, and you
just want to feel the car fly, so you
push your foot as far as
it'll go down on the gas,
down to the baseboard,
your engine howling like a wolf in the
moonlight,
yet somehow it doesn't feel
fast enough?
That's what it feels like
getting over
you.
Getting over you is like
sneaking home, trying not to awaken
the parents that you
left dozing,
but every
single
solitary
stair
creaks underneath your weight.
It is the
new routine with the
broken ankle;
the unanswered
correspondance;
the sailing ship on
the windless ocean;
getting over you is the
road taken and laden with potholes;
the refusal of the snow
to melt,
my feet slipping out from underneath me
on the remaining ice.
Getting over you is the
flameless fire,
the un-Happy New Year,
the series of unhappy poems.
Getting over you
is the bottle of champagne I drank
to quench my thirst for you,
the texts I sent you and didn't remember,
the tears I shed as I begged the
universe (and anyone else in ear shot)
to explain why it had to
turn out this way.
You know that feeling where
up is down,
left is right,
inside is flipped outside?
You're gone.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
I needn’t any evidence to prove this
Like lawyers say Res Ipsa Loquitor
To mean facts speak for themselves
Steadily sited on the driving wheel.
And my hands widely open in glorification it was a time boom that had enslaved my feelings
The blast that left my white shirt colored with artistic pictures
In bits of red, pink-scented with lip like marks.
My heart pumped like ‘I dare you for more’.
“Relax and keep calm,” were the words from her lips.
Later………I mean later,
Those around us only saw shadows that fought in a distance
Changing positions like salsa dancers.
And at this time I read her lips.
Theses two chapters seemed like a thousand pages
So short in terms of pages but enjoyable to read trust me when I tell you
A full composition settled into two, all that you know be it French
You can never get bored while you read these pages.
The smiles gave me more comfort to keep going
I wouldn’t mind reading them again and again
And even ask for extras time.
Eyes closed in deep meditation and not to absorb shyness from the surrounding
A little closer was my whisper
For it was an intensified moment.
I think I have something better for you, she claimed.
Oh yes say it before I burn with flameless fire,
Am your chef and so I make the menu
Sit back let me cook a mighty dish for you.
And when she served, my taste buds swore
Bleeding with saliva.
I was completely drowned into her
Shallow as a bottle top but a ladder needed to climb out
I was fed with apples, berries, and nuts
Then she added, belch not before sunrise
I have got extra of what you haven’t tasted.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
my net worth is three sheets
of crumpled paper and
an empty shot glass.
i am not pretending to be
anything refined, sophisticated,
worth your time.
i’ve ruined the best things in my life
without even realizing it, absence the
only clue; there was no bother to tell me.
i am left with flaws but i am not sure
what they are because I’m too
much of a liability to be told.
there are empty matchboxes strewn
all upon my cluttered mattress
with holes burnt into it.
i have a tin lunch box full of
dead lighters; six years worth.
i never throw them away.
my bad habits exist in
every flameless flick.
will you increase my net worth
by leaving a pack of Marlboros in
my mailbox? i might not be deserving
of an explanation, but it would be
a nice peace offering. if you add
a lighter to the mix, i’ll make sure
the amethyst fades and you
no longer dream of me.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
If I had to say something now, in this moment of a great nonsensical sense of loss it would be that I too, can’t stop falling in love but am stuck in the 1950s, I can’t carry a tune or stand in line so there is very little hope, they said hope was the last thing in the jar, and when the lid slammed shut, we were saved from it all. That earth angel knew what she was doing, wholly like a lock of blonde hair from Doris Day, when she set the paper moon on fire, and I guess Bobby knew it too, when he dunked it underwater, hoping to send it somewhere flameless and soggy, beyond the sea. I cried into the moon, tripping over my slippers and I put my head on the bookcases’ shoulder, Paul Anka and Chubby Checker themselves couldn’t quench the tears, I was twisted you see, and I didn’t think it could be the same again. Time to put the cardboard cut-out down, the picket signs chopped to fences and I dragged my toes, I fell in love with the plastic walls, the table I built and a thick, encompassing sense of home, like a teenager in love, I don’t know why they did it but the high crooning voice of Lymon helped me unstick from the walls. Some spirit of left creativity, me and my bereftment belong together, tied when Ritchie Valens dropped us down behind the chest of drawers, I yelled to grab a hand, but it fell quietly onto the curtain pole, impaling itself. Nathaniel entered the room, came looking but answered the ringing with a “Hey, Mama” and left. I couldn’t save my own last dance, I didn’t know that I was it, it drifted and said it would meet me someplace. It said it would meet me when the air clears, it’s getting late and tonight I look something dear and washed up. I miss you so dearly, send me. I hadn’t known that that would be it, this impressive but horrific amalgamation, and I’ve been here for too long.
The screen is dark and blank, I can’t see anything past it here.
Here in this empty space where it all was.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 2:03 PM UTC
In flameless air I can not breathe
In hopeless love I won't receive
In saddened days I blur my eyes
Emotion is my final demise
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 6:58 PM UTC
These lungs are still.
As flameless fire,
We are breathing dead smoke.
Looking back at our love,
began full of sparked ignitions and frictions of heat,
red flames of
passion
love
lust
trust
and comfort
perhaps over sticks not coal.
We heard a whisper...
"to enjoy a lasting fire one must have a good foundation,
coal is key
not sticks nor paper
or it will burn out fast"
When tested, our fire sizzled out.
flameless love sticks was all we had to work with.
no foundation of coal.
nor that signature paper.
We've sat blowing at these sticks from all sides
with hope of catching one last spark,
trying to awaken the fire once again.
Campaigning within ourselves
let's live again, lust again,
love Against and beyond
ourselves
Have we lost sight of the ground?
taken by the wind of life's happenings
now barely touching at fingertips
we've forgotten the lips
that whispered
foundations of a true love's lasting fire.
are we hopeless?
our love flames are breathing on sticks
not coal.
both locked on exhale
no oxygen to our souls
back, neck and head coiled
like a lifeless corps
hanging from the spine
we are dying, Love
we've blown all through and through
and I know somehow I still love you
but while sitting in this thick cloud of smoke
I fearfully ask
how do I breathe for I and you?
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 4:31 PM UTC
I've traveled long roads and neighboring cities
have spent nights in unknown beds and ****** motels
I've woken up to mornings of hangovers and cigarette butts
and have fallen in love with strangers and lost travelers
I have stories that only I can recount
and a broken heart that no one is willing to repair
I've gotten used to people coming and leaving,
loving and falling out of love with me.
Because I am the girl with a lipstick stain and smudged mascara on
with an empty bottle and a flameless lighter
I am the girl who is often forgotten
mostly by the people whom I always remember.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
Miserious
& useless. Pretty problematic.
—I came twice on my own,
Then lifted leg against the party house;
my desires don't come to me.
I am flameless (without fire),
And my prose is without life
as well—but coming along.
Remains a lifeless means of conversation.
Grammatical Corrections:
Irritation, a distinction of the
"Left & Right" brains:
One side with thoughts of you— a
Desperate, romantic fraud, and
so indulgent of the sensuous.
And one classical side of head is
Dull and thirsty for the knowledge of things. If all we are to each other is our actions, then I must be one hell of a catch.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Lost in those brown eyes
That smile at me
As your vise like grip of love
Clenches upon my heart
Ice cold fingers digging in
Burning in a flameless fire
Forbidden desires
Consume me
Body yearns
For a demons touch
Heart aches
Desires foresake
The unrelenting pain
Of a souls lust
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Silent colors swaying away,
Like a blade that cuts the stars.
A far reach,
Yet close enough to blind.
The emotional synesthesia of my heart and mind,
Conspire to light the fires beneath,
And set myself ablaze on the flameless pyre.
I stare at the wares that I have created,
As I continue the debate with me, myself, and I.
Ticking away.
The timeless eyes.
Bear witness.
To the lightless skies.
The silent colors.
That only I can see.
These synesthetic linguistics.
That fall away.
Onto the synthetic pages.
To which you read.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 3:25 PM UTC
I can't believe
how raw I feel
despite the length
of unwound time.
The gripping heart,
like fingers
squeezing tight,
the same flow up
behind the eyes,
the same sensation
around the throat
like one about to choke,
like the inhalation
of flameless smoke,
the opening up
of wounds one thought
were healing,
that rawness,
that deep plunging in,
that cold hurt feeling
still sinking in.
O my dear one,
my dead son,
O you just beyond
my reach or seeming so,
tell me where you are
that I may go.
No, no,
I know,
time's hand
will tick it
soon enough,
I guess,
whether months
or years or countless
decades, like ocean's wide.
Still raw,
still seeking
that place to weep,
that place to hide.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC