"ignitions" poems
You look so warm inside the rays,
I watch them as they dance ballet.
Across your face they pirouette,
until my every worry, I forget.
You kiss each other playfully,
blissfully unaware of me.
Glowing in the afternoon,
Your golden skin, it makes me swoon.
I'm far too mesmerized with you nearby,
watching days pass within your eyes.
You look at me and
I become the hours,
seconds, minutes, it overpowers.
Blinded by a solar flare,
ignitions in the air,
burning all around,
wishing the sun would never go down,
Slow down.
You stick around to watch the sunset,
I start to become a silhouette.
It's getting dark,
until your laugh lights up a spark.
A fire growing on the inside,
Shadows run and hide,
darkness can't survive,
when you're ablaze.
You're a star from outer space,
Rising up to interlace,
the human race.
This I always knew,
is what connected me and you,
and we're connecting all of us.
Call it trust.
Parts of you that can't be seen
illuminate the heart of me.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC
Flattered heart of the unthought
Flattened cases await departure
A mount of unused garbage
Tragedy in fuelled ignitions
Digging slowly to make sense of the mess
Accumulation of desire in haste
A hoard of heaped cotton and canvas
Looped in discourse of cages
A sleep to mask the heated moment
After a dawn the mountain blurs
Impending progression,dashing hopes
Receding rope, a destined pit
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
you were the diamond on the truck-stop floor. the hiss of sparked ignitions wafted through your mind, sandy and confused-- meaningless, like cake crumbs. cake crumbs you swept up and all, for what?
the little green man inside your hypocrisy (disguised as paradox) hid away.. feeling deeper and deeper into the recesses of flesh you once called home.
there had been a time. of course, we all know time is linear, and all that is linear must soon and completely find halt within eternity.. as if the dribble of a drain makes a marble of the ocean.. as if a handful of ocean ice water will diminish the intensity of the seven seas at their largest... as if a sky full of rain and a raindrop full of see and be seen is really much more than you're looking at.
I took my own hand this time, skipping down the trail. it was overcast and foggy. Melancholy rested in the air and on the dew of the leaves, I was thirsty and pooled it to the middle of a particular green, drinking like a bowl from the Jungle Book. All I could taste was white wine and dandelion bitters. All I could smell was that metallic springtime rainfall smell, the night sauteed in the heat of the morning. The sun now at it's zenith above Honolulu, perhaps.. above Midway, or the Solomon Islands. In my minds eye, I could taste the thirsty coconut milk of Tahiti.
What I saw in the mist, dear Reader, was nothing short of breath. My breath. My breath. My breath. Condensation a frothy steam from teapot of mouth, steeping syntax and semantics into novels of thought all expressed in the limelight of sudden conversation and fitful, rightful, frightening intrigue.
You can never really love enough, can you? You can never truly **** the thought without the thought first taking you.. asking you.. begging you..
thinking and thinking and thinking.....
.. . . .. . . .. . .. . . .... . . why?
Lawrence,
why?
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 12:29 AM 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
Like a firework,
burn until the very last second,
grip the life you had,
created by falisies and man made ignitions.
Can you burn me down please?
Embers,
then ashes.
I will start again.
I do not want to be made of you,
and him,
and mistakes,
and everything I regret, which is all that seems apparent,
when nothing is setting you on fire.
I wanna be coals,
and baby it'll take years,
before a diamond.
I wanna be over,
and starting,
and finished,
and begining all at once.
I wanna sear your flesh,
with the intensity of my love.
Physically,
stoking the feelings in your soul.
I need air,
and proding,
and a little compassion,
before you can expect me to keep you warm.
I'm lifeless.
I am not earth,
wind,
water,
or burning,
churning,
incinerating,
fire.
I am waiting.
I am flint.
I am spent.
Spark me,
please,
I am eager,
to take care of everyone else,
before myself.
To mesmerize your eyes,
with my beauty.
I want to be too much,
a blue flame,
I'll hurt you,
but you won't even feel it.
I can **** you,
but without me,
there is no life.
I am over,
and I am done,
and I am waiting.
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
I am cosmic limbo
words cannot express.
I am a lap dog drowning in a pool of cat's milk
wearing nothing but sun burns.
I cut the lines when Merry goes round
below the grief you cannot digest.
Anxiety has nightmares about me
it is rumored.
My tears fall on surfaces
and explode like snap & pops.
Mini ignitions in an instant,
turn to ash.
I am a bleak reposit in your memory bank.
Thirty years of wasted land.
There are no more homes for me.
Catch you up Ricky Baker
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
Loosed sparks touch at night . . .
When all the stars are sleeping,
. . . True tips of fingers.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
lay awake with nothing to hold you away from the keys in the ignitions cursing letting all of your night mars let lose free. i see no chance to go fast. every curve around the windy mountain roads. driving fast letting the wind flow threw picking up your own soul . flying threw shifting every feeling that high daze. letting my stereo play louder not paying my own attention flooring the gas peddle. nothing is a daze cause i have no limits i can't break. driving fast threw the night with nothing to hide as i turn up my music blasting all the vibrations shattering all the windows in my spider gt. no stopping letting lose all your demons lose before you get trap'd into life that you have to settle down. this feels like i can't escape but i rather drive faster that i would realize before my own dream that brings me back to reality. when life is so ******* ****** my daze shows my thrill of anger with no regrets. just like i am following my dead heart.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
I think the world
Is waiting for me to crack
I'm just too tired
I can't fight back
There's no way to win
I'll loose either way
Taunted by sin
Dangling in front of my face
Jamming tired keys
Into tired ignitions
Riding down tired roads
Holding broken ambitions
Jamming my fix
Into tired veins
Just to keep
The pain at bay
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
It is in these medium-sized hours,
on these winter mornings that I find
the most peace.
It is while standing at the end
of my driveway that I can feel
my connection to everything.
The soles of my boots do not impede
or interfere with my energy’s ability
to connect, through miles of iron,
directly with this planet’s core.
The stillness is not still,
despite my own.
There are ignitions and other beginnings;
small voices protesting the final bus ride
to school; the holiday pending.
Despite this minor background noise,
this unadorned stillness connects myself
to something larger and more substantial
than I can speak, write, or even understand.
This conduit is in all things, in all people,
and is the unspoken, unwritten definition of
what it actually means to be awake, alive, and
alert to...what?
Is it God?
Is it my sense of self?
Is it you?
All of you?
All of humanity?
Is it my sons?
My daughter?
My beloved?
Yes.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
diffeomorphic metal between bubble wrap and foil, acrylic olfaction in plastic ignitions, flat-iron physics in lice screams, integument with Guillain-Barré in extra steps; the annealed strands : immunity :: the follicles : nervous remains. cephalic solar panels and thermostat polymers protect against the misses and false alarms of signal recovery. there is time to think before the eggs hatch.
it dawns on me that the
rug of spacetime is being
blanketed in black paint
as distant stars blink finally
and only with myth under fingernails
can i pick it clean
Mar 25, 2021
Mar 25, 2021 at 4:19 PM UTC