"incendiary" poems
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
*Incendiary passion
that ignites an ember's flame
Gone but not forgotten
but t'is really not the same.
I long for lips that hunger
and the unrequited bliss
The torch that sets the heart afire:
the unexpected kiss.*
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 10:35 AM UTC
I could see right thru the fortress' walls,
I knew what they enclaved
Beaten by an ocean full
of canary-yellow waves
They glistened like the stars reflected
from a moon-lit sky
Scattered like a million diamonds,
it's beauty; mesmerized
Tho seaweed dark as forest green
did fill the ocean floor
Both translucent, & befuddling
I could only wish to explore
For I have never seen a castle
rest in a sea of grime
& with its image now engraved
Forever in my mind!
& tho it's walls we're callous; thick
I thought it could still work
If only I had persisted
(Instead, I went berserk...)
But is love not an incendiary?
For those who've gone insane?
& so it's best to resist the urge--
Your heart you must contain!
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:59 PM 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
Only friendship.
You made yourself clear - clear as glass - that it could never be more.
But as I too am glass, a small shard of me broke off and shattered.
And why did it ignite my spirit to be in your presence, to be enfolded in your warmth
Why, why did it set my heart aflame, burn me with such flammable, incendiary envy
To see you lust after another, to want far beyond friendship with them
Why did that melt me
I was already committed to another, no matter if it was a dry, barren whisper of once-existing love or a forest of endless rain
It was commitment
Yet in spite of this, I continued to melt
Melting, right down to my core
Where I am just sand
Vulnerable, exposed, walked-on sand that could, at any second, be picked up by the wind and taken to another pit of uncertainty
But you
You dropped the empty attempts
And you began giving me your time
You showed me the naïveté that I am, and you took my hand and led me through a dark room
It was cold, and I was afraid
And you could not tell me that "everything would be okay"
Because this was real, unfiltered life you were motioning to before me
And though it was not a fully comfortable realisation,
The cold slowly thawed, from the outsides into my core, my sand
And as I thawed, as you too made yourself more vulnerable,
I at last began to take shape
Perhaps I have a calling
Beyond this fragile shell I consistently run back to for shelter, return to when it yearns back for my unearthed body to be protected again
But I knew better,
That when you molt from your armour,
Its purpose has been used up, and it is now just an empty shell, and it is time for that shell to be discarded.
And now, in my infantile flesh,
I trust that you can be my protector until my new shell can learn to harden
I am still unsure today if it has solidified,
Because I am focused elsewhere
Focused on you
My heart's every beat feels light at the remembrance of you
My mind's every thought a whirlwind
From the dissonance of reaching for you and being tempted to go back under the comfort of my old shell, from the knowledge that these two cannot coexist
But my soul, my soul is nearing soundness at last
Because with you here, I feel that my honest identity is at last coming to life
With you here,
Your breezes blow, but I do not fear that I will be carried away
Your shore arrives, but I do not fear that I am going to wash away
Though it was you who dared grind me down to my initial state of innocent sand,
You have sculpted me, even with the uselessness that I've felt I am
Shown me my potential
And made me a flourishing seashore.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Vague meanings to their words,
Do I hear
Mockingbirds?
Maybe understand their gist?
Help me see, Through the mist.
Make a comment,
Do no harm,
Feels good to spread some charm.
Suddenly
I've tripped a detonator, an
Explosion of indignant words,
Come flying out.
Now mistakes, can be made,
But let's tell it straight,
People set,
Vague incendiary device's.
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 12:17 PM UTC
I’m walking up hilltop, two men pass, one says,
'Fuck the French, they never have the bottle for a fight’.
To have got here they passed the old Cathedral.
Did they glimpse it as a relic - exploded by incendiary,
ostracised in dubiety, seen fit to feature
only in the focus and snap of foreign tourists?
It is two days before Ramadan. Tonight Tornados
will tear between the Euphrates and Tigris
to illuminate Babylon... live on CNN.
At the top of the hill I pause,
staring at stained glass fragments
still suspended in the apex of frames
and view snacking office workers,
seated upon the benches that have replaced the pews.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 12:30 PM UTC
**** it then,
Let the strangers be scared.
I wanna bend you over a chair,
Lift up your skirt
Rip off your underwear
Wrap a hand around your throat
Grab a handful of your hair
And bury myself deep
As I feel you gasp for air.
I want to beat you, but not
out of Anger or Hate,
I want to treat you like a Queen
until you plead
to be *****
And then I will Take You
Violate You
Invade You
Your Body
Is a Temple
I'll Pray at
And then Raze.
I want to leave you,
Drenched in sweat
Raccoon Eyed,
Hair a mess
Satisfied.
While you recover,
I'll recharge-
and like a Lover,
I'll tend your Heart.
Until you can move
Again,
And tell me you have
The Energy
And I'll throw you back down on the Bed,
With the same violent intensity.
I'll love you with a vengeance,
My battering ram at your gates
As I conquer your sacred kingdom
in this
Incendiary Embrace.
My lust for you is Oppressive,
but my Love burns brighter than All
I want to be the Tyrant of your Body -
Absolute Control.
I want to hold you down by the wrists
and stare in your eyes as you cry my name
Drink in the dance of your perfect ****
As I assail you with pleasure and pain
I long to feel the quake of your legs
As ****** consumes you again
Heavenly Daughter of Eve,
I'll **** you like a Child of Cain.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
*we are witness to atrocities
committed by regime
over its peoples
over time*
1.
we are witness..
shattering glass of reality arranged into chosen shard-feeds
like omni-gov surveillance into meticulous mind-grafts
spluttering eternal-stats for public mind control
spewing mini-truths of perpetual war raids
disillusionment of history forever rewritten
control supply-and-demand
create dark-cloaked dilemma and monitor shortage and famine
make-believe elements so well played to auto-frenzied latch
thinking is degraded and actions.. well, less said
2.
diligent and loyal yet harbour secret-hatred
feed visions stilted by politrix
deception and manipulation
propaganda is the oleaginous-game by wand-over-mind
totalitarian is the kingpin-holder of cards
and yet, who is really being played!
eternal marionettes on a conveyor-belt
can't even play with yourself alone
your **** your **** your every move..
watched - surveyed - and studied
by that ubiquitous-bulge eye you cannot escape
right opposite your low hard-bed
you're broken into popping-parts
that YOU won't recognise!
thoughtcrime-police is gonna accost ya
get up, comrade.. get UUUUUUUUP!
3.
we are witness
life-tube covered in darkened vapour-swirls
we are witness
children conditioned to watch their parents.. too closely
we are witness
truth so smothered, now re-fed by repeat-metaphor
we are witness
dictata.. dictata..
we are witness
austere existence in a tacky one-room flat
we are witness
subsist on black-wheat and imitation-repast
we are witness
regurgitate the party-dialect on and on and on
(after a while, we end up half-believing.. )
*only the clock which strikes thirteen
can smell the charred-reality
as leftover-truth is shoved
into incendiary obsolescence*
tick-a-damn-tock
and that would be..
one
S T - 26 sept
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
On almost the incendiary eve
Of several near deaths,
When one at the great least of your best loved
And always known must leave
Lions and fires of his flying breath,
Of your immortal friends
Who'd raise the organs of the counted dust
To shoot and sing your praise,
One who called deepest down shall hold his peace
That cannot sink or cease
Endlessly to his wound
In many married London's estranging grief.
On almost the incendiary eve
When at your lips and keys,
Locking, unlocking, the murdered strangers weave,
One who is most unknown,
Your polestar neighbour, sun of another street,
Will dive up to his tears.
He'll bathe his raining blood in the male sea
Who strode for your own dead
And wind his globe out of your water thread
And load the throats of shells
with every cry since light
Flashed first across his thunderclapping eyes.
On almost the incendiary eve
Of deaths and entrances,
When near and strange wounded on London's waves
Have sought your single grave,
One enemy, of many, who knows well
Your heart is luminous
In the watched dark, quivering through locks and caves,
Will pull the thunderbolts
To shut the sun, plunge, mount your darkened keys
And sear just riders back,
Until that one loved least
Looms the last Samson of your zodiac.
2.7k
"Memory is more indelible than ink."
—Anita Loos
~
*Europe, after the rain,
the sun lending warmth and comfort.
fringes come into focus.
shadow journal,
fiscal dreams,
becoming ****** lines on a page;
procession bells
for young brides,
veiled in lace.
a touch from her
outstretched hands,
this honeymoon phase
running up the thigh,
the holding quite still until
she smiles for pendulum.
at first light, breakfast in bed,
granting pastel wishes on
boxing night,
then a letting go of the kite string.
new fingers in the medicine bottle,
tiny geometries
inside a house of reciprocal numbers.
paradise in mnemonic children:
cartwheels and handstands,
coloring books of
neglected spaces,
future ruins.
one hundred violins
play to isles of ignorance,
stray embers settle
along the solemn Chemin De Fer (railway).
a catalogue of afternoons
on the bike path
thru propeller seeds and dragonflies.
arriving in the haloed flesh:
skin dive,
the place of couloir descent;
**** beach,
the place of odd glances;
gun chamber,
the room of secondary light;
all horizon variations.
an algebra of darkness,
this dense Roman twilight,
their exiles unreflected
in blind lanterns.
our brightness will become
refracting silhouettes,
a broken yolk in the incendiary sky.*
~
Aug 29, 2022
Aug 29, 2022 at 12:38 PM UTC
After many near misses
sweet thunderbolt kisses
explode upon my lips
heady molten sips
which burn me
turn me to matchwood
incendiary splinters
ashes of desire
a willing victim of flame and fire
Dec 20, 2022
Dec 20, 2022 at 2:48 AM UTC
O Liberty, God-gifted--
Young and immortal maid--
In your high hand uplifted,
The torch declares your trade.
Its crimson menace, flaming
Upon the sea and shore,
Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
That Law shall be no more.
Austere incendiary,
We're blinking in the light;
Where is your customary
Grenade of dynamite?
Where are your staves and switches
For men of gentle birth?
Your mask and dirk for riches?
Your chains for wit and worth?
Perhaps, you've brought the halters
You used in the old days,
When round religion's altars
You stabled Cromwell's bays?
Behind you, unsuspected,
Have you the axe, fair *****
Wherewith you once collected
A poll-tax for the French?
America salutes you--
Preparing to "disgorge."
Take everything that suits you,
And marry Henry George.
2.4k
*He is
My Azure Dreambird,
(The Sovereign of Songbirds)
That soars upon
Skies of Resonance.
His sapphire wings
Weightless by valor,
Hallowed every doubt
That
Cursed my shadow
Until credence reigned.
He is
The Musicality of my Soul,
That I climbed as
A stairway
Into
Gates of Aether
Upon
Porcelain keys
Of an impearled
Grand Piano.
His sound emittance
Ascended in frequency until
Pitch became subliminal
For height
ceased to be
Height,
And depth,
Ceased to be
Depth,
It was
Ineffable harmony
And resolution became effortless
With
The touch of his hand.
He is
The Wings of the Dawn,
A Sweeping Rapture
That raised
Me
Beyond the stratosphere
Until graced by
Untarnished embrace
Of the Baptistery of the Sun.
I burst
From Light’s Intemerate Womb,
Renewed and
Gazed upon Terraqueous Gaia
Then for once,
(Yes, for all eternity)
Succumbed to
Faith in the Transcendence
Of his tender affections.
Woe was existence
Before His lightwaves radiated
Within my heart,
For when I purged my pulse
Of that quaking rhythm
And
Hollow cries
Upon his ears,
He stood moved
And remained
Doughty in his devotion
To me.
In that moment
I fathomed his soul
Glistened
O, for he had not forsook me.
I bear a pilgrimage.
One sought to be
Heard,
Seen,
Felt,
Breathed,
And
Divined
By my
Once
Somnolent spirit
Been
Roused
By the incendiary thew of
His ardor.
My revenant soul
Hath emerged from
The Chrysalis of Time as
The Apotheosis of Astral Flame
(A Reverberation of the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
That since
The Days of Time Immemorial
Guided by the
Whisper of the stars,
I now cleave
To that celestial susurrus:
To the solace buried beneath
The Soil of Afflicition
(For anguish was all I knew)
In repose
Yet yearning to be
Resurrected
In The Dream of Acquisition,
To for eternity behold
The timeless fervor
That doth layeth
In His heart*
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
A barren field, now I sit wasted.
Had my time, but it's passed.
The children have grown.
Boom, bang blast.
Breaking out as flowers bloom.
Forget me nots, they are not.
As in my barren field I sit.
Unforgiven.
Proliferating as an incendiary device.
A starter of fires deep in my heart.
Filled up my mother of wombs.
Once they burned out of control.
Curse my heart and my soul.
For me, myself, I die insolvent.
Wailing in maladies of loves lost attachments.
Why may this be, I hear thee say.
I disregarded them, I wanted to play.
The heart of the matter.
Who mattered was me!
(C) Livvi
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 7:45 AM UTC
You came like wildfire
Indistinguishably incendiary
Struck my butane skin
With phosphorus fingertips
Clouded myopic eyes
Saw the ashes to ashes
Flushed lackluster lips
Whispered dust to dust
What you left me with:
A collection of burnt bridges
A drawer of regrets
A heart of hieroglyphics
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
The Poetry Barn wasn’t really a barn
It was merely an old farm house,
It sat on the acres of Eddington’s Farm,
Surrounded by sheep and by cows.
But Poets came over from Stuttersby Dell,
Drove over from Scatabout Wood,
To write in the air of the Poetry Barn
About things, when they ought and they should.
They came from Great Orton, they came from Rams Well,
They came from Glenn Wheatley and Grey,
The best and the worst of the poets you’d find
At the Poetry Barn, every day,
The rooms had been empty for many a year
So they all sat on bundles of straw,
And when they ran out they would send up a shout,
So some would go out and get more.
The mornings would see all the Elegies worked,
The Epics, the Odes and Quatrains,
The Poetry Barn would then grumble and groan
As the Dirges would enter the drains.
By noon the fair Sonnets came into their own
With just the odd wanton Lament,
When poets would seek out the culprit to find
One grinding his verse in a tent.
By evening they’d work on the Pastoral,
The Sestet, the Roundel as well,
And those at a loss after losing the toss
Would be stuck with the old Villanelle,
They’d all settle down when the Moon came up round,
And the stars twinkled boldly in rhyme,
When one asked the other, ‘pray, what rhymes with brother,’
And he’d say, ‘your Mom, all the time.’
The poems would stick to the inside walls,
Would tear at each other like knaves,
They’d fill up the aisles and lie flat on the tiles
And would damage the old architraves.
At night you could hear all the horses hooves
As they carried the good news to Aix,
And in came the wedding guest, him with the albatross
Counting his many mistakes.
I saw that they’d burned down the Poetry Barn
With one sad, incendiary rhyme,
A poet called Glover who wrote to his lover
‘My candle, you light all the time.’
The straw caught alight in his lover’s delight
And they fled from that bastion of verse,
I just penned this missal for someone to whistle,
The one that he’d written was worse.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
Your intrusion
Is conducive
To my city burning down
So I defend from inside my castle
Civilian hordes
Wield swords
And I've gotta flail
In my chain mail
My city walls have been manned
So use your battering ram
And intrude on me
Muscle into my muscles
And burrow into my bones
By disarming my mob
While catapults lob
Incendiary boulders
That protect me from
Temporary shoulders
That have exploited my nation before
Mining the resources from it's core
Avoid all the blasts
So we can clash
In the arena of my mind
Where steel strikes time
And my defenses
Defend me from my life
So intrude on me
And shatter my protections
And shatter my conceptions
So intrude on me
And break my perceptions
But be careful
Intrusions have reflections
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
Baby, there's love between our eyes
So much love in disguise...
Incendiary, sparkling, tongued-out, pint size
But I won't be some tricked cuckold blindfold piece of ****
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Weighty lightness, solid levity,
Primordial soup,
Some ancient rite, draws me
To the foam.
Its celestial colour,
Its effervescent overflowing,
How it teases my buds,
Not like water,
Like honey
As an insect encased
In amber
I am within,
The tears of sunshine
And Olympian folly.
On dry days
I seek the incendiary agent,
Brooding bout,
Pint-sized, el niño
And his brews
Come soaring
After the downpour,
As high-tiding winds,
That **** contented days
And spin spirals round
Cups of complacent
Hours, the whine
Eternal,
Only seems
Like spilling
Blood.
Draw me, the dram.
The dram of what?
Ale's the thing!
Falling,
Overboard,
No drowning man was so ever
Esteemed,
Ever so buoyant.
How the vessel becomes
His captain.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
Our quiet dispositions made for a double-edged sword, as we sat on blood-stained sheets, littered with stems and shredded tobacco bits.
Listening to "Blowing It" by Dinosaur Jr. I realized I, too, didn't know a thing to say to you. We seemed similar, in a way to a certain extent.
He had a stick and poke on his thigh that said "NO"
and we ****** Casually.
========================================================================
"I think you're cute and I like that you're tall."
"I think you're cute too and it's nice that you like that."
========================================================================
We smoked spliffs and talked about how it was nice to be dating multiple people.
And what it's like to have a sugar mama,
And that crack is an underrated drug,
And that I should meet more people who like The Velvet Underground,
And how we both like beer, IPAs,
And how I smelled nice,
And how I shouldn't have chosen "Women" of Bukowski's to read first,
And that he should read "Slaughterhouse-Five", and I was willing to give him my copy
(The blood on my sheets wasn't mine, he had skinned knees.)
It was odd, but also nice, to meet someone with a similar disposition to me,
but there was nothing incendiary to hang on to, more just a slow warmth.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
Violet Valley
Violent Valley
In unison
a painted progression
possession
Seen to the point of intrusion
Illusive
In a cloak of mercenary wander
A violet valley
of a crimson dawn
Drawn from scarlet billows
Where I seethe
Into a prison I saw
A vision blurred from yours
Under the heath of an adolescence
comes a lapse of time
in a spiritless essence
Godless
Unsheathing itself
In the beds of silence
the voice of a cobalt rebellion
Freedom stricken
Gaslit onto your lips
The index of incendiary
Rearing fruits of wonder
Where knowledge is set without bound
born from the dusk
of a violet valley
No truth knows where it has risen
For curiosity is kept unkempt
inside obscure tides
of thought from yours to mine.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 4:25 AM UTC
Saintly cassock,
Glittering altar
Ornamental pulpit.
Driving the congregants
in a paroxysm of fib,
Gullibility enshrines adherents
hearts.
Do you know the Messiah more
than the apostles ?
Thou traders in the temple.
Parrotic tongues set out
commands
Loquacious sweet-coated mouths
misdirects faithfuls.
But the uncreated Creator who
creates creatures watches
Dreadful silence astonishingly
permeates the entireness
of the universe.
Do you preach love?
Do you follow peace with all?
Ye robbers in the temple.
Command darkness to produce
light.
But you turned moonlight into
tale.
Can you display Davidic dance
steps on the road?
Profanity of sanctuary with
false homiletics.
Merchants of dross in tabernacle
Speak.
Let us hear you.
Preach
To the congregants.
Righteousness afar from the
apron of faith.
Charity locked up in the
tunic of hope.
Sanctity of holiness sprinkled
into the tributary of sin.
Commanding the stars to turn
to sun,
Captains of night in light.
Ye robbers in the sanctuary.
Pastoral advertisers of chattels
in the tabernacle,
Merchandising gold dross in
sermonic hymns.
Sugar-coated doctrine wept in
the tomb of Lazarus.
Prompting Him to weep again?
Ye merchants in synagogue.
Disentangle faithfuls from the
webs of worriment.
Dislodge congregants out of the
shackles of sin.
Deliver ignoramus from the
isle of incendiary.
Let the sifter of strength
separate out afflictions from
feebleminded faithfuls.
Ye robbers in the temple
You love prayers more than God
But who answers prayers?
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 3:45 AM UTC
There is dirt mixed with blood
Underneath our fingernails
Our life is mixed with mud
While we fight and flail
The struggle is for my agency
Otherwise I feel they're ****** me
I feel they are replacing me
With an imposition of their will
Love as vast as the sea
Wouldn't get them their fill
Their emotions they ****
For a ****** thrill
That could be achieved by a pill
But instead they use power
For they understand in this hour
There is a mentality
Of fatality
Where we minimize our enemies to their negative desires
So we can build with our allies oppressive empires
Until the whole world is on fire
And these rapists can do as they please
When it's systemic they do it with ease
In a world without trust
They are the beneficiaries
They care only for lust
With actions incendiary
Burning the forest they hide in
Where our secrets provide their shade
Because overwhelming suspicion pervades
The image of all strangers
We see only danger
And our judgement is skewed
When everybody is considered a ******
Yet there are only a few
There is a moment
When I make a ****** decision
I am not sure what the recipient's reaction will be
There are two negative extremes to this situation:
1. I will **** them
2. They will falsely accuse me of ****
Our ****** lives are navigating these issues of trust
Between those extremes
But when our definition of ****
Starts to define the victim's comfort
As more important than the violator's intent
We show an unwillingness to understand and a bias
Which would give anyone reason to not trust someone
And the ****** atmosphere becomes one of uncertainty
People get into relationships so they don't have to worry about it
But bachelors must consider these things
**** victims must too
As well as the man sitting in prison for fraudulent claims
One has been illegally *****
The other has been ***** legally
I'd imagine both might see a world of rapists afterwards
Yet there are only a few
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 6:37 AM UTC