"kerosene" poems
the walls of the inside passage
look the same from sound to straight
tugs and plugs dot the coastline
as the quartermaster rolls
giving time for evening glare
pods are in sequence
as the high tail smashes and jaws at the krill
white bellies and sea cows bob and weave
as bow heads glide over haida gwaii
northern lights dance
and tlingit chant
as the tide settles softly on savory shores
their getting hungry in hoonah
as the blue back and beating drums
mark the life blood of the sea
driftwood nets
and sitka spruce
surround the cook house
ravens and tinhorns
man the scullery
kerosene lamps flicker
as clam shells roast
on open flames
villagers stroll
on pebbled sand
*in the harbor of souls
where ships set sail
on might and mass
into the steady winds
of the golden skies*
ice fields (to the north)
of kryptonite blue
cutting hills at
a glacial pace
knuckle clouds
above the snowline
where warlocks
craft a hidden trade
trappers, skinners
muscle shoals
grizzly feasts
in kodiak bowl
determined pilgrims
on a dead horse trail
in search of gold
the holy grail
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
Towns are shimmering,
gleaming like Christmas lights,
illuminating the midnight sky.
Kerosene and oxygen, Congratulations
for an excellent performance
on the roofs, windows and walls.
Parties were thrown to celebrate life
by destroying everything that was venerable.
Tussling with each other
on whose new growth to enforce.
It was then, when **** hit the fan
that the people finally gave a ****
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
He filled his week bag
with quick picks from the commissary
cover blades and skull cap
canned goods and half stated pearl
liquor bills and bleeders
for the flight of weary
Into the ****** bunks
of the western front
past sivana and nurture sage
past the pomp and ceremony
out of robes and into jumpers
and casings
and masks of gas
Light infantry and yelling men
muscled and scorned
fly boys high in 3 wing flight
mounted gunners filling the night
in hawkers and packards
and scabbard chape
Tarrant tabers and camels
dodge the vicker gun
skeleton hands grease the mill trap
carnage makers mark the rhineland
(buried in bunkers and pile bags and earth pack)
Trench helmets and metal back
under machine fire
minefields burn in muzzle and coil
deep in the shadows
and shrapnel and spear
the razor wire
and dead cold despair
Slouch hats and burning rats
kerosene lamps and droopers
the soldier stares down
the broken lines and limbs
a ****** holds steady
(shelved at a distance)
on ripped and rolled pipe and beam
It was an all in end game
a grapple for the ages;
*** in the fokker pursuit
over rolling hills and fallen comrades
into the bishop bullet
(and sporadic cheer)
which sealed the deal
in an empty field
off the brae corbie road
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
There once was a man
Whose livelihood was rubber.
He worked long and hard; and wore a tan,
He was a plantation tapper.
One night he packed,
In haste after a long day of toil.
Quickly had his belongings all sacked
Under light from a lantern that reeked of kerosene oil.
He was ready, flame from the lantern he did ****
Overhead, the midnight moon brightly shone.
Bound his sack to the rack above the rear wheel,
Mounted his bicycle and soon he was gone.
The dirt trail leading back,
Undulating with gravel all strewn.
Almost treacherous this forgotten track
He only relied on light from the moon.
The air was cool just like any other,
But something was different about this night.
Squinting ahead he spotted a figure.
Flagging him down was a lady in white...
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
Barn
A graveyard of empty whiskey bottles,
curled, browned labels coated with dust.
A farmer drank in this dirt basement, alone,
wind chapped face illuminated by a kerosene lantern,
swollen fingers forever clutching the
glass neck of his half drained bottles.
I drink ***** in the renovated kitchen,
lit by dimmed lights, gentle shadows
dancing across the glossy hardwood floor.
I look out at the dark bodies of trees
swaying, uneasy in the night breeze.
Sometime after midnight,
the farmer’s ghost
stumbles up the creaking staircase behind me,
to our bed.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
i wanted to write
a poem
that rhymes
but revolution doesn't lend
itself to be-bopping
then my neighbor
who thinks i hate
asked – do you ever write
tree poems – i like trees
so i thought
i'll write a beautiful green tree poem
peeked from my window
to check the image
noticed that the school yard was covered
with asphalt
no green – no trees grow
in manhattan
then, well, i thought the sky
i'll do a big blue sky poem
but all the clouds have winged
low since no-Dick was elected
so i thought again
and it occurred to me
maybe i shouldn't write
at all
but clean my gun
and check my kerosene supply
perhaps these are not poetic
times
at all
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
he spends his time
rowing through the
rugged, blockaded channels
of my catharsis,
the bitter staccato
of ****** habit.
his love
can be as jagged
as gashes in an
Elvis Costello record
thrown against the wall--
the frayed words of the last love song
Billie Holiday ever uttered.
he is two
exclamation points lit on
fire, kerosene pumping through
tautly wound muscles and
caressing our funny bones with
sandpaper.
he is
dulcit woodwind melodies
and jilted viola strings,
epic poetry and grindhouse theaters,
McQueen gowns and thrift store bargains,
the kiss on the forehead
and the nudge for a *******
he is a double helix.
he is the beginning
and end of every sentence.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 3:45 AM UTC
When I was 5 ...
Your kerosene heater .. I hated that smell ..
Your snoring .. kept me awake at night ..
Bathtime .. my ears hurt when you cleaned them with the rough flannel ..
Bathing in the river .. I was ashamed to be naked like you ..
Your teeth .. in a glass scared me ..
You had no mercy .. when on the hunt for head lice ..
Now I'm 45 ..
You had no mercy .. relentless, you got them all ..
Your teeth .. I keep mine in a glass in the bathroom ..
Bathing in the river .. unrestricted & one with nature, I get it ..
Bathtime .. your ears do get ***** I use a rough flannel too ..
Your snoring .. any snoring reminds me of you ..
Your kerosene heater .. the whiff of kerosene, my strongest physical memory of you .. I think of you .. now I love the smell of kerosene ..
Every cherished memory of my Grandmother, no detail forgotten, I will always love you Nan XOXO
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
Tunneling thoughts like rain
Craning through light clouds
Unsuspecting victims.
The fear
The tears
The temper tantrums;
A kind of rebuttal
That won't let our feet find land
We adjourned to rehearse,
but our efforts were null and void
Only to appease with flames
that licked our shriveled bodies
D r
i p
p i n
g
Kerosene
Tainted like ink Spilled on
Reams of paper
ruined like Christmas
A house warmed by Open flames
fallen candles Adorning
A naked kitchen My limp body,
Splayed beneath the oven
As
darkness indulges, It
consumes
The smoke, Fills
Each crevice
In your mind
Can you ever fight it
Burn your way back
To blissful ignorance.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 1:59 PM UTC
Your taste runs like kerosene in my veins,
Our kisses, heated, sending my insides aflame;
I spontaneously combust, lover.
Skin to skin, your mouth is concentrated sin
You make lose my morals, the lust is building;
Blinding, my pupils burn;
Yours darken with something primal, tensions thickening;
The anticipation's sinking
right into my gut, I feel your touch
calloused fingertips dancing up my thighs, teasing.
Your body glistening
with sweat, trailing down south
I follow the track hungrily with my mouth
but it doesn't seem enough.
Our hearts beat fast like the ticking
of a timebomb nearing detonation;
We're going to detonate, my love.
We're going to burst in fancy colors like fireworks gone haywire,
the bed is our sky.
We're going to get lost among the sheets,
like sailing across familiar seas.
The moonlight, dangerously bright
they seem to shine from your eyes
but they darken with something like clouds on a stormy night.
And I'm not sure if there really is a God
but tonight I kept calling his name
yours interspersed in between
heavy breathing, our pants sounding
like broken notes of some orchestrated masterpiece
and the crescendo's nearing.
Our pulse following the rising melody
I am mesmerized, out of control
I am lost amidst the euphoria
right now
with you
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
I couldn't begin to repair
His broken wing.
Born of the bluest of blue skies
Soaked in kerosene, sitting on tinder
his intentions have fallen
to a blanket, fettered with
pine bark, rotting leaves,
rich soil and dark magic.
His tiny heart, as small as a poppy
seed beats faster than a drum
His tiny form yearns to catch the breeze
to the nectar of the next Trumpet Creeper.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
"Careful, it burns." you warn
And you tell anyone who will listen
You post on the news and shout to the world
Of the flames that dangerously glisten
"Careful, there's fire." you cry
And you tell everyone to watch out
Because once the fire starts
All around you are screams and shouts
"Careful." you say "Careful." you caution
But you don't do anything about the flames
You throw water balloons in futile attempts
You think this forest fire's simply a game
"Careful!" you scream. "Careful, it's urgent!"
But no one hears you anymore
Because you're the one who started the fire
And no one sides with the wager of war
You tell me to be careful
And keep the lighter locked inside
But then you dump a gallon of kerosene
And look on at the flames with pride
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
It is 12:43 in the morning.
I am envisioning lighting my face on fire.
Eyelashes drenched in kerosene, dripping down my chin, soaking my hair
Blink. Blink. Light.
I feel the scrape of the lighter under the pad of my thumb before my hair catches fire
face engulfed in flame, turned to blistered flesh in seconds.
People use the term “faceless” to describe someone they do not know the identity of.
For that reason, my appearance finally matches my lack of identity.
No pun intended.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
your heart pumps kerosene
to your matchstick veins,
& maybe i imagined things,
but i remember your eyes as ember rings
& i can't wipe my memory clean
of the dingy debris--
the delicacies of your legs & knees--
this fire's not extinguishing!!
those ashes you disguise as eyelids
won't keep me from the iris
i know i'll find inside them
& i'll skim past your skin grafts
to your smoke-smothered stomach
then plummet to your flame-engraved pancreas
((scarred from swallowed promises)).
these propane x-rays
can't scan the barcodes
on the charcoals
that the holes in your heart hold
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:57 PM UTC
Come with me to a marshmallow island,
where reality's sticky but the imagery's great,
and we can live life in reverse,
and we can make love in reverse,
and whatever we can do we can float on through,
because we have invented an ocean in kerosene blue,
Come with me to a marshmallow island,
'till the ocean consumes us along with the trees and the people,
and creatures that comforted us,
will be long gone, dead and diseased,
peak.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
The soft texture tickled her toes
And she was quick to replace her bare foot,
Searching for a place free of the
Delicate petals
That fell from her hands.
Twelve more fragile futures fell to the ground,
Collecting in an indecisive heap
Whose beautiful, red hues
Played tricks with the sun,
Filling her head with illusions
That all will be alright.
She slashed at the other flowers
Standing tall and proud around her,
Dancing with the wind
To heart stopping lyrics
Sung in a language she could not understand.
Tearing them up from the roots,
She cursed their peaceful attitude
And cold, heartless souls
That continued to exude radiance
As they teased her fragile heart,
Dishing out good and bad news
With a lovely toss of their golden center.
It began to rain on their flawless figures,
Yellow drops burning imperfect circles
Through the otherwise perfect surface of their petals.
For minutes, it continued to pour on the flowers,
The large bottle held in the girl's trembling hand,
Marked kerosene,
Seemed to never run dry,
Drowning the roots in a deadly poison.
"He loves me not!"
She shouted,
Tossing the bottle aside,
Only after showering herself in the
Polluted rain,
Becoming momentarily fixated on the way she reflected the light
With dozens of drops clinging to her skin.
The lighter was ruby red,
Just like the petals who told of such a gloomy future.
She had purchased it at the drug store because of its color,
Her reflection bathed in red hid her uneven skin tone,
Making her for the first time an image of beauty.
Flames took to the parched earth
Like a teenage girl to dreams of happily ever after.
Petals turned to ashes
And skin to a yellow, melted liquid,
Which fueled the inferno better than the yellow rain.
Blistered fingers still held the lighter,
The only thing visible in the dark,
Smoky air.
She clung to the image of her reflection,
Staring at the face that had never been loved,
And never would be,
Long after flames took her sight.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
i wish i could have that sweet 16 kind of romance.
kisses that are ardent and chaste
not forced, feeling like a mouthful of nails
hugs that are comforting and soft
instead of repulsive, a cage i violently try to break free of
hands that are holding mine, a loving reminder and consistent warmth
not calloused extremities stealing me by the wrist towards my demise
words that are gentle and sincere (beautiful, talented, queen),
instead of ones described only as ***** ******* ***** *****
intimacy that arrives only if and when i'm ready, youthful and gentle
not ****** onto me years before sweet 16, hardly intimate but instead bluntly illicit
bodies (especially mine) that are unscarred, untainted, unused
not the opposite, crusted in an inscrutable filth impossible to remove
love that is fun and bright, something I can boast to all my friends
not a sickening attraction shrouded in the depths of my mind, only to see the light through poetry written in the early hours...
i wish, i wish, i wish.
i wish i could have that sweet 16 kind of romance!
but i don't.
wishes are just flimsy desires; a tear-soaked plead to the void of night, words on a poem no one may care to read, something i say as i blow out the candles. hopeful and yet, hopeless.
so, i'm still 16. and at least my favorite dessert is sweet. but the romance? ha! my romance is dead; burnt to ashes, like a delicate rose bathed in kerosene and set alight by the burning match of a devil's lust.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
This is what you do to me:
Keep the thoughts coming like waves, I get paid,
but even if i was broke, I could live off of just knowing you.
Your image; God Given.
Im Cristal sippin’;
Having dreams;
Seeing visions,
Comparing you to an image;
Of angels.
Caught in the game and it’s one I can’t postpone.
Because it’s you that I really want, im just in hopes that you will know.
Come to your senses.
They say it’s senseless;
I keep writing about you,
But they don’t know.
When you’re really in love,
Just got to let her go.
And if her love matches your love,
Then you’ll forever know.
And grow together, saying promise after promise.
I try to hide it,
But I just can’t conceal it.
Kerosene heart pumps your name through my veins,
To my brain, on my mind, is where you stay – all day.
Showing no emotion.
But as sensitive as ever,
When your name is spoken,
I go insane.
& this has got to be my longest crush ever,
And if we ever get together,
We’d be together for-ever.
But knowing it isn’t ever,
Remotely possible.
But is it plausible to dream?
I can’t hit the pause button on my dreams.
… And so here I am,
Lying here – without you.
Everything I ever written is – about you.
Thinking; how right the world would feel if this dream was real.
You could transform my dark to light.
… But it’s just another night.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
my friends,
write big letters on big pages,
filling magazines.
we make the summers
look like golden lit kerosene
and trail in conduct laden rows
off to our cozy little homes
where we make life a little rougher
for the souls that came before
such a silly little episode
she left her coat,
and we all grabbed it
and held it fairly close
until she finally stumbled up
all the stairs that we drew up
all those cozy little homes.
say that you remember,
late november,
late autumn or early winter,
when the changes weren't much
Say that you recall that fading fall
when we thought that we are all
the happiest we'd ever be.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
Millions of men with matchsticks
Brought their heads to
The oceans of kerosene
********** forged their existence
And they weren't able to retaliate
Thousand whispers of desire
Of living a peaceful life
Echoed among the mountains
And between the valley of death
Days were enumerated and artifacts collected
The stories seemed to be a passage full of euphemisms
A dystopian atmosphere took over their utopian views
The matchstick was struck
And humanity collapsed.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
The buzz in the air, you feel that, feel that?
The tuxedoed men gonna deal that, deal that.
And now that you're here, the show can begin
Turn the lights down low, and the get the disc to spin.
The ice starts meltin' and the floor gets hot,
This parties gonna start whether you're ready or not.
The seat over there, Sit in it, sit in it,
Take a step back and watch while I'm spittin' it.
There is no need to untrust us,
Stand over there and watch while I bust this.
There's no way to get into it,
Close your eyes feel the beat and get intimate
Rotate your thighs and breathe in the sin of it
Rotate your mind, get high, keep on spinning it.
Stop...and watch while it gets into me
The musical blocks unlock and make a synergy.
Said ready, steady, everybody get low,
And the clubs get sweaty and we're ready to go.
The air's getting heavy and hot and you know
There's blood lust worse than Jaws and Cujo.
Light the place up, it's covered in kerosene,
The white's all over your face, oh, how embarrassing.
The lines all over the floor, there so pretty,
Take one sniff and you think you're so witty.
I'm a bomb, I'm blowing up the club now,
Can't escape the beat 'cause you don't know how,
Gonna move your feet that's all you know how,
Gonna feel the glow, the blow is so wow.
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
Yayo brings me up so I stand up and then
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
The powder knocks me down so I stay down and then
There is no need to untrust us,
Chopping the blocks, but there is no justice.
Just lustless symmetry
Closed my eyes 'cause the haze, it has enveloped me.
Shut my eyes and clogged all of my arteries,
I love the blow so much it is a part of me.
You said this had turned into my enemy,
But musical clocks tick-tock the beat right into me.
And that's not where I get all of my energy,
Jumper cables hooked up to A and D.
And don't forget the CCs in DC,
I got twenty more CCs left to inject me.
High flying humans
Set straight to zoomin',
It's spicier now then curry or cumin,
So full of life and we're only just bloomin'.
Believe in the hype if only for a little bit,
All that we need is white a just a little wit.
The worlds right here if you can unriddle it,
Play the last song and one more if it'll fit
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
Yayo brings me up so I stand up and then
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
I fall down, but I get up again,
The powder knocks me down so I stay down and then
La cocaína is no good for you
But the pony's still buckin', imma ride it through
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 8:27 PM UTC
we're all armed
with an appliance
of emancipation
we can nurture non-violent
defiance in a
non-compliant ethos of
antiauthoritarian self-reliance
we have the ability to eliminate the
vestiges of imperialism and
dominant dogmas that choke
and impede our creativity and shackle
our imagination to impotent ideologies
fragmented unrealities augmented
by fractures in our psyche
tendrils of theology that prey
upon our fear and exacerbate
conditioned responses that are
at once
unnatural and irrational
and lead
inexorably
to infantile expressions of
regression and fantasies of an
aggression rooted in the
suppression of dissent and
the oppression of dissidents
deities
as impotent
as our terror
of the unknown
by the promise of security and prosperity
a cabal of brutish thugs have erected an
imaginary hierarchy and demanded our
subservient obedience and reverence for
this malfeasant apparatus that leeches
our paychecks and robs all of our dignity
while somehow retaining the illusion of liberty
a delusion that festers like an open wound
a tumorous ulcer oozing foul fluid into our minds
blotting out our capacity for cultivating a
future divorced from misanthropy
so pour kerosene on this fluttering
flame of revolt before it sputters out
if we'd quit looking back and forth at
one another rotting in the gutters
checking to see if we have more to
our name than our sisters and our brothers
we might just muster the courage to overthrow
the vapid and misguided fictions that
divide and segregate us into pawns
trapped in this unending rat race
they've deemed the American Dream
harness the revolutionary tenacity
dormant in humanity's most important *****
infinite potential latent in every molecule
each neuron dancing across synaptic
gaps and fanning the embers of an engine
that gives motion to this evolutionary frame
the human brain is omnipotent
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
Hate was the darkness
tied in thick frayed ropes
smothered in kerosene
swung over the biggest branch
and wrapped around my throat
while strangers pulled and tightened it.
It was the match lit that **** fire.
Their rage burned my skin
while choking me out
like a sadistic wrestler.
It was branding
and dismemberment.
All those children remember it.
It was little trinkets of remembrance,
bits of flesh, and teeth
Any part they could take of me
before and after
I hung lifelessly
from the most convenient tree.
But if you think this is just
some case of dark skinned history
Then check the news
and you will see
they are still lynching me.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
Indian mother, small daughter, dowry troubles
kerosene poured drenching them
soaked rage, soaked rags
match struck, flames then death
wrenching
Two crumbs amongst these intransigent
slices of village culture
lost, burnt alive
never even at the table
A slice of life lost in a furnace
fueled by ignorance
American daughter, guilt filled
flees the home that loves her
drug fueled journey, on a treadmill of fear
for the running never ends
needle slices, a lonely son away from his mother
****** coursing the blood vessels
A slice of life, a slice of madness
English man sitting, ruminates on his slices
some with honey, some with not
pens a few lines
reality served up, tough to swallow
late in life, at least he’s realized
he’s the breadwinner and the bread maker
each slice cut, just the way he likes it
a sliced of life, a slice of love
each one chewed to perfection.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
alarm
dogmatical snakebird dictator
**** rooster of electro maniacal damnation
wake
goober eyed ithyphallic mortal yahoo yawns
glacier shuffle to Midas’ bowl
brush
minty hairy pasty headed ********
seafoam ***** on white vanity beaches
shave
deceitful murderous metal cartel scraping
dead shrubs from yesterday’s winter
breakfast
egg flour chalk smack
guzzling bean kerosene
work
batshit bureaucratic badgers bludgeon
muktuk hamsters lubricating wheels of fortune
lunch
butcher’s dead friend between greasy toasted cement
harlot’s heavenly tomato mating cabbage cousin
work
taradiddle of martyrs at jargon’s temple blather
babble, bumble - copulation without ***********
dinner
unicorn steaks, butterfly sauté, and
leprechaun fingers, a side of manslaughter dolphin
sleep
a felon’s holiday
repeat
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 3:56 AM UTC