"lanterns" poems
The napalan man in a violet cape
descended the stair with a lopsided gait
a wretched procession, subscribers in cue
rattling off as they stream from the pew
sounds and smells from a shadowy place
a catholic priest to gin up base
lanterns strung from bolted doors
cobbled streets and wooden floors
stepping stones and iron bell
fortified by the citadel
hallowed halls and sepulcher
dragon cane for the horse drawn tour
castle turret, archer holes
centaur scribed in chamber bowls
garden columns in courtyard view
the blood ballet and hullabaloo
ancient tombs on warrior grounds
gods and saints who made their rounds
goliath still with battered scythe
knelt in prayer and mummified
battle fires and crowds that roar
gallows, caves, abysmal war
gargoyles flock the terraced slope
pearly gates to bring on hope
serpents, snakes and burning ash
lava bombs and trident clash
mariners drift in absentee
as neptune rises from the Tyrrhenian Sea
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
Science says that there's a mathematical equation that explains everything in life.
But I say that not even physics bears an explanation for...the guidelines of attraction.
Our primal reactions are multiplied in...the highlights of passion.
These laws of love that linger like a lanterns lost illumination...
Like the campfire light on a clear night, leaves coals of culmination.
Sweat beads lead to bare threads and bare bodies.
And oh my, how bare bodies lead to imaginations running wild.
Cold winds inspire warm kisses and close skin.
Sincere actions aren't sins.
Bodies wound in union, formed by light and tightly bound.
Together, these twisted vines penetrate the hardest ground...
Together, harmonic souls produce passionate sounds.
Yet, still somehow, love gets lost more than love gets found.
This equation is unending...like numbers off lips that kiss the air.
Body language spoken...Our physical bonds parallel eternity and pi squared.
And you know that every moment that we share is nothing short of...molecular love for the masses...
Now held captive by gravity and magnetism...
See, the last full moon marked retrograde...and if the moon affects the tide of the ocean...and our bodies are roughly 75% water...can we assume that this is the only body powerful enough to keep ours apart?
This gravity...
This pull...
It's pulling me apart...so let me pull you closer, stop pushing me away!
Hold on tight, dont let these planets drift away into a dark rift of decay.
Let your love lap upon this solid stone like a river riffles smooth sandbars into hills of higher ground.
Because baby, without your water on my beach...
I'm nothing but a desert, dry and deserted.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 10:53 PM UTC
---
in
the
crystal
water bubbles
reflecting there are
golden koi
in
the
mossy
depth of feathers
ancient moonlight
is the buoy
around the
blue-grey stone's
alignment
sand is raked
in perfect poise
every
leaf
has its
assignment
crickets make
a creaking noise
---
there
within the
island garden
small and jewel-like
in the grove
amidst
kimono and the obi
there's a peace
the Nippon know
muted colors
placid faces
the paper lanterns
sway and glow
the lords and ladies
sit for hours
where
the
lotus
flowers
grow
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
15.8k
My
heart is
A LANTERN
Inside, lives a
fae
♡
g
e
n
t
l
e
♡
a
n
d
♡
s
w
e
e
t
♡
With
bright wings
G L I T T E R I N G
with love, life and
hope
♡
f
o
r
♡
p
e
a
c
e
♡
As
I grow,
S H E R E M A I N S
youthful, timid,
safe
♡
a
f
r
a
i
d
♡
t
o
♡
f
l
y
♡
She
spent days
JUST CRYING
feeling so lost
Hurt
♡
I
'
m
♡
s
o
♡
s
o
r
r
y
♡
The
summer
OF HER HEART
became winter
bleak
♡
a
n
d
♡
c
o
l
d
♡
But
with time
SHE MANAGED
to pick herself
up
♡
a
n
d
♡
h
e
r
♡
p
e
n
♡
With
the help
O F O T H E R
fellow Kings and
Queens
♡
t
h
a
n
k
♡
y
o
u
♡
s
o
♡
m
u
c
h
♡
You
all have
A D D E D TO
my heart's inner
flame
♡
a
n
d
♡
h
o
p
e
s
♡
Winds
blow, wings
NOW FLUTTER
I'm ready to
fly
♡
s
i
d
e
♡
b
y
♡
s
i
d
e ♡
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
The night sky we see
is not the same,
as the one our ancestors looked upon.
Stars have faded,
urban sprawl has invaded,
and the once perfect span of night
may be lost in our sea of light.
The busy people do not notice.
No one looks to the stars anymore
The thick black sky,
speckled with whispers of distant life.
Beautiful lanterns floating in the dark.
Guardians of our universe,
watch life dance with death,
as they silently fade away.
There are no more answers from the gods.
No more stories in the night.
No more questioning how everybody came to have life.
The world is too busy,
drenched in it's artificial light.
Too busy to get lost in this magnificent expanse.
Too busy to look to our creators.
The sparks that create life.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
There's a meadow past the village
On a hill...where magic swarms
You can see it on a summer night
When the clouds predict the storms
Life from time eternal
Starts appearing in the field
Gnomes and bluebell fairies
and the magic that they yield
You can see them from the village
Dancing in the moonlights glow
You can see the lightning jumping
You can see the ebb and flow
The pixies and the fairies
Folk who are part of their own world
Light up the distant meadow
As the magic is unfurled
Daisies and soft bluebells
fill the meadow in the sun
there is clover and some dragonflies
And young children having fun
The magic folk are hiding
Lights are hid, and tucked away
Until the humans in their world
Pack to end the day
It's then, from down the village
That the meadow lights begin
Where the magic lights the sky up
In the early gloaming din
If a human breaks the borders
Coming out and much too near
The lights go dark...and silent
For the magic world has ears
There are sentries in the meadow
All unseen to you
That alert the makers of the lights
When the humans are in view
there is magic in the meadow
magic lanterns are set free
where the world becomes a canvas
Of dancing lights for all to see
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
She left Reno
in a satin slip
the color of hot coins
pouring from slots,
wearing chewed-up tennis shoes,
mirrors multiplying her,
the marquee burning out
letter by letter,
a hush pressed between her teeth
as if saving the last note.
I followed,
a gangly shadow,
mother’s voice in my ear:
"life is not a freeway exit."
But she was the exit.
She drove west
through a glittering throat.
In Tonopah she was a waitress,
red stains on her wrists,
sleeves tugged low,
coffee pouring thin as blood.
In Barstow she was a sun-bleached Madonna,
halo blistered, mouth lit in stained glass.
At a gas station in Needles
shimmering into a coyote’s shadow
and slipped behind the pumps.
Then movement along the fence,
low, quick—
gone again.
Casinos blinked like electric relics.
Truckers called her sugar,
greedy hands counting her ribs
as if she was the paycheck
sweating in their fist,
but she slipped away each time,
her silhouette already moulting-
a serpent skin, a smoke-trail,
a saint’s shadow burning off the wall.
By Malibu, the night
had softened to velvet.
The pier at Zuma
leaned into the Pacific
like a broken bridge.
She sang to me—
low, cracked—
then let the slip fall.
Her body cut into the dark tide,
no disguise.
I waded in after her,
ankles bruised by rock.
Water lit with jellyfish,
each pulse a warning.
I stopped where it deepened,
felt the pull take hold.
No exit left,
just the Pacific’s mouth
closing around her.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 8:08 PM UTC
The sun sets in molten gold.
The evening clouds form a jade disk.
Where is he?
Dense white mist envelops the willows.
A sad flute plays “Falling Plum Blossoms.”
How many Spring days are left now?
This Feast of Lanterns should be joyful.
The weather is calm and lovely.
But who can tell if it
Will be followed by wind and rain?
11.3k
Where we shoveled coal into the furnace was an inconsiderable door. Behind it held ***** chubby cherubs with cherry tomato noses, whose job it was to keep the fires of our parent's liquor cabinets full. This they did to keep them from constantly beating us, but the happy distraction did not always work. So, we would pluckily go. Go to the scuzzy pond at dusk with kerosine lanterns and listen for croaks. We tied forks to the ends of canes or stakes and would gig bullfrogs for dinner. It became only momentarily mortifying, but was always a choice way of ridding our sisters and other clingy girls of our company. We'd fry the legs in cornstarch and pepper flakes and be allowed to share with the adults their beer if it was a good catch. Usually, it was. Most of forever we waited for teaberry season, always the best time of the year. Though it was hotter than Beelzebub's bath water we'd go swimming in that **** pond to reach our favorite teaberry patches. This ensured our riches and fame throughout our Appalachian village. Everyone would eat teaberry ice cream and sing our names and no one beat us on those days.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
.
Its 2 am and I am so wired.
Why can't I just be normally tired?
As others enjoy some restful sleep,
I am in a place far more deep.....
And the abyss calls so inviting,
a leap into the unknown and beyond.
With clarity I jump out and fly,
an excuse for reality to quietly abscond.
Psychedelic nausea as the dimensions twist,
forcing me to a place where I do not exist,
a land in which I may be killed or kissed,
but certain my presence would not be missed.
The feelers take a hold of me,
whispering secrets of antiquity,
revealing images of aeons gone,
in spoken word, rhyme and song.
I have the histories of many worlds
all in my mind strung up like pearls.
A line of lanterns alight once more,
open and willing for me to explore.
And my pale blue eyes no longer see
the images created by any reality.
It is secret knowledge of ancient times,
I receive in the script of cryptic rhymes.
© Pagan Paul (09/08/18)
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
I remember
sometimes
her voice would quiver
like paper lanterns
dancing in some
foreign nighttime glow
I fancy
sometimes
I knew that sweet tremble
at a tea ceremony table
beneath Chinese skies
many years before
it first caressed my ear
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
i breathe
one breath at a time
each inhalation linked to the exhalation before it
yet every breath stands alone
there's something tenuous about it
this soft machine is on thin ice
devoured by time in innocent increments
like a moth nibbles away wool
my heart
little gorilla
wearing itself out
rubber glove with a hole in it
weird luck
my eyes are bright
solar blue ball lanterns
if you saw me
you would say
good bones
river of envy
yet all hinges
on a muscular rhythmic pulsating machine
like a determined jaw chewing
jumpy mouth
yet on the verge of betrayal
a glitch
karmic indecision
in destinies wheel house
a red fist locus banging
ones immense sense of self
a vainglorious elaboration
built over a small pulsating muscle
innocuous
dumb blood flesh knot drumming
scarlet tribe
throne of my very soul
great sovereign
old man in a crib
splitting open of its own accord
a sudden rip from life
to a dead sea eternity
the final frontier
starless night
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
There is a place called Pampanga
Home of the world's famous sisig
Where people are called kapampangan
And lanterns called "Parol" are big.
Pampanga is where I live
Just outside Manila, capital of the philippines.
Joy and happiness I recieve
When I'm with my family and kin.
I wrote this one to let the world know
A place called Pampanga I call home.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
Say goodbye to the foundations
Holding us up
the values we hold are starting to rust
everyone is losing the definition of trust
is everything just becoming too much?
Too much hunger, war and ruin
Theft and violence is on the rise
and you expect us to just sit in silence
***** all the politicians and religions
they cause more wars,
that’s the leadership given
I’m here to break that system
There is a problem that needs fixing
Instead, we fight something
that can’t be, won
But for a solution, we must become one
Let’s build a future
For the safety of all of the kids
Let’s show them. There is another way
To solve problems without such conflict
through love, lanterns should be, lit
Together we should stand hand in hand
Like a wall made of stone,
We can’t do it on our own
Hates on the rise
behind messages from the keyboard, people hide
Giving their harshest opinions
Cowards are, given
opportunity to speak their mind
Causing scars on one another’s hearts
Making the victims feel like
They wish they didn't exist
This right here is something that needs to be, fixed
But until we stand as one
Nothing can be, done
It takes one to start the trend
But unless we all join in
The world is just going to fall apart
Let’s build a future
For the safety of all of the kids
Let’s show them, and there is another way
To solve problems without such conflict
Through love, lanterns should be, lit
Together we should stand hand in hand
Like a wall made of stone,
We can’t do it on our own
A world rooted in hate on gender, colour and race
These are just some challenges we face
Stand together, and we will change
The fate that we face
War, starvation and blame
If we continue to disagree,
It could start world war 3
So now can you see?
The impact it’s bringing
Through music, we keep singing
To make a change
Let’s build a future
For the safety of all of the kids
Let’s show them; there is another way
To solve problems without such conflict
Through love, lanterns should be, lit
Together we should stand hand in hand
Like a wall made of stone,
We can’t do it on our own
Stand together, or we’ll fall
Rise to the call
Stand and be tall
Don’t hold back, give your all
Be strong and bring down this wall
Of hate and blame, no more games!
Make the change; we’re one in the same
©2017 Written By Benji James
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 5:28 AM UTC
Hello old friend
it's time again for flannel shirts
and dead leaves
bitter coffee and cold breezes
jack o' lanterns are our totem
and 4am that knows all our secrets.
its autumn again and the veil is thin
I hope the witching hours Find you well
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
The air filled with laughter and cheers, leaving me
and Ainhara on the hill
"Oh dear," my handmaid smiles. "It appears it will be a long night.
Parting Paul from our sweet Esshi will prove difficult."
"Difficult but not impossible," I chime. "Come, Ainhara,
let us enjoy the rest of the night!"
'My wish came true tonight,' I beam.
'I will always remember this fantastic gala...' as I enter
the main dining hall with all my friends from near and far,
all my friends of many cultures as we join in laughter, in
glee, ever hopeful for the future of our thriving Kingdoms.
With every sip of wine, every nibble of the fine
dishes, all of our bonds have strengthened.
So now, let us be like the lanterns,
and rises together, sailing through the horizons
to touch the Heavens above.
Eager for the adventures ahead...
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
(After Lorca)
Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women.
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry.
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows.
There's a tree where the doves go to die.
There's a piece that was torn from the morning,
and it hangs in the Gallery of Frost—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws.
I want you, I want you, I want you
on a chair with a dead magazine.
In the cave at the tip of the lily,
in some hallway where love's never been.
On a bed where the moon has been sweating,
in a cry filled with footsteps and sand—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take its broken waist in your hand.
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
with its very own breath
of brandy and death,
dragging its tail in the sea.
There's a concert hall in Vienna
where your mouth had a thousand reviews.
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking,
they've been sentenced to death by the blues.
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
with a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz, it's been dying for years.
There's an attic where children are playing,
where I've got to lie down with you soon,
in a dream of Hungarian lanterns,
in the mist of some sweet afternoon.
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow,
all your sheep and your lilies of snow—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
with its "I'll never forget you, you know!"
And I'll dance with you in Vienna,
I'll be wearing a river's disguise.
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
my mouth on the dew of your thighs.
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss.
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty,
my cheap violin and my cross.
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
to the pools that you lift on your wrist—
O my love, O my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
it's yours now. It's all that there is.
6.3k
Light the lanterns and watch them float higher.
Can I pick out a few stars and hold them?
Can I bask in their light and their fire?
Tonight I vow these stars will not grow dim.
The dark blue sky is an endless canvas.
I plan to paint my life in its blank space.
The cold, brisk air brings about a clearness
My mind empties as I walk my own pace.
The music that comes through my headphones gives
Me a purpose and the darkness of the
Night gives me the strength and want to forgive.
City lights cannot vie with a nova.
The sun will come tomorrow but I will
Be looking for the first star from the sill.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
Flittering, fluttering, dancing in their flight
Glittering like emeralds throughout the night
The dance begins before sunset and goes on by the light of the moon
It is a ritual we hope won't end soon
In May every lightning bug gets excited
To this dance every firefly is invited
The dance begins when they hover in the air
Then one by one turn on their light for flair
They spin, dip, and dive
While others are continuing to arrive
The lightning bugs continue on through the night
Showing off their little lanterns of light
Finally, they come to a close
After this long dance, a firefly has to doze
Like candles being blown out, the green flashes of light are no more
But not to worry, they will continue for weeks until the final encore
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
I'll light every
Firework that I can find
For you.
Every ounce of you,
Including the parts
That you like to hide.
They deserve to be seen
And heard too.
The next second
Not to mention the next year
Isn't promised.
Although not the same
As overseas,
There is still reason to celebrate
The crackle of firecrackers,
The release of red lanterns,
To light the street of your heart,
As well as the sky.
We're not as young as we
Used to be.
But that doesn't mean that we have
To act like it.
The fire that courses
Through my lungs can't wait
To get out and roar
Like a dragon,
And break the silence
In celebration.
A red envelope wrapped in fire,
And sealed with the flash
Of prosperous smiles.
Every time I see you,
It feels like New Year's.
And when you kiss me,
My soul sizzles,
Stirring up this fire
That dances through my body.
The next second
Not to mention the next year
Isn't promised.
Tomorrow may not come.
If there ever was a time
To burn down and sweep up
Pieces of our old selves,
Why wait?
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 10:55 PM UTC
l'm like Venice,
every night ,
full of cheerful lanterns that boatmen carry.
l'm like Venice.
you're like the water that every midnight,
when all the boatmen are asleep,
is awake and talks to me.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
Saturn is in
line with
Venus tonight
but, nothing's easy
when you're down.
The clowns walk
around, dressed in
yellow; fast food smiles
and cheeseburger
souls, and nothings
easy when you're down.
The dancers with poles
and sadness, that Halloween,
fires burning, childhood
perfumed dreams,
kind of sadness fills the
navy blue night.
I can't find the North star,
and the jack-lanterns lie rotting
in the streets of Nebraska
and Kansas, and the candies
all gone, and the kids wait.
And I can't find
the deep blue shirt I bought
at Goodwill, and Billy Burroughs
is filled with worms and earth,
and Bukowski looks at Satan
and says, "what do you
mean, we're out of whiskey?"
I've never been much for the stars,
and family and Thanksgiving are
painfully overrated,
and nothing's easy when
you're down.
Nov 22, 2021
Nov 22, 2021 at 9:53 PM UTC
Being the only one awake in the back seat, or the only one thinking loudly,
and in the back of your mind, sitting there like living weight, you've got
the giant Citgo sign
(you swear you could fit in the T),
listening to passion pit as the golden sun flings itself on the highway,
a construction worker lowering his pants in front of a dumpster,
hearing the sandlot play downstairs as you stare at the dark ceiling,
pizza you ate in the park the evening before now being had for breakfast,
finding out the **** is pro-choice,
getting your shoulder squeezed on a rollercoaster
by a boy who screams like a girl,
feeling drunk even though you're sober,
running through the dark,
passing trailers with round lanterns lining the tops,
outlining shirtless men and smoking women,
looking in the mirror after swimming with your clothes on
in a hot tub,
and you're not sure if you're
beautiful
or
disgusting.
Yeah, you can sleep now.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
It isn’t easy to walk, gravity weighs.
The biosuits lock the mind
in a narrow space.
An interpretive blow is crucial:
Does being on the other side of the mirror
truly want it, or only think it does?
A thumb drives into the right temple.
The heart pumps hectoliters of warm liquid.
Colours, sounds, tensions in the eternal swirl.
Delay in processing—eighty milliseconds
it isn’t a flaw.
It takes that long for all the cogs to turn.
Everything I do now is already in the past.
Decisions made long ago spit me out
into this reality with some name.
I am the last, but not least,
in the collective dream and blink of time.
Minds sway like golden grain, ready to be cut.
I can stand up or lie on the ground.
I walk—
toward the next stumble,
the next wound, and maybe healing.
Insights glow like yellow lanterns,
giving me some light.
No justification, no understanding.
My self-awareness is not a cozy couch.
One day,
I will stop existing, and I accept that.
I’m just afraid to leave those who still love me.
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 11:30 AM UTC