"pyro" poems
Climb aboard the Paper Airplane Express
Let’s fly to far away destinations
Where we land is random, it can’t be guessed
We have no preconceived expectations
Wings hand crafted by tiny artisans
Powered by adolescent dreams that ignite
Bright eyed smiles, marking the serene occasion
Of each and every planes inaugural flight
Hop aboard the Paper Airplane Express
No two planes are alike, each is unique
And not every flight is a success
But we can re-launch after a simple tweak
As our pilots aren’t allowed to play with matches
To date none of our planes have caught on fire
Though we have seen quite a few crashes
And apparently that little pyro bobby just made me a liar
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
From day one he was trouble
His parents knew on sight
Their bundle of pure joy and bliss
Was somehow, just not right
It wasn't in his nature
To be part of a gang
He like to be off by himself
He liked things that went bang
He was troubled in his school years
Never getting real good marks
He didn't get along with other
He was burning caps and making sparks
But when this boy found fire
Well, then....his world became real small
Never mind the big explosions
He would go and burn them all
Small fires set in dumpsters
Behind the shops, by where he ran
He'd set fire to the garbages
While he trapped a cat inside the can
He progressed on up to buildings
Made that jump, in one big way
He torched a crack house, all abandoned
Buy using gas and old, dry hay
But, the thrill was not a keeper
It wore off as fast as it arrived
He had to extend the feeling
That made his body feel alive
He knew to see his fires
He would have to volunteer
First he would go set them
Then, help put them out...I fear
It was a stroke of pyro genius
He'd set them and he'd put them out
He'd learn what gave them trouble
And he'd give them more without a doubt
He never killed another
Never burnt a persons home
He always set his fires
Where buildings always stood alone
They caught him late September
He'd burned a building late one night
It was supposed to be abandoned
But, was full of squatters, out of sight
The picture, it was famous
A hippie shaking someone's hand
It was on the front page of the paper
And it was shown through out the land
A fingerprint was lifted
A switch, that burned, not like it should
And from there, it was no problem
To lock this boy away for good
He was sent away to prison
He was gonna die there, bet on that
And on his first day in that prison
He saw an old man, who just sat
Sitting in the corner
by himself, no one around
Sat a man, all old and wrinkled
Lips were moving, but no sound
Came forth from this man's mouth,
his lips all cracked and dry,
You could stand right there and listen
And hear nothing if you tried...
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 4:39 PM UTC
*" It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews,
Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and
Illuminations from one End of this Continent
to the other from this Time forward forever more.”
John Adams – July 3, 1776.*
Webster Groves - 2016
The Townhall fountain dances
cheerily in the morning sun.
The red-white-blue shirted crowd
rises as one for the colors.
Laughing children scramble for
tootsie rolls and sweet tarts
tossed by a strolling clown.
Philadelphia, July 3, 1776
Carriages sped toward Philadelphia
where resolute patriots
would turn the pages of history
and tell an unsuspecting world
that a new nation had given birth to itself.*
Sousa strains peal from the marching Statesmen,
Girl Scouts guide their well-groomed mounts -
hooves echoing through concrete caverns.
Vintage firetrucks and autos
sound their horns and sirens
as candidates work the crowd, pressing the flesh.
*Each crass insult from the British crown
had tightened the noose on the colonial neck.
The middle ground was soaked with patriot blood
and revolution was the only course left.*
Barbecue clouds drift over Pat and Lee’s farm
Horseshoes spin and clang and frisbees fly.
A pot-luck feast with beans and franks
interrupts the pop and glare of bottle rockets.
*One by one, each patriot quilled the parchment
resolved to endure the costs of liberty -
knowing to the marrow that defeat
would spell certain ******* and death.*
We reach the lakeshore at dusk -
unfolding chairs - spreading out blankets -
strains of Americana drift over the lake.
then a pyro-technic extravaganza
blazes across the summer sky.
*Washingon’s tattered and bloodied men
cornered Cornwallis at Yorktown.
Then surrender - all British claims
to American soil banished to the tomes of history.*
The grand finale pummels the darkened sky
raising cheers and whistles from the crowd
Toddlers collapse in parental arms,
car doors slam, engines ignite
and head-lighted caravans, turn for home,
spiraling off in every compass degree.
“Happy birthday,” America and endless happy returns
"from this time forward forever more!”
Robert Charles Howard
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
I've always put my lovers
into a pen
Fuel for fire
Ink for words.
But no,
Those were not love
Not like this
For this is love:
the fire itself
and it has burned away all my pages;
previous chapters, titles and cover
Stripped bare
As it should
So here I stand in this raw rarity,
Speechless
While it burns and
burns and
burns
And I have never been happier
To watch flames
grow higher.
I have never been happier
To feel your warmth.
© A. Leigh
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
You sound like a crazy pyro-maniac.
That's all too true.
Funny.
How midnight skies turn blue.
And you're too busy setting this world on fire.
You're inner demons are shining through.
Just grow up.
And be you.
Don't let other people catch you.
BE YOURSELF.
Not someone else.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
From within a blackened heart
spawns madnesses twisted Invictus,
a severed head sat atop a plinth, filled
with decaying thoughts of cyanide and citrus,
completely crazy, inverted, perverted,
infected with an insanity that dances from the eyes -
pouting lips tempestuous and alluring
from the tip of a tongue he sews insidious lies,
roosting upon the bleeding emotions of others
a vile disassociation sanity can't pertain,
charred lips from suckling the ******* of Hell
the back-broke miracle nature refuses to explain,
exhaling noxious fumes, a pyro-manic incense,
one soul re-arranged, deranged and blisteringly intense;
so much so, it disgusts me beyond words -
so kick the rotten apple,
watch the maggots writhe within thou sour curds.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Our bed is the prayer rug where I found God.
Yeah, THE God –
Not circumnavigating morality
Or bones of old saints
Lonely illusions of the sad and middle-aged
All Fat Tuesday freakshows in comparison
Our bed is the altar of sacred rites –
Marked with the devil’s big black Sharpie
And the intricately crocheted lace of sin
Nightly baptized in warm, honey-coated nothing
Pink patterns of iron and salt on linen
Painted idols on the shrine –
Absolution pours through drafty windows
Older than our bodies
Glass frosted by years without suds
Only rain
A holy city of yours and mine –
With gentle pyro ways
Stone and mortar become flame
The balustrades collapse
You light candlewicks with your fingertips
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
Killing robots is fun
spending time going through the waves
all the noise of machines around
then that one noob joins
who goes pyro with backburner
i say kick him so we do
then a gibus ****** joins
we say *** go back to boot camp
so he does
and then a scout joins
we start the wave
he misses 102 credits
kick that guy too
then "he" joins
412 tours and unusual hats
australium weapons shining in our faces
we go through the waves
and win
hooray for us
we get robot parts
and killstreak fabricators
then that one guy
xXSniperPro69Xx
gets
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
With an all-consuming fire,
He pulls out his lighter.
A little flame of hope
For a hopeless little pyro
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
You set fire to my soul
When I thought I was lost
Brightened my whole world
Warmed every square inch
Of my ice block heart
You thawed me inside out
Put a light in my eyes
The sparkle I thought I lost
Then burned the whole thing
Threw it in the flames
They destroyed me
I went up in flames
Charring my once thawed heart
Burning it to a crisp
Unsalvageable
You lit a match and
Dropped it in the gasoline
Igniting everything
Like the pyromaniac you are
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
I turn off the phone,
throw the television set
against the wall,
a knife of the electronic
debris cuts into me,
as my cheek begins to bleed,
I scour the shelves for the
whiskey I need--
I cleanse my wound,
and douse your former future groom,
I hit play,
find a hit melody
to take me marching through the parade--
my hands feel perfectly pyro
as the match sweetly scathes,
in the morning I will wake to find peace--
for now, I'll close my lids
and
dance in my own flames.
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 9:54 AM UTC
I was the pyro that never got burned.
The euphoria brought by you was inevitable.
One gaze is all it took to ignite this passion,
A false dream fueled the fire.
The flirtatious dancing flames had me mesmerized.
I was drawn.
There was no escaping.
The flames had risen.
Dangerous,
No lo longer alluring but it was too late.
I was caught like a fly is to a spider’s web.
I was roasting in the pit.
My passion had me burning in the flames.
There was no escaping them.
I played with fire and I got burned.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 6:08 AM UTC
Here I am, consciously putting your puzzle piece heart back together because someone played the gambler and bet on your blood only to lose because you found out the game that was going on quicker than your host expected and they dropped your vessel like the glass trinket that it is and it shattered to pieces as it met with the ground. Harlotry is the game she started and didn't know how to quit, her mind seemed confused as well as her chest that seemed to be made cold as ice and black as night.
Here I am doing my best to show you how much I care, how much emotion is there in my heart waiting to be shared, to be left in your arms as the truth that it is, to be reflected in your eyes as the things I see, for I love you that much. I could stay with your help if you wanted me to, and could stare at the smile that I caused for you. Now here I breathe like it's not in my nature because of riggers of passion and moments of pleasure.
We could spread your beauty like a rumour that stays, like an illness that's healthy in odd kinds of ways. We can burn things together like pyro-addicted lovers and laugh in the faces of stupidity of others. And the places we stand will be all but cherished for our bitter facade has all but perished from the lives of those that treat us like **** in this evil world that's hell in a pit of a fruit of the universe that no one would pick for differences that express just how much that it ***** even for those with an Irishman's luck.
So here your faith shatters as mine did too and remembrance and patience are again a virtue that not many have because this world tore them down like a natur-istic thing that survives with a frown. And I love you so much I've faith in you, only you, and the things you may do for the hope that humanity will change one day and be more like you.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
You are the moon of mine,
Illuminating my prison,
An astral prison that I built myself,
To remind me your presence in the night sky.
You are the supernova of mine,
Unleashing bright lights like pyro,
Until it becomes the shape of a monster,
Petrifying but amazing at the same time.
Unfortunately I am just the dust,
Floating freely within the universe,
Struggling to be noticed by the moon,
Hoping for the light so I can be seen.
The sun's whispering to me,
"you are a dead matter" .
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
This was just the stanza,
This was just the line.
This was just the song for the girl, by the guy.
This was just the stanza,
This was just the line,
You were just a girl, I was just a boy.
Oh,
That was the first time,
I'd ever been so nervous and excited,
All at the same moment.
All at the same moment.
And oh that was the first time,
I'd ever wrote a song about a girl,
With eyes that are
Half as bright as yours are.
Half as bright as yours are.
And all I really know
Is I just wanna be the guy you,
Turn to when your world is on fire.
And all I really know,
Is something I've got to tell you,
You never leave my thoughts when I'm not around you.
And I won't give up,
Because I know that I won't,
Get a chance like this for another lifetime.
And I won't give up,
Until I've tried my hardest.
In times like this,
Failures not an option.
I'm looking at,
Exactly what I've always wanted.
"What's wrong with that boy walking slowly through town?"
"He fell in love with a pyro,
And she burned his house down."
I'm made of paper, pages and stanzas.
A love fueled by lighters, kerosene and match sticks.
And all I really know
Is I just wanna be the guy you,
Turn to when your world is on fire.
And all I really know,
Is something I've got to tell you,
You never leave my thoughts when I'm not around you.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Creepy crawls down the spine
A presence lurks behind
Chill bumps raise as cool night air flows inward
Melodramatic sigh releases the pyro
Pull down and toss the curtains into a limp pile
Set fire to burn the ***** down in vain
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
He's fire-
With flames ever soaring,
My heart they're engulfing-
Destroy everything around.
He burns me away
And I love the pain.
I scream and the fire swallows it down.
He devours me whole
And scorches my soul.
God it hurts-
But I want more.
You're the rain.
I ride out your storms
Because inside I'm torn
On whether or not I should stay.
When it burns and I'm all dried out and alone
You send me a shower of love and of home.
Sometimes you trickle down softly,
So comforting,
But sometimes you leave me with a drought
and I'm prone to fire.
When you're gone too long I build my funeral pyre.
I love the rain but I'm enchanted by flames.
One soothes and washes away the pain,
The other will **** me-
I'm sure of this.
But the burning is such awful bliss.
Turn me to ash and I'll smile as I fade away into nothing,
Yet I complain to you that I'm drowning.
This is what I wanted.
To be quenched.
But I'm a pyro and I'm making a habit of it.
God bring me a storm and I'll dance in it.
Love, rain once again and I'll get my hair wet.
Because I don't need fire, it's dangerous.
But I love the rain for all its nourishment.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
To love a flame
It is to know
Her teasing dance
And fickle glow
They make for such a stunning show
Eventually you'll burn
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
Unlocked, loaded, let your words flame papercandle-flame
set arson to thought-control, combust news.
Pyro-dissident: touch fire to their views
Reveal new topographies, mind-shaper.
Spark a candle – a single thin taper.
Subvert what worldlings dare not refuse.
The herd will always revile or accuse;
but contours alter for you, landscaper –
so chastise darkness. Proclaim what is right.
(When their stable burns down due to your light
or smoldering, implodes, it’s not your fault.)
If the status quo will not acquiesce
then muster another frontal assault.
There’s no shame in a flame; just incandesce…
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
My beautiful mother just called me
And said so kindly, "her little pyro"
But oh if only she had a clue
Of the fire that burns within me also
Sometimes it's a subtle mellow flame
And other times a forest fire rages
My sweltering heart cannot be touched
Except for with him, the fire disengages
For so long the fire inside me was kindled
Burning up the things that upset me
I never saw the affect it had on what I loved
Till I was worn thin and my fire let me free
I was all burnt up and left charred from my faults
When a refreshing rain cloud hovered nearby
No hatred, guilt, fear or sadness was left upon me
And suddenly that rain cloud was my entire sky
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
tires and kerosene
rubber to skin
here eyes speak of death
and he's the willing victim
fist and stones
tars and feathers
a shameless walk
for the heart he chose
mob marching
rope's burning
vultures waiting
the world is hers for the taking
skulls and bones
tears and moans
the guilty screams
for the burning love untold
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
Loving him was like
lighting a candle
I was a pyromaniac
addicted to the sight
of seeing him burn with passion
of smelling his splendor
I was lost in love with the victim
of my lethal affections
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
lights my fire
every log placed just
right
stoked with attention
to detail
those wild flames
in your eyes
speak volumes
loves and lives
lost and found
a kind face
eventually embraced
by the golden red glow
of burning embers
and sticky sweet
melted marshmallow
fingers
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
I have seen the great pyro minds
manically set themselves alight,
a nightly burn that glows with
shotgun epiphanies,
masturbatory madness
and affectionate fights.
Exhaustion eventually extinguishes
and they awake as ashes
in the introspective sunlight.
A daily process of life and death,
a cerebral freeze and thaw
that cracks the skull
and punctuates all the ********
that comes with being alive.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
I'm not really a poet, but I'll write a poem anyway.
Reading a good poem is like c*mming, but for your soul
I don't know whether to be insulted or to thank you for calling me a succubus.
Humans make my brain hurt. Yes, that includes me.
I don't know what I want but I'm pretty sure I'll get it.
I think I'd be a better writer if I didn't think so much.
Can't tell if I'm "need to eat" hungry or if it's the black hole in my chest beckoning to be fed.
Some days live wire lust for life
Others, the walking dead.
(Un)Inspired Pyro
You don't have to rhyme to be a poem.
How sweet it is!
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 12:07 AM UTC