"pyrotechnic" poems
Fireworks!
In such a razzle dazzle fireworks flash and bash in vibrancy,
In a spectral aura of contorted colours,
Stars sparkling, noisily highlighting the sky,
Release the Gods of chaos, as on the sparks they fly,
Amid a colour scheme supreme, a total fascination,
In an argument inopportune as fireworks hit home,
In a firework of a love-struck soul my body is vibrating,
Travel on a firework fly beyond the moon,
For on a pyrotechnic dream, embark beyond those stars,
Saw rowdy fireworks the day I met you,
Still seeing them now, those flashes,
For in my heart those fireworks are popping still,
Wish I could ride upon a rocket to be with you today,
Make the fireworks flash in procession,
Let the marching band play on!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
check it out check it out
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's da state of this here disunion
this here bangalore torpedo seeks yer minefields
this here suffering hero
n
crows about strafes
multitudes peripherally
****** blind prophets
exclaim
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
it's nothing but beginning
of beginning & z end of approximation
time's sweet angry subluxation
universal caving in on U & U
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when was z last time U really loved
i mean really really really loved
ha i could only hold to z imagination
z skeleton z allegory z myth
'cause everything slides & falls
screams careens outta control
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she brought in rrrrevolution.evolution.now
is z caustic effervescence of her wit
eroding my sandy castle of deceit?
ha and repeat ha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
forgive-me-notes are written high
on z forehead of my despair
a cursive flowing interdiction
malediction cruxifiction err-u-diction
en-passant
in each pyrotechnic moment when we don't see I-to-I
on anything relevant to what we once hoped was us
but we continue dance dance dance
perseveration aberration indiscretion cha-cha-cha
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
she said *** is z engine of z world
like engine like world like ***
like like like
could say no more
oh it's tiresome to go on
describing that chimeric uniting
flesh-to-flesh-in-flesh eliding
we all are guilty of
do not end a line with a preposition such as
that or a proposition such as this:
given angle a prove that old triangle theorem
two simultaneous loves don't make a right
cherchez les angles les anglais la bon mot
ya know
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
when i die please bury me upside down
prone to z ground making dead love to earth ya kno
while the centuries lie down next to me
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic chicky boom chicky boom chic chic
chic!
chic!
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 3:14 PM UTC
A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
. revolution?!
what revolution?!
i can't see a guillotine!
****
hey! guys! there's no guillotine!
there's no talk
of a revolution
when there's no guillotine...
your talk of, a, "revolution"
would make Marquis de Sade
cringe,
and shout down a toilet
than out of window
of the Bastille..
this isn't a revolution,
it's on;ly 2018....
you have to wait!
why are tthe people so slothful,
yet at the same time,
eager, to work?
we're looking at "changes"
come 2045...
the year...
that apparently stabilized
the 2th0 century for
20 / 30 / 40 / 5...
no...
let's keep it with
sucker-punch Billy...
i love being a drunk...
makes all the sober
people look...
******* stupid;
and i don't even mean that....
it's just a military
fatigue...
it akin to:
coulrophobia...
yeah... big time... women making
excursions
for fatigued wool and silk
dresses...
one question does the job...
*honey, can i play the clown
at our honey- berry's birthday
party?*
do women go into
mascara parlors,
window shopping,
with a man tagging along?
honey...
do you really need me to tag along
while you shop for
make-up chemical
parade of tested adherents
for your beauty of your
expectation of fur...
Mike and Moany - the gerbils...
i thought you liked them?
no...
i can do the sheered
woolen artifacts...
when it comes to spreading
lipstick on frogs
and testing their
pyrotechnic susceptibility potential...
watching the Mike Myers' twins...
no... really...
count me out of
the necessity to make
an argument for a race...
i'm out...
done...
i never liked the English
existentialist argument to begin with...
too individualistic,
too finite...
too much of:
enjoying a hell
of a good time...
it's a simple economic logic
focus...
what you're selling?
i'm not buying.
it's that simple!
i don't have to buy what you're
selling!
stand with it all stacked up...
i'm not buying!
somehow i think
the English intellectuals
forgot the basic principles...
i'm, not, buying!
savvy?
god... ugh...
i know the French are bad...
about their oversee of diacritical
application,
and how they make no
sense when syllables
come into play...
and the Germans... yeah yeah...
i get their scrutiny of
method and dedication...
their teutonic charge within
the confines of ******** screws
into place...
but i'm still not seeing
an clearer...
there's talk of a revolution
in the English tongue...
so...
where's the guillotine?!
oh...
so...
what revolution?!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
AND IT'S JUST GONE MIDNIGHT ON THE FIRST DAY OF 2014.
She came in heralded by pyrotechnic display eau naturelle.
Thunderous applause from the sky herself.
Somewhat shocking
Kind of weird!
And the rain flowed as raging river.
Still the manufactured fireworks damage our heaven's blessed.
Happy New Year worldwide!
It actually presented real thunder and lightning! Rather bizarre!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
NATO confiscated my calculator as a weapon of math destruction
Or
Matches to a pyrotechnic cartographer are weapons of map destruction
Or
Moth eggs in the wardrobe are weapons of mac destruction
Or
Nuclear bombs used in warfare are weapons of mans destruction
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
The mosquitoes supped histamine limpets into our puckered flesh
dew gilted grass entombed our feet in dappled domes
refracting the overhead fireworks
smears of whirling color
accented by smoke mote ghosts
I forgot to wear my contacts
my near-sightedness
makes you giggle nervously -
a hard full body ****** of a laugh
it arches your spine
pulling our hand-holding into an expansion
only the lining betwixt finger inlets
galvanized our pulse
well, that and your voltaic laugh
its flourishing timbre
resonant
reverberant pyrotechnic
thickly glazing aural canal
lascivious tomes penned themselves
densely
upon neural plane
dendrites imprinting chemical insignia
moment captured in impressionistic blurs
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
Put past
The pretence of protection.
Propagandising
her preciousness
is prohibited -
proprietorial
preparation
for ***********
Parents paw
the pretty pretty
Pa approves the partner
partner plucks the petals,
proclaiming
‘She pleases me,
pleases me not’ -
matters not one jot.
Pet and preen
her perilous perfection
a prophylactic
precaution,
in place
of progression,
promotion,
professional appreciation.
Proud paternalistic patter
imprisons.
Presidents pronounce
on *****
parroted by ******
and pissheads.
Petty, pathetic
and petrified
of power,
placing people
in parentheses
participating
in playground politics.
I’m sick
that this
paralysis
persists.
Past to present,
passed down
passed over
passed off
as perfectly
practical, natural,
a place for everyone
everyone
in place.
Please.
Parade our pride
in pyrotechnic protest
in partnership perpetual,
productive, progressive
people
as people
as people,
powerful
and equal.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
is what is
and what is
here (also
here, which was
here too, meaning
back there), but forget that, just
stop and look up
here,
where it
is it
now push your hands through
(it’s okay, you can grab the can’t-be-grabbed
handful-of, it wants to be
not-grabbed, that is
good for it, feeling held
for a neverwhile)
invisifinity still it’ll be
now then, couldn’t everything
in this it be
locked away in a museum, and thank god for
you
it ain’t?
there’s invisifinity music to be,
invisifinity words to be
and paintings and shapes
and unbeings to be
impossibilations and memories of
pyrotechnic fantasies and
consternating spirimotions also
vortexing interpersonal universals,
colored by
temperature changes and
the speed of revolution revolving
the galaxies
around neutrinos, around
an unlocatable photon
in
the middle of
this in the middle of
the universe in the middle of
these here universes unifying the invisifiniteness of
invisifinity here
kind of like
the first time you swam didn’t
in the ocean
hey homeless man, in those
beautiful rags like royal flames, come
to this here
don’t go to that there
and narrate your beautiful life to me
as I walk home on this warm winter day
I will place in your hands all my coins.
In your hands they will
jingle to
sparks like
neutrinos to you
starting a revolution.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
On the lonely road to Chicago,
I reach towards my passenger seat,
Open my pack of squares, when suddenly
I realize that I may have misplaced something;
I can’t believe that I lost my lighter!
Minutes pass and I set the sedan to cruise,
Scavenging the car seat’s abyss with one
Eye on the road, the other with peregrine’s
Vision, gazing for the sight of the red flint.
Where in the hell is my lighter!?
Cig in hand, waiting patiently for puff one;
A sign appears: “next stop in forty-six miles”
The road, more desolate without my sly,
Pyrotechnic, sidekick; How could I lose it?
I would do anything to have my lighter!
Time perception; out of mind’s reach,
Twelve miles away, eight miles to withdraw,
The car’s engine at full go, the road dragging
Further than the Lake Michigan shoreline.
I can’t make it without my lighter!
I pull the car aside, open the convenience
Store door and walk to the clerk with
A hyena’s grin and ask for the red bic;
On the road again, and once again smoking.
Ecstasy! I glance in jubilation at the sight of my new lighter.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
They were like gun shots but softer,
They were like firecrackers
without the crack or fire,
There were so many I could not count them all,
then they were stopped in their fall.
The cars driving fast by the house,
were louder than before, a woosh, with a splash,
there was rumbling in the distance and a flash,
those meteorologists were right,
sixty percent chance this night,
of showers.
It is good to be part of the majority
for a change of weather,
how strange,
my dog is now glued to me,
I take no solace in her endearment see,
even in the midst of the slight downpour with
pyrotechnic effects,
she wants me to take her
out the door to do her business, but not alone.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
“Catherine Coulter and J.T. Ellison’s explosive Brit
in the FBI thriller The Sixth Day is now in paperback!”
One wouldn’t like to see an exploding Brit
Who would ruin one’s tweed country suit
Splattering English gore all over it –
That exploding galloping major brute!
But
Before the man went CRACK!
How did they ever fit
That pyrotechnic Brit
into a paperback?
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
They had waited on blankets, in cars,
to view the Chrysanthemum stars.
Instead of a pyrotechnic display,
The authorities sent them away.
A brief blast of frightening power
consumed at once many a flower.
It appears a computer malfunction
was the cause of the mini eruption.
The engineered boom had gone bust.
Makes you wonder- now who can you trust?
In the desert that night 'neath the stars
Jupiter, Venus and Mars
put on their free, nightly, display.
People on blankets, in cars
very seldom look up to the stars.
There a bowlful of wonder and light
goes sight unseen most every night.
The gift of a child's sense of wonder
goes unwrapped by these mortals down under.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
The match strikes
Scrape, crackle, hiss
Wisp of smoke
Waft of flameful bliss
So, too, you ignite me
With but a single kiss
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
the "abstract" fun of drinking wine
from a bottle on the day
you find out your mother is a pain-killer
******
a: near-death experience of...
flashing... memory cinema...
of every single time you experienced
love at first sight...
and you know the cast.... by names...
the "abstract" fun of drinking wine
from a bottle on the day you
decided: drinking is becoming boring...
literally: you have drinken so much that...
what the drunk you said of sober
you: said of sober per se...
now the sober you is saying of the drinking
you that the drunk: of you...
the moral hangover is a *****
i don't want to feel sorry for...
something that's not akin to drink-driving...
but i am...
but i am... drinking some wine from
a bottle...
after all... that tally-game of:
100cl of whiskey...
divided by 3: divided by ||
||
||
||
and sometimes over-stepping the division...
all wonky...
||||||||/|||...
eh... drinking beer from a bottle...
no head... beer... glass... afro... head...
beer... glass... afro... head: albino afro...
better than bleached afro... head...
a totally different experience when drinking...
wine from a bottle...
but... it's not a red... and it's not a white...
it's a rouge... a... rho-z\y...
**** it's a... rosé...
4am and sitting up so late...
that was... fun... when...
i still had... all the love for writing in me...
but the funz not there...
anymore...
porphyria... no syphilis...
paraphernalia: chiromancer...
necromancer... and that lost one...
pyrotechnic... fire-reader...
or no other alternative...
the electrician...
chequers with fuses...
in the plugs... sir...
before one... throws away...
a perfectly good appliance...
there were two variations of a sentence...
but then... the sentence became too long...
the original...
the "abtract" fun of drinking wine from a bottle...
vs.
the abstract "fun" of drinking wine from a bottle...
and: drinking wine...
also... drinking wine...
from a bottle...
not smoking a cigarette for a whole
day... i say... cigarettes go best with wine!
drinking wine from a bottle...
a welcome break from drinking that sort
of knock-out bourbon...
invested in purpose: wait and hour...
oh the heavy "stuff" doesn't kick in...
so early on... it's no fun...
not enough... sugar...
it's no fun... clearly none...
s. beckett's watt contra... anything by dr. seuss...
anyday... that sparring...
i'll bet on that... too!
rhyme rhyme rhyme: confined to rhyme?
rhyme is best guised by an importune surrender
of chance...
a champagne: a discovery of champagne...
not that... repeated...
hammering of a horse's head against
a wall because: it has a grain of sand
lodged in it...
a rhyme by no surrender...
by chance... a rhyme by no caging...
this pretty pretty pretty sore-spot
of.... buttering the exit... for a thorny sort...
sort of "soul"...
the joy of drinking wine from
a bottle... the need for a glass...
when drinking beer... for the head: froth...
crown... head: afro: froth... head...
all the joys of drinking wine from
a bottle.
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 7:25 PM UTC
If you don't search for treasure
Treasure will find you
You can't solve a mystery
When you don't have a clue
Busy bees working
Are good at what they do
Pyrotechnic people
Who share the same view
Soak yourself in epsom salt
And read the front page
Someone died from lyme disease
Born to get paid
Telepath cryptic messages to the tube
Presidential candidates become unglued
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 10:22 AM UTC
Poems are like puzzles:
A painstakingly placed picture,
Plucked from the peripheries,
Of percipient perspective.
Penetrating the personal,
The pen puts pain to pass,
Pouring perceptions in to paper,
In the process perfecting the practice.
Some poems pray for peace,
Some paint a piece of people's lives,
Photographically rendering the ineffable,
Imparting philosophies.
The poet is a piper piping pleasantries;
Poems pretty as phosphorous,
In a pyrotechnic parade,
Putting fire in our pupils.
Perhaps the "P" is hard to parse,
And I perceive this problem.
Perhaps my pursuit of the perfect poem,
Must not be prolonged or proceed.
But I'm a phonetic philanderer,
Pushing on like a prodigious pioneer,
Playing for pleasure with puns,
Posing metaphors, putting words in place,
Searching for planetary purpose,
Peering past the past and present,
In to possibilities of peace and plenitude.
But perhaps now the peak has passed and
The pliant "P" is pushed to its limits,
The words are all plucked, parched
And the poem is plenary.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 8:16 AM UTC