"rockets" poems
An early evening gust
broke the back of the day's blaze
Still 90 degrees at eight
in orange haze
Sweat runs down my neck
Through the gorge between my *******
The wind lifts my linen shirt
runs its hands along my sides
reviving memory
of Forest Park
of a blanket in the grass
Where the pines trace
so many faces
Crackling popping kids
stolen matches, running
screaming victorious!
Blowing tin cans up with fire crackers
Bicycles, sparklers, fireworks at dusk
That whole afternoon
I spent hammering caps
Noise really makes us kids
really
especially
annoying
Mom wants us out!
Gone! All of us!
No needs. No excuses!
No cookies! No slices of bologna!
“No more Kool Aid!
Out now!
Out!”
That evening I tried
to dismiss the itchy sweat
of stupid-sister-Suzy-matching-sun-suits
at Gino's family picnic
When some kid
(I don't know?)
between the rigatoni and the sweet corn
Some kid
tosses a sparkler
into box of fireworks
I don't know?
whether to cry or laugh
I was pretty scared
Rockets going off across the lawn
and onto porch
Craze of colors through the trees
Some at eye-level horror!
But the sight of Aunt Nedda
diving under picnic table
Stockings, garter belt upended
Capsized beyond her caring
of uplifted dress
Some images just stay with you, ya know?
July 4th always lands for me
on a firework's ***
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 1:34 AM UTC
In the cold grey light of the sixth of June, in the year of forty-four,
The Empire Larch sailed out from Poole to join with thousands more.
The largest fleet the world had seen, we sailed in close array,
And we set our course for Normandy at the dawning of the day.
There was not one man in all our crew but knew what lay in store,
For we had waited for that day through five long years of war.
We knew that many would not return, yet all our hearts were true,
For we were bound for Normandy, where we had a job to do.
Now the Empire Larch was a deep-sea tug with a crew of thirty-three,
And I was just the galley-boy on my first trip to sea.
I little thought when I left home of the dreadful sights I'd see,
But I came to manhood on the day that I first saw Normandy.
At the Beach of Gold off Arromanches, 'neath the rockets' deadly glare,
We towed our blockships into place and we built a harbour there.
'Mid shot and shell we built it well, as history does agree,
While brave men died in the swirling tide on the shores of Normandy.
Like the Rodney and the Nelson, there were ships of great renown,
But rescue tugs all did their share as many a ship went down.
We ran our pontoons to the shore within the Mulberry's lee,
And we made safe berth for the tanks and guns that would set all Europe free.
For every hero's name that's known, a thousand died as well.
On stakes and wire their bodies hung, rocked in the ocean swell;
And many a mother wept that day for the sons they loved so well,
Men who cracked a joke and cadged a smoke as they stormed the gates of hell.
As the years pass by, I can still recall the men I saw that day
Who died upon that blood-soaked sand where now sweet children play;
And those of you who were unborn, who've lived in liberty,
Remember those who made it so on the shores of Normandy.
________________________________________
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.
Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.
What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.
And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.
It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.
Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.
But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.
Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.
Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.
Paul Butters
© PB 27\10\2018.
Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
Rolling down St. John's Heritage Highway
after Sean, my grandson's birthday party
I belt out my pioneer song with vigor
echoing across the vast beauty,
wide open, sacred spaces
pristine vistas
Norman Rockwell cows grazing
in bygone pastures happily
moo along
Driving past the yellow deer crossing sign
Florida woodlands giddyap near the edge of the road
long brown antlers prancing to
a timeless rhythm
I hope and pray that I can somehow
kindle a spark of appreciation
in my niece and grandsons
so that they may behold
the baffling greatness
and mystery that is our universe
These young'uns are mighty attached to the
virtual reality, world and landscape
of computer technology
A sprinkling of cowboy stars flash
an omnipresent wink
Sunset bonfire explodes across
the frontier horizon
Turning the corner onto Emerson Drive
smoldering scarlet orange embers
reflecting lights
shoot fireworks, launch rockets
through an ever expanding field of vision
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
Time is in your pockets,
Hurry up and light the rockets,
Put your emptiness in the sockets,
Spread smiles and add jollity to the list of dockets,
Make a wish today, and wear your lucky lockets.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
Independence day, a day to celebrate the birth of a nation and those who fought and currently fight to keep it free.
It is something more at least to me ,it don't have to be limited to just the forth of July
We can have Independence day any day
When some one gets victory over Alcohol or drugs, it is an Independence Day
When someone breaks free from abuse, it is an Independence Day
When troops come home after war and get to be back in their loved ones arms, it is an Independence day
When the Lonely finally make a friend, it is an Independence Day
When the Prodigal returns to a loving family after years or being away, It is an Independence Day!
When emotional chains finally break loose, it is Independence Day
May the rockets blaze across the sky, raise the banners high
It is Independence Day!!!
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
the other day
I occupied a chair
at a sidewalk café
watching the vanity fair of the quotidian
float by in quickly changing apparitions
an endless flow of different ages, nations, fashions,
skin colors, miens, ****** expressions, postures & gaits
kept passing through my field of vision
it made me wonder why
some people get so furious
when they just hear about
not even meet
the ‘others’ different from themselves
that they start dropping bombs and shooting rockets
I think they rather should be curious
and eager to discover
how the immense variety of humankind
can help expand a locally grown mind
and recognize
that we are all of the same kind
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
I had Joe Willie from jump. The Jets were off the chain
Baltimore benched Johnny U cause he knew the game. And played it too.
The AFL was full of bells and whistles.Speed kills
Three yards and a cloud of dust. Get real coach. We shootin rockets to da moon. High tops . Cmon pops.
Change the guard.
Them people ain't done nothing to me said Ali.
Da Nang ain't my thang. He was the greatest. Still is.
The Haight was great. Oh yeah Kent STATE.
1968. Open the gate to the house of the rising sun.
Joplin. And Jimmy. Marvin and Tammy.
The Doors and Hair. ****** in the air
What rhymes with Agent Orange...... Nothing.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
Delayed response to ground control, oh how I was crying.
In retrospect, I was just shallow; like an astronaut only watching
himself as the rest of the world kept steadily spinning.
Impersonal up here, never caring about winning or losing.
The star charts that mentors showed lost to what my mind followed,
A winding path through this sacred space which I unhallowed.
I didn't flinch at blastoff; it wasn't bravery, it was me being a coward.
Sweating in a far away bed, steel round walls with no decoration,
Straining my mind fighting the moments of suffocation.
Spots in my vision, distortion and discoloration.
Seeing stars I glimpsed my comet on exhibition.
I would have to come back around. It was just a matter of my rotation.
Retrospect from ages back and to beyond where we will have gone.
Black holes made that can never be filled, endless they came, endless they will come. To touch down in glory, or stay on the run. Life is just a rocket that departs from the sun. The rest isn't lost, it just hasn't been done.
So as we eventually drift into deep space and age becomes our dawn, remember to look out the window and wave to the passerby's.
They will cheer you on.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
being a poet is not planned
**~for Gabriella Garcia~
~~
*a sixteen old soul says she understands,
being a poet is not planned,
forcing an old mans re-collection of the first time,
he made love to a virginal white
papyrus with muscles trembling,
body bent, chest bursting a rockets red glaring,
eyes marking the sheets with salty drip spots
what possessed the wrist veins
to wrest a cheap ballpoint pen to transfuse pain,
in a semaphore of uncoded ink blotches,
what was he thinking
was he thinking?
that it was an ejection
that it was an ***********
that it was a tribulation expiation
that it was a tribute explanation?
that it was an injection
that it was a circumspection inspection
that it was a circumscision surgery of emotional complexion
excising an infection with a written genuflection?
try, but no might, the first is subsumed
by the thousands that followed dutifully
though his one poem flawless, expertly recalled,
it will always be the next,
and unplanned just like this one too
who anointed his brow, the hair and forehead,
with oil pure, dripping down onto, into his cut cain marker,
who is not answering a query relentless
is this his plan, his appointment,
is this his flawed excellence,
is this his imperfect penance perpetual?
knowing well and full
now
the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloraturas*
~~
upon this he reflects,
praying that
god protect the
young poets
from planning
______________
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2893127/unplanned
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
There are rockets in my feet.
Take me to a new level.
Where the oxygen falls into my lungs
and my blood slides through my circulatory system.
My love is unmelting ice under the sun.
Here I am.
Where are you?
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
Your not just beautiful.
I see you every time I look up.
The star that shines it's brightest.
Filling my life.
The moon lit like a dream.
And forever I stare.
Listening to the silence.
Awaken by a soft light I know it's you.
I can feel your touch hovering about.
Counting the steps until our arms leave our side.
The possibility of traveling from one sphere to the next.
Our eyes but dots in wait.
The question of rockets and big bangs.
The essence of time interlocked between our fingers.
With no room left to breathe, our rocket becomes continuous.
With you, a compilation of light.
Is there any question to why my arms stretch as far as they do.
I gravitate to you, the most beautiful chaos I've ever seen.
To be the space you fill in infinite devotion.
Your not just beautiful, your astonishingly out of this world.
Our arms no longer by our side. the rocket pierces the stratosphere.
We explode internally
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
Everyone’s sleepwalking through city square
It’s twelve fifty seven
And seventy families have bled black against Israel’s rockets
Come Sunday morning
The drunks in my hometown
Will be too hungover to recognise their own faces
While Palestinians across the world
Will have to sort through the bones of dead relatives
This country was built on colonial empathy
Freedom from suffering through self-absorbed apathy
We’re all sewn to our seats
Caring for nothing
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
I stare across the room at you,
And get turned on by the sumptuous view.
Thoughts of us together makes my pulse quickly beat,
My body tingles as I feel your heat!
I close my eyes when we touch tongue tips,
Drawing me yet closer, as we join our wet lips.
Your gentle whisper teases in my ear,
Getting us ready to remove our gear!
Thoughts of your body make louder screams,
As wild fantasies erupts from our lustful dreams.
Deep moans of pleasure echo within our love den,
Where we make love, again, again and again.
You quake as I hold you and feel your beating heart,
Melting, as hugs ignite ****** sparks to start.
Your touch allows flames of passion to be inspired.
Normal inhibitions are long since retired.
Each long kiss rockets us higher and higher,
Staying as one to fulfil each wanton desire.
And as we are approaching the end of our lives,
We'll know love's embers for the other never died.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
Independence day, a day to celebrate the birth of a nation and those who fought and currently fight to keep it free.
It is something more at least to me ,it don't have to be limited to just the forth of July
We can have Independence day any day
When some one gets victory over Alcohol or drugs, it is an Independence Day
When someone breaks free from abuse, it is an Independence Day
When troops come home after war and get to be back in their loved ones arms, it is an Independence day
When the Lonely finally make a friend, it is an Independence Day
When the Prodigal returns to a loving family after years or being away, It is an Independence Day!
When emotional chains finally break loose, it is Independence Day
May the rockets blaze across the sky, raise the banners high
It is Independence Day!!!
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
~~~
for Matt
~~~
*"My suspect credibility upon the rockets of birds,
the soft parts of people,
the oceans’ inevitable, cyclical weeping,*
Who has time for poetry has more time than they deserve"
Breaking Spring by Matt Hart
~~~
your words warp me,
the woven texture of your composition,
Matt,
dumbfounding the sweeping, weeping, instant recognition in
the soft parts' of
Nat,
where credibility
long past being suspected,
simply arrested for statutory dark room
torrented questioning
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse
You Jacob, wrestle with this angel witch curveball!
'tis better to give or receive
this poetry admonishment?
for who knows where the time goes,
when the fix is in,
the addiction itch,
commands and commends,
*feed the poetry *****
write or die*
one fix, one poem,
carousel leads to another,
yet,
with only time to live,
pay the bills
for renting the space you Earth occupy,
no time for illegal
compulsive word blending
the interrogator demands
deserve poetry deserve blessing deserve curse?
*who is your supplier?
who is your time stealer?*
by the ocean, weeping,
you plead innocence,
just ill drivel, needy for expulsion,
deserving of repulsion,
swear repeatedly,
never again, imbibe, scribe
*but the ***** coos in my ear,
reaching beneath
the vulnerable soft tissued skin and cells:
write or die
I thieve your time,
'tis nothing you deserve,
I am Poetry,
just your mistress,
better served*
deserve poetry
deserve blessing
deserve curse
~~~
June 25, 2016
written by the ocean, weeping
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
you listen to what passes for the TV news
you read some
but not all
of social media views
you notice that
despite all internationalism
it‘s mostly old sensationalism
combined with more or less suggestive speculations about
how many people may have died in forest fires
to what imaginable depths the president aspires
whether the North Koreans have more rockets
despite the wonderful achievements
of the national superdealer
who of the leader‘s staff might be the next
to lose her job or his credentials
etc. etc.
in short
the world has mostly shrunk
to domestic politics and power games
plus a few places on the globe where
U.S. soldiers still are dying
in order to protect their country‘s interests
in oil, assorted mineral resources
or allies of political expedience
or a few thousand refugees from countries plagued
by persecution or dictators are
marching for weeks to claim asylum
in the home of the brave and the free
under the statue of liberty
only to discover that they are seen
as an invasion threatening
that blesséd city upon a hill
visions have grown smaller
more petty voices dominate the talk
a nation made of immigrants
faced with the poor who flee from their oppressors
decides to close its borders to the immigrants‘ next wave
oblivious of the times when they themselves
still searching for a better life
found a new place where they felt safe
led by the statue‘s torch that shone its light
upon a poet‘s words of welcome:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
Oh nose on my face,
You empty my wastes.
My snot filters through you,
Into the chocolate fondue.
I blow my snot rockets
Into my mom's pockets.
I keep myself in fashion,
By blowing you with passion.
I love you Honker
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 7:02 PM UTC
MANY ways to spell good night.
Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes.
They fizz in the air, touch the water and quit.
Rockets make a trajectory of gold-and-blue and then go out.
Railroad trains at night spell with a smokestack mushrooming a white pillar.
Steamboats turn a curve in the Mississippi crying in a baritone that crosses lowland cottonfields to a razorback hill.
It is easy to spell good night.
Many ways to spell good night.
3.5k
FIRST
Be it a girl, or one of the boys,
It is scarlet all over its avoirdupois,
It is red, it is boiled; could the obstetrician
Have possibly been a lobstertrician?
His degrees and credentials were hunky-dory,
But how's for an infantile inventory?
Here's the prodigy, here's the miracle!
Whether its head is oval or spherical,
You rejoice to find it has only one,
Having dreaded a two-headed daughter or son;
Here's the phenomenon all complete,
It's got two hands, it's got two feet,
Only natural, but pleasing, because
For months you have dreamed of flippers or claws.
Furthermore, it is fully equipped:
Fingers and toes with nails are tipped;
It's even got eyes, and a mouth clear cut;
When the mouth comes open the eyes go shut,
When the eyes go shut, the breath is loosed
And the presence of lungs can be deduced.
Let the rockets flash and the cannon thunder,
This child is a marvel, a matchless wonder.
A staggering child, a child astounding,
Dazzling, diaperless, dumbfounding,
Stupendous, miraculous, unsurpassed,
A child to stagger and flabbergast,
Bright as a button, sharp as a thorn,
And the only perfect one ever born.
SECOND
Arrived this evening at half-past nine.
Everybody is doing fine.
Is it a boy, or quite the reverse?
You can call in the morning and ask the nurse.
3.4k
soap bubbles
bath time
warm
warm
hot
warm
cooling
cold
stale water dripping
past my knees
like we're night bridges
middle of an ocean
vast and crashing
rocking
like maybe we're *******
cold and rough
sea monsters
maybe we're sitting up and
you're laughing
mom's bath with jets
soap bubbles overflowing
maybe our hands are touching
in the sink
near the plates
gripping palms
soapy suds
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
A ***** drills inside my core
It nags, graps, pans, the hands
They knot in spins and twists
My crux left at the river side
Breathing,gasping fast, faster
Body out in the open rawness
Persisting resistance of the force
An outward shield winning
Winged left,right, up, down
Another day, a greater pace
A passive taste, ranting in haste
In bricks ***** all I taste is hate
All walking in dead silence
Heads shouting with dreams
A roll of sweet and sour sate
Echoes of taxes and budgets
How will they evolve us?
Snatching more from pockets
The rockets burst to mock us
Pulling our all to fund them
Nuclear bombs creating tombs
Distribution of lies and wars
Missiles disposing as lyrics
An objectification of reason
Figure brushes on magazines
Incisions of bits and **** hoots
To boost of the hot posed ***
No truth is scaffolded as real
A psychological brainwash
Pollutes and limits indefinately
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
come along with me
lets look into the life
of the common garden pea
maybe you like them
maybe you do not
but these are my words to
the common garden pea
from me to them
we have all seen them
and had to work out how we eat them
better stuck in mash potato
than balanced on the knife or fork
kids just distribute them so neatly
on the table and the floor
then hold up there plate
and ask for some more
but have you tried to grow them?
if not come on a journey with me
plant some peas in the soil
water them liberally
then let the season warm the earth
after about 14 days or so
you will see little green shoots
place some sticks in
for the peas
likes something to hold on
just like you and me
for the pea has a hard life
as the season moves on
the pea holds out little tendon
that grip on the sticks
then the snails move in
danger will robertson
for in one night
the snail can ****** all of these
the peas that do survive
suddenly come alive
shooting up like rockets
then after the flowers form
all white in the sun
the pods form
and in them form the peas
those sweet nuggets
we love called garden peas
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
The clouds separated the Sun from my life for too long
I wondered if it even existed
And if it existed
Would it know I existed?
It's warm companionship eluded me
I was frozen in the wastelands
I donned my armor of ice
And embraced all that is frigid and bleak
My feet turned into rockets as flowers bloomed all around me
I rode headfirst into the sky on a jet of pure nature
I cut through the friction in the air
And exploded through the clouds
The Sun's disorienting light loved me
Without vision I flew to it's warmth
When I reached the Sun I kissed it on the mouth
and we danced around the galaxy
And the Sun radiated our love to every living creature in the universe
But the Sun abandoned me out in space
The Sun returned to giving life to all
And I am but one
I just thought that maybe I could help it give life
Because at one point I was a star
Now I'm just dust
Is it so selfish to want it's power for myself?
I've been floating in darkness for a while
And I feel very Alien: Isolation right now
But this is no game
And Sigourney Weaver couldn't fight my monsters
Game over, man
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
A day will certainly come
As sure as we breathe
When our creator will ask of us
What we did to aid the oppressed
On that day
As surely as who created you
Created me too
It will not be about religion but humanity
When carefully planned and organised jets
Launched rockets
To bomb populated refugee camps
Schools and apartment blocks
At a defenceless opposition
Without an air force or navy
Heavy weapons or artillery
Command or armour
**That's not war
It's ******
It's cold blooded massacre**
As a woman shot in the stomach
Gives birth to a cold blue baby
And a world across oceans changes channels tuning in to the next world cup champion
It was never about taking sides
Israel vs Palestine
There is a truth
To which we must remove the blindfold of ignorance
Searching for a voice of right
Amongst the cries of pain hatred and anger
The sign in a city
Where there is too much to see
Finding peace amongst people who are not ours
Because I see hypocrisy of nations
Who stand for human rights
But only when the human shares a matching ideology
I see hypocrisy amongst media
Where a million wounds and shades of blood
Are inked into black and white letters
Today I read 'An Israelian was killed whilst a dozen Palestinians died'
They turned humans into numbers
Quantitative data
They couldn't possibly de-sensitize it any further
I mean look at the verbs in which they phrased that
I see hypocrisy amongst Muslims
Who stand equal and united
Yet they too turn backs when the interest is not beneficial
And the pitiful nation falls divided
Whether it is a prayer
A strike, a boycott or vigil
A protest or petition
Maybe even a donation
There's a thousand ways to help
But very few who do
So what did you do?
Was it out of sight out of mind for you?
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC