"smelting" poems
scuttling across the valley,
the trench was deep and steep
scorching heat of the dry sun,
dried blemishes on the weathered skin.
Settling along the rocky facades,
hackneyed by the haunting past.
Sleepless nights of the perching predators,
Hibernating in aloof worlds .
Stymied by the wind in the barren land ,
Harnessed by the futile fears.
Simone Melchoir of the sinking ship ,
would not you go down with the fault.
Shunning away from natures affection ,
for every rose does share its thorn .
Sunny ends are reached ,
when the raging ravines fade away.
Slithering away the swirling serpent ,
The sun lurks in the brewing storm .
Sanctity of the witheld winds ,
sapping away the deathly darkness.
Serene air of the seraphic angel,
brought the plighting dreams to the refugees repose
Smelting ores and melting poles,
brimming with brightness the cradled cirque .
Summons of the exalted virtue ,
To burn the lizard and fly away like the phoenix
Succumbing to the wilderness,
to soaring heights and rising spirits .
Swanking in the soothing winds,
the phoenix looked down on the plundering valley.
Scorning at the downtrodden spirits,
The fraternity of the Desert lizard
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
*We were squeezed from corruption
armed with the monstrous cutlery
of rippers and tearers of rationed meat
for a day, for a day, for a day:
the butcher gives his best cuts
to the young and godless divorcee
find us, keep us : a spectre hiding
in the dark pig iron rust hooks looping
through your *** and shopping lists:
smelting your coin
and punching your face
Company is the full knowledge
of our protracted, 3 -stage decay
burn drift degradation
eyes crusting shut
in doom and settling bomb silt
palms up, taking a punishment
in the mothertongue
ignoring lessons in the gracious
expectancy of departure
We, A legion of ancient clockwatchers,
in on the joke of time
and folk fetish of apple-cheek poverty
[Gasp!] The gruesome romance of class!
!you cry! !safe! !always safe!
in the nuclear hotdog option , which is
observably, the title of this advertisement
We will never get you[ ]you're awake!
and your atmosphere is still In Da Black
We watch you
watching
the 5 car pile up
catch up rolling down your chin*
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
The rhyme of the poet
Modulates the king's affairs,
Balance-loving nature
Made all things in pairs.
To every foot its antipode,
Each color with its counter glowed,
To every tone beat answering tones,
Higher or graver;
Flavor gladly blends with flavor;
Leaf answers leaf upon the bough,
And match the paired cotyledons.
Hands to hands, and feet to feet,
In one body grooms and brides;
Eldest rite, two married sides
In every mortal meet.
Light's far furnace shines,
Smelting ***** and bars,
Forging double stars,
Glittering twins and trines.
The animals are sick with love,
Lovesick with rhyme;
Each with all propitious Time
Into chorus wove.
Like the dancers' ordered band,
Thoughts come also hand in hand,
In equal couples mated,
Or else alternated,
Adding by their mutual gage
One to other health and age.
Solitary fancies go
Short-lived wandering to and fro,
Most like to bachelors,
Or an ungiven maid,
Not ancestors,
With no posterity to make the lie afraid,
Or keep truth undecayed.
Perfect paired as eagle's wings,
Justice is the rhyme of things;
Trade and counting use
The serf-same tuneful muse;
And Nemesis,
Who with even matches odd,
Who athwart space redresses
The partial wrong,
Fills the just period,
And finishes the song.
Subtle rhymes with ruin rife
Murmur in the house of life,
Sung by the Sisters as they spin;
In perfect time and measure, they
Build and unbuild our echoing clay,
As the two twilights of the day
Fold us music-drunken in.
2.2k
Identity resolved, blue ribbons taut-
I am speech, a verb, a praise, a participial phrase-
There are many battles yet to be fought,
but with respite and awareness of everything throughout,
and to know one's self is to know the world-
Action vernacular, I use words like disappear to identify-
Find one's self in all mundane, rain and flame and claimless blame,
I am the Earth-
Words like crush and blight,
For philistines and charlatans, I preach intrepidly-
A zeal-
Belief is as an ageless hearth,
smelting swords for smiting fear,
for pain and trepidation to disappear.
Reborn red-horned, and one dozen eyes can see
I'm a word, a noun, a **** a key, and All alive is a mirror,
It is dangerous to utter truths when lies are all the rage,
But I reflect the truth-
Every creature, refined or uncouth,
is a form of life, a light of myself.
To forget is just as whimsical as a simple turn of phrase,
all I can advise,
is to simply turn the page-
Normalcy and tact are artificial-
At base, one's merit is no longer superficial,
but to assert this fact-
This is the greatest battle of all.
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:04 PM UTC
A fire lion lays on the rich hue grass,
Sitting there by the bough of tree:
And sun shine falls for her flaméd tress
And wears each flame on her skin-seam:
While tempted I am to approach this beast,
Who sits there smelting shades o' skin,
The eyes of hers are like the very leaf -
So swift and keen and fell within:
And so I watch from a great distant height,
And so she be a star in grass not red,
With mane that on her lion could light
A spark or flame of emberness.
Jun 24, 2021
Jun 24, 2021 at 1:22 AM UTC
See,
Thy world is a smelting *** of whimsical worldchyme stew,
A goulash that aquire's carrots, beef, potatoes, and other uncanny things,
Well,
As for me!
I'm its gravy!!!!
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
In the hazes of a distant dream land
I see you
Shrouded in the hearts of dreary dawns
Smiling
and pulling me aside you would
smell and caress me all over
a gentle wink and the lightest kisses
and the night would break the spell
On the borders of the smelting fire
A pyre awaits for the burning star
Skits on the shadows of the darker waves
Grim and tied in the locks of the hair
In the wearied low-lands of the outer earth
I see you
Spinning in the many colours of our lives
Beckoning
Child's play at the sound of the horn
Cacophonies and running home
Splintering at the daze of the day
And grinding in silhouettes
In the wake of the latest day
I see you
Eating tomorrows in the cream of love
Smiling
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
Years ago When I Was A Child, a fragrance of
summer was on the hot air and winters white,
frosty and snowy hid the toes of your boots when you slid.
I was studious and sedate, except at play
when I became a wild,
part of a dog pile,
of other wild kids at play.
Limbs tangled and the weight of friendship,
was worth more than the ore and gold pulled
from the mine, then purified by smelting.
We could run, explore and hide
on our favourite mountainside,
change alliances,
pick teams,
fun was the factor
winning was the dream,
with some rivalry,
we did not need to
worry,
or hurry, it wasn't
about
car bombs in our markets, temples and churches,
we did not need to look alone through the rubble
that was once our humble home,
we needed to watch out
for poison ivy, poison oak and rusty nails
we did not need to look out
for mines that no one mapped,
in a war which neither side
cared for those
whose future they have changed irrevocably.
And not for the better.
At night a train might disturb my sleep,
not a poorly dropped bomb intended for
the enemy camp, not on the edge of a village,
where the hole swallowed dreams and futures and spit out death,
we played kick the can, hide and go seek
where running, not hopping on one foot,
was the deal,
where seeing, was important with both
eyes, in the dark.
We did not blow out our ankle, unless we tripped
on a curb, unlike some children, blow off a lower
limb at the knee, because they tripped a wire, which
tripped a switch, of a metal canister in the dirt
which once was a playground, before became
a forgotten battlefield. And a playground once again,
after it was for a time a cemetery.
A mass grave.
This was supposed to be about play,
Play, what if every child who could play
stopped until all children were able.
You can pray for peace,
you can play for peace,
but can you play to stop wars.
Adults play at making peace,
as long as their interests (cha-ching)
are met, again and again,
then maybe the children's children's
children can play, if they remember how,
thank God
children
are resilient
and play is a
natural consequence of fun.
So run along children and
play
stay safe
and away from where your brothers... play no more.
©DWE102013
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
I do
but i dim switches
Jilling Jack and much else
smelting the river
of black nectar
your heaving *******
have rest
upon.
Ooze the Unforgivable night
a shade less bleak
than a Season
Of open
wounds.
Sell me your secrets; and I'll be the one
to arrive, electric
tripping on your
scene
like a moth
to a blink
And
otherwise.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
What will become will become of this day and I wake up to find this day's been taken away by the thieves of the night,is this right,
does the night carry on even though it has gone,does the day have no say in its dawning?
It is morning in my head ergo,I am not dead or maybe I could be.
If the night doesn't see me does the day really free me,do I carry the can for the sins of mankind?
I find in illusion a great deal of confusion,a smelting of fantasy,a melting of freedom.
This hit and miss in me really disheartens me and although I keep trying there's something inside me that tells me I'm dying,it's a shame.
There is no fortune or fame for the runners up in a game just the harsh feel of failure,but if the day should return and I am still awake,there's a chance of a part,a starring role in the affairs of my own beating heart,
is it here
do you know
did the day really come and the night really go?
In cahoots with the Pole Star, I map out a route that will make me fortune,the moon makes me a beggar man and the beggars just scowl,
I'll be free soon not out of tune with my peers,not retreating from the advancing of legions of years.
It's all relative or so they say,
and what will become will become of this day.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Intrepidly neglected, of my lessened reasoning, I am dissected, of my insurrection, from the blessed beens of yesteryear's glints, dancing, parading, and burning, in layers, stages, and fazes, fading, and melting, the plastic faces into the smelting heap, that has come so far, just to inspire me.
Always.
Always you unto me, spiraling, indefinitely into the deep, where ceased is the times, with bloodied hands, and laugh lines, laughing one last time, while glancing toward my watch, under setting suns, and rising stars, smiling faces, and in tearful goodbyes, i realise
The sky's limitlessness
And in all the glory, and all the bliss, the eloquent stories, and the gentle drifts, my imagination uplifts, in wisps of gentleness, where i submit to reason.
Bless-ed be, the one who garners to my support, from a vortex of euphoric antidotes, of mindless quotes, and animated emotes, pulsed, from straight faces, and lost hope.
Ill tell the truth, you can go with nope, in whispered breaths of gun smoke, lathered in lith-dope.
Just trying to cope with the flow, until i crash upon the shores of nevermore, and, explore these holes in my soul intent, ascending from the contempt of bent perspectives, and twisted concepts, letting the blood of the peasant from my arms of harmony, trembling blankly to sleep.
To you a ***** to me tranquility, as i sink, into the world i knew, so that it may be seen, casing the well being, of all the things, and pixelated dreams, from a thieves keep.
Deep, down, below me, in obscurity, i seep, through the soil of my turmoil, until my hand reaches out, from beyond my doubts, and clambers from the shadows, outside of myself.
I am born, of mud, of muck, of the stuff, you're afraid of, and all i bare is love, love to shrug the shams astray, vacating the placation, and dichotomies, unifying light, into one me, shining in the rainy streets, of my deletion
Until my completion
Completely
Erases me.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
Be the iron ore smelting in a crucible
Constantly being refined.
Ready to be molded into a mighty weapon.
Ready to be wielded in battle.
You possess a warm glow attracting.
And the lives that you touch
Burn along in love and
Melt along in awe of Glory.
Or
Be the brine drawn from the dark arctic depths,
With your cold pride
And salty apathy that leaves
Mouths and throats
Dry
And stirs bellies
To malfunction,
Then inaction.
But
Be not the stagnant puddle
Most toxic.
Reflecting heaven
But still clinging to the earth.
Collecting raindrops from the sky
Together with dirt from the soles of men.
For
Do not be lukewarm,
Neither hot nor cold,
For He will spit you out.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
Check the twenty-twenty fission
Adam splittin' Eden vision
Bustin' caps in gas emissions
Spittin' written ammunition
For the first-world problem chillen'
Droppin' free speech bomb sedition
On the third-world problem villain
Grand old wizards' ku klux gizzards
All white **** meat chicken dinners
Suckin' Christian dictions'
Hissin' contests over spoils
House of Slyth'rins witherin'
The shale-shock sowing soil
With Satan seeds of ignorance
Still thirsting for indifference
From money hungry London royal
Global warming blizzards
As they're bleeding dry the rivers
Into liquidating oil
Treasure buried with a shovel
In oases brought to boil
Nine eleven popped the bubble
But with Jesus in the building
Turning metal into rubble
Smelting graces into gilding
From the melting *** he's spilling
Into off-shore power drilling
Making killings on the rigging
As Mohammed was displayed
As a scary, bearded, brown-skin man
Through tricks of terrorism's trade
And God's right sleights of winning hand
Pulled rabbits from Fatah's grenade
And cooked 'em in Afghanistan
For PTSD noise parades
And hot dog chugs for Uncle Sam
To waste the land, supply demand
For ol' Osama's unmarked grave
Obama hosted-masquerade
White-washing New World fear campaign
Them masks of patriotic acts
In place as they removed Hussein
Disguised the ethnic cleanse crusade
With bush league mass destruction claims
When the caliphate they made
Went Khomeini on Iran
A stand against the David camp
Shelling bibles to qurans
So the shah's Allah mirage
Put the profits in the pockets
Of the prophet's arbitrage
Camouflage the Green Zone spans
With pyramids of Reaganomics
Tricklin' into sovereign sands
Long before heathen jihadists
Flew their kamikaze plans
Into Trump towers' blacklist fists
Of modern warfare contra bans
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
My love for you a raging inferno,
Incinerating all in it's path.
No living creature or material able to withstand the destructive force that ensues.
You make me feel like no other, each and every day you feed the fire within me.
When i first met you i was but a small ember, slowly suffocating and craving oxygen.
The more time we spent together i felt myself grow stronger as you nurtured and fed me with your kind words.
The small ember i was no more, now a great flame akin to that of a furnace of the gods capable of smelting the hardiest ofmetals.
If not for you I would be even less than the ember i once was, a mere spark floating in a sea of emptiness and despair.
For what use is a spark without fuel or the oxygen it so craves, forever bound to wander the earth in search of true love.
You ignited something deep inside of me, a yearning for more. To better myself and those around me. You allowed and encouraged me to be my true self and showed me how to be a better person.
There are no words strong enough to show my true appreciation and undying love for you. Forever will you be the oxygen to my flame, the love of my life.
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC
*You’ve been running underneath the stitches of my baseball caps,
resting in the pockets of my t-shirts, and
etched into the glass of my contacts
where the sun sometimes glares and makes me dizzy.
You left your aroma on my pillows,
scratch streaks on my back,
and chocolate covered bruises on my neck
that make my mouth water every time I look at them.
And out of your mouth
fell raindrops from the storm inside your chest.
Touching my lips
I woke from the dreams of night to the dreams of day,
discovering the softest of gold upon my own.
Smelting fortunes of two destines hot to the touch
as dropping the ball like Auld Lang Syne
but there’s never enough time,
never enough time
looking forward or back
universe stops in its tracks as I look into your eyes.
Sometimes you’re telling me a story
and all I can hear are X’s and O’s.
No pencil or paper but tic-tac-toes tickling mine,
sending shooting stars up my spine.
These crooked feet started from point A and
I’m trying to make it all the way to U.
But if this alphabet becomes too bothersome
then let’s make a language of our own.
Believe me the rest will follow
like we have Chinese finger traps bridging our hands,
when pulling away reminds us how we're a lot like rubber bands.
Piggy-backing through the wild with cat-like vision and dog-like devotion
we’ll learn to speak to our inner animals because
humanity has become a little overrated these days.
So when I find your beast under the sheets
I will pull off its leash with my bear teeth.
Excuse my scrambled tongue for
filterless words can fall off my lips like butter on warm cinnamon toast,
I've never remembered being so hungry for something.
My mouth is beginning to sweat and
you’re mouth held raindrops when we met.
So when your tongue touched mine it sparked the perfect storm.
A hurricane drowning out the past
leaving a life boat for two. Four hands
building a mast, searching for land, gripping the forecast.
Sailing on top of natural disasters,
to find a world better than the one left underneath us.*
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
Can't keep my eyes from melting
Those tears that they've been smelting
Because loneliness is pelting
Poor young, forsaken me
Can't keep my eyes from wondering
Why silence is now thundering
Between us and its sundering
Poor young forsaken me
Can't keep my eyes from missing
Those lips that I've been kissing
But now they keep on enlisting
Poor young forsaken me
Enlisting me to cry and
Enlisting me to try
Because if he's not here beside me
Then I might as well have
Died.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
Beginning in the evergreens,
Where the waters run sweet as wine,
The skies sing out shattering,
The ground spins down below
His marching feet.
One thousand and one years
Left him in the earth,
And raised up Typhon,
Come lightning staff,
Come thunder breath.
Moving through the mountains,
Purpled by the sun,
Floods cutting through the rock,
Come traveling through the caverns,
Through the cloud's rain that tear down.
Eagles eating gods,
And green, green trees stretching hands,
He stumbles through the paths,
Going all martyr in the shades.
Eventually, his progression meets the sun,
That scorches shadows from their place,
Plumes of fire preaching,
Here he finds the meadows,
Melting all gone in the red and stubborn sand.
Oh and there he fights the priests,
Oh and there he summons hell,
From the sun that never dies,
And the seasons never change.
There go I,
Through the paradises of elephants,
(White and rouge)
Palaces of sultans in the sultan shade.
Armageddon heavens twisting,
Where the spindle-bound spires raise.
There go I,
Vagrant feet forging,
The miles in meter
And the deserts in their damnation.
Eventually, the vagrant finds the rivers.
Eventually, there he claims all Moses,
Running wild through these waters,
Cutting heel into valleys pale and pink.
Golden Hordes, and god-kings,
And paisley patterns branded in the eye;
There are the journeys going unhindered,
Where the snow meets the soul.
The vagrant with his body,
Naked in the mind,
Storm by boat in the dead of winter,
Warmed by sails in the dead of spring.
The vagrant going east,
Then around again and west,
There shores of silver,
Horns of plenty fallen found.
One thousand and one years
Gilded in the green,
Fluorescent accents smiling,
Sounds smelting in the foreign forests.
The vagrant meets the sea
After his trials in their numbers,
Blankets thrown up,
White sheets waving,
Clairvoyance in antiquity.
The sea is blue and washing,
The vagrant's eyes are marbled,
As the notes progression goes
The water kisses the air.
Pillars taller than the stars
Stretch to heaven forgetting,
There oceans rising,
And the tranquil music dancing.
Tripped out not wanting,
Rise and risen,
The scavenger surface
And the molten mound.
Poor traveler,
In his vision where all eyes meet,
The savage and sacred nature,
The hurricanes and blissful storms.
Poor traveler,
Not meet your end,
One foot in the grave,
Where a million, million angels
Carry you down.
And poor traveler,
King in concert,
There hills and crevasses crawl to him,
Call to him,
Leave all their pasts searching.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
A pedestal is no place for a friend
tough to reach them should you need a sympathetic embrace.
Nor should monuments be built
for then the pressure's on them to fulfill the grandeur.
Bronzing is a no,
smelting makes it hard to impart advice.
Just keep your friends close,
that is the ultimate honor.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
Take the hammer and strike the metal,
Take a person and strike their heart,
Smelt the metal down into steel,
Smelt a person so they understand how you feel.
The way you craft the metal is your own,
The way you craft a mind is unknown,
When finished thy blade be done,
When finished thy life has begun.
Once crafted no longer be metal,
Once crafted a life be gentle,
Now that you got a blade,
Now that you have purpose,
Choose a path or live in a furnace.
The way you craft,
The way you live,
The ways you love,
All comes down when smelting,
Just remember that,
Someone is always Smelting Thy Heart.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
I hear her throttle roar
there is a speed demon that devoted her car
but flex her punch in the midnight air
round the town on her boulevard tonight
her Firebird streamed her heat like a cigar
and headers in a chassis smelting lore
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
I am in transition,
I speak to those who come after me,
I learn from those who come before me.
In trepidation and in fear,
I wait for the anticipation found only in her tears,
that when they bloom on the dry, thirsty wood,
marks the time to begin, I hear.
And in a whisper, a whimper, and shrill,
when cold leather makes a trail,
the heartbeat beats fainter still,
until that time when metal becomes a pill.
I make her back warm,
Melting Iron,
Smelting leather and skin,
Into leather again.
She is silent as a mouse. She sits,
remaining only a part of the beats, and his
expressed torturous tenderness.
Where consent meets fear and pain,
there is a shadowy still sadness that waits to be shown
in the light that is happiness and gain.
Some see a barbarous deceit,
in that which takes place,
but she only says,
Please.
Please.
As you wish.
I flail and flog at my own inexperience,
waiting to see,
if I make a mistake or three.
Til the time comes when she screams out loud,
I press on, deeper, deeper, until a chasm is found.
The afterglow of the torturous tenderness,
that illumines the heart and makes fuzzy the eyes,
is enough for me to see that consent remains.
I ask only the simplest questions,
Noting that she's infantile in emotions,
where high context rules,
and only those that know the code may endure.
She limps and lingers,
needing more than her fingers
as she craws safely into that safe place
called her spiritual chamber.
Having melted iron, leather and skin
been smelt into leather again,
I sigh at those wafers that cannot understand,
that the greatest of gifts is in a helping hand.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
My brain is a furnace burning
in a skull plated so thick in steel
you can't feel its heat but by
the back of your hand.
Stoked in a mother's breath
and father's hand, flame flickers
along spectral bands as the wick,
once taught and thickly tied,
turns to grains of ash. In the midst
of incendiary heat and blinding
doubt, beats my heart and counts
its time with spouts of
madness.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
The pitter patter
Of your words smelting against
My inner ear forge
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC