"smolders" poems
♪♫♪♪
Your beaded snakeskin loincloth
strung beneath humid palms
cool rippling breeze that calms
our hammock hung under thatch
what a catch . . .
your Amazons running into my Congo
lost track of my bongo
back about one mile
from the sources of the Nile:
your jungle smile.
Restoring all celestial things
deep within your tropical clearings . . .
flowing slowly, going loco
at the mythic mouth of the Orinico;
shake your nut-brown biospheres
and banish all my worldly fears.
Dusk is nearing — clearing the hill
insects trilling a sinuous thrill;
the yuca half-mashed in the clay ***
the witch doctor hungover in his hut
while our little fire smolders
near the mountains of the moon
—or are they only boulders?
Come soon
Jesus, Lord of the Jungle . . .
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
I'm cold. A chill in the air.
Wood fire dwindling to smolders.
Ash crisped cinders to share.
Cotton between our shoulders.
That endearing musk of burnt wood.
A soft kiss on your cheek.
My arm wrapped round you.
I whisper in your ear
those words I do love to speak.
"I'll distract you not from the beauty of this world,
nor the loves you've counted.
I'll never let you waver from your hearts dream.
Stay true - look up ahead and mine will be seen."
This faint light up ahead.
It flickers and dances.
Clawing and bubbling to break.
Daylight will be upon us, no chances.
Don't blink or you'll miss this.
The birth of life - light years away.
An explosion of color flooding the sky.
Life inspiring feeling - opposite to grey.
Rain of warm power filling my voids.
A dream born anew each day.
A love found in you.
Explored in every single way.
A never ending gift.
If only we're awake.
Just then as it broke.
Did you feel it?
I felt yours and you mine.
Our hopes and dreams become one.
A valley of trust now glowing.
Warm tones red through yellow.
Delivered by the morning saint.
My dream revealed.
Endless passion only the sun could paint.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
My innocence and joy, thriving and burning brightly
Beaming like the sun, then flickering like a flame
Slowly dies down to embers
Smolders, wanes.
My laughter and hope, spirited and whirling wildly
Astir like an ocean, then grows steadily tame
Becomes languid and lazy
Stills, drains.
My ambitions and dreams, alive and beating fiercely
They thrum like a heart, then turn tired and lame
Lose their pulse and fade away
Bleed, stain.
I can taste your misery, and it's killing me.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
I've walked into a tunnel.
Following coats,
Dragging behind in
Abandon
The light is slitted
The shape above is
Too Close to my head.
The sharp,
Undecided angles bother me
And a nervous twitch begins.
I imagine it like a funnel,
Sorting population
To pass through in
Close quarters,
Contact guaranteed.
I sneeze
And cough.
My fever smolders
Making my skin chill,
And the thought of disease
Enters, and crowds with me,
Suffocating me to one side-
But not too close-
Don't touch anything.
Fear grows.
I am already sick
But I could get sicker.
Conspiracy drips over my thoughts,
My fever leaving the
normal functioning funnel
In my mind
To be burned away-
materializing in the city-
Around me.
My thoughts bunch
In clusters
And pass all at once,
Leaving waves of nausea
And claustrophobia
As I continue through the tunnel,
Paranoia worsening my symptoms
By the step.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
What is courage?
Is it a sharp breath before jumping off the edge?
Is it the tightness in your chest
That pulls you up when everyone else is sitting down?
Is it the burning heat in your eyes
That smolders and boils
As you gaze upon those who oppose you?
Is that courage?
Or is courage the defiant silence –
The silence that watches your nose bleed
In the foggy cracked mirror?
Is it the child who says, “I love you”
Between the sniffling and trembling?
Is courage allowing the tears to come
When there are people around to witness your suffering?
Is courage looking up?
Is courage focusing on the next step forward
Rather than the hundreds already taken?
Is courage doing what you believe is right
No matter how much your palms sweat
Or how much your knees shake
Or how much your stomach twists
Or how much your lips tremble
Or how much doubt you feel
That anything you do will change anything?
Is courage a lie?
Does Courage exist?
A dictionary says Courage is
“The quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc. without fear”
If that is truly what courage means,
Then there is no such thing.
Fear is not something that you can decide not to have.
Fear is deep.
Fear is psycological.
Fear is biological.
Fear is natural.
Fear is not a pebble in one’s brain that can be removed on a whim.
Fear can, however, be ignored.
Fear can be climbed over.
Fear can be conquered.
Facing a difficulty fully aware of the fear
Is what makes an action courageous.
Courage is speaking up
Acting out
Crying
Smiling
Holding back
Being silent
Knowing the punch is going to come
Knowing the insult is going to come
Knowing the tears are going to come
And the conflict
And the questions
And the darkness
And the thunder
And the criticism
And the judgement
And the violence
And the doubt,
Disbelief, and denial
And knowing that 3:30 AM comes around every single night
Regardless of whether or not you can sleep.
Courage is opening your eyes
Even when you don’t like what you see
Because you have to.
And you don’t have to just because somebody told you to
Or because you read it somewhere
Or heard it somewhere
Or saw it somewhere.
You have to because there’s substance in you.
There’s a third dimension to you.
You have to because that tightness in your chest
Isn’t something you control.
There is no Courage Switch.
You can’t cultivate courage.
Everyone has it but not everyone has seen it.
Not everyone has used it
But everyone can.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
In the twilight of harsh day
The melancholy sinks into silence.
The chill, the grey.
Neither dark nor light.
We cast no shadows,
Leave no marks.
Our secrets are as safe
As our silhouettes that are,
For now, unseen.
The flame we wish to start
Only smolders,
Not yet ready to brighten
Our darkened corners
Our guarded eyes.
We are free, for moments,
To feel our sharpest memories.
To bleed in peace.
In the twilight,
Our pain is safe.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
A worst-case-scenario mentality
Breeds emotional nightmares of what-ifs
Methodically feeling the pain in each possibility
Preparing for Hell, knowing it is impractical, improbable, and unkind
Each reaction gauged
Smiles erupt in each better choice
A familiar road traveled often
Lead only by a history of pain
It ebbs and flows, bobs and weaves at will
This reality is organized, easy to understand
Random thought of an unlikely, unfathomable future
**Vivid like a film
Unwavering, persistent
There is no control**ling its outcome
Forced to watch the images forged in a broken mind
Tears burn flesh and a naked heart bleeds
Stop rolling, just...stop
No amount of pleading slows the images
The pain is overwhelming
Far beyond self-inflicted, torturous, methodical thoughts
Uncontrollable, inconsolable
True and real
So very real
There is but one way to stop that future
The one shown in visions of just deserts
The future that smolders through present joy
Preemptive pain is just not an option
I've seen the future my heart has built
**The shards of a shattered soul
Offer no comfort**
My worst-case-scenario was but a benign freckle on the elbow of a body invaded by metastatic melanoma
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
Nothing good ever comes up with something so beautiful.
I heard they found a fossil on Mars,
impossible things are beginning to happen.
Soon enough, we will gloriously collapse and crumble
and the ashes will turn into gold,
and the only thing I'll remember
is the sound of your heartbeat
and the flashing pair of cinnamon eyes,
over the bar's blinking lights.
You are the epitome of every single thing I'm afraid of.
You break things because you don't know how to take care of them.
And I said I've been broken for too long,
I won't be the window anymore,
I will be the stone.
But you we're smiling when you kissed me.
We break each other until we're happy
we hurt each other and call it love.
Our love smolders and it was _so beautiful._
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 6:56 AM UTC
A touch of Synthetic Blue
drips
down our tear battered frames
before it catches on
a match made in hell
Becomes an oily
twisting
saffron cold flame
Redefines love
as a pact to collectively
fall apart
Redefines hate
as a pop cultural norm
As it smolders
strife imitates art
Another massacre
Another overdose
Another malignant mass media circus
and maybe now
you understand
inevitability
Synthetic Blue is a registered trademark of White Spider Pharmaceuticals, a division of the White Spider Corporation, and is used without permission.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
& all of the sudden i have a case of insomnia
thinking about your hazel eyes
pools of golden honey brown
so deep with promise of truth
but inevitable glimmers of falsity
a hollow shell now perched by your amber intentions
still smolders from your hazel touch
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 2:55 AM UTC
Anger
Fury
Rage
Like three tigers in a cage
Fierce like fire
Having a desire
for revenge
Not making amends
Temper
Wrath
Hateful disgrace
The world's often a hostile place
Anger out of control, corrupting the peace,
Becoming a riot, calling for the police
Anger is combative to a truce
When raw emotions are on the loose
Anger comes in many colors:
Tumultuous reds
boiling in your head
Purple passions
in warlike fashion
Seething greens,
for envy is a fiend
Anger that is a shocking yellow
is anything but mellow
They blend together in a melting ***
A big, boiling cauldron, scaulding hot
In its feverish calamity, anger reeks
Of dead men's bones, you shall see
Like tasting gasoline, it is a toxic tonic
You don't want to be anywhere around it!
Its angry concoction you partake in to sip
Though it's like deadly poison on your lips!
In your body, it courses through
Before it makes a fool out of you!
Like two lighted matches on your tongue
Anger does the tango just for fun!
This mouthful of hot pins and needles stings!
You swallow it down, the whole **** thing!
You wash it all down with wine as it smolders
Down your throat anger goes, like jagged boulders!
Through your esophagus, resisting a slippery slide
Anger within you does not want to hide!
Into your gut, like a rugged coastline of pain
You now see the world with great disdain!
Your stomach evolves into a volcanic hole
Hot as a furnace with blazing coals!
Anger soon rises from the volcanic mountain
Lava bursting forth like a fiery fountain!
That is anger's transition that I see
My vision portrayed in this poetic story
Anger does have a rightful place
But out of control, it turns into hate
On one hand, it can help us fight evil
On the other, it can hurt other people
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 2:49 PM UTC
Peter Pan Swore
Peter Pan swore we’d never
age if we, just believed, but
everyday the fairytales fade
away like little fallen fireflies,
instead wrinkles and stress
introduce new heartaches...
no time for childishness
whenever time smolders
james kenneth blaylock
6-24-21
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 12:22 PM UTC
The majesty of a clear sky
is what gets alive in front of my eyes.
Within the deepest darkness consumption
I encountered the path to beauty and seduction.
Your lips I see moving,
your metaphors I see diffusing.
Brilliant onyx magic covered this soul
entitling it to be finally whole.
And now fire feels cold,
no one can ever be so bold.
And all this Power in me
simply makes me be.
The brightness in my smile smolders.
Can you see how clear waters smother?
Can't you see how Light can also ****
And how obscurity may help to live?
Inside your entangled tale and fail
I dug your own grave and pain.
You may believe the fortune teller
for your destiny to be even lesser.
Search for the Mother Moon,
but I promise it'll always be too soon,
because the Daughter of Night
will forever be on Her side.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
The air conditioner hiccups,
as the second half of
Cole Berlin crosses himself--
a face deeply creased by consequence,
looks to the west,
a surrendering sun fractured--
broken by hundreds of stories--
tons of concrete--
mountains of glass,
and the gentlest gloom.
Mr. Berlin's body devours itself--
as the critics and even the diehard fans
run out of time to play "remember when".
The reality enters,
at first no more than an annoying stomach pang,
then growing,
feasting,
shouting,
until each cell knows--
no time for the comeback.
Whatever beams of sun were once banded,
now dismiss themselves,
as night subs in--
Mr. Berlin, closes the curtains of his mind,
falls to the floor,
"Sorry folks, no encore this time".
A week he lay festering,
no more a replica--
only a ruin.
A fly in a web,
rotating on a world without end,
the record, it spits, skips, smolders in ditch,
contaminating the soil,
the virus gently purrs perfection,
no hiccup, no hallucination--
only swag up for collection.
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 7:12 PM UTC
Where has brother bird gone?
Asks dog to sly fox
He is tempted in shadows
caught in twisting maze
cuckold with clover honey
and horns of thorny bramble
He has left us to sway
in dead breeze
our faces loosened
grins too tight
We'll feed our bellies
offal and
dead grass
Stiff bodies to greet the
dawning of day
when brother bird returns too late
to sing blood back to royal throne
Come, all trace buries now
in dead light and heavy stone
Hide madness with me
friend dog
To earth and rooted cellar; there
burning pyre
smolders in the dark -
Goblin King will soon be by.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 6:45 AM UTC
I have an old farmhouse inside my chest,
wooden siding rotten in places and windows
fractured from too many winters,
the roof of which sags near the chimney--
faint smoke-clouds rising, and a light
glowing yellow inside the kitchen, a beckoning
invitation into the faded blue walls
full with portraits of four--my mother, father,
and little sister--brassy frames hung close
together above the wooden table,
nicks and scratches connecting each placemat
like dots of the coloring book page left
magnet-stuck to the refrigerator.
The countertops have grown dusty.
fruit-bowl collecting gnats and mold,
but the zinnias over the sink flourish, replaced
daily and blooming red as the teakettle
rusting on the only remaining stove-top burner,
the others broken, tossed into the garbage
beside the back door, which leads to a forest--
rib-like oaks bent and bowed
over the farmhouse, ivy vines coiled ‘round
each trunk, stretching limb to limb, weaving
webs tangled as the unruly branches from which
they hang, caressing the slumped rooftop
as if to remind the battered, tired building how,
despite everything, the hearth still smolders.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
Twisted corpses
Of loves long gone
Call from across the room
As I stare
And stare
Until my heart breaks in two
Unable to glance away;
Unable to meet your gaze.
You're such a shapeless shell
Of days since past,
Having lost your substance to time
And belittled feelings
As I stand
Motionless,
Petrified.
I am but a pair of eyes now,
a shattered soul-
Still hoping,
Still wondering
If all I ever loved was a lie,
A cruel farce you'd never admit.
I cannot bear your cutting words,
Your effervescent laughter,
As you live a life renewed;
As I linger,
Wistful,
In your wake.
I'm bleeding inside,
These wounds too fresh to cauterize,
Your vision too much to bear
In the aftermath of our destruction,
The clanging bells of calamity
Still ringing in my shellshocked ears-
I struggle to find meaning
In the caustic remnants
you left me to puzzle over;
The scattered pieces of reasoning
That will never add up to a whole picture,
A sane answer.
Scorched and hollowed,
I can't bear this sight any longer,
As my heart smolders with hatred
And thoughts of revenge,
Consuming me
As though I were tied to the stake
That you deserve to burn on instead.
Come now,
Let's end this-
This dance of charades,
This play of puppets and toys-
I'm not your plaything anymore,
And I deserve the happiness
That you sought to steal for yourself.
Come now,
Let's accept it,
These sad monuments that you've erected
From upon your mighty throne,
The confusion you bestowed
When you left me all alone.
After all,
Fate had no say in this,
No approval to grant,
To this end-
You and I both know
You only have yourself to blame.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
Passionate
breaths in time
coursing blood
of different kinds
Desire
to please him
body and soul
open his eyes
Joined
in beauty
**** draped
in truth
She could not hide
such a fire
escaping her flesh
slowly burning inside
Praying
for someone
to feel
love that smolders longer than lust.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
The darkest days reign asunder
We pledge not to this day
But to the ever ending night
And the shadows in which they walk
Fear not the darkness
For the darkness is friend
Though it’s not a pleasant one
It will guide us through
Here is the light of day
Well with it burns agony
Searing the wounds of the faithful
Smolders of ashes lay where they stood
Seek not for the dawn
But the eternal serenity of dusk
For when the dawn comes
Terror is all that remain
Peace be upon you brother
And your dire time of need
For the caress of the night
Shall comfort once again
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 12:55 AM UTC
Amongst the living,
There are throngs of walking dead
Attempting to wake.
Alive enough to move, but
Not enough to know they’re not.
The students disperse
From long halls lined with classrooms,
Like deer from the corn.
Each fearful of what’s to come,
The mystery of the night.
The clouds, high above
The cold, dark, midnight skyline,
Are full of questions.
Quickly falling into me,
The conundrum of the age.
Landing on my ears,
Caught like rain in a tin roof
On the mountain’s edge.
Je vois le réponse juste,
Mais je ne la comprends pas.
I must understand,
I must know what I cannot,
My Etruscan scrolls.
All the last literature,
Now just embers in the pit.
All of the paintings,
Thrown off their walls to the floor,
Destroyed by soil.
All of their men, deceased.
All of their boys are just boys.
However, in time,
The boys will grow into men
As the sun smolders.
Spinning madly in its place,
Until that final moment.
When time stops ticking
And the cosmos wont expand,
A last kiss goodbye.
Calm and collected, we stand
Staring into the barrel.
Calm and collected,
I must be kidding myself.
Is this collected?
Already segregated
As if the show has ended.
As if we’ve already
Been scorched by solar winds,
Left for dead by friends.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:12 PM UTC
A crow rested on a fence
and I wondered what this story-book fiend
with his dark, beady eyes, clever sense
and his feathers well-preened
wanted from someone as hollow as me.
I couldn't do anything but wait and see.
What did one say when faced with a crow
who had no appointments to rush to
no place he must go?
As if speaking was something I could do.
So with a wooden arm I gave him a little wave.
Pleased, he came closer, that fabled young knave.
I could not move much and I could not speak
as the crow stopped right at my rooted feet
and prodded my foot with his beak.
I'm a listless liar he deemed worthy to meet.
So I did not speak and I did not move
an inaction of which the crow did not approve.
He flew back to his fence that creaked
and shifted when the wind pressured its joints.
The forceful draft stung my eyes so they leaked
tears, I found I always disappoint.
The crow flexed his black wings
eyes closed as, for him, the gale sings.
I croaked out a question from deep in my throat
the wind became a whisper as the crow paid attention
"Are you here to jeer and gloat
over my bad decisions and poor intentions?"
He shook that dark head and said
"You're a terrible liar. I'm here to help instead."
"But are you not a portender of death
here to show me I have the illest of luck?"
Why can I not catch my breath?
Wondrous wings glide on waning wind then tuck
neatly against his back for he chose my shoulders
to better speak words that doused what smolders.
The crow rested on my shoulders and cawed
a sound soft and broken
and I thought it terribly odd
that the crow would caw when it was well-spoken.
So when the pressure of panic permeated my chest
the crow spoke again so my horrible heart could rest
"If I were just a crow residing on a fence..."
He gestured with his wing to where he was before.
"Then I'd have left you to your own offense
and not show you what you often ignore."
His black wings pushed my head 'til I saw the gate.
Hope swung at my roots freeing my feet from their hate.
"I believe you have many apologies to make."
I nodded my head and the gate opened.
The crow continued, "The right choices often take
an ax to your tree, to your roots. With hope and
desire to change, you can grow something new."
I stepped into the world beyond the fence and away the crow flew.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC
Maybe we're words left behind by night,
Beneath bounding silhouettes of guiding stars,
Or waters of memory lapsed into rain;
As mind of man bleeds his dreams into day.
If there opened a window, none can know why-
When breath counts the years, and moments bide time,
For the hidden soul's body must ever grow older-
Another years living, in the sacred bowl smolders.
The offspring of earth, or day-star's bright child,
Dancing on moonbeams in scintillate shoes,
And impassioned questions, from spirit begotten-
Whatever magic made him, the secret’s forgotten.
The mold has been shattered, the bird has flown;
The seed too far from the father’s blown,
But it’s the secret we hold true because
The world's more beautiful now- than it was.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 11:30 AM UTC
a whisper—
it creeps through my extremities,
& it persists:
even when my fatherforgivemeforIhavesinned is clutched nearby,
like a slowburningcinder
that chisels at the arches of my feet,
& simmers in my lockedup[treasure]chest,
it tells me:
*“iwonderwhenyouwilljustgivein,mylove,
giveintotheembersandburstintoflames.”*
[& these wrists, they ache,
with a promise they once held for me—
justopenthechestandyouwillbesetfree]
—
& I hate to be the bearerofbadnews but,
you are a part of it, as well,
my l.ong o.verdue v.icissitudinous e.scape,
& in your lapse of silence,
you whisper, too.
*“iwonderwhenyouwilljustgivein,myfriend,
giveintotheembersofyourheartache
andsquelchouttheselickingflames.”*
—
& as the forest is left to its smolders
& as the smoke begins to clear,
I lie awake in
the lulling hours of the morning,
inspecting the charring on my heartstrings
& the scorched remnants of my exhausted energies,
waiting for healing to awaken
among the first few raindropsofremembers & sprigsofspring,
[itrustyou,itrustyou,itrustyou]
only to be engulfed in the rhythm of your illumination again,
for my leaves are dry
& the winds are strong,
& the hypnosis of your glow is too seductive to disregard.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC