"smouldered" poems
You made me soft;
A Marshmallow drop that melted sweetness,
and tasted like nostalgia on your tongue
In that place where camps fires smoked and we smouldered,
Orange with a glow
that crackled envy,
I saw forever in those flames.
Just a little tiny taste of eternity
Reaching for me, as I reached for you.
I curled and crisped,
Dribbled into that abyss
and bubbled up in the heat.
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 5:17 AM UTC
I gave my heart to a woman--
I gave it her, branch and root.
She bruised, she wrung, she tortured,
She cast it under foot.
Under her feet she cast it,
She trampled it where it fell,
She broke it all to pieces,
And each was a clot of hell.
There in the rain and the sunshine
They lay and smouldered long;
And each, when again she viewed them,
Had turned to a living song.
3.1k
I sat beneath a willow tree,
Where water falls and calls;
While fancies upon fancies solaced me,
Some true, and some were false.
Who set their heart upon a hope
That never comes to pass,
Droop in the end like fading heliotrope,
The sun's wan looking-glass.
Who set their will upon a whim
Clung to through good and ill,
Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim,
Or hit or miss their will.
All things are vain that wax and wane,
For which we waste our breath;
Love only doth not wane and is not vain,
Love only outlives death.
A singing lark rose toward the sky,
Circling he sang amain;
He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high,
And then he sank again.
A second like a sunlit spark
Flashed singing up his track;
But never overtook that foremost lark,
And songless fluttered back.
A hovering melody of birds
Haunted the air above;
They clearly sang contentment without words,
And youth and joy and love.
O silvery weeping willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Have you no purpose but to shadow me
Beside this rippled spring?
On this first fleeting day of Spring,
For Winter is gone by,
And every bird on every quivering wing
Floats in a sunny sky;
On this first Summer-like soft day,
While sunshine steeps the air,
And every cloud has gat itself away,
And birds sing everywhere.
Have you no purpose in the world
But thus to shadow me
With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled,
O weeping willow tree?
With all your tremulous leaves outspread
Betwixt me and the sun,
While here I loiter on a mossy bed
With half my work undone;
My work undone, that should be done
At once with all my might;
For after the long day and lingering sun
Comes the unworking night.
This day is lapsing on its way,
Is lapsing out of sight;
And after all the chances of the day
Comes the resourceless night.
The weeping-willow shook its head
And stretched its shadow long;
The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red,
The birds forbore a song.
Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves,
The ripple made a moan,
The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves;
And then I felt alone.
I rose to go, and felt the chill,
And shivered as I went;
Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still,
What more that willow meant;
That silvery weeping-willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Which spent one long day overshadowing me
Beside a spring in Spring.
2.4k
Children of the moon
Wait for Cthulhu's return
As they dine on human fear
In hopes he will appear
When The stars align
It will stand with straightened spin
opening his tired eyes
Followed by the worlds demise
Sleeping in a hole
Far beneath the sea
He delivers horrid scenes
to a chosen fews dreams
Visions of the future
Drowned in smouldered ash
Screams of countless voices
Silenced in a flash
When you look upon his face
A horror to behold
There’s no chance to turn and run
Your soul has turned too cold
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 10:38 AM UTC
TASMANIA, The Apple Isle,
rooted in conquest, convicts
and cannibalism.
Into this desolate paradise,
suffering, starving Englishmen,
dreaming of home, planted
row upon row of small neat
cottages, graciously adorned
by native English roses.
Convicted felons, shunned
from polite English society,
became her upstanding citizens,
and like her fuel-laden forests,
she smouldered, a daughter of
mother England, steeped in
her heritage like a lauded
*** of Earl Grey.
For two centuries, England
grew, a wild sunflower,
with London's sprawling
population sprouting from
1m seedlings, to over 8m
at the peak of her growth.
And somehow, somewhere,
something broke inside.
Today, proud Englishmen
mourn a loss of the spirit
and freedom of their forebears,
still proud, yet yearning
for the simple, honest
existence of a yesteryear
long lost, and not forgotten.
In Tasmania, time drifted
lazily, as outposts sprawled
into small towns, small towns
into small cities, like miniatures
mimicking the motherland
her pioneers had left behind.
But unlike her proud parent,
Tasmania remained true to
the spirit that raised her
from the ashes of convict
settlements, and a fledgling
society intent on defending
the spirit that put England
at the heart of an empire
flourished.
I am an Englishman, proud
to be born and raised in
her heartlands, and prouder
still, to have found that most
distant corner of our once
great empire that embodies still
the spirit of hard work,
fair play and decency that
is found within the beating heart
of every true Englishman.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
In memory,the despised lepidoptera.
Wings ripped in three.
Shreds of vanished memory.
Flies on ripped silent wings no more.
Carried on a breeze of tears.
On wings so sore.
Only the breeze can fly.
Before the ripping of the wings.
Was once sweet symmetry.
A waste of years of plentiful wishes.
Wanton.
Risque.
In expectation excited.
Fed fire with fire.
Long since smouldered.
Flaming desire tragic.
The sorcery dispersed.
The heart of broken magic.
Should the hate crack on.
Smash not the crystal casket.
In which the lady sleeps.
Eternally weeps in silence.
Cost of lost love.
Mourns the cost.
Of love forgot.
While sweet angel sleeps!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
Frostbite lips,
Glacial eyes,
Snowflake teardrops
As you melted away,
My December love.
I knew our love would never last,
Our intimacy was scorching hot,
Our devotion smouldered in the dark,
My Summer heart made you melt
In the palms of my hands.
Strike me in the chest with an icicle,
Take me under with a raging avalanche,
Make me lose myself in a blizzard,
Make it snow long enough
So that we are stuck inside our minds until Winter returns next year.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
No rout, they did not let out a cry,
With veins of flame in swelling eye,
No word, could semble nor shutter,
The bumpy flesh tore into the light,
In nimbles of silence, nimby smoke
Smouldered by sidle of spent fires,
The house of future days was open,
Their ***** it hearts eternally closed.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
No rout, they did not let out a cry,
With veins of flame in swelling eye,
No word, could semble nor shutter,
The bumpy flesh tore into the light,
In nimbles of silence, nimby smoke
Smouldered by sidle of spent fires,
The house of future days was open,
Their ***** it hearts eternally closed.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
.
Rain falls shooting the grounds.
In walks avoiding the schrapnel pits
Bleeding, over spilling, as they swell
Memories play to the mute bitterness
Of far cold, how we went wrong, bled
At arms, burned within salted wound
Of dishonest rush, assault of friendly
Fires as die smouldered out of smoke,
Taint of grace flew into a cauldron dark
A cross of red was only suture to veins
Ripped in the onslaughts and love was
Our only casualty. We were lost, never
To reach the shining wins of conquered
Spoils, never to bed with timeless downs
Of lovers on leave, we now just soldier on,
To walk with rains, in campaign of sorrows.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
in a garden, slender with summer rose,
where the silvering petals
gathered whisky clouds and love,
the shadows smouldered
while the breezes built bridges of
leaves, in a darkening, near nocturnal world;
and i sat, marvelling at the pretty sunset,
at the shady boughs, at the gorgeous
sky in the fading light with its golds and blues
and i felt calm and settled, while the
sun grew smokey, burnt to ruin,
(in the soon ruined sky) dulling, nearly black.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 2:18 PM UTC
The heat of my youth
is as faraway now
as winters
that burned
in the hearth,
the flames
that once tickled my senses
splutter and cough
in the dark,
I used to see dreams
in the firelight
that smouldered
with promise and hope
but they cooled
with the wait
and when
it was too late
they drifted away
with the smoke.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
the smokes still sitting in my lungs
stubbornly latched
on to all of those places where
your sweet breath once conquered
and dragged me to the nearest heaven
where our eyes rolled back with every
in hale; in hell
i was in hell with you
and you lit me with your lips
and you rolled me between your fingers
and then watched as i smouldered into the air
and then you let go
the dying embers of you and i
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
No rout, they did not let out a cry,
With veins of flame in swelling eye,
No word, could semble nor shutter,
The bumpy flesh tore into the light,
In nimbles of silence, nimby smoke
Smouldered by sidle of spent fires,
The house of future days was open,
Their ***** it hearts eternally closed.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Vladimir whispers comfort to me:
*Holly
Holly
Holly
Holly
you should shed your scalesss
on some cheap trolley railssss
Just go, take your passport!
Hold me 'round your neck for sport.*
Smouldered by a motley
Who ****** up my good wing
Denying me proxy
Intaking the most vital thing
The wind is my only real motivation
Inciting a remedy verse
It feels like the strangest locomotive sensation
You find me livid and ready to burst
I notice the finality of some tension approaches
Wait! do you feel the need to breathe?
Are we all indebted to these crimson coaches
While god pushes the sky down on you and me?
I want to wait out their tussles and be grateful
But I pay Her in ****** taxes
I want to dry out my muscles and be helpful
But I'm stuck on a flooded axis
Dreaming of San Juan
Where I tracked predator dung
The search goes on
Where we lost one failing lung
Lead me to the classroom globe
Let me decide when to Disapparate
Give me mother's recipe for a ribosome
I'm sure my trash will eventually dissipate
Erasing
A swing
Defacing
Her ring
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 9:52 PM UTC
No rout, they did not let out a cry,
With veins of flame in swelling eye,
No word, could semble nor shutter,
The bumpy flesh tore into the light,
In nimbles of silence, nimby smoke
Smouldered by sidle of spent fires,
The house of future days was open,
Their ***** it hearts eternally closed.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
Skin deep scars were easy to shoulder,
while the deeper ones each hardened my heart.
Life-long wounds still wept and smouldered,
carving permanent paths.
Hidden cuts wouldn't stop itching,
and beneath my smile shadows kept screaming.
Treacherous memories would sting
and bite right through my once thick skin
then slowly burrow, refusing to die,
spreading their cured lies ...
The scars are mine, the wounds are real,
the memories are with me, still
I was the haunted boy, the wild child.
I was the son loved, beaten, reviled.
I was the dreamer. I was the drama.
I was the fiction that made me me......
--
That was then, but now see,
I have a new writing team,
a change in narrative, a brand new me,
a departure from my past continuity.
Now I have a team-up.
Now I have back-up.
And in this story arch,
I get a power-up,
one new ability:
His power to HEAL ME!
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC
we did not ask for change but still it came
with waving banner and in angry shout
for then our people showed not calm nor tame
but like a flood after long years of drought
that was the moment when the word was rage
that marked the turning of the ancient page
when cities smouldered and when fields were burned
governors fled and parliaments adjourned
in such a time the truth must come in play
the sacred hour of those who once were spurned
who come from darkness into proper day
no one expects the world will stay the same
nor that the light will once again go out
now that all eyes have seen its cheery flame
and minds have been resolved from fear and doubt
by understanding of the proper wage
now to be gained and nothing will assuage
the incensed feelings of the hearts that turned
truly to freedom as the wild waves churned
on the bright shore and we saw the array
of those once vanished who had now returned
who come from darkness into proper day
the story now is not a silly game
nor is it simply nonsense that we spout
about the ending of all hate and shame
now that the old injustice is thrown out
and a new order walks upon the stage
when ordinary folk may shape the age
a better land may some day be discerned
where each achieves the honest pay they earned
and plain respect when their dark hair turns grey
both simple things as far as we're concerned
who come from darkness into proper day
prince we apologise you were interned
your titles stripped and your petitions spurned
your words ignored and servants gone away
but we are with some other things concerned
who come from darkness into proper day
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 8:08 AM UTC
My desire is raging like an inferno
It's roaring like a caged lion it's ready too pounce
Your body being the object of desire
Gripping your waist, kissing your neck
But I can't tell if you're fires burning
Or have you smouldered out
Did you ever even begin to start
Did you ever feel
That desire deep inside.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:23 AM UTC
No rout, they did not let out a cry,
With veins of flame in swelling eye,
No word, could semble nor shutter,
The bumpy flesh tore into the light,
In nimbles of silence, nimby smoke
Smouldered by sidle of spent fires,
The house of future days was open,
Their ***** it hearts eternally closed.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
No rout, they did not let out a cry,
With veins of flame in swelling eye,
No word, could semble nor shutter,
The bumpy flesh tore into the light,
In nimbles of silence, nimby smoke
Smouldered by sidle of spent fires,
The house of future days was open,
Their ***** it hearts eternally closed.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
No rout, they did not let out a cry,
With veins of flame in swelling eye,
No word, could semble nor shutter,
The bumpy flesh tore into the light,
In nimbles of silence, nimby smoke
Smouldered by sidle of spent fires,
The house of future days was open,
Their ***** it hearts eternally closed.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
§
I hold the pieces
of our shattered hearts,
a frozen red handful
of our failed love.
If I could piece them back together,
and if I could sacrifice the warmth of my body
in order to thaw them,
I would certainly do so.
If I could tear open
both of our *******
and place my heart in your chest
and yours in mine,
you know I would do it.
If I could revive the flames
of our love
with the intensity of my passion,
strike a spark to the smouldered ashes,
I would give my eyes
to do so.
But alas my darling...
I fear such things are beyond my power.
All I can do is hand you half
of the mingled shards of our hearts,
and take half for my own.
So that you would thereafter hold
half of my heart,
and I half of yours,
making us eternal equals
in love,
until our bodies grow cold,
in death.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
.
No rout, they did not let out a cry,
With veins of flame in swelling eye,
No word, could semble nor shutter,
The bumpy flesh tore into the light,
In nimbles of silence, nimby smoke
Smouldered by sidle of spent fires,
The house of future days was open,
Their ***** it hearts eternally closed.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 3:44 PM UTC