"smouldering" poems
175
I have never seen “Volcanoes”—
But, when Travellers tell
How those old—phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still—
Bear within—appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men—
If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place—
If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome—
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?
If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy “Pompeii”!
To the Hills return!
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The air is perfumed with fresh rosemary's
And the wild springs with lush berries
Their presence colours the nursery with a sweet loom
It bleeds into the forecast for tomorrow's gloom
Nostalgia hits hard, heartbreaking and eerie
For a day when I wasn't paranoid and weary
Well, I'll be down by the Brighton pier
Watching birds float past in lonely fear
I'd love to turn away
The pristine sun shines like Hades
The outside scent is yellow, maybe
Little daises laugh in the foreground
Gardens sow a loving sound
Once I could see hope in the trees
And the love that whispered on the breeze
Now the trees foreshadow longing
And the gale howls with wronging
I'd love to turn away
The intimacy in my yellow tinted flowers seems to have faded
And the soft orchards have been invaded
My words burnt in a smouldering pile of dust
And steaming with the heat of my lust
I told a crowd I had something to say
But the people turned away
away
away...
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
I'm transparent like a window
but I'm prone to keeping curtains closed
to cover up my youthful,
aching, naked soul.
I used to be promiscuous;
my essence on my sleeve.
a charming laugh; a crystal glass
from which many a fool drew drink.
A chalice of life;
warm like cinnamon wine,
soft like angel's delight.
Beheld by every eye.
But it never felt right;
I was smoke off a fire,
yet still smouldering coal.
Just a young, beautiful
byproduct of desire.
There's no smoke without fire.
Although, I tried to fan it cool;
the flames ran only wilder.
But as the old wind blows, it seems
a withered tree still grows new leaves.
A dandelion spreads its seeds
but they lie far away from me.
Now, I move transcluently-
ultraviolet invisible ink-
I speak in soothing whispers;
they travel further than you'd think.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Here in the morning gloaming
burning
my skin flaming
as I imagine red kisses
from smouldering lips!
How easily
in anticipation
you make me whimper
before with pleasure
making me simper -
each kiss
another hot coal
placed on my rawness
with searing softness.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 4:26 AM UTC
What smouldering senses in death’s sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude
Can rob this body of honour, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady’s lips did play
With these my lips such consonant interlude
As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
I was a child beneath her touch,—a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,—
A spirit when her spirit looked through me,—
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love’s emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity.
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This is the colour of my anger:
A white hot searing fever
Tearing through my veins like amphetamine;
A surreal dream that keeps replaying in my brain
Over and over again...
Life is pain enough
Without other people
Making it tough. Guess I ran out of luck:
Top of the class and surrounded by dumb *****
Whose only qualification is knowing how to trigger
The ticking bomb I've strapped on
In my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
This weird red mist with its fingers
Coiled around my brain,
Blurring my vision as I allow it
To make my decisions
For me. Again, it hands me the gun, then runs,
Leaving me to get the
Damage done. Well, aint this fun?
Three, two, one, and it’s time to take cover
I won’t get any sleep
Until I’ve shown you the colour
Of my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
A smouldering orange lava
That laughs at the wrath of the sun,
And I feel like the risen Son
As it pours out of me, heavenly,
Reducing everything in its path to the
Sum of zero
But this is just a fraction of what it’s capable of.
Hot and full of hell is my fury. Shit's getting gory.
It's time to remove the canker.
No more bluffing, I’m all in -
Let the games begin
With my anger.
This is the colour
This is the colour
This is the ************* colour
This is the colour of my anger:
The cloudless blue of my eyes
As I admire my workmanship,
Reflecting upon the new ********
That I have just ripped for you.
My smile spreads from ear to ear, like a slit throat,
Beatific in my ecstasy as this anger drains out of me.
The adrenaline that pumped so furiously
Now dumps its load in me, bringing me to my knees.
Enough, I say, as I see how small you stand there;
Let's call it a day, now be on your way,
Just remember the colour of my anger.
Don’t ever
****
With me
Again
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC
1132
The smouldering embers blush—
Oh Hearts within the Coal
Hast thou survived so many years?
The smouldering embers smile—
Soft stirs the news of Light
The stolid seconds glow
One requisite has Fire that lasts
Prometheus never knew—
4.8k
The Great Newfoundland novel (summation)
A young man brimming with
Townie **** and vinegar or
Bay boy brimming with obnoxious bravado
Eventually he leaves and discovers
How people treat fellow man
Seemingly beaten down
Genetic history Of Newfoundland Truck System
Alongside founders population variance,
Upward spike in heart disease, stroke, diabetes, cancers
Lurks engrained learned hopelessness
Smouldering in "Newfie" jokes
You'd better hope I let it slide
Unless you wanna find out
What a peat moss bog smells like
Or how it feels to freeze to death
Tied to a crucifix
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
Your hand brushed against mine, heat slithered up my thigh,
A python of mystery and allure, temptations offering more.
I tried to avoid your eyes, to avoid facing all those lies,
But I wanted us to burn, deep into the sheets, igniting skin,
Skin on fire, liar liar, pants on fire.
I wanted nothing more, than to send you up in flames
Smoke dancing around your lungs, tightening your chest
The way I couldn't breathe, when you played such cruel games.
I longed for your eyes to sting, in a way you couldn't rest
Eyes on fire, liar liar, pants on fire.
And when we come up for air, with sweat upon our brows,
But not enough to put these flames out,
I hope you inhale the way you made me feel
And I'll watch it lick you, the way I didn't any more,
Into the sorriest ashes, smouldering on the floor,
Skin on fire, liar liar, pants on fire.
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
smoke and ghosts,
utter emptiness.
the moon drifting
in a smouldering sea
of grey inks.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
There is a Frantic Masquerade, I've heard it said,
where masquers revel in moonlight in the dark city streets.
Their iron shoes burn a smouldering red
and compels them never end the song they sing with their feet.
There is a leather Curtain, made up of silence and shame.
They place upon each dancer's face as they waltz through the night.
They never share a longing gaze, never whisper a lover's name,
and as their souls lose their lustre, their iron shoes burn ever bright.
There is a lonely Ballroom of sad rain and cold concrete,
where masquers revel in terror at the symphony in their heads.
Their steps move ever faster, but their empty eyes never meet.
Hearts cold, they dance with hot feet, ere they're dead.
There is a Frantic Masquerade, I've heard it said.
Their icy hearts stave off passion's heat.
They'll dance that way till the shoes burn through their head,
and only when the ice melts might their heart's dance be complete.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
A waste paper bin
Left in the corner.
Containing little folded up letters,
Discarded as the heart was.
A gang of stupid teenage vandals having a laugh,
Disregarded what they had done.
Disposed of the butts irresponsible after having their smokes,
In the bin.
Not doused.
The silly lads.
Wandered away.
They did not see the smouldering,
the burning in that bin
The origami scraps,
Folded as swans,
Too charred to fly away.
Sadly written on the innards of the origami swans,
Words carried on love letters never to be seen again.
Their love was carried away on a puff of white smoke.
(c) Livvi
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Imagine a warehouse of apples with their individual conciousness.
They are labelled and categorised.
They are segregated.
The apples are gathered and put into boxes marked
by what they want to be known by,
their commonality/mentality.
If a bushel of apples are a stigma, they are put into boxes marked by what the other apples tag them by.
In a self-marked box, by the name of “surat zayifa” an apple lays at the juncture of the pyramid of analogous red,
maggots eating away at it’s heart.
The apple turned crimson hued to an evangelist blood maroon. Smouldering; festering like an open wound.
A stinging aura besieged it,
suffocating the air like sharpnel stuck in the throat.
The apple, consumed by a dark resurgence and a devilish resolve,
spoke in tongues of the serpent and supplanted seeds of pestilence in the hearts of the apples who joined his brooding virtue.
A collective conciousness was supplanted among the fruit,
imprinted with the face of death.
The world of apples, thrive on each other and face the forebodings of life together in spite of their marked differences in a state of throbbing dependancy.
The apples feed on the apples.
Another self-marked box, by the name of “khalas” were set to consume the apples from “surat zayifa” to continue finity,
unwary of their poisoned souls.
The apples fed on the apples and almost every other apple rotted and perished.
The apples that survived were the ones who consumed the apples unblemished in spirit.
All the others apples from all the other boxes blamed “surat zayifa” as a whole.
Even the apples purest, were tainted by the sins of the other apples,
the ones to take the blame for the misdeed of their creed.
The box was now marked in disgrace, a vehemence, a scourge.
The last remaining poisoned apple that was set to perish from “khalas” did something morally unhinging before it’s spirit departed;
the apple smeared it’s tan blood with words on the cardboard and dropped dead.
The singular light bulb flickered, the pulse strained.
Everything fell silent.
The words read “ We are ourselves. We **** ourselves.”
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
the spanish seaside town
as the sun sets
is golden to the eye
and warm to the soul
full of life
and beauty
did not seek this place
but fate sought it for me
she came out of the west
and i was captured the moment i beheld her
spanish goddess
her smile captivates
exquisite true beauty
in the glow of her laugh
with that one small gesture
she is pure sunshine
she is tender and true love
she heals the heart
and frees the soul
spanish goddess
her dark eyes a cage
of smouldering passions
and gentle fires of deep and true loves
spanish goddess
her smile
haunts me
such beauty cannot be contained in my heart
such absolute and mesmerizing perfection
cannot be beheld in such a small place
as one mans simple soul
spanish goddess
i am riven by you and nursed back by you
i am torn apart and mended by you
i am created and destroyed
all in the single moment i am graced by the sweet embrace
of even a mere glance with the touch of a smile of yours
spanish goddess
please please do not let me awaken
from this beautiful dream
let me be forever here
in spanish seaside town
at the setting of the sun
in the perfection of your attentions and kindness
with your beauty and warmth
that is heaven
in every sense of the word
spanish goddess
you have forever changed me
from a lost soul
without hope or direction
to the captain of my future
forever to seek safe harbor
in a spanish seaside town
forever more to thirst for your smile
for your laugh
for you
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Who put that crease in your soul,
Davies, ready this fine morning
For the staid chapel, where the Book's frown
Sobers the sunlight? Who taught you to pray
And scheme at once, your eyes turning
Skyward, while your swift mind weighs
Your heifer's chances in the next town's
Fair on Thursday? Are your heart's coals
Kindled for God, or is the burning
Of your lean cheeks because you sit
Too near that girl's smouldering gaze?
Tell me, Davies, for the faint breeze
From heaven freshens and I roll in it,
Who taught you your deft poise?
3.3k
1.
Inhaling poison like it’s a sweet spring breeze,
an antidote to the pounding heart and aching stomach empty of comfort or substance
Meeting with pavement in a tiger’s crouch
fingers float toward parted lips
awaiting the taste of relief in the form of smouldering leaves.
2.
One tentative epidermis approaches another
tendons and ligaments straining, aching for contact
attempting nonchalance in the lamplight privacy of early morning,
cocking ears to detect voyeuristic insomniacs
who would disturb the disorderly expressions of early experimentation.
3.
White lady dusting the concrete path, sterile and unconfined
laid new before careful feet making their way to shiny metal boxes
bundled in seasonal expectations they trudge through stardust
on their way to blood borne obligations,
leaving behind careless tracks in ****** flesh
4.
Blazing sun presses down on shoulders hunched behind compact table tops
peddling penny prologues to unabashed strangers
bartering unwanted pocket change for rejected trinkets
haggling over half-dried finger paints and unfinished chess sets
rescuing garish afghans from dusty closeted life.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
and bright knights
the phoenix spread
her smouldering wings
the Sphinx dethroned
future kings
the Queen of Hearts
a heartless nag
Baba Yaga the stilted
house . the hag
brave Beowulf
dragged down to drown
the monster Grendel
by him was slain
Io was a cow despised
watched by a creature
with one hundred eyes
the lawn is made
a land of gnomes
mushrooms grow
in garden homes
where are
all these things indeed?
they are in books
just look and read!!!
SøułSurvivør aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
Catherine Jarvis
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
She's this insatiable urge
gaining on me,
like a herd of horses
galloping in the treachery of the wild,
their muscles brushed to a shine
rippling down their calves
to embrace the ground
beneath their ironed hooves
shaking it up, tormenting its calm,
whipping up tremors
that know no chains and travel far.
When she's around
dust and sweat break free
with muscles aching in symphony
the heart is all worked up
like a boiler room in heat
pummeling all of its adrenaline
in one fleeting indulgence
which the universe with all its hatcheries
is itching to contain
before the raging tides in
and floods my world.
She's the elusive horizon
used to passionate chases
and the sly azure lunging at it
for one sweet glimpse of the cleavage where it conjoins with the earth
looking for Elysium that never is.
Ah! But that is what it is
for the tamed to think of love
is an impossibility
for it grows in the wild
separated by a hundred chasms
and a million mazes
waiting for a fool to cross over.
When she isn't around
the rumpled sheets tell our story
for it has seen the storms
that raged in the cavernous nights
and filled up balmy noons
with the savagery of love
still crackling like embers of fire
which have seen better days,
and, light up still, with a death wish
to tell of our smouldering lives
that thrived in spasms of our last breath.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
Colliding; the collusion of day and night
Of things co-exsisting, theirs,
Light and darkness.
Blazing across the ethereal plain
An arch angelic inferno.
Infinite is the horizon
Confluently coloured; eminence
Transforming smouldering heat.
An auric aureole interpenetrating diverse bi-unity,
Illuminative transcension igniting
The charcoal black vast depths of heaven, space.
The eternal perfection ordained, twilight
Zenith sense turbulent like the oceans tide
Anthropomorphic legions, lingering shadows
In the purgatory of mischievous children.
Blood gushing like emotions,
Sacraments ordained for sacrifice
Canonised; Sepulchre
Immortal legions mortal as the knell echoes
This side of paradise,
Heaven an altar
A church altar, rapidly retreating
As stars disperse like candles fading-
Sacrilegious; sepulchre
Of angels fallen.
1997 ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
Hit the ground hard,
Rosary beads hit the dust,
Praying on your knees
That you have seen the last of us,
Heaven's gates are far from calling,
And your graces are still falling,
Repent and confess your darkest sins,
The Devil is coming, don't let him in,
Do not embrace his smouldering charm,
Or let him take you by the arm,
Or ****** your soul and accept his kiss,
That burns like acid and tastes like bliss,
Don't fall for his lust or burning desire,
Or for eternity you will be trapped within the fire.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
// she falls in love the same way that she falls apart; quickly and all at once.
tumbling into his outstretched palms with a startling intensity, his fists clench and she cries.
she wants him to hurt her, leave smouldering bruises around her neck. Force your fingers down her throat and make her beg. maybe this love; choking sounds and blood.
it’s almost funny, the fact that she still hasn’t learned yet; make him your everything and you will be left with nothing.
and it feels like hell, almost romantic.
her lips part in the dimly lit room, gasping for air.
that’s the thing, there is nothing he could do to her that she wouldn’t do to herself. hold a knife to her neck and watch her soul drip from her mouth
one rib at a time you snapped them all like twigs and complained that she made too much noise. too much,
too loud.
lungs swimming in fluid yet she breathes out flowers, because that’s what pretty girls do; that’s what you wanted isn’t it babe? beauty. perfection.
don’t let him inside your head, keep him between your thighs or else everything around you will become white noise; fading into the background.
go on, romanticise it. i dare you.
force its unwilling bones into a metaphor or a simile.
pretend that we fall apart into beautiful, tragic spectacles and simply glue the broken fragments back together
she sat in the dark with a cup of tea between her shaking hands, resisting the urge to split her veins over the white walls and string her organs from the ceiling like fairy lights.
wanting to die in the most violent of ways is a lot less convenient than it seems; an unholy addiction of the rawest degree.
darling, i’m sorry he made you feel like you are hard to love,
because loving you is the easiest thing in the world //
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
The first leaf born from the forests seeding. Birthing
What flourished, grew here today. Each woodland had
A keeper, a life born from seed to the fruit of souls.
Animals nourished this new born, language of each
Taught, spoken winds told her of what happened
Near and far the woodland was a majestic place.
Upon a staff the first leaf flourished free floating
Energies of the forest flowed, emanated from its aura.
The winds spoke and she listened staff held in hand.
A light birthed from the sky had found ground and
Trees set ablaze in it anger, their cries heard felt, pain
As life was slowly turned to lifeless ash, she cried.
As her staff called upon elements, ground, water, air.
Each apart to platy as the stream did rise upon the
Banks water did touch her feet and the staff came down.
The vines did drop entwined in circular stance and water
Fed and rained out, quenching diluting flames anger.
The pain felt as smouldering now floating ash.
Her hand felt the orchard of blackened bark, some lost.
But in time new life would flourish where it fell, consumed
To ash before. A seed she settled where new birth given form.
She bowed to the forest for it guidance. A droplet feel from
The first leaf, a tear of sorrow for what was lost, nourishing,
Healing those not fallen bark did scar, reminders of before.
She walks among the trees, the winds talk too her, she laughs
Sometimes a joke maybe wind is funny that way, the cycle
Continues she is the guardian of first leaf, and then she walks.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:26 AM UTC
oh but for a moment of sweet, foolish fun.
smouldering coals glow bright
with gentle touch.
a moment of young, lovely bliss,
a kiss shared -
a real one,
not the farce of hours prior -
from one who is interested.
conversation spills out,
and with it,
admiration, affinity,
some sense of belonging.
silly things, not heavy,
but light.
float above the damp night grass -
soar amongst the clouds gathering above.
push past the smoking remains of
the fire
up the stairs
laughter, smiles, warm skin
nobody's business but ours
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
Turn off all the lights,
I want to see your heart glow
And your true colours shine
Like a spectrum,
Watch the colours of
Sky blue,
Blood red,
Sunset orange,
Apple green,
Dance across the walls
And sing a serenade
Of a thousand dreams,
Let me hold you close
So I can feel the technicolor
Pulse beneath your skin
And ignite a rainbow
In my soul,
Take me to the sea of stars
That glisten in the iris
Of your eyes,
I am perplexed by
The way you sway
With the colours of the night,
A fire in your stomach
That spits embers of smouldering
Beauty,
I am lucky to be the one that shares your prismatic perfection.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC