"sparklers" 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
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
the good things in life seem to stay;
like the color yellow, or a warm summer's day
waking up early, running barefoot in grass
feeling the morning dew brush past
hearing the twinkle of an ice cream truck
if you go, you'll catch it, with luck
eating a popsicle as the sun beats down
riding a bike through a small playground
when dusk comes, once again
we're swimming at night and playing with friends
lighting sparklers that shine brighter than stars
popping cap guns you could hear from afar
running barefoot right down the street
giving the neighborhood dog a treat
taking polaroids like the pictures will stay
but lost them then, by the next summer day
watching as fog rolls slowly ahead
the sun goes down, so time for bed
excitement and thrill, time for a sleepover
the day, for now, will never be over!
karaoke on beds at the crack midnight
crashes of thunder, scary stories, and fright!
still, pretty soon, we get used to it
or in the summer, it all happens quick
never sleeping, don't want it to end
even though there's the weekdays and weekend
glowing lights hang above the bed
sleepy eyes remind us dumb things said
summer, now, doesn't last forever
even if we must change the weather
we must savor it, you and me
and kiss summer hello thrillfully!
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
"Murica" "Murica" "Murica"
chants of patriotism ethnocentrism
nationalist sentiments lacquered in blue red white
spangled with stars and candy striped
"enemies both foreign and domestic"
the roar of jet engines accompanied by
crackling sparklers
summer sunlight
glamorous fireworks
red meat burning over charcoal because
the chef is being kissed
"life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"
the roar of jet engines accompanied by
dying children
systematized ****
internment camps
the division along the 38th parallel because
the evil's communism not McCarthyism no never
"my government has a firm policy not to capitulate"
not to terrorists
not to the UN
not to common sense
not to popular opinion
not to love in all it's forms
but
to corruption
to the oil lobby
to racism
to ***
to the Almighty
dollar
"we have reason to believe Iraq has weapons of mass destruction."
No.
No, you don't.
Lying ********
You *******
You ruined everything.
*****
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
I don't need calm -
I want stampede in my mind
I want sparklers in my soul
I want wildfires in my heart
I don't need calm -
And I wouldn't want calm
If the roots of my madness
Will be springing from your veins
/pc
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
Is it supposed to be nice on Tuesday?
Because I have a date
And I'm hoping
It will be
Good hand-holding weather
And I'm hoping
There will be sunflowers
And I'm praying for
Fireworks
Or sparklers
Or at least lighters
Maybe shooting stars
And rocket launchers
I want this to be the last first.
I don't want this to be awkward.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
No second chances!
No do-overs!
That is one of the regreatable rules of time.
No more pigtails & pretty dresses,
No more Horsey-back & Piggy-back rides,
No more Tee-ball & Soccer,
No more Marry Poppens & Wizard of OZ,
No more Popcorn & Video games,
No more homework & bed time stories,
No more marshmellow roasts & snipe hunts,
No more sand castles & sand dollars,
No more Sparklers & Pinwheels.
No time to pause & reflect!
It can only cause regret!
Enjoy it along the way while you can.
Everything is temporary.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
sparklers are for the people who
love more
than they could ever
be loved in return,
for the ones who
exhaust
extinguish
their own light for others
to only appreciate them
for a moment and then
be forgotten,
for those who run out in rainstorms
for people who won’t even
stay with them in the sunshine,
for the ones who wait until
everyone around them is shining before they
ignite their light and glow.
but you can’t live by just
borrowing love for an instant or
living with the
ashes of other’s achievements;
you die a fresh death every time you listen to
those voices
that crash down on you like hail until
you’re too numb to move
you’re too over it to try
you’re too cold to ignite
at all.
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 11:22 AM UTC
My dad dug his foot into my back like a shovel breaking soil.
If I do enough push ups, can I put a smile on your face.
If I move the earth for you, will meteors stop me.
I carried sparklers in my hands while cannon-kisses erupted in the sky,
and my cousin swore that I'd hurt myself.
But I explained to him that history repeats itself,
and that my hurt is unavoidable.
Like the hug of a grieving grandmother,
and the staring off into space,
as her tears stain my white oxford lie.
There's no way to get out of this place.
Finding new ways to live in death.
I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.
And her fingers left a ******* on my back.
And my mouth melted onto hers.
I love her until my eyes **** in sleep.
And it's deep. And it's deep.
The swirl of the ceiling sank down
like a child being drowned by his mother.
And I missed my brother, and I missed it all.
I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.
No, not anymore.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
Miss India is back...
To bring happiness from those gloomy days and nights...
When everyone enjoys the royal feast
Their faces beam of sheer delight..
Ohh... what a wonderful Diwali night...
When the newly crowned Miss India returns...
from months of touring all over the world
Home sweet home at last...
On this special Diwali night
She is here with her loved ones on this night
Tonight
Look up at the sky....
What can you see?
Arent those crackers and sparklers up the sky?
So shining sparks the night
All because Miss India is here on Diwali night...
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
It's Diwali Tonight Festival of Lights
Celebratory Mood Festive Food
Gifts and Treats, Sharing a Delight
The House Well Lit
Decorated in Bridal Colours
The Courtyard and Front Door
Decorated is the Floor
In Colourful
Rangoli
Designs and Patterns
The Porch Lit Bright
With Earthen and Sky Lamps
And Decorative Lights
Welcoming The Goddess 'Laxmi'
For Good Luck , Wealth and Prosperity
Fineries Adorned
The Family comes together in the evening
Reverently Offering Prayers
Following the Rituals .
Friends come visiting
Sharing the Love Warmth and Light
Mithai and more Mithai
Calories not bothered About
Once in a year it's a Delight
Children burst Crackers
And Light up Sparklers
The Night Sky lights up Bright
Yes it's the Festival of Lights
Spreading Happiness and Cheer
The Light within Burns Bright
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 9:15 PM UTC
Passion is simple.
Passion is tipsy talks with your best friend on a saturday night,
passion is sleepy sunday mornings waking up beside someone you care about.
Passion is spelling your name in the air with sparklers on new years,
passion is a pancake breakfast on christmas morning.
Passion is stargazing in the countryside,
passion is not really knowing much about constellations but always being able to find the big dipper no matter where in the world you are.
Passion is laughs that make you cry,
passion is crying all night until you have no more tears left.
Passion is waking up at six am to watch the sun rise,
passion is napping in the afternoon sunlight.
Passion is watching a thunderstorm on your front porch,
passion is the smell after it rains.
Passion is not knowing where you want to go but knowing you are going somewhere,
passion is simple.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
♡
A cottage
at the end of the path,
between maple trees and evergreens,
a front porch, weathered boards,
memories in the grain,
summers by the lake,
green converse allstars,
monopoly into the wee hours of the morning,
pancakes and bacon mornings,
red ginham table cloths,
chasing fireflies, sparklers,
hot dogs on the grille,
spitting watermelon seeds, sticky chins...
a cottage, memories,
and now we make our own,
hand in hand as love
once again sits on the porch,
counting stars and drinking lemonade,
you and me and a cottage
at the end of a path...
love
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
All the passers by stop and stare
at the girl with the sparklers in her hair
a crown adorned with precious jewels
to blind those mere mortal fools
as many men have laid at her feet
to form a blanket on the ground
but her Prince shes yet to meet
her true love has not been found
the one that will look past the glitter
and see the sparkle from within
this one will remain with her
through this turbulent life of sin.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
When the sky greys, memories: the first blush
of a joy unknown sprouting in the vases
sparklers, Catherine wheels on the front yards
of the homes of others; We possessed nothing
but our hearts of gold that leapt in waves;
Diwali like no other, on the streets, under the sky;
Away far over the seas among our kind who
in such distance are kin in a moment: home is
just the company of friends, memories lighted
in silver streaks of crackers past the shadows
of gardens retired for the night, and we, carefree,
in Southall where it was allowed to be merry;
It was the November of dreams, a night
like no other, now comes rushing in flashes
dawning nimble across time in the hues of blue.
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 4:57 PM UTC
Sparks jettisoning into the crisp blackness,
A vivid orange against the backdrop of ebony silence,
Fairies of fire, winging their way home
On an unexpected breeze.
The bonfire a crackle, at once dangerous and comforting,
A furnace ablaze with light, livid and burning with raw energy,
Luring its annual admirers ever closer,
As moths to a flame.
The people, hatted and be-scarved, huddle, cluster,
Sparklers whirling before them, glitzy with extravagance,
Their wispy signatures hanging in the air, short-lived
And fading, fading into nothing.
And only now the fantasia of fireworks commences,
The artist experimenting with line, with colour, his audience captive,
And then at once, a dazzling fountain of jewelled light: ruby, jade, opal, sapphire,
A painting of shimmering castles in the sky.
And a middle-aged man with his son, glove to mitten; in his arms, a daughter,
Her bright gaze betraying the hands over her ears,
A snapshot of dizzy delight, breathless and enchanting,
A simple picture of rare beauty.
Later, with the remnants and debris of the evening lying discarded,
Dying, the brave bonfire, now petered out, sizzles and smoulders,
A scarlet and amber glow lingering on,
Still warm with the memories of youth.
Copyright Vicki Watson 2012
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
The stillness after a fresh snowfall
Unsettles as senses heighten.
The bright sky hangs and falling ever closer.
The air is alive with a buzz of the gift.
Through the night light shines as day
And serenity sings.
Fire rolls across the sky, a mighty titan
The lightning dances in and out
The rain falls washing away all disdain
Of what never was.
Your words light the black sky of my mind
Like sparklers and fireworks though
You couldn't ever know.
It’s something about you that I just can't get over.
That hold over me like
The greatest story never told.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
When fireworks implode above us,
I understand why people say
"When I kiss you, I feel fireworks."
At first, it's like sparklers.
Small, short, but entertaining enough
to make you want to try again.
Then it gets up to firecrackers.
They get you heated, they make you
wanna throw a party.
Then they're fireworks.
It feels like you're exploding and
you can't help but be in awe.
And it's beautiful.
It's a moment you wish
you could catch on camera.
It's what keeps you waiting for
the grand finale.
It's what keeps me wanting
you.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
people -- blue jeans -- t-shirts -- volleyball -- sparklers -- *** its -- stone bridge -- pine trees -- new trees -- old trees -- fireworks -- grass -- sonic boom -- picnic chairs -- bicycles -- oak trees -- bare neck -- tickles -- sneezing -- bless you -- slight chill -- cloud cover -- police cars -- policemen -- uniforms -- night sticks -- sweat pants -- baby strollers -- skull & crossbones -- muscle shirt -- sweat shirt -- baseball caps -- fountains of sparks -- greenery -- dandelions -- yellow weeds -- wafting smoke -- black man in white shirt -- white man in black shirt -- SUV -- Boxer dog -- red wagon -- smoke stacks -- asian couple -- running shorts -- acrid smoke -- ice cream truck -- double trees -- pony tail -- mosquitos -- fishing hat -- yellow truck -- handlebar mustache -- bad *** attitude -- shaved head -- balloon -- barbeque -- sunset -- affro -- tennis shoes -- multi-colored hair -- canoe -- golden purse -- playing band -- American flag -- folding chair -- name badge -- red, white, & blue -- skipping rocks -- cargo shorts -- matching couple -- bike path -- hippie hair -- low rider -- peace sign -- golden chains -- waning moon -- waxed legs -- hoodies -- striped shirt -- victory dance -- short shorts -- cigar smoke -- watermelon -- Viking's bag -- leopard skin jacket -- skooter -- digital camera -- creepy stalker dude -- tent building -- horeshoes -- personal space invaders -- glow sticks -- picnic basket -- cooler -- smoke bombs -- plaid skirt -- 77 sweats -- interracial couples -- motorcycle -- orange vest -- plastic ball -- face paint -- cops in two different uniforms -- split tree -- pregnant lady -- trash talking horeshoe player -- street lamps -- playing tag -- large blue cooler -- bright green pants -- humorless boy
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
What I’m craving right now is a
Shot of July,
Fireworks flying high
Over this town that everybody wants to leave
But I will never get over,
Never get over his smile,
Friday night,
Pulling up in my drive,
His voice so full and alive,
Making me want to dive
Right in,
Right into the lake that’s too cold
But I’m too old
I guess, to laugh out loud,
Do something just for fun,
Be happy for no reason,
Be optimistic and cherish hope for a
Better season-
I’m supposed to be already
Battle-hardened, war-ready;
I haven’t reached twenty but I know
There’s evil in the world.
That doesn’t mean there still isn’t good.
I’m craving a shot of July when
I’m not old enough to take a shot,
But I’m old enough to take a stand,
Lend a hand,
Understand,
Witness injustice firsthand
And use my voice to try and mend.
So please.
No more gunshots in July,
No more mothers wondering whether
Her son is going to survive the night,
No more human skin grated against concrete,
No more hospital beds surrounded by weeping,
No more lives lost and priests kneeling
And children screaming for their fathers,
Both earthly and eternal.
What I’m craving right now is a
Shot of July,
Fireworks flying high,
The loudest screams out tonight
Are the children chasing each other with
Sparklers in the yard,
Not yet marred
By the ideas of the world.
So please.
No more gunshots in July.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 4:23 PM UTC
You are, almost
Tell me your first memory of happiness.
Maybe a swing set above wood chips or
collecting ladybugs in your pockets or
a perfectly cut sandwich you didn't make
or the smell of grass mixed with chlorine
and sunscreen coating your skin under
a sky brighter than any future imaginable.
Pink frosting from cake dyes palms
into a canvas of sugary pigment
A popsicle melting down between
the webbing of eager fingers
Teeth are covered in chocolate and
face a mess and
all smiles,
it is funny how joy always seems
to be synonymous with
sweetness and
giggles and
the memory of being too young to remember anything fully.
19 is poison for a clock
it is reminder to wake up
after pretending to be
something you were not for too long
time is eating away the comfort
from your bones, I wonder
does candy still taste like candy
when it has grown stale?
when the shell has cracked and
all that remains is what's inside,
is it still desirable then?
will people still want to know
what you feel like against their tongue
after you've already touched the ground?
The same texture but time
has made its evidence on you tangible
The juice once spilling from your hands
has become wine
The summer sparklers have become remnants of
cigarettes on your nail buds,
ashes of trying to forget,
you are no longer afraid of fireworks
the hairbrush holds another version of yourself,
a near stranger with similar freckles who
once insisted on only wearing dresses,
now you struggle just to get shoes on,
it was easier when someone did it all for you,
everything is, that way.
I don't know when laughing became
a side effect instead of a soundtrack but
it still rings familiar, sometimes.
19 is more sour than lost
it is possible to know whereabouts with
a bitterness between your lips but
not all of your past is disintegrating
there is a love for saccharine that still remains,
more honey than cloying and
19 may be taunting down a candle to its wick
asking to be noticed but
it is ready to be uncovered
19 is golden
You are, almost.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
*** with you
is a workout.
Quick breaths and heavy heartbeats.
I love your sweat
and the way it makes your skin
stick to mine.
*** with you is a hurricane
violent winds strong enough
I’d blow away if I didn’t
grip the anchor of your hips.
I count seconds between
the lightning in your smile
and the thunder of your heartbeat
to know how close you are.
It is neuroscience.
Can you see the action potential
jump up the dendrites of my fingers
when I touch you?
It is a fistfight
it might end with
bruises and ****** lips
but it’s worth it for the adrenaline rush
behind the upper cut.
Later I can’t stop tonguing
the cut on the inside of my mouth.
I like the way you sting.
*** with you is a
wrinkle in time.
It’s the bottom of the ninth
2 outs, bases loaded
and time. just. stops.
It’s a SWAT team’s
flash bang.
The explosion leaves me dazed,
and I can’t hear anything but my pulse.
It’s any number of drugs.
Your tongue
tastes like moonshine
My body swirls
and my mouth rounds hollow
around the smoke in your kisses.
*** with you is
using all seven tiles in Scrabble
and landing on a triple word score.
For a moment,
I am invincible.
It is plate tectonics.
My body dips into the magma
of the negative space between your hips,
my favorite subduction zone.
*** with you is a math problem
It’s complicated and
it takes patience
but there’s not a word for the
satisfaction when my fingers
draw the last equal sign
and the red pen of your body
is silenced.
*** with you is like
sparklers.
I want to write our names in fire.
May 11, 2011
May 11, 2011 at 1:03 AM UTC
A spark
amongst sparks
That is all that we are
Some lighting candles
Others cigars
Or petrol soaked rags
Stuffed in a bottle
And flung at the enemy
At full throttle
Another lights the furnace
That warms the home
And everyone within
Not the garden gnome
We sparks.
Sparkling
But for and instant
And then ...
An all consuming
Black.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:52 AM UTC
Civilized mankind has a unique way,
To party and celebrate a most special day.
Potassium and sulfur, mixed with some coal,
Can reduce a mountain into the hill of a mole.
Gunpowder is thought to have China as a start,
Ceremonies commence, fireworks a part.
I always thought, it amusing to find,
Warfare and festival are two of a kind.
Powerful explosions that disable and destroy,
Have the ability to give the masses such joy.
Here we go, let the bash begin,
Guaranteed to give, your face a grin.
Let's add some luminosity to this summer blast,
Firecrackers and sparklers make the jubilee last.
Pinwheels are nailed safely to a tree,
Furiously twirls colors for all to see.
An aerial assault aloft, hear them roar,
Yellows and greens, in the air they will soar.
Flash flaming fluorescence, blue and red,
Envelop your eyes, dancing in your head.
See the trail of a missile, zipping in flight,
Shiny illuminations, all through the night.
On the ground at the end of a fireworks show,
Blazing stars and stripes, a flag created, watch it glow.
The fourth of July is America's time,
A birthday blowout, drinks with lemon and lime.
This frolicking is filled with food, family and fun,
Independence day, I wish it never was done.
Please visit poemsbypaul.com
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC