"tealights" poems - Hello Poetry

A Zippo lighter with a smoker's cough, propositions the ladybug clinging to a flannel pocket, You can always trust a tealight to warm the neglected beetles, that cling to your chest. this Ritual of the staring contest. attention behind the curtain: When You blink at the Rorschach shadows tell me, they are not mailboxes. The spirits linger; we stumble into entanglement birch trees weaving baskets from our branches I'm known to cave on integrity, for the taste of freckles, flickering tealights in the hearthstone, with a smokers cough.

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Sep 9, 2018

Sep 9, 2018 at 3:08 AM UTC

GeekElement

zippo

A Zippo lighter with a smoker's cough, propositions the ladybug clinging to a flannel pocket, You can always trust a tealight to warm the neglected beetles, that cling to your chest. this Ritual of the staring contest. attention behind the curtain: When You blink at the Rorschach shadows tell me, they are not mailboxes. The spirits linger; we stumble into entanglement birch trees weaving baskets from our branches I'm known to cave on integrity, for the taste of freckles, flickering tealights in the hearthstone, with a smokers cough.

15

Like the faint speckles of light piercing through fabrics of black silk upon the fore of flickering flames from an ensemble of a thousand tealights The obscure vast extends beyond our perspective opening our minds, birthing visual imagery brought upon by this vivid intimacy between the light and of the dark Like ornate embroidery, leisurely sewn as clouds transform while traversing the temporal expanse revealing our past through portraits of familiarities once anew The romantic serenity politely interrupted by wisps of wind that softly whisper feeling their breath; as a caress of silk delicately brushing against our skin As the warmth of earth upon which our bodies rest holds us closely as our souls explore the everlasting and exclusive wonders under the night sky

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Dec 5, 2016

Dec 5, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC

alvin-llanos

Under the Night Sky

Like the faint speckles of light piercing through fabrics of black silk upon the fore of flickering flames from an ensemble of a thousand tealights The obscure vast extends beyond our perspective opening our minds, birthing visual imagery brought upon by this vivid intimacy between the light and of the dark Like ornate embroidery, leisurely sewn as clouds transform while traversing the temporal expanse revealing our past through portraits of familiarities once anew The romantic serenity politely interrupted by wisps of wind that softly whisper feeling their breath; as a caress of silk delicately brushing against our skin As the warmth of earth upon which our bodies rest holds us closely as our souls explore the everlasting and exclusive wonders under the night sky

20

rock smashes scissors break our swords Scissors cut paper tear up our poetry paper covers rock. shielded by policy we have our voices. all rock, all scissor, all paper. all spock, all lizard we do not play games, we Speak. We throw spock hands like Gang signs spit parsel tongue at pride haters we write love letters to revolution We cut red tape with our long fuzes Hit rock bottom, more bass in our Voices than god knows what to do with So we tell him exactlly where it should go. Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock They hold their pens like scissors carving history books into erasure poems We would swing our pens like swords. But no leader we trust has been elected yet. We would have a leader to guide us But snakeoil salesmen plague our trenches. There would be no snakeoil salesmen if we had a stable government We would have a stable government but the stability was sharpied out of our history books. And To history, loud voices sound like the fires of god. And are we not the voices with more bass then God knows what to do with. without words on the wind, There is no flame so aren't we fire. We all have tealights waiting in cold oven hearts. stone hearths begging for Ignition eager for bootleg promises of warmth The orange rhetoric of our future no warmer than tinders logo. or a video recording of a fireplace flickering on a flatscreen at best buy. We are distracted constantly. misdirected by Houses of paper cards origami swans we don't dare unfold Staying ignorant of the tire track liner inside. origami swans are so much more beautiful when they have secrets, right? I have a matchstick watch me strike it lit flare this paper swan into a pheonix. And hold it in my fist. there will be fire. and it will not be a metaphor But It will be a revolution And it will be a pheonix and the pheonix WILL be a metaphor The Rabbi at Temple Beth El said when a mans consumed by gods fire it is a severance from faith, a spiritual death. what have we done if not lost faith in our government? Been consumed by the fires of god. and why not tattoo pheonix feathers on our backs? at least this death gave us warmth. a home in the world's ashes. I stared at the dragons fire that stormed towards me thanked it for the oppurtunity to walk out of this world holding dragons eggs Like Daneris Tygareon and they will be real dragons. incubated by REAL fire despite this crumbling cataclysm you call a great america. Spock handed Lizards larger and louder with all the rocks paper and scissors they need to set the world on fire. To Finally see something beautiful be born. A Home that keeps them warm.

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Jun 7, 2017

Jun 7, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC

GeekElement

Rock paper scissors lizard spock

rock smashes scissors break our swords Scissors cut paper tear up our poetry paper covers rock. shielded by policy we have our voices. all rock, all scissor, all paper. all spock, all lizard we do not play games, we Speak. We throw spock hands like Gang signs spit parsel tongue at pride haters we write love letters to revolution We cut red tape with our long fuzes Hit rock bottom, more bass in our Voices than god knows what to do with So we tell him exactlly where it should go. Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock They hold their pens like scissors carving history books into erasure poems We would swing our pens like swords. But no leader we trust has been elected yet. We would have a leader to guide us But snakeoil salesmen plague our trenches. There would be no snakeoil salesmen if we had a stable government We would have a stable government but the stability was sharpied out of our history books. And To history, loud voices sound like the fires of god. And are we not the voices with more bass then God knows what to do with. without words on the wind, There is no flame so aren't we fire. We all have tealights waiting in cold oven hearts. stone hearths begging for Ignition eager for bootleg promises of warmth The orange rhetoric of our future no warmer than tinders logo. or a video recording of a fireplace flickering on a flatscreen at best buy. We are distracted constantly. misdirected by Houses of paper cards origami swans we don't dare unfold Staying ignorant of the tire track liner inside. origami swans are so much more beautiful when they have secrets, right? I have a matchstick watch me strike it lit flare this paper swan into a pheonix. And hold it in my fist. there will be fire. and it will not be a metaphor But It will be a revolution And it will be a pheonix and the pheonix WILL be a metaphor The Rabbi at Temple Beth El said when a mans consumed by gods fire it is a severance from faith, a spiritual death. what have we done if not lost faith in our government? Been consumed by the fires of god. and why not tattoo pheonix feathers on our backs? at least this death gave us warmth. a home in the world's ashes. I stared at the dragons fire that stormed towards me thanked it for the oppurtunity to walk out of this world holding dragons eggs Like Daneris Tygareon and they will be real dragons. incubated by REAL fire despite this crumbling cataclysm you call a great america. Spock handed Lizards larger and louder with all the rocks paper and scissors they need to set the world on fire. To Finally see something beautiful be born. A Home that keeps them warm.

81

Twinkling golden tealights, in a saxophonic haze, Champagne, cocktail dress, A whirling, dancing maze. Outside on the terrace, in the dark and silent night, Black suit, green dress, Melding in the moonlight. Far away shines the moon, lone and quiet still, Clouded face, wavering, Watching balcony sill. The scintillating tunes trip on, a merry-go-round of tracks, Hot night, collared shirts, Stick to dampened backs. Green-grey smoke drifts easily, from curling moustached lips, A cuff-linked hand, a bubbling scream, She lies within his grip. The green silk dress rips gently, on vined terrace wall, A prayerful glimpse, lunar eclipse, Succumbs and starts to fall. The black suit man stands over, to the strains of 'Love knows best'. Yet a glaring moonbeam stops him, Its point upon his chest. Then in the light of hidden truth, his rash resolve resides, A guilty conscience, grey not black, He runs, he slinks, he hides. And turning gently to the form which cowered on the floor, A face so sweet, so far away, The moon has seen before. It cloaks her gently in its light, and shyly hides its face, Breathing slowly, as in sleep, She drifts from time to space. Then rising like the sun in the dreamings of the moon, A Venus, white and shining still. She wakens from her swoon. And hurrying, she hastes inside, to a wheeling mindless world. She runs from light, her; light's own hope, A dream newly unfurled. But, behind a moonbeam spindles, and on its gentle loom, Are hung the lonely whispers, Of the love-song of the moon.

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Nov 27, 2014

Nov 27, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC

therese-mary-weather

Man in the Moon

Twinkling golden tealights, in a saxophonic haze, Champagne, cocktail dress, A whirling, dancing maze. Outside on the terrace, in the dark and silent night, Black suit, green dress, Melding in the moonlight. Far away shines the moon, lone and quiet still, Clouded face, wavering, Watching balcony sill. The scintillating tunes trip on, a merry-go-round of tracks, Hot night, collared shirts, Stick to dampened backs. Green-grey smoke drifts easily, from curling moustached lips, A cuff-linked hand, a bubbling scream, She lies within his grip. The green silk dress rips gently, on vined terrace wall, A prayerful glimpse, lunar eclipse, Succumbs and starts to fall. The black suit man stands over, to the strains of 'Love knows best'. Yet a glaring moonbeam stops him, Its point upon his chest. Then in the light of hidden truth, his rash resolve resides, A guilty conscience, grey not black, He runs, he slinks, he hides. And turning gently to the form which cowered on the floor, A face so sweet, so far away, The moon has seen before. It cloaks her gently in its light, and shyly hides its face, Breathing slowly, as in sleep, She drifts from time to space. Then rising like the sun in the dreamings of the moon, A Venus, white and shining still. She wakens from her swoon. And hurrying, she hastes inside, to a wheeling mindless world. She runs from light, her; light's own hope, A dream newly unfurled. But, behind a moonbeam spindles, and on its gentle loom, Are hung the lonely whispers, Of the love-song of the moon.

39

Indestructible. Why do I have to be? Indestructible! Try me! - I always seem to cry. Disappointment. Again. Again! I dare you, I invite you! Sadness. Tears. Again. Again! And yet, still I stand. Or, the very least, I get up. Again. Again! But why am I indestructible? I wish I could break - or worse: Shatter! Surely, then MY feelings would matter?! But all your blazes are but tealights for me. Indestructible. I am! Indestructible! I sigh. Again. Again! Smite me - at worst I‘ll buckle; but never break or shatter.

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Sep 20, 2020

Sep 20, 2020 at 12:36 PM UTC

hippohelios

Dilemma

Indestructible. Why do I have to be? Indestructible! Try me! - I always seem to cry. Disappointment. Again. Again! I dare you, I invite you! Sadness. Tears. Again. Again! And yet, still I stand. Or, the very least, I get up. Again. Again! But why am I indestructible? I wish I could break - or worse: Shatter! Surely, then MY feelings would matter?! But all your blazes are but tealights for me. Indestructible. I am! Indestructible! I sigh. Again. Again! Smite me - at worst I‘ll buckle; but never break or shatter.

19

Slam my hip down Hipbone a Warm teardrop Ripples on impact My body Of water The stage Walls turn wonderland As the pills kick drum I am the bass drop Hands dove letter To my mouth The room waves As she stands staring Knees locked in contrapassto Pinstripes in my eyes I have no need for the white eyes Or white fabric Purity was always your delusion Dreamt into syringes Pricked into tiny faves Fat with cake and promises from their daddy's Or any man With a poloroid camera I am standing on the ceiling Chandler trees raze And solidify a shining icy stasis Large and formal Cold and towering Tables glued upside down overhead tiny tealights stuck too Fire flickers down You are a spotlight Head Chest Skin All Lighthouse Peninsula Ocean Curvature of the earth You beam clairvoyance Shake your head. Free of these lighthouses You are under tealight s A woman dances Your hand touches your tie Pen Wrist muscles with fingers stimming Champagne watch Navy sleeve Shoulder Cheekbone Soft hand on your cheek.

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Sep 10, 2017

Sep 10, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC

GeekElement

Cellophane blanket

Slam my hip down Hipbone a Warm teardrop Ripples on impact My body Of water The stage Walls turn wonderland As the pills kick drum I am the bass drop Hands dove letter To my mouth The room waves As she stands staring Knees locked in contrapassto Pinstripes in my eyes I have no need for the white eyes Or white fabric Purity was always your delusion Dreamt into syringes Pricked into tiny faves Fat with cake and promises from their daddy's Or any man With a poloroid camera I am standing on the ceiling Chandler trees raze And solidify a shining icy stasis Large and formal Cold and towering Tables glued upside down overhead tiny tealights stuck too Fire flickers down You are a spotlight Head Chest Skin All Lighthouse Peninsula Ocean Curvature of the earth You beam clairvoyance Shake your head. Free of these lighthouses You are under tealight s A woman dances Your hand touches your tie Pen Wrist muscles with fingers stimming Champagne watch Navy sleeve Shoulder Cheekbone Soft hand on your cheek.

53

This storm is raging. The small ocean forming outside my bedroom window seems to be growing. Maybe it will pick this entire room off the ground & sweep me away. Maybe it will head that way? I've scattered pots & buckets across the floor, collecting the uninvited rivers flooding this room. Some shelter, huh? Lightening cracks again. Awesome. Powers out. Everything's out, as far as i can see. Dead center of the lightening capital of the world & I just lit my last two tealights. The lightening, strobeing bright enough to illuminate the words that are drenching my paper. "...by stormy windows light, I'll read to you & you to me, our most sacred notebook pages. & oh how ******* beautiful that storm would be."

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Oct 11, 2016

Oct 11, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC

amber-lake

The Perfect Storm

This storm is raging. The small ocean forming outside my bedroom window seems to be growing. Maybe it will pick this entire room off the ground & sweep me away. Maybe it will head that way? I've scattered pots & buckets across the floor, collecting the uninvited rivers flooding this room. Some shelter, huh? Lightening cracks again. Awesome. Powers out. Everything's out, as far as i can see. Dead center of the lightening capital of the world & I just lit my last two tealights. The lightening, strobeing bright enough to illuminate the words that are drenching my paper. "...by stormy windows light, I'll read to you & you to me, our most sacred notebook pages. & oh how ******* beautiful that storm would be."

13