Charm
fire fire
burn my brick
live like some cut
in the body
a good drinker-up
of every love
Poems on the topic: fire
Poems on the topic “fire” on Poets.by.
Goth
going to burn
in the burnyard
a dog would save me
worse than my last
night’s mouth
the corn-ordinary world I scorn
being infinite as
my desire of seeing
in and with the night
Arsonism
fire is my flag
if nothing matters
there being nothing
to follow as much as
this necessary rose
what hands
open with more
unparticular generousness
Flag of Hate
hissing as
it burns
Fire breaks the hydrocarbon chains in polyester with a thousand fingers at once. We gaze at the flag’s charred outline on the road as if it were a map to some disaster area: a nuclear test site, a strip mine, the tar sands of Alberta.
fake stars
learning what it means
to shine
Blood tree
sprung fully formed
like a god from the lung
will you rot back
into a travesty of spring
what birds would roost
in the untuning forks of your limbs
and what would they sing
like a real tree do you yearn
to be free of oxygen
bronchial to a fault
would you burn
Leaf Letter [screenplay]
Dear
ground,
thank you for
always being there
for us. In my dreams,
sometimes you aren’t and
I go on falling until I wake.
Thank you for letting us sleep.
Thank you for your enormous
reserves of darkness, which
we have been burning to
keep the darkness at
bay, ashes to ashes.
Thank you for
letting us
all fall
Burning the tissues
In a snow-bound ring of stones,
I am burning all the tissues
from my recent cold.
The sun beats down. Fallen twigs
and leaves are melting themselves
into form-fitting graves.
A flat wing of ash floats up
and hangs in the air
like a famous last word.
Valediction
We didn’t say goodbye
with our hands but
with naked branches.
(And anyway it was
more of a hello.)
You undid me the way
a fire plays a harp,
the strings singing as
they snap. (Each note
can only sound once:
an excellent discipline!)
They are still together,
your smoke & my fog.
(I feed them wood.)
The Last Lion in Pennsylvania
First axe then lightning on
a million acres of dry slash:
the state’s namesake forests
burned & burned.
Then flood: with no roots
to hold the rains, hillsides slid,
rivers raged, cellars
filled with ashy gray mud.
The last lion in Pennsylvania
was starving, bones
visible under her hide
when they found her
at the end of a line
of incriminating footprints,
near a rocky outcropping
called the Pinnacle.
Book-burning
The fire is a thorough & voracious reader.
Page by page my old manuscript turns gray & brittle
& when the mist thickens into rain,
the smoking pile emits a long thin sigh.
Almost
As I sit by the fireside,
I remember the times, the good and the bad.
Those many years ago,
When we meant something to each other.
I'm probably knitting a woollen sweater,
Or perhaps watching a mother cat lick her younglings.
And somehow, everything reminds me of you.
Because I just can't get over you,
Though I have moved on, it is not the same.
And now I have children,
Who have children.
And I can't help think of everything that we almost had.
Together.
Almost.
A happy mood
A blooming rose, so perfect.
Yet, do you see the thorns?
A friendly smile, so casual.
Behind it, how many lies?
A helping hand, so welcoming.
The true intention is?
A cut on a wrist, attention seeking.
Hell yeah, you wish.
A thousand stars, in the night sky.
Reflect only the moon?
A gentle kiss, so full of love.
Or is it just pure lust?
A small sickness, over soon.
Or lead us to the end?
A spark of fire, so weak and fragile.
Could cause a town to burn?
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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