Best Broiling Poems
Click
In the dimming light of her bedroom,
a child sits facing the wall in her bad chair.
She has to go potty, but she doesn’t dare.
So she stares at the wall in the gathering gloom.
Click
Her mind is swirling with fear as the curtains billow in the wind,
lightning streaks the night sky like a strobe light out of sync,
clipped exposures of the little girl shaking on her chair,
waiting for what’s coming with the thunder.
Click
The doorknob turns . . .
A wedge of light blinds her.
The witch stands outlined in shadow on the wall before her.
The child is no longer there, gone in the wisp of a blown out candle.
The wind and wickedness pursue her into a vileness she cannot bear.
Click
Circling in the broiling sky
is the nightmare that haunts her dreams,
Her little legs move as though caught in an undertow, dragging her back . . .
Screams choke in her throat.
The evil comes,
riding its burning broom on the thunder - screeching her name like a banshee.
Click
Screams pierce the night.
She promised herself she wouldn’t this time,
but the knife embedded in her back –
it’s the same every damned time.
Click. Flash.
Thirty years have passed and she has beaten the dream.
The spectre has left her and she is no longer afraid to sleep. . .
. . . except when the curtains billow in the wind
and lightning streaks the night sky
screams pierce the night.
Higgledy-Piggledy,
Young Dr. Frankenstein.
thought he was able to
cook up a man.
baking and broiling and
incomprehensible
things to invent such a
Frankenstein plan.
Spirit of the night
Spirit of the night soil man
Spirit of the night soil man is awake
Spirit of the night soil man is abroad,
Here, the emerging mystery, more a sinister from a
dungeon,
When twilight sat on sad rooftops,
Lurking eyes, creeping limbs in the damp backyards,
To Loo looking gunt in the gloomy moonlight
Where broiling broths in chamberpots and bedpans are
emptied.
A structure of planks led upstairs
Ushering to crouch in a crouching mode,
Over hot hole on the pedestial,
Displaying buttocks lob over poe
Began the winced and windy screeching sirocco,
Screaming complaining bass and solo guitars,
Can be irksome when catch unawares
Of habitual sacrificial ritual of defecating,
On other hand, when afflicted in fora,
Go gawky limping along all the way
Any convenience found,
Unleashed mixed vortex of dark diarrhoea,
Ascendancy of curl buxom python laid,
Windy circular terra-cotta thin rope
And from top, short brief beef cake grenade drop,
After, some bruisers clean with dry cardboard
Or old newspapers that headline "Hard Times"
All add up sure riches to wealth,
Well soughted out after in heap chest.
Love Is War
Date: Sat, Nov 7 2015 at 6:37 PM
I wonder who will walk with me thru the "Storm"
To keep my hands "Warm"
With a Crown of "Thorns"
Shirt Worn "Torn"
Body "Scorned"
Walking on "Horns
Flames of fire on the ground "Formed"
That's a fire storm "Fire "Born"
Since I met her my Fire "Broiling"
While her Soul "Ferment" Hawking with me through Fire "Torrents"
Our Souls on Fire while the Love "Storming" to "Endurance" Her Heart "Enormous" She smiles at the Devils "Torments" She Growls an Howls while the Moon "Glowing"
Her Face "Golden" like the Sun "Rosen"
Her Hair Whistles when the Wind "Spoken"
I need you to be my "Friend" an my "Component"
I fall fast into "Emotions"
She Swim with me Across the "Oceans"
I'll walk through Hell "Blindfolded" With My "Eyes" Swollen" "Bulged" In with no "Eye" "Focus" Using my other Senses to "Motion"
While Lions "Roaring" I'm a "Fighting" "Taurus"
Using my Third Eye No "Horus"
Staying True has it's "Rewarding"
A Thousand Armies I'll War "Against"
Make me feel like Love from Fairytales "Exist"
Legend has it that it's a"Myth"
Type to Blow the devil a "Kiss"
If you not going to fight then "Run"
Divine fire
makes spiritual endeavors ablaze
kindled by love's impact
against coldness of apathy
turning brewing friendships
to fellowship-blends so sweet.
Revival flame
exposes spirit to broiling tests
midst trials, verily roasting
revealing integrity’s credibility
demanding drive-acceleration
with pressures against slothfulness.
Fiery sessions of faith-fortitude
burn unbelief and doubt
as well as selfishness-pride
being heated up for diligent service
midst God’s compassion-furnace
toward kindness' exercise.
Transforming powerful ventures
marked by reaching-out zeal
inspire soul winning and life building pursuits
radiating the Lord’s heavenly warmth
midst simmering joy
sizzling gratefulness and steaming triumph-praise*!
*Psalm 57:7 My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed: I will sing and give praise.
July 24, 2018
Edited on March 28, 2022
1st place, "A BRIAN STRAND 1098" Free Verse Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 3/30/2022.
humanity beached
pink flesh broiling in the sun...
fish and chips with oil
*seasoned with summer
Enchanted by skylarks I surrender my time.
Day's sun unabated riveted me to broiling heat,
I stew in my skin. Every toxic thought
Pollutes my surface as is intended,
But corrodes and cankers their patron's heart.
The statue has a skin change too: skylark rest,
Merely superficial - smiles surfacing for air,
For culture goes deeper than color here.
Under the statue like a sheltering tree
I stand awed at my eroding liberty.
I count the red pennies, and watch the moods
Of racuos skylarks and people interchanging.
Standing diminished of labor's properties
And even the honesty of facade history,
I am watching skylarks sky diving for bread.
They all have long black wings
And they cry awfully; some say no one sings
Again, that rap is a longing to tell our own story.
I am listening neither rhythm nor art here
But a purposeful cry dense with bitterness.
The pennies I am counting fall, and do not roll.
Birds towering above me, on a sun scarred wall
Survey us ruefully as apart we fall:
Our ideas and paradigms like rubble and litter
The skylarks beyond our vision's fetter
Cry against the unexposed anger, the facade
That marked us polite as we crumble
Like old iron raw in salt mist and nitride air.
Under the statue of liberty the crowd mingles thoughts
In silence. The statue's massive, iron breast
Stilled, as the shrieking skylarks dive and digest
Crumbs of cold, callous film of charity
That goes easily to animals and birds, forsaking
The validity of man. Birds foment in the sky,
Skylarks still crying as the boats go pass.
A shadow with a fleeting cloud shifts and I see
The statue turns green, livid green, green as grass.
Silence...
...Just wait...
Wait a couple seconds...no, really.
Just WAIT...
In the distance,
a tremble of the air itself.
A subtle quiver of it's molecular structure.
A charge, causing your hair to come alive.
*CRACK* A singularity so vivid, so dazzling,
it blinds you,
forming indistinct bubbles in your vision.
Then another, farther away, not as luminous.
Another, and another. Dozens of fractures in the sky,
shining with voltages so high, so powerful;
temperatures blistering hot,
Searing and broiling anything they touch.
Fiercier than the sun's corona.
Vapourisation.
Retorts of thunderous applause,
following seconds behind, build up.
Unsure at first, escalating. Deafening.
Frightening all into submission.
Applause for such grandeur.
Overlooking the dark and forested valley,
we observe nature's perfect opera.
Above us,
angry violet mamma roil,
bubbling over the base of the storm.
Faded flashes,
illuminating the clouds,
casting mauve highlights and indigo shadows.
Far off applause,
the audience of another, higher up show.
The tempest isn't quite done yet,
the show must go on.
Not 10 metres behind us,
a tree explodes, its trunk boiled and charred.
Simultaneously, a roaring, reverberating crackle-snap ignites the air,
blasting our eardrums past their record limits.
A roasting heat wave blows over our heads,
shoving us forward, searing the tips of our hair.
Screaming and shouting, we stumble away,
no longer amazed at this horrifying opera.
Tripping down the slope,
we roll into the thick forest below us,
colliding with trees and shrubbery.
More flashes, tailed by the sky guffawing at us,
as we've become the joke of the show.
Horror surfacing on our faces,
we blunder towards the jeep.
Only thing is...
all that's left of the jeep is a smoldering carcass...
Real fear sets in,
as we discover ourselves
Trapped.
Isolated.
Entirely alone.
And up on the stage of nature's prime opera.
And we're the laughing stock.
The dispensibles.
No way out.
Summer cooking on the beach,
Slap the sunblock where I can’t reach,
Baking in this broiling sun,
Ever since the day begun.
I’m roasting alive can’t you tell?
Touch my skin and I’ll scream like hell!
This is more than an alarming tan,
Someone said I’m a lobster man.
Sitting here I continue to broil,
Want some popcorn, just add some oil,
I’m finished now, I’m well done,
Cooking here in the summer sun.
6/29/18
Baking, broiling, blindingly bright, blistering sun,
Super scorching, sweltering, sizzling sand
The kabob that is my body skewered, searing
Deceptively blue skies devoid of any deliverance
No cavalry of clouds coming to convey compassion
Rising balloon-like bubbles of hot air
Causing distant objects to ripple and dance
Shimmering in the atmospheric boil
Falling to my knees, I detect in the distance
Glimmering patches of blue and green—Mirage!
A maniacal mime of molten mockery
Deriding my dreadful demise
TWO OLD GODS
Two old men.
That’s all; not much to look at.
Their frail, broken shadows shrunk against the sunny morning
Brightness slowly searching its way through gnarled branches
Overhead, and crisscrossing the red and black pieces
Upon their welcoming checkerboard.
I placed a solitary peanut into the waiting hands of a small, grey squirrel.
Withdrawing my offer of other gifts, I moved away;
Drawing closer to hear their wrinkled voices still
Clamoring over the last move of their deadly waiting game;
Spattering salty remarks with knowing chuckles of old combatants
Echoed former rattlings of their rusty swords.
Beneath their stubby beards sat the once strong,
Straight line of a stubborn jaw, thrust at life;
Hot for the chase that breached the perimeters of grand arenas
As Time swept aside the long-suffering hours
And slowly chiseled away massive, symmetrical bone.
They had been young, sensuous men with lapping fire at their cores,
Melting away the wet walls of passion and the searing, sticky
Sting of a promising, promiscious tongue.
Yes, their passion was still lingering there,
Below the masks of debilitating age and cracking stone.
Their passion for life and pleasure still written across their
Wrinkled, wincing brows clearly there for anyone to read.
I wondered how many summers those faded eyes had squinted
Against a broiling sky and felt the power of that which they are---
Two old gods, sitting in the ruins of their shadowy kingdom passed,
Oblivious to the ticking of unearthly clocks.
Two faded, gnarled and twisted husks sat in peaceful friendship
Beneath the cool and darkening, park lined sky.
Below the surface of their shabby shrouds, pinpoints of eternal, celestral light
Sought the vaporous freedom of untethered ether.
Beneath the surface, the gods still flexed their mighty,
Quiescent muscles, forever young: aged mantles flung
Against Time’s eroding shores and fog misted dangerous rocks.
Gone I past the planetary galaxies
Lounging on the back of comfy comet
Whistling: here I go and i will be there, through fearful void
The blackish abyss and eternal nothingness
Slipped to the polish throne, His worshipful highness
Salutation to all rulers, Emperor of the universe
Bowed, I with head touching the feet
Like Arabian knight revealing bronze palms
Brought nothing but peace seeks I
Fountain spring of the beginning and the end
The breathing stones of Diamond and Jasper
What peace! That refuses to manifest amongst the pieces
On the face of the globe
Should I squirt it, break it or relocate it
Or manufacture brand new creatures
That’s more or much realis most beautiful
In all things
With all bundle of brainy
In quantum than Einstein?
Sack shape head making the whole load
Of body, arms and legs will be
Like many ropes with clumsy clutching suckers
And the eyes larger than what they are
More than a dozen probably
So that in haste quickly reaches the end of time
And do what you are suppose to do,
Rather than rambling, knotty rivalry that lead infinite
Murdering the lads with your archaic missiles
Hissing among bodies: I am the powerful
No, I am the most potent
No, destruction I most
And all that; deceiving the deceptives
Haven’t you heard?
Haven’t you seen?
That tap of my fingers like sound of earsplitting
thunder-waves will cause hungred
Earthquake to swallow up the minute world
Spittle, because of bile of rage will outflow the ocean wave
To wash out every nation
Let me not utter the might of the suns
When commanded will shrivel burn out
The whole universe to cinders
I have done it once
With clapping thunderous storm as a memorial
A teardrop for your incorrigibility
Tower of Babel should come in as a remembrance
Beware! Of the gradually broiling boiling anger
Inside of me, beware! Warmongers
Of the sneezing vomiting flu
Stubborn fly that can 't escape the fly trap.
Ionah: first
(Morfil Gwr (Whale man).
Angry winds tore at the sails of the distressed little ship
Waves crashed and harried intent on destruction
Below he hid shaking with fear and loathing
Begging to be cast into the storming broiling waters
To escape the eyes and voice in his head.
Remembering how he stood at the edge of the dock
Watching tides swirl in and out with hypnotic intent
Fear in his mind forcing him to flight
Away he ran trying to feel unnoticed and small
Still he was found no peace for his plight.
Down he sank into the maelstrom deep lives saved
By his supposed good deed mind going blank
Down he went ,down he sank
To the depths he fell cold and black
Welcome death he cried his body slack.
Out of the deep with jaws open wide he came
Great fish of the deep, sifting the sea, Morfil by name
And swallowed the man his grief, anger and all
Shaking with anger tears streaking his face
Admitting defeat asked to be restored to his place.
With a great gush of vomit spewed onto the beach
Found him gasping as air filled his lungs
Grudgingly yet he ventured into the city
Looking at all his eyes full of pity
And they flocked to hear the words that he spoke.
Out to the wastes with anger in his heart
Leaving the people and city behind
Angry with them and the creator
Hiding away like some spoiled child
Under the searing heat of mid day sun.
Yet then the creator saw and loved the man still
Despite his tantrums and anger within
Sent help to feed and shade his head
And still the man asked and wished he was dead
“Why Me” was the song that he continued to sing.
Andrew P McIntyre 2012.
Swirls of ragged trees
In wisp white softness of skies—
Curls of dark fingertips
Like gold glints of eyes.
Swirls in broiling smoke
And heat’s wild surmise.
Gnarls in sticks of grass
And brown leaves as winter dies.
Burls amid dark blue skies—
Swirls of alpha, omega
And all of life’s prize.
Meg’s Last Florida Vacation
By Elton Camp
Meg thinks Florida’s such a peach
With its white and sandy beach
And when away from the shore
For her to enjoy there’s even more
Walt Disney World is just so fine
Her favorite place to stand in line
The boggy swamps are all rife
With several types of wildlife
Of enormous snakes she’s heard
Mosquitoes big as a hummingbird
But of one type sign, Meg is a hater
Those that warn, “Beware of alligator”
She won’t be intimidated in that way
From the inviting water she won’t stay
An alligator, though, saw her first
At once proceeded to do his worst
Meg’s Florida vacations are done
No more play in the broiling sun