Best Burnt Poems
Burnt Into Ash My Sad Soul Looks Far Back
In youth, my spirit was a climbing vine
dressed in green leaves upon white oak tree
Seeking light, I was walking a true line
in shade of path that was truly free
Storms weathered sheltering branches
bringing sun's hot beams upon my head
I sought more, took gravest of chances
of true love's blessing and being well fed
Once cast upon dirt and parched ground
my legs found needed strength to run
Racing winds sent that deceiving sound
soon, I forgot the heat of blazing sun
Burnt into ash my sad soul looks far back
Long ago, in tree's top, I was once on track
Robert J. Lindley, 7-14-1999
I Winter In Fallen Ash Of Burnt Dreams
I winter in fallen ash of burnt dreams
an armadillo, shell removed eyes blinded.
As time crawls on, midnight moon proudly beams
by its hollow glow, heart is reminded
this world operates with dark and wicked teams.
Sinking naked form into blacken earth
sad prisoner of this world's raging decay.
As evil winds from hell howl out their worth
others cry begging, let them have their way
man is truly cursed since before his birth.
Lo! Raging storms lay true romance to waste
spilled wine seeps and grapes rot on withering vines.
True, chosen few approve of its new taste
even honesty must pay heavy fines
both life and sweetest hope are sold like toothpaste.
I winter in fallen ash of burnt dreams
an armadillo, shell removed eyes blinded.
As time crawls on, midnight moon proudly beams
by its hollow glow, heart is reminded
this world generates more dark and wicked teams.
Robert J. Lindley,
Rhyme, (Dark Poetry, Sorrow's Basket)..
Darkness you have a funny way of shading the light
colour coding from such a pit spinning the web of deceit
clouds within suffering victims cry to the heaven's
Shame on such corrupt souls poisoned by lies
twisting truth shows bad manners condemning justice
to speak correctly false faced inside forked tongues
Where the poor are heavily burdened inside such greed
values no longer hold the ground to address this shift backwards
principles are darned from the fabric sewn into morality
Backwards thinking science crosses a great divide in society
slavery is rising fast where the toils of labour have been reduced
to crusts little crumbs are being swept away like worthless pieces of dust
magenta magic
recently escaped eve's skies
darkening to plum
crows caw on the wing
as pink sun turns red-orange
day goes up in flames
mango berry crush
mahogany shadows move
gold clocks go tick tock
"Poetry is just the ash"
voices clearly purged though
boldness of inky ash laden passages,
echoing that which most
words cannot convey,
pen cleanses sins & fortifies the soul
speaks in volumes of verbose spirit
weeping in smudges of tearful metaphors'
bloodied and effervescent on the page,
outpouring pathways to sentiment's reward
& emotional translations' endeavor
amid transcribed tribulations,
piercing the eye for all to seek
reflections smattered upon poetry
within prerogative's freedom
& simply usurped realities
“Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.” ? Leonard Cohen
I sit in front of the fireplace,
in a house empty and cold;
I throw in another waded up piece of paper
from a box all tattered and old.
The flames consume the paper,
like the hundred pieces it did before,
from love letters that she wrote me,
before my heart, in half, she tore.
I sit in front of the fireplace;
one last piece of paper in my hand -
it is the marriage certificate
that goes along with my golden band.
I sit in front of the fireplace;
the box, now empty, like the house;
the papers now are burnt and gone –
no more evidence I had a spouse.
Tent pegs, burnt legs
Sun cream, ice cream
Swimming trunks, squashed lunch
Peeling tum, after sun.
Dusty feet, collapsing seat
Folding table, electric cable,
Sleeping pods, fishing rods
Guide ropes foreign notes.
Ground sheet, birds tweet.
Wind break, tent shake
Top box midnight fox
Sweeping floor, rubbish torn
Barbecue, dodgy loo,
Gritty toes, runny nose
Flip flops dirty tops
Backpack rucksack
Gas ring, bee sting
Bug spray, all day
Camping Gaz, not last
Airbed enough said
Glowstick picnic
Washing up, worst luck
Beard grown, photos shown
Journey home, money blown
Rain falls silently beyond the farthest hill
as morning cries from life's night of despair
Where shaded shadows stand in solitude seeking wisdom
after stars fell without notice by human eyes
corrupted by caustic cradles of candles waxing
Searching for answers in skies where there is no sun
and finding weakness wandering to wailing walls
because all are lost from reason and sanity
infused instead by illusions of light lit longingly in wistfulness
As anger confronts confusion leading to the death of all
left to be buried by no one but the passing of time
that cares not whether we pass this way again
Maybe another candle will be lit
8/30/20
At some point you are going to need to impress more than a few friends with some burnt toast. I used to have an old, heavy-gauge chrome-plated toaster with a dial to adjust doneness from 1-5. I took a Sharpie and scribed a 6 at the extreme. The pointer doesn’t actually go there, but it is useful for indicating my intent. It works better than the 5 setting which merely chars the surface. But 6 chars it darn near all the way through, enlarging the pore structure to retain even more melted butter. You gotta be cautious not to overuse that feature because it’ll burn the toaster, as in overheating the thermostat and melting the whispy wires. No more toast for you. Back at the store they were quick to figure out your attempt to exceed the capacity and the clearly worded statement in the ownership contract will be pointed out to you, that glamorous document with the curly-Q decorations making it supremely authentic like a stock certificate from the 1960’s. They replaced my toaster once, but the second and third times I only got a stern look of reproach. The manufacturer has black listed me through my credit card so now all my toaster purchases are cash only.
You built me up made, made me trust you.
But now you’re the nightmare that plays even in the direct ray of light.
You make me fight not to call you because you are like a fire who made me burn so bright
Your glowing Tyz – yeh nothing to do with me but the little fire I let inside
At first nothing but a bit of warmth to find comfort in
But you find everyone noticing the light
You say it's meaningless but can't hide the smile - just some comfort in the cold gloomy nights
Really the fire is burning through everything inside
As you feel the heat beginning to fade all you can do is beg it to stay
I thought I wasn’t this kind of girl
Praying every day it finds something new to latch on
I thought I was more than some burnt up coal – hoping for some yellow ambers to become alight
The fire finds something new to latch on
As it always does
But I always thought it’d be another part of me
A chapter in our us
But maybe I am just summed up as dust
Since the fire left
I’ve tried so hard to burn
Flipping page to page
Lifting weights on weights
Going from candle to match
But you’re the only one who will ever let me burn so bright
But comfort in the cold isn’t easy when you're burnt to dust
Any little wind now has the power to rupture these ever so fragile pieces of dust
Before reading this , please note it was for a contest , Not about my Son "
The theme " A son that set fire to the home , confronting at police station "
I do believe we have our Arsonist , but why ?
amazing behind this mirror we hear truth & Lies
" This time my heart broken, I can not accept your lies
Now you have become felon before our very eyes
Was I not a mother to you , surely I told you I love you
This time I can not bail you out your story must be true
did you want me to catch on fire
Please tell me now ..was this your desire ?
I am sorry for all I have done
I am sorry for what you have become
All I wanted was for you to smile surrounded by love
Now I walk away from you in tears and ash in my throat
Yes you have killed me no doubt
I can only pray for your Salvation
But Why ..Why I ask you with burnt eyes
you have set a fire that weakens my soul
Please God tell me this is not true my Son.
Forgive him, he knows not what he has done. "
~ Profiling 101 contest ~
thievery is sin, how dare you snaffle mine... scorched by the fire 'neath
A Thief Who Steals Your Thoughts Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Bobby May
12-26-2019
His girl likes beaches and the sun
As a big part of summer’s fun.
Lovely with her golden tan
He’s her most adoring fan.
She‘s lightly toasted, he’s well done.
These words are woven
With threads of tear
Laced in the needle of anguish.
In truth, I can tell of how it feels
To be pinched by piercing pain.
My soul is scissored
My heart, ripped apart
My mind refuse to mend.
And I am not the only one
Dressed in this pale grief gown.
I'm only a friend
Who became a brother.
And if asked to write about you,
Would wield metallic words
With no Ore of exaggerations.
Should it be of your seemingly sweet smile
Which springs from the fountain within?
Or your ever merry soul
And your charming Nightingale voice
Resounding melodiously
With a magnetic vibrato
That can pull a cripple to wiggle in dance?
Should it be tales of your tender love for younger Souls?
The curvy smile your lips form
When you openly chant
Secret words with Mom?
I can go on and on,
Down the slope of memories
Picking golden coins as I
Surf the subway
Of the time we shared.
The news of your demise
Was the uncorked grenade,
Thrown through the passage of my ears,
Leaving my heart in shreds.
I had thought you'd come back
And walk me down the street,
Smiling, as we compare heights.
I had thought that before
heading North again,
I'll sure see you at your best;
Only to be told that you lay in rest,
That your sun suddenly
Became shy; refusing to rise.
Today is your birthday
But you're not here to celebrate it.
We could blow out the candles: for you
With wishes that you'd stay.
But this birthday girl returned to dust..
P.S: Doris Jorju Ikhile...
#Sky-dahWeighWordSon loves you,
#Simisola does,
#Morolake too.
#Baju (Obe Leo) miss you.
#Oyindamola was broken.
#Olamide felt numb.
#Nikho hope you stayed.
#RCCG Everlasting Light Parish forever loves you.
#Mom??? No other woman deserves to MOTHER you. Birthing and nurturing you in a way others envy; with love exceptional.
We miss you and you'll forever remain Dear to our Hearts.!!!
Sandra was ready to PLAY
but she told me to go far AWAY
A beauty school QUEEN
would be embarrassed to be SEEN
"You're just not my type,Rodger...if ya know what I MEAN?!"
Ok..so I am not quite the STUD
But at least i'm no Elmer FUDD
Nerds hate to be picked out
however,they are no stick in the MUD
She cherishes RICK
Even though he acts like a -ICK
His Abs are lean and MEAN
A Tom Selleck lookalike MACHINE
They like to blow FACE
and spray me with her can of MACE
This four-eyed man with his pocket protector
Just got burnt by Society's perfect RACE
A chump out of SCHOOL
He is forever a FOOL
The Lasses want tight ASSES
Not a simpleton who can't help but DROOL
The world can kick THEE
Middle-class bullies still pick on ME
I only answer to the man(upstairs)
He's the only one to set me FREE