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The Best Fan The Flames Poems
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Fan The Flames Poem
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If words could envelop fire,
I’d whisper softly into a quiet
note and let the pyre in my
lonely coffer spill out it’s smokey dispatch.
Letting pathos glow inside carrion’s beat,
I would endeavor this note reach a messenger
with quick feet, so that you would read it before
I became nothing more than a ruin,
damned by it’s own occasion.
I would speak with a gentle urgency,
through teeth like embers of brimstone.
" Let not your tender humor steer you
in a direction that would wilt us both.
Fan the flames that have consumed me,
It’s a burn that fuels our passion
I love you and the pain that you bring,
you are the brightness in the sky,
and the darkness of night.
You are the sting of broken flesh,
and the sweet release of blood that flows.
You are the healing of my blackened benevolence,
and the anger in my wisdom.
You are my second eye,
and my heaviest anchor.
You are the spark,
and the kindle.
You are my Queen.”
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2013
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Whenever you'd aim, make sure its high
For there is a world beyond the blue sky
Let those shining eyes never lose the sight
Fuel the desires, fan the flames with all might
To keep those embers burning bright.
The sands of time will ruthlessly blow
Swim against the current, dare the flow
No matter if the waters are deep or shallow
Warm the surging hopes, better blazed than mellow
To keep those embers burning bright.
Each time the flickers wane and dreams ashen
Hone your skills up in a different new fashion
Glide forward taking everything in the stride
Silently working away with a fiery pride
To keep those embers burning bright.
Dousing the fires, threaten thunderous showers
Guard your spirit with fierce lionic powers
Rising from the ashes like a phoenic, bounce back
With "the will to win" all fears simply lack
To keep those embers burning bright.
One is just so impossible to beat
Who never gives up nor accepts defeat
Pure effort, not a span of years nor a gap of miles
Sheer desire, not vain regrets nor sighs futile
To keep those embers burning bright.
Yesha Shah
Copyright © Yesha Shah | Year Posted 2013
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Oh, to be in Trinidad
where the hot scented currents flow;
from East Dry River to Nariva
chaconia and silk cotton tree grow.
Where reaching palms whisper
across island reef and coconut lagoon,
and the forests of Papa Bois
flower with water lilies in bloom
Oh, to be in Trinidad
in the time of the house of Trestrail,
and be again that child before
the Voyage of Six leaving did sail.
Where by antiquity starlight
Amerindians crossed its riverbends,
and tall masted clipper ships
sailed the spice seas to its far ends
Oh, to be in Trinidad
when equatorial rains have passed;
and gaze Big Wet to Big Dry
burning canefield and wildgrass.
Lowland baptism of blossom
resurrect from Toco to Mayaro Bay,
and in reacquainted seasons
waves of consciousness slip away
Oh, to be in Trinidad
where tales of bacchanal abound;
how old chimes with new
yet uprising does a trumpet sound.
And ghosts of the revolution
fan the flames in the hot raging sun;
where dat voodoo spirit rise
the Obeah Man when day is done
Oh, to be in Trinidad
for crab and callaloo on Sunday...
let the Boca gulf gates lull
and stars over Tobago my fears allay.
Dream and moonstruck gaze
till Monos windsong wakes no more;
listen and you too shall hear
rapping upon her hideaway shore
Oh, to be in Trinidad
in Caroni for the scarlet ibis flown;
hummingbird's backward dance,
beauty I'm richer for having known.
And in days of future years
tread again the hot Maracas sands,
or horse trails of Blue Range
and Rancho Caballero grasslands
Oh, to be in Trinidad
when the Oval's at its raucous best,
and the lions of Queen's Park
bay for Christians in noble contest.
Where the air sweet with rum
stews with doubles and curry pot,
and the drums and soca play
till all yuh feelin' hot! hot! hot!
Oh, to be in Trinidad
playin' Mas' with cart and barrow;
when masquerade and fete
jump loudest to Kitch and Sparrow.
Calypsonian tents jammin',
limbo flame sparks the night flare,
and steelpan Carnival streets
jumpin' from Icacos to Saint Clair
Oh, to be in Trinidad
among the blood of African slave,
and not be destined, alas,
to lifeless fill a cold foreign grave!
Lo, where indentured cargo
in waves landed upon South Quay...
I pray the bells of Greyfriars
do gently toll in absence for me
Oh, to be in Trinidad
when the great Savannah dawns;
hot roti and roasted corn
in early light over its tracks and lawns.
Land of my nativity begun
from hills to blue Caribbean Sea;
I miss that golden age ended
and lament what must be must be
-----------------
August 1995
Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014
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Fan The Flames Poem
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The Life we now live seems but a deceitful drain
Rules abound that keep us all in chains
When will our saviour show us
We are in his favour
Blessed are the rich for they can afford the price rises
Essentials are so far out of reach for us already on our knees
We constantly pray
For what we gravely need
Blessed are the police for they can do as they please
They trample us in their lustful hate of society
Despite claiming to be our big brother
Blessed are the artful for they will dodge anything
And pay an unfair share of taxes
By buying government policy
Blessed are the bankers for they have ruined the day
Lending to us who could not control our spending
But now have to face reality
Blessed are the politicians for they always know what not to say
And lie at election time so convincingly
That we foolishly believe their comedy
Blessed are the immigrants
For they at first appear foolhardy
Working long hours for less money
Till they realise they have rights like everybody
Blessed are the celebrities
For they have distracted us well
From the day to day hell in which we dwell
Blessed are the peaceful for they are useful after a riot
And can calm some but only for a short while
Till the government causes a decline in the economy
Blessed are the rioters for they know the value of greed
And covet an unpaid for flat screen TV
That was too overpriced if bought legitimately
Blessed are the gangs for they rule the streets
And act like feral cats
Till they end up six feet under
Blessed are the silly for they believe the news
And have a forgetful countenance
And will always blame somebody
Blessed are the over-spender
Who keep the internet in boom
Even though it’s unaffordable credit card spending
That will cause future misery
Blessed are the middle classes for they take all the school places
And the jobs and all the cream
And anything they can carry
Blessed are the reporters
For they know how to fan the flames of discontent
With their distilled forgetful hate
That shows gross prejudices
Blessed are the simple folks who the world passes by so quickly
And who seem so unfairly happy
Long may they remain cloaked in insanity
And finally blessed are the people for they will rise up eventually
Another day
When despair can’t be held at bay
Copyright © evrod samuel | Year Posted 2013
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Fan The Flames Poem
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I like faint fire I feel
fueling me with fervor
for far off places without you
I like sweet scent of spring I smell
when you fan the flames
ignited by your carefree hand
I like warmth seeping in
letting my blood course free
with unpredictable energy
I like refreshing air I breathe
just seeing freedom lay waiting me -
sole initiator of breezy times
I like option one and two
of the whole shebang of things
I am free to do, or not do
I like how instant choice to vent
is mine, though time after time
... I've crossed no line ...
I like solitary silence
taking me by the hand
Soothing aches you've unhand
I like Creator's time
so packed with magic
My sole therapeutic fix.
*
Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2016
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Fan The Flames Poem
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As I looked in your eyes,
I saw a tiny flicker
As a small piece of your love for me
Died deep within you
A flicker so small
You barely gave it notice,
But it blazed like the sun
As it seared my heart
I felt my soul shiver
As if your precious gift
Was pulled from body
A sickening wave of despair
Passes through me
As I realize your love for me
Will no longer be whole
My heart is left broken
And bleeding with regret,
Unable to mend the wound
That has been inflicted.
Will time heal the damage?
Or will I have to suffer
A slow painful death
As the fire within you
Slowly dies out,
As your once loving arms
Releases it embrace on my soul.
Shall I continue to fan the flames
That I see still burning inside you,
Or does the fuel for my love
No longer have the capacity to sustain it?
I think I shall just close my eyes
And let fate run its course.
Copyright © Thomas King | Year Posted 2014
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Fan The Flames Poem
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The tiny sprouts, so fragile yet so strong
Slowly, ah! so softly, tearing away earth's crust,
they grow along...
A new life emerges with the same subtle strength
A separate entity poised to span its life's length
A brave yet delicate little bundle of joy
Mother weeps ecstatic tears caressing her so-tender
a tiny toy
The day rolls into night and back again to a new day
Tirelessly with her tender care, she goes about her way
Latching for the first feed to many-a soiled nappy
Engrossed in self less devotion for off-spring
she seems so happy
Ceaseless flow of her tender love, soothe of her tender touch
Always her little baby, through our life mother's tender love
we cherish too much!
When starry eyes wander in wonderlands dreamily
Humming the tune of first love, youth feels heavenly
Soft music, red roses and the first blush of romance
Enticing intense eyes and their unforgettable lasting glance
Underneath the starlit dome nubile lovers meet
Submerged neck-deep in love, skipping a few heart beats
Entwining embrace, with much tenderness the uniting kiss
Partaking soulful from ocean of passion, taste the divine bliss
A soul mate for quenching the longing thirst of sweet desires
To fan the flames, tender embers igniting sparkling fires
Life time vow of loving togetherness, a promising hand's warm hold
Bearing the brunt of life's storms, gracefully, tenderly in love,
to grow old!
Yesha Shah
For Gail Doyle's "Tender Years" contest
8th dec 2012
Copyright © Yesha Shah | Year Posted 2012
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Fan The Flames Poem
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A tight fist of emotion sprouts flames in my chest
and I fan the flames with a chilled smile
chiseled like the block of ice
stored in the freezer for the party.
I have stood empty as a discarded seashell, perhaps a clam's shell,
whose pearl should sparkle like the sun spattered sea, that is its home.
But it gleams like the moonlight
castings its light across surfaces- changing them to white or silver,
like the tops of carved glaciers, drifting as they change the shape of the earth.
Too heavy am I to walk on these surfaces,
even if they are frozen.
Seabirds wind up and spin lazily,
calling the wind for their flight- or at least to float momentarily,
like my spirit, needing so much to be released.
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2012
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Fan The Flames Poem
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All, is all I want of you,
Satisfy my neurosis -My aesthetic desires; Deep in the mines of your mind. Allow me to collect my jewels: Allow me to search your very core— You shake apples from my family tree. Let me water your family foliage. Plant your future deep, deep within; Bury promises in my fertile soil.
Let’s practice making perfect jewels, a man-child, and a beautiful girl. Plant them in the center-core of my being—Like a perfect stone of Jade. Let me have it, like I like it, pluck these righteous peaches from my tree. Bury your seed deep within me; Let them be named for my romantic stone. Jade for our love child- or ZenYui, for our son.
Sustain me with your hard-Phallic Jade. Explore me like a diamond mine—Swim to the bottom of my ocean for treasures until my body kicks waves of rhymes unmeasured; Begging for your rhythmic beat. Jade phallic of stone, kick back pheromones of lyrical harmony.
Squeezing. - ravishing, enhancing, relishing the Gem, till it explodes; Imploding life inside of me; Filling my belly with lovely jewels. Give me all of you, Excavating all the pearls inside of me, mentally and physically.
Use all of your creativity, let me ride the waves of your agility. Stimulating each other harmoniously. Concentrating solely on your vivacity; Take all of me... Until our will becomes one. Going for the gusto, looking for my “Objet Trove”
Fan the flames of our fiery aura. Romancing, Nuances of your Phallic
All,is all I want of you; Satisfy my nature - My aesthetic desires; Deep in the mines of your mind. Allow me to collect my jewels: Allow me to search your very core— You shake apples from my family tree. Let me water your family foliage. Plant your future deep, deep within.
Bury promises in my fertile soil; Let’s practice making perfect jewels, a man-child, and a beautiful girl.
Plant them in the center-core of my being—Like a perfect stone of Jade. Let me have it, like I like it, pluck these righteous peaches from my tree. Bury your seed deep within me; Let them be named for my romantic stone. Jade, for our love child, or ZenYui for our son.
want your mental chemistry, your DNA. Profoundly balanced passion... as you plant your future beings in the flesh of me. Pure Jade or ZenYui; I need every element of you, transferred into perfect beings,procreating new creations; Breed me with your seed, creating perfect beings recreating ourselves. Giving birth to your genius, giving birth to your uniqueness. I want nothing more;
I live for nothing more. As I’ve found within the earth-core of you “Pure Jade”!
I want to reproduce you
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2016
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Running her hand over her smooth, long leg
She sips red wine and tosses back her hair
The smokey air in the Main Street bar
Seems to lift when she sees him there
Across the room, a lady catches his eye
Dressed to impress -- for whom he wonders
Thoughts start to flow as he politely stares
In his mind he imagines sensual plunders
Rugged and handsome, he heads her way
An inviting smile lights up her face
She pats an empty stool, gives a sign
Hoping he'll find his way to this place
"Good evening to you, have we met before?"
As he runs his eyes down her curvaceous frame
My name is James, pleased to meet you
His heart on fire with his yearning flame
"You DO look familiar," she whispers
The fire in his eyes sets off a spark
"But I can only see your outline;
This room is hot and way too dark"
I don't mean to sound forward, let's vacate this bar
Let's take a walk, forget about this place
I have a flat round the corner, it's not very far
It's bright, warm and cozy; we will have our own space
Strolling through snowfall; he offers a coat
Placing it over her low-cut sweater
Then leads her up a long flight of stairs
The door opens, "Ah, now that's much better!"
Please, make yourself at home, may i get you a drink
I'll turn the heat on, take the chill out of the air
He hands her a cocktail and she responds with a wink
As he towels her wet shoulders and long blond hair
A night of passion; they intertwine
"I'm so glad you found me," she sighs
"Your timing, as always, was just right"
She adds as she shades morning sun from his eyes
He stirs and turns saying, "Mrs. Mayo, last night was bliss
You were sensuous and ripe, like the day we first loved
Your limpet like lips, seduced as we kissed
We caressed each other as if we were gloved"
"We MUST go on meeting like last night, Mr. Mayo,
To fan the flames in our decades-long marriage
You hold the key to my heart in your passion
And our fantasies lift us like a heaven-bound carriage"
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Let the rising,
Angry cord,
Rip through you,
Feel the ecstasy of the metal,
Let the pure loathing roll through you,
Try to look fierce,
And promptly trip over your own feet.
Deep breath,
Focus on the anger,
The dark metal pounding through your head,
Lose yourself in the ecstasy
Of the ANGER,
Let the singer's pain drown your own.
Close your eyes,
Feel the pain of the betrayal,
Let the melancholy cords
pull you down
down
down
into the feeling of defeat.
Then,
Rise,
Dark Phoenix,
Fan the flames of your hate higher,
And plan your revenge.
March 6, 2015
2nd place Love por Hate pick a subject #2
Copyright © Amelia Harmon | Year Posted 2015
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Keeping my head in the fire.
Plotting my next move.
Temperature gets hotter.
Can't find my groove.
Fan the flames.
Inhale the smoke.
Slowly suffer.
Life's just a joke.
Demons on the rise.
They're in my head.
I can't get them out.
I could be dead.
Why do I live like this?
Pain and suffering as far as the
eyes can see.
When will this end?
When will they leave?
Copyright © Michael Davis | Year Posted 2013
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Fan The Flames Poem
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To be a muse is such a thrilling thing
To activate a mind and beauty bring
To turn to verdant plains a landscape bleak
Awaken dormant words and make them speak
Angelic thoughts a muse will whisper sweet
A writer’s mind with lofty thoughts she’ll greet
She’ll bring to life his hidden treasures deep
And touch his words so they make reader’s weep
A muse will muse about how to inspire
How to ignite the embers into fire
She’ll fan the flames of truth until they burn
The poet for her touch cannot but yearn
To be a muse is such a pure delight
To freely flit around and make thoughts bright
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose;
To compose is but their duty.
Poets as a rule are high on adventure
Like wondering bards or prophets today.
Embracing hearts and minds with wisdom
Casting through verse their visions at play.
Poets have their dreams and their nightmares
Of love, life, death, faith, and war.
They feel the pain and tragedy of others
Even those they've never met before.
One merit of a poet's work,
Which most people cannot deny,
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
Their poems are used to convey passion
By composers of both good and evil mood.
Some are hateful others loving
Sharing thoughts to be consumed as food.
They fan the flames of human compassion
With their stories of the failings of man.
Professing to follow a higher power
As they recruit whomever they can.
The wild birds sing and flowers bloom
As clouds form figures in the sky.
But only poets will write poems
That shall last long after they die.
God has always had his poets
Who he watches with love from space.
But Satan has his poets too
Who try to lead us from our grace.
Poets are the bell ringers of the soul
As they depict the past, the present and beyond.
They sound their alarm of what lies ahead
As the missteps of man live on.
By Tom Zart
Copyright © Tom Zart | Year Posted 2008
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Fan The Flames Poem
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The secret subject of my desires,
Is found in an ancient BT van.
We're nothing more than barefaced liars,
Illegal liquors from a legal man.
Two silver stalkers of the land,
Consumed you from our luxury.
And gave more than a helping hand,
To fan the flames of jealousy.
You play on thicker strings than I,
In bigger towns away from here.
In the candied scream of a mad wolf's cry,
I resign myself to silent fear.
Copyright © Annabelle Jane | Year Posted 2011
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Fan The Flames Poem
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shooting blanks
smoking blunts
eyes, face & hands
when will we understand
you can't keep sticking it to the man
fan the flames of sin
where do I even begin again
hopping, rocking no stopping
got clowns to the left of me jokers to the right
playing with the wish bone on the telephone
not sense the days of Jessie James
a vast frontier filled with games
Manson sand the dope show heading off to Buffalo
sitting in the back seat with a two bit whore
screaming out loud for more, more, more
got me on a zip line heading to the sun
shattered glass no one in this life gets a free pass
there's no better high then the Lord up above
cruising down the highway as swift as a dove
there are lines being drawn in the sand
when will we ever live to understand
chase dreams from your hair my pretty one
don't stop, don't stop make ginger pop
homeboy you think a lot
many heads getting burned by the midnight oil
taking too long for the water to boil
crying until our heart seems to scream
Summer times here in the mood for some ice cream
lazy days getting lost in a purple haze
falling a part at the seams
evil schemes
they had me down but I'm still on top
go run to your friends cause they just called a cop
spinning like a top
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2017
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Something oh so little
Something oh so little and so tiny in its stance
A slowly burning ember in the night
To fan the flames eternal in the movement of the dance
Satisfaction glowing in its light
Breathing of the mist now hanging softly in the dawn
Hearing as the voices ring so true
Watching for the flames of life which surely come along
Standing in the beauty of the view
Wishes sent on falling stars that ramble through the sky
Prayers now whispered clearing of our mind
Hoping that the answers come as sparks now floating by
Trusting that the proof is what we’ll find
Reaching for the reasons that our love is here to stay
Brushing off the hint of morning dew
Something oh so little and so tiny on display
All I need to feel the love of you
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
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Fan The Flames Poem
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And then we fan the flames to such a height, they glow bright, acridity burning our eyes.
But so easily we forget the reasons as to why; we, we are stuck blind.
Still we chuck embers, blow hot the coals. We throw torches unto tattered cloth, we empty oil unto souls.
We inhale the rising tarry smoke, and oh how we choke.
And gag.
And burn all the more.
For in that one moment as the fumes flocculate - coalesce - we cultivate this pretend hate; we destroy ourselves to sate the proclivity to agitate.
But as the cloying oil seeps into our cores; as we dig through skin to reach the bones; I wonder when, through tearing, we'll grasp our slickened souls?
And if then, will we find the lucency we've lost; the clarity we threw to feed the roaring flames?
Because the fire has raged and left only dying light. And ashes cannot be reborn into mankind, if belief has stuttered and already died.
So tell me how will I preserve my ashes tonight?
Please, I need to.
Please, I...
I'm...
I...
You.
Copyright © Jane Doe | Year Posted 2016
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Fan The Flames Poem
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achemist's of old , turning lead into gold
false proposition , an idea that they sold
promises of wealth , many led to believe
riches unimaginable , abundant recieve
concept well placed , but direction misplaced
metal composition's , our elemental base
a process evolving , a work in progress
individual refinery , avoid moment transgress
temper of self , fan the flames of desire
misgiving of gift , could be dire , mire
tall mountains to climb , rocky roads proceed
deep oceans we travel to fulfill our needs
like salmon's return , rough current upstream
enduring the challenge , impossible it seems
patience , prosperity , inner gold is our goal
nessecary exchange , at the gate of our toll .
Copyright © jay del fierro | Year Posted 2007
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Fan The Flames Poem
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From the mountains of Olympus to the river Volga through the hanging valley of Salzburg from north, south, east and west we are the princes of the universe, unbridled sinister sultan's of perpetual war it is us who lay burden at your door conflict on a massive scale it's us who create hell when you speak of tribulation know that it is us who made it be. From our fortress atop the chaos either sway or shift we stand victorious we declare war between nations with out hesitation the motives our creation to annihilate and sacrifice each military in a fight. Fools it is us who fan the flames of hatred and pin ideology against ideology an instrument of our psychology, the clash of modern and civilization's of old the genocide and conquest the rebellion with protest we care not as long as it suit's us best. Assume where dictators in a plot of a new order you whisper novus ordo mundi as some wayward conspiracy shrouded in secrecy you wonder if it is us who will replace sovereignty of course that's always been the plan you see, we will fulfill the revelation of prophecy call it orwellian far as it concerns me but the one's who write history will rule indefinitely the credimus the alpha and omega the sultan's of war forever more.
Copyright © Cole Beck | Year Posted 2008
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Fan The Flames Poem
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A Sad Christmas
There was a time when passion ruled their life
But time and ailments stepped in to betray.
She never felt she'd be that aging wife
But as years passed it just worked out that way.
He was still giving, faithful, kind and true.
Like siblings now, no romance was a part
Of a sad distance that between them grew.
She felt remoteness deep within her heart.
She tried to fan the flames with poetry
Yet discontentment shown upon his face.
Her rhymes just bored him, it was plain to see
No romance for her lingered, not a trace.
She tucked away her love filled photographs
Resigned that dreams would be her epitaph.
12-14-18
A Sad Christmas' - December 2018 Writing Challenge - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Dear Heart
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2018
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Fan The Flames Poem
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With eyes turned up to the sky
In hopes to find that piece of pie
How many years of blood sweat and tears
Have you not yet made it out of here
Always asking for advice
When given saying that can't be right
All you've got, spinning like a top
Waiting for the ball to drop
You'll do this till the day you die
Wondering what is wrong with life
Feel the heat moving towards defeat
Press rewind and then repeat
Growing accustomed to the craziness
Pour more butane on the list
Stoke the fire, fan the flames higher
Situation is getting dire
How many times have you raised your hands
Surrendering over to life's demands
Always hoping for a change
Just this side of deranged
Moving along with the crowd
To the humming of the vacant sound
Religiously you find your seat
Press rewind and then repeat
Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2016
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Acquaintance
Attachment
Cool
Quintessentially
Underrated
Almost
Ignored
Never
Thought
Acceptable
Nor
Close
Either
Friend
First
Remembered
Idyllic
Enhancement
Never
Dropped
Rise Above
Given A Since Reality check
An Empty Vessel may not be a wreck
In Suns Reflection it becomes clear
Smiles Of Joy will soon appear
Courting Hearts will rise above
Because they fan the Flames Of Love
A Letter
The postman delivered a letter today
He read it then threw it away
In tears he sat head in hand
He just couldn't understand
Why that letter fell through the door
Fell and landed on the hall floor
We all might ask the question why
But mind your own business he will reply
Paints
Picture
Amber
Indigo
Natural
Tints
Spread
Copyright © Owen Yeates | Year Posted 2016
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Sticks and stones, they break your bones, and words they disembowel. Poetry is a dagger, linguistics a humble cowl. Lab rat hearted heathens pray the plagues consume the town. Iron sharpens iron, Don't let the bastards get you down. By our own devices we fell asleep. As I slumber softly, counting hordes of dead sheep. All was lost amongst the erosion. Why educate when you can occupy? Railroad stitches across this land hold together this monster with rubber bands. When the body rejects the mind the onlookers cower in fear. Political parties fan the flames. Kuru Flawed in feeble brains. Politicians regurgitate and feed. Gluttonous parasites polish cufflinks in a rigorous art of greed. I have foreseen the apocalypse, and it's mediocre.
Copyright © Pauly Plaster J.R. | Year Posted 2017
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Fan The Flames Poem
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Pontificating pin heads
laboriously tongue lashing
mandatory attendees
pundits, preachers
oligarchs of oratory
empowered by mad scientists
in twisted mind laboratory.
If everybody gets a bite
of a sandwich never ending
the masses will be sated
and we’ve controlled our spending
if everybody works for free
--that is except for you and me –
we’ll clad them in amorphous dress
and treat them all the same
then we’ll give them numbers
for servants need no name
We’ll sell them all a golden goose
some magic beans as well
fan the flames of fear and hate
then lock our compounds iron gate
rally them in revolution
painted posters – false solution
We’ll watch the sun set in their eyes
as curfew bells remand
the darkness to the deviants
who won’t cave in to them
listen in the shuttered minds
of echoless condemning sin
Peace cannot be won by war
global warming’s not just a thaw
bathroom doors are not the key
to making everybody free
nor does shouting down the opposition
lend credence to a fool’s petition
It’s tongue in cheek -it’s just a joke
just an old guy -blowin’ smoke.
But then again -it could be true
the proof is – sadly - up to you
John G. Lawless
©8/12/2018
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2018