Best Fireproof Poems
THE SCENT OF WATER
Forlorn, distance roots between you and I;
Carve 'neath fire silhouettes buried grief;
Burn then blurred by irrational mischief;
Has crimson love gone pale and soon may die?
Trampled with reasons leaving us tongue tie;
Falling, slowly falling, is marriage leaf...
Amor ebbing , ebbing, like a thief.
Divorce papers rocketing quite, quick high!
Heaven knows, flaws, deaden raw I want fix;
Reckon blows, glow, freshen love flow essence;
Leaden float the scent of water,redden snow mater.
Lessons learned bestow order resins of brighter hello;
Father God, bless aglow each corners in progression...
(c)olive eloisa
4:52pm
July 14, 2014
Sponsor Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name one sad poem
5th place, to God be the glory.. :)
***Inspired with the verse theme: John 14: 7-9 and the movie "FIREPROOF"...
Dragon's back! It’s Easter Time and, Yes; we’re going to church today...
Right after the Easter Egg Hunt. Ostrich eggs were perfect, for Dragon, I say…
The Trolls worked at painting them, all night. They wanted them perfect., for sure.
Psychedelic colors seemed to reign supreme. Yes… with lots of crazy bling! De Jure!
Grandpa Troll’s carrying the BIG basket that his penguins decorated in ribbons strung!
His penguins got to go on the egg hunt, too It’s their first, but each picked, only one.
They couldn't understand eating eggs so we gave them chicks, that will hatch, so…
It’s off to church we go, cowboy best for the penguins, tending their eggs as they go.
Dragon has his 'Dragon Hood' cape with yellow bib overalls, totally covered in bling!
Beside himself, till we said he could go. Now he's jumping up and down, as he sings!
He's going to church, for he needs all the help he can get, along the way, true.
We're trying to instill, ‘What Would Jesus Do’. Strengthen his character ideas, too.
But HE thinks he's already a STRONG character, and it's given him great success!
Don't think he understood, what strength of character means, so his soul, God Bless!
So what's next, he ask?... Gee! Taking the kitty down from the curtains would be nice.
You SCARED her there! Remember! When you jumped up and down, once or twice!
NO! You can't burn the curtains to get her down! Gee! I think he’s MISSING the point!
She’s going to church to light a candle for you… to help you find… a better viewpoint.
Remember, in life… Make love not War. Make Friends! After all… What would Jesus Do?
Kitty is TOO important! I'll read you a fable 'The Lion and the Mouse', after Church, too.
No! He didn't squish the mouse! Sigh! Think harder… THINK! WHAT WOULD JESUS DO!
Hope it's an up hill battle. More likely he'll fly over this hill, between, just me and you!
He LOVES church and after his last visit, they rebuilt the church, which was… assured!
They built our group our own SPECIAL section… Of that, you can definitely, be sure!
The church thought, for a very long time, but with a sigh, they knew…WWJD?!!!
Then prayed some more as they cried, at the thought, of what Dragon could do…
In the end, they built a fireproof room, for no matter what they though, to be true…
They knew Dragon is Gods little lost lamb and that’s just “What Jesus Would DO!’
Happy Easter to You!
There was a firefighter named VanHoof
Who believed he was fireproof.
One day pride got the better of him
He acted when his chances were slim.
Thus in an infernal VanHoof went poof.
One Direction is the best pop group ever,
In lyrics and harmonies they are strong;
They take me to a place better than words,
It is to them that I happily belong.
They are all beautiful to me,
But Zayn is my favourite right now,
I am in the clouds when I see him,
He’s my you and I, to him I bow.
Louis and Niall are footballers, fireproof,
And Zayn does graffiti in public spaces,
It’s not fools gold to create known meanings,
To rock almost anyone in different places.
But Harry was popular instantly, kiss you,
Little things he did meant that many he excited;
So many teens over and over again,
Such that summer love was ignited.
Previously, I would like Liam the best,
Because he had that one thing for me,
He is sporty and lived while he was young,
A heart attack was just waiting for me to be.
But now its gotta be you, Zayn,
Your vocal runs are something great,
I wish that you’d write about your art and creativity,
When no control is your date.
C’mon c’mon One Direction,
Reunite once more and wear that little black dress,
No little white lies about why you can’t,
Don't forget where you belong, just say yes.
22/9/2015
I hesitated to post this one, because I'm somewhat embarrassed about liking One Direction. But it's better to be what you are than to be somebody else. So I'm happy to admit with both my hands up, I like One Direction.
(you may notice that there's the title of one of their songs in every line)
I watched a good movie today that brought tears to my eyes,
A young married couple were on the verge of divorce, but neither knew why.
He was a firefighter and brave as could be,
She worked in a hospital to help provide for family.
Somewhere something went terribly wrong,
They just fussed and fought and could not get along.
Both so in love when they first said I do,
But now they lived like strangers, neither knowing what to do.
Both of them thought their marriage was through,
But not his dad he knew what to do.
He gave him a challenge that would take forty days,
Each day something knew and done in various ways.
About half way through the challenge he realized what was wrong,
But she said it was to late, she wanted out all along.
The rest of the movie is when it gets good,
But I won’t spoil the ending, not even if I could.
I recommend this movie highly as one of the best that I’ve seen,
It’ll bring tears to your eyes, unless your heartless and mean.
I’d give it a ten for a low budget film,
You won’t find one better it’s really a gem.
Dragon and The Sheriff of CrazyLand were in Competition. Yes, again!
You’d think, they would some how learn; it’s always better to be friends.
But not these two! UH Huh! No Way! For a statue was found, to be in play.
You see, an anonymous donor, commissioned a statue for our Park, today.
The final subject, to be determined, by vote of the citizens of Mayhem Falls.
Able to draw tourists from all around, but still worthy of our Hollowed Halls.
They wanted a Landmark, a trademark, a Pulitzer Prize, quality kind of stuff.
It should imbue, the true character, of our dear little Mayhem Falls, not fluff.
All this based on pictures entered, by photographers, to win a big money prize.
Need I remind you, those who go against Dragon, are never really, very wise.
Good deed photos were so very boring so the citizens, decided to help it along.
Two brave souls started arguing whether, in it, did the Sheriff or Dragon belong.
Naturally the Sheriff and Dragon ran over to stop the fight in a most perfect way.
As the Sheriff arrived one of the men, suddenly fell down on the ground, to lay.
The sheriff immediately bent over to help the man get up and stand. Amen!
Dragon, who saw it happen, also came a running, from quite a distance, then….
As he got close the other man tripped Dragon. Oh My! What a Day it had been!
Surprised Dragon let out a sizable flame with his also sizeable roar. Such a din!
Flame hit the Sheriff, in his derriere, thank goodness for his fireproof underwear.
Mind you, it’s not like this has never happened, indeed, it’s often with this pair!
Not surprisingly, the photographer readily documented the moment, so sublime!
Yep! This was the winning photo, which became the trademark in record time.
Also, it became the statue to represent, our great little town, of Mayhem Falls.
Needless to say: Everyone was happy, and it was… A Great News Day after all!
Well, for all except Dragon and the Sheriff of Crazyland who grumbled at…
How they should be represented in a much more classier pose than that…
Written 7-17-2016 Happy Birthday Hubby!
Tis quite a beast of burden to bear atlas (shrug off not allowed)
Atlas shrugged an impossibility
tantamount to skinny dipping in the lock nest lagoon
Tantamount to shrugging Atlas off mine bony,
ill suited, widower wizened shoulders,
would take naked fat chance in Fountain Head of virgin waters,
eddy fied with huge boulders
which preliminary sketches to maintain pristine
(pure as Snow White's booty) kept in folders
when collaborative effort called, the fore mid able,
trio, sans state of the artists
(within their respective trades as writer
fictional hero, and architect)
Ayn Rand, John Galt, and Howard Roark,
who undertook resplendent measures
affected resilient as omnipotent cable
tub ring plenti kickstarting linkedin gatecrashers
to a snapchatting halt
instagramming, crowdsourcing, crowdfunding,
held at equivalent asper Bay of Pigs
viz Pay of Bigs
(in this context identified as
(vudu trained stalwarts, petsmart outlook,
incorporating literary, metaphorical,
nautical staff comprising fable
sea Crete cure metamorphoses abilities, as failsafe method –
i.e., physically, instantaneously, architecturally rendering
modus operandi capacity asper quick as blazing saddles
(ponied up by young Frankenstein)
kept in fireproof stable,
where at dextrous fingers ala hocus-pocus prestidigitation
which chiefly buoyantly ardently, and hardily drafted imp pier re: hull
rock hull impediment for shore also cast evil spells should
any foolish soul, who dared
to maneuver past the near blinding pier sing redoubt
to access blue lagoon like watery oasis
shielded via reeking poor Island
(where an atomic rooster gargoyle shrouded parapet)
buffeted the crashing waves against
the lock smooth as a glass table
whose wooden sea legs solidly affixed
to hip, hip hooray three chairs
inviting two story book heroes plus the author,
unfurling parchment scriptural roles invited ad lib flairs
since threat of category five hurricane
manifested took writer by surprise,
thus requiring her to utilize cognitive gears
which necessitated modification of original plot,
now bumped credos with religion
vis a vis engendering prayers.
I sprinkled dry yeast in warm water
And watched it bubble up,
Then cracked open a fresh laid egg
On the edge of a measuring cup.
I dumped in a helping of all-purpose flour,
A little oil, a pinch of salt.
Then I stiffened it up in a mixing bowl
Like a mugger committing assault.
I rolled it all out on a cutting board
Well-dusted with whole grain unbleached.
My hands went to work massaging the mass
As appropriate texture was reached.
I then let it sit till it doubled in size,
Set the oven to furnace degrees.
Then I fashioned a riddle and baked it inside,
Left the kitten to do as she please.
Twenty minutes later…
I opened the oven with fireproof mitts,
And fetched out my fresh staff of life.
I brushed it with butter, then set it aside,
Left to cool, while I sharpened my knife.
Ten minutes later…
The time finally came,
I was hot on my game,
And I cut me a taste-tempting slice.
But it was only half-baked,
Insufficiently toasted.
It had to go back in the oven.
I surveyed the scene,
Took a couple more tokes,
And baked up a morning worth lovin’.
When I think of my father my heart
starts beating in time with his 7 A.M.
footsteps on hardwood floors.
His image rests in the second chamber
of my heart. If I could shrink you
down and put you in there, you’d hear
the sharp, industrial twang of golf balls
alongside windblown, sun-wrecked dune reeds and shark
fins cresting the ocean’s ceiling.
My nose fills with scents of SPF 4
and scheduled coffee. Salt spray off
the foreshore permeates the air as he runs
up and down the neural pathways he forged
with white hot reaffirmations and ice cold habits.
If you were to run the needle over my
inherited, though painted skin, the music would
radiate in clouds of bookstore doorbells,
deafening sneezes and sports bar televisions.
This year I’m starting construction on a new
chamber in my heart; one just to hold
the memories of my father, a chamber filled
with the loud, consistent banging of beanbags on wood,
a chamber big enough for me to chase after
frisbees tossed with sixty-eight-year-old skill
most crucially, a chamber with integrity
enough to hold the blue, persistent flame
in focus long enough for me to light my own
cigarette, and smile as the smoke comes out.
The new room design has soundproof walls
and the door and locks are all fireproof,
withstanding flames as hot as the water my
mother uses to wash his greasy meatloaf pans.
Husbands and wives are like salt and pepper...very different yet complimentary and
always seen together.
Marriage is a covenant with God and your spouse not to be broken!
God's standards are so high that he thinks lust is as bad as adultery and
hate as bad as murder...
Christians are brothers/sisters with different mothers but the same father!
******Not my ideas~~~ from the Fireproof Movie--Thought others might like to hear
these. If you haven't seen this movie it is great!~~
Grief stricken, his eyes full of sighs,
The picture shows when the boy cries,
The sweet boy shows no touch of joy.
This is the story behind the destruction of this boy.
It is told his loved ones died in the fire.
Little boy from Oviedo is yet full of desire.
He is the street urchin so poor he only gets morsels he found.
He is known by Don Bonello, he does not utter one sound.
Pictures Luigi Toledo did of him.
In the series of seven children with lighting dim.
Over sixty pictures of children he produced.
Everyone to the public they were introduced.
Little boy crying is the most liked of them.
Hundreds of prints sold of this little gem.
Then suddenly Luigi’s studio, burned down.
Word soon flew, it got round town.
Every house which took the boy Don in, there were fires, not to be denied.
The Firefighter witnessed fourteen fires in houses, where the boy did reside.
The boy suspected of doing this crime.
He lived on the streets where the homeless spend time.
Fires did begin if his picture hung there. They chose him to spurn.
Homes destroyed but his picture did not burn.
Looking into it showed, every fire depicted, him not the culprit, definitely.
Broken electric plugs, insecure wiring, poorly tended cooking deemed to be.
The pictures were printed on fireproof protective fibers.
Firefighter lied, Sun news invented the story to get more subscribers
Much time went by, true sources implied.
The teen wrecked the vehicle he drove, burned, in the night he died.
So is the story of Don Bonello, there could be no joy.
This is the curse of the crying boy.
Georgie Porgie was a little overweight, since he loved tasty desserts,
Like puddings and baked pies; or green woods, full of robin concerts.
Georgie was ten years of age, possessing an impish sense of humor;
And played tricks on his classmates, involving frogs, it was rumored.
This sometimes left girls in tears, while boys wanted to thrash him!
But Georgie ran away, laughing, like violet blooms, of nature's whim.
As Georgie was only having fun, he gave those girls who cried, a kiss;
Like dazzling rainbow colors slip away, silent, before they are missed.
'Georgie Porgie, Puddin’ and Pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry,
When the boys came out to play
Georgie Porgie ran away.'
Fetching flowers were fading fast, lying on motley beds, in cool fields;
As fall season was flourishing, with friends coming, for fun and meals.
Fireproof, fragrant summer flamed furiously, on fuchsia fourth of July;
When flying family rode fluffy, pink clouds, eyeing bluebirds going by!
Georgie lived in the house of huge moon, inescapable in the darkness;
And dreams arose in glittery, gold dust, when all roads were calmness.
Saucy, scarlet blooms wore polka dots, skillfully crafted by the sun days,
On his street of striped, petunia contrasts, following nature's wild ways.
Nonrenewable hours drifted by, noticed, midst noise of neon songbirds;
As new neighbors dropped in, casually, with the noted confetti of words.
Black orchids lent dark to noon, as 'King Kong' coleus terrorized towns;
And plum, 'persian shield' plants guarded, the hues of sunset drowned.
'Brazilian blue' cacti were melancholy, in affinity with the sapphire sky;
Like the crimson rose memory of fire, or red butterflies, of no goodbye.
Silvery years passed, with velvet tick tocks, as Georgie tired of pranks;
And he dreamt of being an engineer, like stars, the adoring planets flank.
Soon Georgie took girls out on dates, and they often ended with kisses,
Like dinnerplate dahlia days of delight, in many dyes of summer riches!
Georgie Porgie, Puddin’ and Pie,
Kissed the girls who no longer cried.
Science is religion, in a fireproof beaker.
And so vice versa, chirps the paradise seeker.
Between dusk and dawn lie vampiric hues,
they grow and become sticky on the skin;
Leaving a melancholic midnight bruise,
the day ends so another can begin;
Wandering beneath artificial light,
brighter than the lit skyline they sparkle;
Their insidious backdrop of the night
joins the city’s underlying circle;
Finessing the darkest urban vision,
fireproof they fade in the softest shadows;
Moving with so much stealth and precision,
fangs will be minding the stoop after close;
A spectrum of color in those dark lies
makes it so easy to fall for their eyes.
Glistening in popcorn yellow
or wearing a fire engine glow;
They may hold a shade of status
but that’s not all there is to us;
I’d love to travel with a poof
and never fear if we’re fireproof;
Auto repairs cost I confess;
we could reduce all of that stress,
Even to fly with metal wings,
that aerial view pulls heartstrings;
Can we be rid of that time bomb,
humanity would be more calm;
I long for a trip to the stars,
I long for a world with no cars.