Best Flare Poems
Retirement for some means a rocking chair
But I’m blasting forth on a contrail’s flare
My 40-year career
Swirls behind in Earth’s sphere
And I’m ready to take on any dare
Francine invited me to bungee jump
I’ll skydive with Gwen - might end up a clump
There’ll be no rocking chair
As I hang-glide through air
Thinking of age as a tiny speed bump
*Entry for Tracie’s “New Beginnings” Contest
Flare to the heavens
Fired by a goddess’s longbow
Igniting a great passion
She says we should meet
At the hills above her feet
Where billowing clouds reside
Russell Sivey
A beautiful bird with two feathers;
one in the Caribbean sea and the other in the pacific waters.
Its awesome hand pets the back of animal existence
as its stomach stays suitably soft
to the dwelling of butterflies, orchid lineage and Amphibians.
Unique in a self protecting strategy of its dry law,
the trunk of Emeralds stay strongest in its domain.
The Medellin transition of a murder capital to a cultural hub;
cosmetic obsession and a craze for physical attraction
well amplified by the artistic show of mannequins,
speak out for this region so sex friendly
and well identified by one of
the most historic explorers the world has ever known.
double trouble on the boil
earth bowels ooze devils oil
ancient rock and occult blood
darkest liquor thick as mud
cauldron charged to overflow
fire flare and charcoal glow
spirits rising from turmoil
circulate alembic coil
thus set free an evil spell
toxic breath creating hell
double trouble on the boil
earth bowels ooze devils oil
fuming venom distillate
burn in air and dissipate
poison potions pour and spill
flora fauna for the kill
this alchemy reaching high
venting evil to the sky
ancient carbon haunting air
greenhouse gases everywhere
double trouble on the boil
earth bowels ooze devils oil
global warming melting ice
species rendered sacrifice
many mammals facing hell
from this reckless evil spell
without caution carbon spent
now new magic man invent
bury deep then sin be gone
down in devils dark dungeon
tenfold trouble on the boil
evil born of fossil oil
Flowers blooming all around my vivid eyes
I surround myself with my beauteous gardens
The sun rises - it's morn such beautiful skies
I am swarmed - my imagination runs clear
In my mind the petals infatuate my face
Lingering on - the aroma, the scents I trace
I build memories for my most precious sight
And it beams - the sun sheds radiant light
The hues ever so prominent - the colors pretty
Velvety reds of the beautiful rose with thorn
And the periwinkle blue morning glory is born
I wake each day- I see the elegant beauty
And thus I am blessed with the buds
They spark my personality- I yearn , I see
This remarkable sight day in , day out - it blooms
As if to say - I speak with my flowing eyes
Permeated deep with the spark of a flower
My tender thoughts - part my lips
And the bees they swarm stinging with reality
They listen to the words that do transpire
In my thoughts parting my ways
I walk in my gardens throughout the days
And my vivid eyes they see this beauteous aura
I built - I designed creating my garden
And the bees sting each day in my mind
In reality I set forth challenging each day
To remind me my garden I walk though, I say
Gives me strength - yet what shall I find?
my twilight love
stars above flare
both of our hearts
true love began
more love than sky
will span twilight
night lives always
hearts ablaze share
love stays at dawn
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, April 10, 2012
for ** THAN-BAUK A TWILIGHT Contest (Nette Onclaud)
bright,
flare-night,
lit up nice,
target hit twice,
flared
the four corners of the
room
in which i stand feels like
a tomb.
On a solitude plane
i weigh my existence.
Whilse just sitting and
looking in a distance.
I see myself wrongly
propergated.
In this life i call mine
which I barely dictate
i am pulled side by side
by chains of society.
I try to move free
but i can feel no ground
beneath me.
Like a fly caught in the
web of loniless the more i
struggle
the more the spider of
regrets draw closer.
In its eyes it gives me the
stare of dispair
my cries create echoes
which rather summons
my foes.
Like vultures to finish off
my remains.
My body aches from all of
these quakes.
Quakes emanating from a
heartbeat of a man in
pain.
Hurt feels so sweet.
Just waiting for the next
thorn to pierce through
my heart.
With teeth clenching
i feel it only in my bones.
I try to defy the odds.
The die is cast but it is
just even.
Leaves sparkle like golden hair,
cold air touches the nose,
fingers exposed
days backwashed, wood and pine fill the air as another day comes to a close.
There are few people I know
Who touch me like Emily
When I read her, my tears flow
‘Cause we were both so lonely
Only two lovers had she
Both had left her heartbroken
Would she find beau number three?
Fears in poetry spoken
She called herself “Nobody”
And had scant success in life
Surely she was somebody
Her sad words cut like a knife
Ms. Dickinson achieved fame
After death had doused her flame
*Written on June 19, 2012 for Emily Dickinson
Entry for Francine’s “Tribute by Sonnet” contest
High pipe stacks venting hot burning gas
In the Gulf of Mexico where fishing a blast
Oil rigs vent natural gas that never stops
The hot flames create - crackles, snaps and pops
This hot burning flame is known as a flare
it’s the serious fisherman will you find there
The heat’s so intense you stay far away
You catch fish there at night; not during day
Bugs are attracted to the flame at night
Then heat over comes them, they drop from flight
Small fish are waiting each night for the feed
That draws the big ones for the food they need
The giant ones are also hanging around
Normally the sharks find this feeding ground
When a giant one swallows a fish you have on
Best to cut your line before it’s all gone
But on this trip we’re after speckled trout
Keep fishing until all ice chests fill out
All poles are rigged up with two hooks per line
You’re always expected to catch two at a time
A speckled trout isn’t a trout at all
It’s named is “weakfish”, that’s its proper call
A brackish water fish, gets a foot long
In the Gulf at the flares, grow twice that long
“Flare fishing” involves being up all night
Grab a snack and cool one when off the bite
It’s a long run to get there and get back
Make the best of it you can, do not slack
All the ice chests must be packed just right
With layers of fish and layers of ice
Most all of the fish that we catch, we sell
A night of flare fishing, you’re tired as hell
You think to yourself I’m done doing that
Too much work and no sleep for what I get
But when someone says, “Let’s fish the flares”
I’ll say, “Sure, I love to catch them in pairs”
~~ashes disgorge
many flee her fiery darts
awaits her slumber~~
Magnificence in motion, merely growing golden
Giant globe of fire, glowing more gold emboldened
By similarities to the sun and its flares, a
Temper surely both share, but nay
I decline to witness such beauty
For in my life's breath no such duty
To beholden me there
Life on earth far more fair
Oh flare-star, your flair I will not endure,
But when my name is called I will be pure.
.for public domain
Solar Flare
A long, slender dollop of dribbled concrete,
amidst others on a construction site,
liberally seen as a ray of sun,
I fashioned for a stony sculpture piece,
around an alabaster ringed flat rock,
to shine an artist's light for everyone.
From a pea graveled bush bed by a lawn,
where lovers lie and kiss, and others yawn,
near abandoned bird baths, full of leaves
that shelter bugs, dry from years of neglect,
wanting rainfall from these Central Park skies,
I sit quiet watching good people and thieves.
When our solar host retreats from its path,
and takes the light of day to night's rest,
the stony rays upon the ground shine less,
for the poles with artificial light
beam, as they may, but never quite as bright
as our loving firmament's celestial guest.
I lay asleep drunk beneath thy stream
I cried for help just to realize it was a dream