Best Furnaces Poems
N ever again will the Tribes of Israel be the sacrificial lamb of man.
A nnealed in furnaces not in Olam HaEmet by the Almighty "the World of Truth."
Z ealots rose from the ashes of the ovens and now defend like Sicarii of old.
I srael blooms and grows in the desert, returned by Allied Forces to the cauldron.
H ome to the Holy Land, sent, shipped, caste surrounded by Arab foe, isolated.
O vens melted their hearts, striped their forms for their souls held no intrinsic value.
L ampshades and shoes made from their skin, jewelry from the gold in their teeth.
O rders given by The Third Reich obeyed without conscious. The herd was culled.
C hrist-killer the Christian mind said, devil worshiper, their deaths were acceptable.
A nti-Semitism always has been and always will be a threat to Jews everywhere.
U nited, Jews must form a majority in Israel, so Jews everywhere feel safe.
S anctuary will never again being denied, Israel will be safe haven from persecution.
T o a future where all men have worth regardless of race, creed or religion, pray.
*Thanks to Arild Andresen Ertsland for his inspiring
From the Ashes
Categories:
furnaces, faith, history,
Form:
Verse
In love
I keep coming back
to this place in the hope
I'll hear your voice,
feel your presence settle
the evening and draw closer
in the scented air.
Already spring has fired the furnaces
of desire and life trembles. Flowers
beckon bees and I too seem drawn
to this holy place.
And yet this throbbing world
seems veneered on a core of silence,
the most exquisite sounds arise
out of a hollow. My words echo
around its walls and go unanswered.
I keep coming back
still enamored with creation, lovesick,
holding these humble prayers
I pin to a closed door
hoping it will open.
Categories:
furnaces, poetry, prayer,
Form:
Free verse
A story inscribed in the constellations
of the punctate canopy of night
Perseus astride the winged Pegasus
Hurtling to save his fair maid Andromeda
from the beastly Cetus the seasick sea-serpent
While her folks, Cepheus and Cassiopeia
gawk dispassionately
Poor parenting enshrined above us
The pancaked 2-D IMAX look
of the heavenly vault
belies the relevant numbers—
Trillions, quadrillions of 3-D miles between,
My retinas bathing in light decades old
Not a preschool connect-the-dots
but a giant mobile
of impossibly remote thermonuclear furnaces
turned cosmic Rorschach test
My eyes drink the mother of pearl
galactic smudge in the telescope
and I feel you gaze right back
Ancient light, yet a staring presence
a Mexican standoff of unfathomable dimensions
Telescopes at 600 hexillion paces, pardner
Don’t blink
Is it my imagination, or your mind?
Crazy quarks’ quantum entanglement
making instant “spooky action” at a distance
40 million light years away
Hundreds of quintillions of miles
whatever in God’s name that is
There you are again; I feel you
Verizon Universal Consciousness Connection
That’s going to be a heck of a phone bill
but I’ll be long gone by then
I think
8/1/16
Categories:
furnaces, imagination, space, stars,
Form:
Free verse
Naught But Smoke In The Wind
Ethereal is…as ethereal does
Bundles of atoms is what we be
Empty space wrapped in cosmic fuzz
Electrons trying to break free
We be something…just not very much
We’re not very material atall
Just wee Protons, Neutrons and such
Smooshed all together in a ball
Yet we think…reason and wonder
What our place in the cosmos is
Question, posit and ponder
Is there more, or is this all there tis?
Our origins are in the furnaces of space
Our destinies as fickle as the weather
Our lives be brief, but our souls stay apace
…Our atoms fate…is to live forever…
Categories:
furnaces, appreciation, creation, life,
Form:
Imagism
It’s the fourth - fireworks; the fizzle of stars.
The colorful display of power of the people —
waving of the red, white and blue; freedom
rings, slowly, building to a crescendo
to include all the melting pot called the USA.
Resilience and fortitude; weathered the wilderness
where an unlearned cabin-patch man snatches
every book his hands can capture, then captures
our hearts, tall, even taller with his top hat —
a silk black band added after his beloved son
Willie dies. Lincoln, a man who united us
in the favor of freedom, freedom that frees the pandemic
of slavery, the dark history of whips and chains. And
furthermore we ask, “Why oh why…”
when headway is made do men continue to suffer
and hang from trees, crosses burned.
And all good men suffer with them, the agony of evil —
it was to be stamped out, and the white hoods snatched
off crazytown. If one truly believes in God, then he loves,
not hates, his fellowman and each wants the best for him —
of education, family, boundless freedom and desires
to hold hands — building a chain, not of rust, but of
trust. And we sing out, “God bless America.”
I visited the WWII museum in New Orleans. A flat map
showed the takeover of the world by forces of evil. Almost
the entire world of East and West lit up — it took my breath
away. What power quenched the burning furnaces, the
torture of peoples? When America stood up, under
the banner of “In God We Trust,” the hellfires, not
easily squelched, the brave, the spirit of the wilderness
gave all, they fought to set the captives free. Men, in general,
are not perfect but the fight for freedom is a worthy cause
and the sanity of a sound mind, a candlelight vigil of veracity
is one to be stoked. Do we continue
to fight each other, dividing, drawing lines, or pull
each other into big sloppy hugs and love’s kisses.
God bless this union called America; God’s mercy
invites us to sing with one voice; freedom’s choice.
It’s the fourth - fireworks; the fizzle of stars.
The colorful display of power of the people —
waving of the red, white and blue; freedom
rings, slowly, building to a crescendo
to include all the melting pot called the USA.
7/4/2020
Categories:
furnaces, america, freedom, independence day,
Form:
Narrative
So much effort
goes into feeling well...Man,
I’m exhausted! There’s nausea
from supplements, the squeak
and throb, Just One More Rep!~ exercising…
Man, I’m exhausted!
As much effort
going into relaxation – rush to get
things done (always a backup of
things); shuffle schedules, get sitters
for the animals – Man, I’m exhausted!
Even love, the chores, the cards,
the gifts, the emotional lifts...honey-does
seeming to have endless reserves,
never running short on pantries of
exhaustion.
Someday, probably, I’ll
wake-up, unpleasantly surprised
and find myself either stoking furnaces,
fluffing angel wings while polishing
the backside of clouds – Man, give me
a break!
Ouch!~ finally something I asked for….
Categories:
furnaces, humorous, husband, inspirational, nonsense,
Form:
Free verse
At the cradle of my nightmares,
My future is a horror film,
I track my ghosts,
Like a junkie in withdrawal.
I am a true clandestine calamity,
A mass grave of silent suffering,
A candelabra of pain soothed by dirty money,
I hate the human race,
And I will never have a pet.
I am a loner addicted to silence.
I only write in the dark, to deathly sounds.
A mix of gloomy feelings,
I walk in the darkness of my imperfections,
My hands are no longer innocent,
Since I’ve handled weapons of war.
I am a child of the slums of the third world,
I know perfectly the orifices of misery.
Another damn sleepless night spent monologuing in the darkness of this cold room,
The devil covers his ears to the atrocities spilling from my confessions.
I’ve already used gunpowder
For a firework on the edge of legality.
I never agreed to sleep on an empty stomach,
I’ve risked my freedom since I was ten.
I’ve learned to walk among hungry beasts.
I’m already at war with my demons,
I know I’ll end up in the flames.
I know I have no right to trust a human being,
Being a slave to shine is impossible.
My enemies squat in my imperfect flesh.
I don’t smoke crack,
I don’t smoke cannabis,
I don’t snort cocaine,
I don’t drink alcohol,
I sometimes burn a few cigarettes.
I avoid psychotropics,
I’m not a poet,
Just a tormented mind,
Prisoner of infernal loops,
Where murder scenes repeat endlessly.
My tears stopped flowing down my cheeks
Since I saw my friend crushed by a logging truck.
I am an angry man with murderous impulses,
I commit suicide each time in this same nightmare that has repeated since my childhood.
I’m approaching fifty,
I’ve stopped meditating on the whims of the reaper,
I’ve stopped wandering in graveyards.
Let the universal force show mercy on my impure, tainted soul
By the poisons of lust,
I accumulate transgressions to have a throne in the furnaces of hell.
I don’t believe in paradise, but I know I’ll burn in the abyss’s celestial flames after my twilight.
A deep philosophical reflection in the ramblings of my delirium.
I hate the spotlights like those criminals on the run,
Too many regrets hidden in the closets,
A clean criminal record like the entrails of Christ’s mother.
I blaspheme to darken my divine fragment.
Categories:
furnaces, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
It frothed, it boiled from deep within her soul,
fermenting in the furnaces of hell.
Considering how best to take her toll,
With heaving breast, stared down the infidel,
and belched it forth with foul and fetid smell.
It launched, depraved and deathly, to the skies;
the horror of its impact filled his eyes.
Try though he might, he could not quell his fears,
and thus, did rationality despise.
The evil jabberwock fell on his ears.
----------
for the Dizain Poetry Contest Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet
written on 10/18/22
what some people apparently think when you say, "God bless you!" :-)
Categories:
furnaces, blessing, dark,
Form:
Dizain
Peace is though difficult
Yet not impossible to uphold,
All the kings of the states
Must remain self-concerned,
Without poking noses
Into the affairs of others,
Curbing cupidity
To expand the territories,
Subjugate the nations of the world,
Enforce the so-called personal visions,
And put the humanity
Into new-fangled trials.
All the weapons
Latest, conventional or primitive,
Precious or utterly worthless,
Nuclear or less potential
Made of common explosives,
Be spoiled,
Be thrown into the deep waters
Of the unexplored seas,
Wherefrom no devilish character
Could ransack them back.
When some is killed
Neither Hindu, nor Muslim,
Neither Christian nor Jew is killed,
But a man: a child of Adam and Eve,
The same red substance
Pours out of his injured ragged body,
And it pains me.
All the weapon producing units,
And the blood spattering gadgets:
The tanks and cannons,
Mortars or machines guns,
The armadas
With the squadrons of fighter-jets,
Submarines that navigate
Secretly chase the nautical targets,
Catapults and all the missiles launching frames,
Be thrown into furnaces
To be remodelled and redesigned
Into of the earth moving machinery,
Instead of the appliances
Colouring the Earth red.
All the medals or symbols
Of chivalry be taken back,
Combatants and men
With the crowned shoulders,
And medalled chests,
Who often move in the battle-fields
Puffed with the martial pride,
Imparting, rendering
No service to humanity
Be employed to plough the lands,
Plant the gardens,
Make the dams and reservoirs of water,
Feed the cattle and get them milked on time,
Engaged them
To perform some rewarding assignments.
Upon the earth,
There must not be a single
Blood-claiming weapon;
If men are incensed
And fight is unavoidable,
They must fight with knives and rapiers,
Swords and shields made of gossamer,
All the time heeding
Lest they should break;
And all inhabitants of the world
At least once a day must trim their nails,
Lest when they are indignant
And resentful should scratch
The skin of fellow beings or their own.
Categories:
furnaces, peaceearth, men,
Form:
Furiously the flakes fell, thickly coating
all they touched, breaking branches
with their weight. Yet still relentlessly
the snow cascaded seemingly ever thicker.
Freezing temperatures with icy fingers that
turned all they touched into frozen statues.
Ponds with ice two feet thick encouraging
the skaters to swirl, twirl and circle freely.
Flurry huge flakes that formed deep drifts
some topping out at fifteen feet barriers.
Suffocating sheep and many others
with its cold relentless arms of purpose.
For now Winter reins in supremacy
killing of the weak sending some
into hibernation seeking relief
from the biting bitter cold.
Furnaces blaze and their flames dance
throwing out some warmth and comfort,
bringing a reminder that soon
Spring will once more walk our lands.
Categories:
furnaces, snow, spring, winter,
Form:
Free verse
IRONBRIDGE SHROPSHIRE
River Severn’s now a fishing spot.
Two centuries ago it was not.
The cradle of industrial revolution
Rocked fastest here - Iron construction
Arching proud - Telford’s bridge was born
Among the elder and the hawthorn.
Coal mines, furnaces, stony quarries,
Early train-tracks - sooty glories.
Now the river sweeps silent south
From hilly birth to ending mouth.
Smoke and soot have had to cease
River Severn has returned to peace
…………………………………………………………..
Note:
Ironbridge is the name of a small town on the River Severn
in Shropshire, England. It derives its name from the famous Iron Bridge, built 1779.
Categories:
furnaces, historyriver,
Form:
Couplet
The gates of Hell opened wide.
Six million souls stepped inside.
Beaten. Shot. Starved to death.
The words of God still on their breath.
Screams of anguish. Cries of pain.
Abhorrent laughter of the insane.
Mothers beg. Their babies moan.
They smell charred flesh and smoldering bone.
Cords of bodies in a row.
Frozen corps in the snow.
Gas clouds creep across the floors.
Hinges creek on oven doors.
Idle boxcars sit on tracks.
Inside lie bodies in gruesome stacks.
The S.S. soldiers earn their pay.
They stoke the furnaces night and day.
To the insidious cruelity
Of a madman's hate.
Six million Jews met their fate.
Remember them! Remember well!
Those souls who entered
The gates of Hell.
Categories:
furnaces, history
Form:
Fire And Rain
Fire and rain - two things we require in our society.
We need fire to keep us warm and power industrial
Furnaces, for generating electricity and manufacturing
Various goods, and we need rain for our existance on
This planet of ours - an important commodity, that we
Are slowly running out of, but there are dark forces with
These same two friends of ours: during the summer months
Fires break out in bush areas threatening homes, people,
As well as animals. Yes, this good friend of ours turns against
Us and threatens our lives and everything we have. Water
Is then required to fight the fire, which causes our dams to
Deplete. There is also another enemy, man himself, creating
These very same fires, a lit match dropped or cigarette butt
Or even worse than that, children or arsonists lighting fires.
Yes fire becomes a fierce enemy to man, but our other friend
Comes to our rescue and eventually saves the day. The story
Is not over because the hot weather creates large rain clouds
As the barometric pressure drops, storms break out and the
Rain comes to cool off the hot temperature, but if it does not
Stop raning it could cause flooding and even worse, massive
Destruction as the dams overflow and floods valleys and
Towns killing wildlife and many people in it's flood waters
What saved us before, the Rain, now turns against us
Forcing people from their homes and destroying properties
Over large distance. They rely on sandbagging towns
Till the waters abate. Then finally the rain ceases, and we
Are all safe again, which all goes to show that fire and rain
Can be enemies or friends and we all need to stay prepared
When it comes to a an emergency, it could be a matter of life
And death, seeing two sides of our friends: one good - the other evil.
Categories:
furnaces, nature, planet,
Form:
Narrative
If I had luck with a guitar
I would pluck you a gentle tune
If I had been blessed with a soothing voice
I would play you the sweetest melody
I would carve you an effigy of love
If my hands were humbled with the Skillman ship of a sculptor
I would your statue place at the centre of my town
With the sweetest caption known to the statue race on it
I would with the brightest colours, to reflect your charming smile,
Paint a portrait of your beautiful face
If the gods had favoured me with a painter’s talent
I would hang your Mona-Lisa like portrait in all the museums in the world
I would dare the fires of Mordor
Just to mold you the most glistening pieces of jewelry
The purest of a golden ring with the biggest diamond
A Hollywood girl would forever dream of I would make you
Or I would bring you the freshest roses
The smelliest of their kind
If only I had enough to have my own orchard
I would grow you pink and red roses in my back yard
I would stuck you a pile of riches in your pillow case
Then I would surprise you to open it when you wake
That would be if I had a good fortune
To spoil my honey dew with abundant life
But I am a frog with a guitar
My hands are too weak for a sculptor
A blind man would outshine me at a game of paint and brush
The fires of Mordor, ho! I wish the Hollywood supermodels would envy your golden ring
But I would never muster enough bravely to dare the ever blazing flames
I would indeed collect the sweetest pink and red roses
But I lack even my own daily bread to own an orchard
That goes even for the fortune I wish I would surprise and spoil you with
I however have muse’s abundant gifts in my quill
Thus with it I scribble you this poem
To soothe you my honey
To pluck you that tune from my virtual guitar
To carve you the effigy of love
And paint you the Mona Lisa of your own
To endow me with the courage to dare the furnaces of Mordor
And bask in the fountains full of rose’s red and pink
For in my virtual world I have all the riches to spoil you with
And with muse’s gift I with this quill
Scroll you this piece my morning dew
Categories:
furnaces, dedication, fire, i love
Form:
Ballad
Behind the barbed wire
Behind the barbed wire a cherry tree blooms:
bustling petals in the land of death.
Behind the barbed wire a gradient runs
between the scent of flowers
and the omnipresent stench
of burning flesh
wafting from the crematory furnaces.
And I wonder:
if there are pillars of clouds by day
and pillars of fire by night
and loud cries
and pleading prayers,
then where is God ?
Where, behind the barbed wire?
Does he know about žthe walls of Treblinka
and Osvetim?
Does he know that Arbeit macht frei?
Does he know about the Final Solution and
forced labou
and the horror of the Holocaust Trains?
Is he, too, in the gas chambers
gasping for breath?
Is he, too, starving to death,
wishing nothing more
than something to eat?
Is he, too, behind the barbed wire ?
And I wonder:
despite the machinery of brutal killing
in staccatto of bullets,
could they not kill humanity
to the mass graves
could they not bury hope
Because cherry trees bloom
even behind a barbed wire.
Categories:
furnaces, conflict, holocaust,
Form:
Free verse