Best Incinerated Poems
The yellow neon sign casted a glow upon his chiselled cheekbones as the bustling sounds of a city that never slept droned on.
He carried his troubles with him, like a worn out cloak, weighing him down in his every step. His mind was entwined in a thorny thicket.
He has been haunted and bewildered since his introduction to her in a smoky speakeasy.
She was a siren shadow amongst strangers of the night, whispering his name in the breeze, intoxicating his psyche with a tempestuous flame.
She entangled him in a perilous dance, playing a game of chance.
Their encounters were like unbridled wildfires. She captivated him, consuming his soul with her potent allure. He felt engulfed, delicate as a feather in a storm, swept away by her force.
However he was a moth enticed by a relentless flame, she incinerated his dreams and made him feel hopeless. In the end, he succumbed to the hounds of disassociated reality.
His story concluded in tragedy, leaving his loved ones cries to echo through the empty streets of a heartless city.
Flames of desire mesmerize
Instantly provocative to tantalize
Recklessly smoldering embers stirred
Enticing arousal... seduction occurs
Stoking the fire again and again
No strings attached is only plan
Both have reasons to turn away
Smoke exhausts all reasons one day
Forbidden sex arouses all senses
Ghost voyeurs char pretenses
Once guilt and shame are activated
Hardcore explosions... incinerated
No strings attached cannot persevere
Fire leaves ashes of all we hold dear
Written 5-3-2016
RUINS OF TRANSFORMATION
Hands hold, faces face
Eyes lock, bridge distance
Time stops in silent grace.
Hands hang, faces distort
Eyes glare, bridge burns
Past crashes, time aborts.
Minds close, hearts abrade
Egos blaze on identity incinerated
Pledges wreck, bonds degrade.
Road deserted in journey to isolation
Past keeps the future shrouded
Time rues the ruins of transformation.
Written : February 24, 2018.
March 27, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice R, Any Form Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
The flames licked my arms
But I did not stir
The spring breeze sent the curtains flying
And the golden rays burst in and set everything afire
The light punched its way into the room
It knocked into the shelves that wept in silence
Book spines instantly faded
Then pages were ablaze, incinerated
It left bruises on the carpet
Whose dust rose up with the breeze
It danced with the fringes on the bedclothes
Making shadows ripple across the empty space before the pillows at my feet
The air sent ripples up my arms
And I gasped at its touch
Curved into the corner of the farthest wall,
I glared at the light seeking me out
It scratched its fingers into every crack and crevice
And fractured against my lonely reflection
Blasting shards of glittering light across the walls
It was sniffing me out
It could smell the darkness on me
Daring to touch my withered skin
Yearning to warm my sunken face
The curtains shifted the shadows on the walls
And finally its eyes befell me
The golden rays found me at last
They clawed through the hair that clung at my face
Stretched forth and stabbed at my eyes
But I clenched them shut in fear I’d go blind with sight
I transformed myself into the wall
Curled up inside its weakened shadow
The golden rays licked at my arms
But I did not stir
The bright flames seared my skin
But I let it burn
‘ Volcano’ ( or The Perils of Passion )
Volcano … You Inferno ! … You, Latent Threat
… I am not Ready, for Your Rise … just Yet …
So Stay Low and Do Not Throw …
… Your Boiling-So, … Nor Tell-Tale, Glow
Your Trembling Thrill, is Unseemly, So Leave
… Is that Bubbling-Fire, Leaping ? … Not Now, Please !
With Cool-Logic and Reason, Let The Brain- Blow ! …
and Ease the Simmering, Sultry, Steam Below
… Stay Sluggish and Drain thru my Strained-Veins
‘Lest Nothing, but Ashes and Embers Remain
Journey to The Center of The Earth … Don’t Emerge !
‘Lest The Core of My Being … Spill Over and Purge …
Burning This Complacency … This Routine Degree
For this Mercury, could Melt my Civility
or Expose my Feminine – Fear of Falling into Fissure
bringing Scalding Tears and Smoke-Screen Tissues…
… All in His Temperate-Touch, lays my Malfunction
He has Ignited, a Full-Blown, Sky-High Eruption !
Consuming Heat, Please – Show Some Compunction !
Would Moving Further Away, Stop Quaking Expulsions ?
… My Heart is Napalm-Warm … I Know …
but … Does It Have to put on a Shower of Sparks Show ?
Oh, I Can Not Stand This Incinerated Assault, Any More
Not, While, He Persists … To Pour and Pour …
… Too Late, I Sputter … Now, Lava Flows …
Alive-Thing … on Volcano Floes
Caught … In Volcano Throes … …
Molten Sea ... Let It Go
Cigarette ash on the torn page of a Keroac
Told us to “Burn Burn Burn”, so we never looked back.
We fled, our hearts ablaze like the setting sun
No care where it lead us, we were on the run.
An inferno fueled by Hendrix’s “Fire,”
We incinerated doubt upon that pyre.
Blacked lungs serenaded flickering streetlights
While the flames of our passion consumed the nights.
Kerosene hearts ignited by matchstick kisses
We danced to the beat of the fire’s hisses.
Each touch a spark, yielding to lust
With this much euphoria, we’re bound to combust.
Ethel Hurst
1889 – 1918
I saw the town rise up
Like a single blade of grass after a spring rain.
I played a multitude of hop-scotch games
With my best friend Hannah on Penn Street.
And sipped a hundred ice cream sodas in the Mercantile at sunset.
My mother took me to Jacob’s Grocery every Monday
And it was I who picked the plump oranges
From the big rickety crate.
On Saturdays we worked the fields at Strong’s Ranch,
Harvesting the pampas in the walnut fields.
And on Halloween I was the girl in the moon-face costume for five straight years.
When Christmas brought its luminous lights to the town,
Mother dressed me in red with a bell on my bonnet.
And father sang the carols with a guitar and a tambourine.
I graduated from the big high school in 1907
And in celebration,
Rode my bicycle to Bassett
Still in my starched graduation petticoats.
Jesse Forbes,
He being five years younger than I,
Was the love of my brief stay on this earth.
But when he ventured to steal a kiss that day in Black Canyon,
I used my calloused hand to convey my stern disagreement.
But what wild regrets I’ve entertained since Jesse drowned that day.
In the wild currents by Pio Pico’s crumbling Adobe,
His body bobbing like a sea bird
In the punishing plume of that old deep river.
Beyond the muddy banks and the wild flowers,
Jesse Forbes left this life with a surprised frozen grin.
Why Jesse? Why?
You never knew the truth, my love.
You never really understood what I meant
When I said nothing.
I said No to you when I said nothing that day in Black Canyon,
But I really meant Yes.
The influenza incinerated my heart and soul
With a 106 temperature in the winter of 1918.
Twenty nine years I dare say
Is nothing in terms of eternal life!
I had so much more to do!
I had so much more to dream about!
I walked and talked on the streets of my town,
And on the funeral-dark avenues of my innocent days.
And I planned and I schemed
And all for nothing!.
Indeed, I felt the pulse of fleeting time
And the never-ending,
Ever-turning circle of endless days.
But now I rest here in Clark Cemetery… a virgin corpse
Flirting shamelessly with the bow-tie worms,
Still wild with regrets.
And forever haunted in reverse
By the same recurring memory
Of Jesse Forbes holding a rose.
Under the old oak tree in Black Canyon..
Eyelids heavy with memories
Cover lights and shadows of a hospital in ruins.
A baby with grown-up fingers
Reads the past in Braille
Barely touching the meaning of broken cobblestone streets of her past.
Her fingertips retract like eyes of snails back into the present
Where handsome men - immoral in their animalism -
try to understand LOVE for the very first time.
Great White sharks kill tri-athletes and place them in immortality
as writers reach the end of the journey frustrated by their lack of gills ...
The torrid yellow burden rolls down incinerated crystals between her breasts
She senses people as zigzags with burglarized drawers
rhythmically roaming up and down the Riviera...
The ocean breeze murmurs: “ Michelle, my belle...”, “ I love, I love you, I looove you...”
Invading her nostrils with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee
and the smell of barbeque that, once she could digest.
The sun drops gold coins into the turquoise as they ricochet into her degenerating eyes.
I see myself in her from the above as unscrupulous tides rip open our sandy abdomen
Violently sucking my body's sand sculpture back to the undertow.
It's almost dusk and seagulls fly through me to a secret shelter I wish I had...
I'm scared to fall asleep as I might wake up without wings
while numbness's taking over my bleeding shoulder blades...
"The body of a peddler with broken clocks on sale
was found tonight
on the landing pad of a hospital in ruins"
for Deb's contest "Real, UNreal or SURreal "
Some are shiny
Fuel injected or carbureted
Hands washed after work or grimy
Green lights anticipated
Some are small block
Bored out pistons roar
Pride, nothing stock
New valves, what a chore
Overhead cams pushed to the limit
Rocker arms at full extension
Gears a ’grinding, spin it
Timing belt at full tension
Intake manifold a ’breathing
Camshaft spinning
Exhaust seething
Races, if lucky, winning
Linear forces generated
Altered chemical synergy
Fuel incinerated
Glorious mechanical energy
I took a trip to Paris, France and of course I wanted to see all the attractions,
walk the boulevards, see the museums and art galleries, linger at an outdoor
cafe watching people stroll while sipping on wine and munching on cheese and
bread. I wanted to float down the Seine by boat at night. But my reason, for
this trip was to go to Le Pere Lachaise Cemetery, for that is where my family
ancestors are buried. I knew it would not be easy to find them as this cemetery
is huge, spread over 110 acres, over one million people buried there since 1804.
I walk the paths
lingering at mossy tombs:
a thousand birds sing
It is an amazing cemetery with many famous people buried there like Chopin,
Oscar Wilde, Monet, Voltaire, Degras and thousands more, but also ordinary
people. From simple unadorned headstones to huge towering monuments.
One needs a guide map to navigate the roads and pathways through this maze
of stone. I finally had to go to the office for direction and help to locate my
ancestors grave sites.
death has no time
for in my heart you exist
the smell of decay:
I found out some disturbing information, the plots are leased for 50, 30, 10
years and if not renewed the remains are removed, boxed and tagged and
moved to Aux Morts Assuary in a single tomb. When the Assuary gets over-
crowed the remains are removed, incinerated and the ashes returned.
And that is where my ancestors are, nothing but ashes in eternal storage. The
Aux Morts (To the Dead) Assuary is closed to the public, I found that very
odd and it made me quite sad. Why, what are they hiding?
And those plots where the remains were removed from are re-leased to others,
well that is how the cemetery can keep up on the burials, apparently there is a
long waiting list. I am happy my family plot is in a cemetery in Canada where
the remains of those buried will never be touched.
___________________
July 25, 2017
Haibun/Le Pere Lachaise Cemetery
Copyright Protected, ID 923378
Written for the Haibun Contest
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
First Place
BEAST OF FIRE
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
A sizzling lightning bolt
Spears towards earth
Contacts the ground
Scorches, sparks fly
…
Ignites the mass of fuel
On the forest floor
Flames flicker… burst into life
A deadly fire is born
…
Tentacles of flames spread
Consume fuel, generate heat and flame
The fires energy now a furnace
Likened to middle earth
…
Flames and smoke reach to the sky
Bursting the tree canopy alight
Fanned by internal winds
A cataclysm… a raging inferno
…
Out of control feeding on an abundance of fuel
The fire races consumes everything in its path
Spreading fear to inhabitants living in the hills
Unabated the fire an uncontrollable beast
…
The fire rages… turning days into nights
Leaving behind a desert of burned earth
Incinerated animals lay smouldering
Losses of immense proportions
…
The aftermath whence the beast was tamed
Will be felt for many years to come
Thankful there has been no loss of Human life
But we know the beast of fire will return
An atomic sun ignites
in a flash of intense light.
And life's incinerated,
as ash turns day into night.
As a burning sky blazes,
plastic toys melt into dreams.
And reality resounds,
with echoes of children's screams.
When heaven morphs into hell,
thunder responds with a roar.
And people huddle in fright;
scared of what fate has in store.
St. Elmo's fire lights the tombs,
in the city of the dead.
And muffled moans can be heard,
amidst the anguish and dread.
A seared world turns to prayers,
as humanity cringes.
And misery enshrouds souls,
surviving at life's fringes.
Nuclear fallout raining down,
irradiates humankind.
And Winter gets set to stay,
while Summer drags far behind.
Within the streets the bodies burned;
No human hand available to put ashes in urns.
What lead to this state was fear, hate and violence.
Rendering everything, normal and known, to utter silence.
Why did this happen? And how could this be?
All that flourished is now decimated, pertaining to society.
Those who ruled shunted their power and that all prevailed.
Bequeathing metal and chemicals to air, the sky and earth were assailed.
The eruptions, aground, incinerated and seared;
Within these milliseconds, Lucifer leered.
Betwixt his lips issued a whisper,
His tongue lolling about in a serpentine slither.
“Mere men need no malevolent coercement,
For evil lurks within their conscious contentment.
The destruction was bestowed upon them and their land,
Not by mine, but by their own hand.”
World War 3
And now as the generation that remembers how bloody
a world war is, and how many millions suffered and died,
is forgotten a distant past and again the black winged
Bird of war is flapping its wings.
I will go to Papua New Guinea, buy a big piece of forest
and plant more trees when needed, I will keep pigs that
soon will be wild and invite people to kill them with a bow
and arrow. I pig head on the wall and a trophy wife in
the bed, idiots will pay a lot for that.
By preserving the forest, I will help save the world from
carbon emission, if it is not too late and the world cannot be
saved from the colossus NATO and those with no memory
who get excited by demagogues and are ready to make
the wrong decision and eradicate them.
I will also keep cassowary as pets, but not indoors as they
do crap a lot, and like to sleep in your bed.
I will sit here and wait till radio signals are silent and I know
War is over, and the world far away is a smoking ruin
Incinerated bibliotheca, obliterated literature and we shall
not know about our short but illustrious time on earth.
This here is a poem
I wrote it just because
I had a funny punchline
I don't remember what it was
It was something about Osama
That is all that I remember
Come to think, it wasn't funny
It was about the eleventh of September
Oh yes, it went something like...
May your ashes be fed upon by hemroid suffering fish who die of constipation so that
you rot for days in their smelly bowels before being filtered by a festering oyster. And
may that oyster be eaten by Michael Moore and give him food poisoning that causes
him to retch. And may that vomit be swept into the trash which is fed to a sick pig. And
may that pig die of the ebola virus and be incinerated...making you twice baked. Twice
baked potatoes bin Laden.
yes...it was something like that, only better.