Best Tinder Poems

The long years are harsh where the hot sun does burn
on the sand hills and plains when seasons won’t turn
where saltbush and samphire do somehow...

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Krummes Holz gibt auch gerades Feuer    
Crooked logs make straight fires [Work with what you have.]
 
Downcast eyes scan; the larger fear’s...

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The experience of penning one's thoughts to paper
for the perusal of others
offers a certain inner satisfaction
that must be experienced to be appreciated;
letting your words guide...

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Thunder rolls in the distance, lightning jags across the sky,
all around the heavens are angry … a fiery strike becomes the eye.
 
With little rain,...

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“The Fallen”



Remote,
he sees himself 
in the reflection of cold close 
yet distant shop windows, 
his final journey along the 
Hard Time Road
walking alone, 
unforgiven, no...

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The fire crackled and spat out embers
that gleamed brightly in the hearth.
Yet unattended they soon died away
to become dull grey ash particles.

Just like a fire...

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GROGGY BEDHEAD NO COFFEE SHUT THE BLINDS .... PRESIDENTIAL NO GOOD CHOICES TELIVISION SIGNAL GLITCH SMEAR ART CAMPAIGN... LATE NIGHT REHEATED RERUN RETWEEKED RETWEETED MORNING...

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Is it simply just a wooden music box?
Charming the human soul, with its melodic undertone,
What a hypnotic melody it so plays, enticing the listener
With its...

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He sits with his head upon his hands
His eyes are red
And water that glued the sands
Sun sucked, slithered from the sandy bed
His thoughts are the...

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The first flame will always be its own.
None can ever mirror it.
A second flame born of the same candle
may be coaxed to life;
but 'twill ne'er...

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...inspired by 'Cul-De-Sac' by Allen Tate


The golden sheen had turned to rust,
the laughter to a pile of rags,
the joy to ghostly lamentations,
how the weighted second...

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My boat rocks gently under a reddening sun,
is it wrong to wish for a Viking burial,
to ponder a last journey West
into the dying light?

Strangers have...

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"MONSTER"



these little deaths
we wish for 
warm fingers 
ignite the keys

the places 
we go to hide 
to silently die 
is where we open 

the love notes...

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...inspired by 'Cul-De-Sac' by Allen Tate


The golden sheen had turned to rust,
the laughter to a pile of rags,
the joy to ghostly lamentations,
how the weighted second...

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Starlets tender their heralded names
Just another pretty face; another superficial dame
Brokered pawns in tawdry, transparent game 
Bartered tinder is their trite acclaim
Stars that twinkled then imploded...

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