Burners Poems | Examples

SILK SERAPHS

SILK SERAPHS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
morning's fiery edge ascends~
kaleidoscopic procession of
pinks, blues, yellows catch my eyes.

above me, a fleet of silk seraphs
claim the cerulean sky,
sun's warmth igniting their ethereal sails.

the silk seraphs easily glide~
like dreamers across celestial skies,
they drift along effortlessly.

burners' gentle roar, a soothing serenade~
the ballonists soar in burnished metal baskets
while passengers wave as they pass by.

above quilted plains, tiny silk thrones reign~
like my wayward thoughts
they meander carefree.

the wind gently carries them higher aloft
then…..pooooof….they vanish.
magic comes with dawn’s first rays.

Untitled In Age

my peace of mind is quite fine,
the pieces of fine however make up for lack of time!

this time is not the one that you crave remembering! This time is not the one you ever want to make up for!

why are memories remembering how my body felt?
why are memories remembering things that seem no longer belong to me?
why do feelings come with seasons,
and why does it have to be the season of everyday!

i’m tired of thinking about it.
it is something else to feel this way still,
to be hung by my neck while my body has grown around the noose!
it’s such as someone forgot to turn the burners off before vacating their home.
But someone left them on, and now i’ve built a new house on top of it.
Painted wood and all.
There’s some metal inside but I still smell the gas from my demolished stove 
which is funny
I can’t even smell!

Knock, Knock

Knock, Knock
Who’s There?
Opportunity
Miracle Man 
9/1/2024

Sometime opportunity will knock at our door,
and for reasons unknown we answer not its call.
Years later we’ll think back, and pace the floor,
we let pass, what may have been, our financial downfall.

Things in life that we move to the back burners,
Usually linger there until forgotten and dies.
Missed opportunities is the habit of slow learners,
But by seizing the moment we garner the prize.

my mother shouted 'do you want a coffee?' just as a bloke was teeing off on the first hole

bizarre stuff
in fact, she'd never visited a golf course before

in fact, as i took my daughter to the clubhouse toilet
i held the door open for her 

the contents of the coffee was
all over the floor

i hit my tee shot against the trees
and the ball ricocheted back onto the fairway

'Good shot!' my mother yelled
there was a lot of top of the lungs stuff

MASHED POTATOES  
i shanked it 

mammy chops and bunkers like thunder thighs
my daughter wants to sleep in a bunker

i want to throw my clubs in the lake
worm burners

and municipal memories 
this was meant to be a love sonnet

i'll be your caddy
i love you flagstick

With Social Media As Our Church

Watching the protests grow larger and stronger
     burying hope in the stench of a dumpster

   Hearing speakers extol baby-burners
     they themselves as unhinged as murderers

   What has America come to when human butchery is praised
     with social media as their church, on such values our youth is now raised

Growing Tradition

  Growing the fruits of your labor in Socorro county
  Around here they call it New Mexico true
  Down in Lemitar you can get the best of the best
  The warm days' and cool nights, the fields of green chile grew

  This crop has become known worldwide in places afar
  Dedicated day and night to it being a successful harvest
  Long hours and true love of this way of life they embrace
  The chile, beautiful and mature, it's the hot days' of August

  Sacks of burlap full to the top begin the journey across the state
  Crack of the burners, metal cylinders turn, roasted green chile fills the air
  This smell, it is nothing short of heaven on earth
  Our call to fame with a little New Mexico flare

  The season is short, late Autumn wind blows the dust off a cowboys boots
  The chile turns deep red now, the last of the season
  The ground is bare as I take one last look across the land
  The Zia on our flag gives me pride, that's my reason

  Why things happen, well who's to say
  Perhaps the fields will be green again someday
  A hurt in my heart, I lower my Stetson and walk away
  The fields belong to spirit now, looking in the distance I see the rain

Book Burners

Books burners are on the loose again
Wanting to change honoured works to not offend
Noddy and Big Ears have gone
And Roald Dahl’s classic have lost their song

But these burners don’t have Jack boots
And Heil Hitler is not their salute
For burning with bonfires is old fashioned
Changing book text is their way of bashing

For protected we all will be
From naughty adjectives they do see
And describing is out of touch
Changing the text destroys the work enough.
	
© Paul Warren

Action's Gained Traction

Where have all the novels gone
  Name three good ones written
    in the last thirty years...

  Seems they're on the back burners
    in their place, 'page-turners'

Hint of Autumn

*Image of The Farmhouse by UNS.

Hint of Autumn

Sunstar wakes, Aurora reacts,
As light skews her southernmost sky,
A roost rouses, a rooster crows,
Henhouse's wood handle lifts up.

A replete farm inclined to rouse,
Sunstar wakes, Aurora reacts,
Four-year-old farmhand gets busy,
Baskets of fresh eggs walked with care.

A kitchen's stove burners light up,
A toaster plugged, and cooked bread sliced,
Sunstar wakes, Aurora reacts,
Pasteurized cow's milk fills glasses.

Patterned shirts and blue-jean jumpsuits,
Waits for the bus, two school returnees,
A leaf falls, "Guess afterschool rake?"
Sunstar wakes Aurora reacts.

2022 August 12
*5th Place*
Hint of Autumn
~~Regina McIntosh: Judged 2022 September 03

*HMS; 8 syllables per 16 lines

Obsolete Professions - To Delete

Of all the professions ever been in the world
      Some are rightly regarded today as absurd

    The Western Union man just can't compete
      with high-tech texts and twitters and tweets

    'Typewriter Repairmen' now obsolete
      'Abacus Salesmen,' long rest their feet

    'Butter Churners,' consigned to back burners
      Bowling lane 'pin-spotters,' no longer wage-earners

    But the profession I miss the most by far
      is the Texaco Gas Jockey with his big bright red star

Barn Burners

All the world is burning
Seething in its juice
The odds of hate and the odds of fear
Have set the nations to fueling fires

And paranoia fills the awkward smiles
Of my neighbours precarious eyes  

Self defence becomes the enemy
Strangling us in our sleep 
And danger screeching the early warnings
Gnawing our finger tips 

This visceral life of protection
Defence and cognitive dissonance 
And how humanity has been weakened 
By machinations plans for ignorance 

Who are we
What were we
And what have we become
To the tunes of liberation
We marched ourselves to mediocrity
Into a predetermined history
And a dead-end destination

Proof and accusations never pass the censors
While our homes are set ablaze
No-one catches the lucrative affordable barn burners
As they slink towards their next psychotic phase

We could have forged something beautiful
Something clear and strong and truthful
And long after we have gone
And the memories begin to fade 
It will be our children who have to live with
The future the barn burners have merrily made

The Metrosexual

There he is again,
he-man of the new age,
feeling imancipated,
from his man-hood,
although his man-hood;
as an equal,
to his sex -
partners, and his god.

The he/she,
with his ,
girl power this,
hyper masculinity that;
world of woman’s suffrage of which has Electra --Complexed his sexual appetite
to an egalitarian sexual encounter.

Black man’s new Man?
Bra-burners new One?
Homo-sexual alpha male?
As the phallus of the goddess,
unto a new manipulation,
feeling a new pain,
underneath the medication 
and apathy.

Numb -
except for her/him.

© S Wesley Mcgranor
9/12/16

Oktoberfest

It is that time of year again 
wooden clog upon the cobblestone
the red telly in view beer maids 
slide the giant steins across 

long tables inside the crowded tent 
huge pretzel and brats hang sparingly 
over the doorway entrance while misty 
fog pour in chasing hedge hogs 

throughout the forest a rather full 
Marketplatz beckons my attention span
I notice the Bavarian alps in view
while riding the mechanical bull
 
I'm quite taken by the lanky block 
in the far corner adjusting stocking 
dashing to buy a few more hummels 
wooden nut crackers and incense burners

taxi!!!

Trump Is Almost Gone

Trump is Almost Gone
By Franklin Price
01/07/2020

Trump is almost gone
Just thirteen days away
The Swamp controls the government
Will make We the People pay

Four long years they've fought him
Even when he had done right
I pray to God to help us
Not let us go into the night

Yesterday he was most foolish 
Encouraged quite a motley crew
To go up to the capital
What a  foolish thing to do

The assumption all were Trumpers
May not or may be true
Some likely trouble makers
With nothing else to do

Could have been some city burners
Who led to break the windows out
If you look at the majority
Most of the crowd, just milled about

No matter, Trump was most at fault
Was there and led the way
Told the mob to go up to the hill
Though there was nothing left to say

Media, compares it to Pearl Harbor
Caused, by Trump, the foolish clown
Was not as if they helped to cause it
For four long years they've put him down

He tried every way to help them
To tweet and call his haters names
Not often presidential
Not how lifers play the games

When everything is said and done
Whether legally or not
Joe Biden our new president 
Voted in to stir the pot

Complex Deed of Loneliness

Water color-
Aquatic life-
By drinking water solution
This is me now-
Immersed in the waterbody
But I listen-
Endless call of endangered Jacobin cuckoo
Dry throat-
The crest of hopeless fog.


The Cobra wind in the window-
I give heed to the breathing of the closed walls 
Four walls staring at each other -
Eyes on a gloomy evening?
Decaying time in the heat of the incense burner
Frightened by fear - fleeing birds.


Sad crow of the time to flies
Seeing all the emptiness
Oh, what a crow life-
Endangered glands.

Cheeks rolled up inside
Frightened snails on their hind legs
The spiral prisoner of life.

In the foam of the clown's high-pitched words
Stuck-
The normal speed of a flowing river
In the journey of tomorrow-
The direction and speed change.

But why so many incense burners
So many worships are organized
The smell of alcohol in the drunken air?

The light of distant stars
Erodes in the knot of times
Fixed at a distant point-
The evening feathers flew
On the shores of poetry.
Desire swims with strong obsession
Happy Holi game smears color
On the romantic skin of impeccable beauty!

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