Traveling through the day to day,
there’s never a wrong departure;
Addicted to this groove I stay
alert for the next adventure;
Nostalgia alongside FOMO
I’m smashing the gas full throttle;
Holding on but still letting go,
seeking lightning in a bottle;
A backroad that leads you astray
can serve to keep things in focus;
With no compass left in dismay,
you argue with hocus-pocus;
It’s enough to bring vertigo,
my cup filled with just a pottle;
Holding on but still letting go,
seeking lightning in a bottle;
Seize the moment without delay,
pause briefly to smell the crocus;
Daisies and wild orchids at play,
hone in on your soul’s syllabus;
In search of a future flambeau,
missing out I won’t live to tell;
Holding on but still letting go,
seeking lightning in a bottle.
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born.
The odd uneven time—Sylvia Plath
End Of August
The end of August is oh so near
Yet, another day of golden sun scorches
Another day with ruby rays that sear
Wild brush burns like fiery torches
No not an exaggeration, a flambeau
Blistering heat blankets my tawny skin
Sweltering August, I bid you adieu
Foliage dry and brittle; sunken in
Squinting eyes, blinded bright
Awaiting shadows that stretch and deepen
Sun flowers once vivid, lost in a haze of light
Autumn creeps in imperceptibly subtle, sublimely
Ablaze are the arid western skies
The evening west's sun takes its time, rashly, untimely
Yellow aglow, settling sights of fires belies
Lingering sun setting its rouge rage lust
Harbinger of the season to come
Equinox heralds a sign,
in the end of August
It's Mardi Gras time down in New Orleans ~ it's a carnival of memes
Where the people sing and play ~ there's music in the streets, both night and day
Everybody's having fun and drinking wine ~ because it's carnival time
"Throw me something mister" as parades go by ~ that's the Mardi Gras cry
Bourbon Street is the place to be ~ if it's boobs you want to see for free
Better part of town is where many go ~ night parades led by Flambeau*
*Flambeau is the name given to men who carry torches as they lead nighttime parades. Long held New Orleans tradition.
Psycho pumpkins will always burn
although the glow sometimes blows out;
Flambeau filled with a thousand souls,
know ghosts have an eternal shout;
Maniac that wields an axe,
Jack O’ Lantern with orange lights;
Track of blood on carved memories,
flashback to dark October nights.
Banana Flambeau,
is very fine fare.
It isn't well known,
that's why it's so rare.
They lit it on fire,
and singed Nana's hair,
The damn place went wild.
gave us a scare.
Old Nana's alright,
Just a wig, not her hair.
Although Banana Flambeau,
can be Dangerous Fare.
Romanced muskiness-
night highlights insect flambeau
signaling love’s code;
amour pheromones broadcast,
firefly affair caught, hand held.
March 10, 2022
Firefly Tanka Poetry Contest
JCB Brul, Sponsor
You got my heart beating at scouring velocity I bet
The colors of your paint job would be Flambeau and desert sunset
You got more juice than a Holley 650 double pump carburetor
As kind and cool as the interior of a 68 continental coach door
Your mouth was built with the precision of a go no go gauge
Your voice the soothing hum of a well-bathed metal lath
With a mind that’s as on point as a floor-mounted drill press
The drafting baton that laid down your lines, curvaceous
Another thing I noticed is you shine brighter than chrome
With the simple yet complex beauty of a geodesic dome
when the flames
of ardent desire
diminish
to mere flickers
as the arousal
burns out
on the wick
of endless dreams
i don't wish
to be the afterthought
carried in the smoke
of rebound passion
as a mere spark
to reignite
your imagination
i'd rather
be unlit
as a display
on dusty shelves
of old dreams
'Plane, take me by coach sky high - reach cold space.
Race Sol's bright light beams westbound - beat night's shade.
Make brain's mind glow like flambeau shines my face,
fly me high so I might know globe's great grace.
Green trees, gray slopes, wide plains, deep lakes we trace,
These wholesale sights show wide view - they don't jade.
We see white fleece shade piles while haze veils brace:
Wheel ways, phone lines - those laid by roadwrights made.
Each line is composed of two Anapaest metres and a final Spondee metre.
Come to me and put thine sweet eyes
on this note that thus came, e’en tries
to put slander within my mind
of the old and bad trite stale kind.
What false lines do impinge thy name
for such claims do, love, make thee blame
in the splitting of so great pair,
the well known Lord and Lady Blare.
Such words I will not yea believe
since without gens how they deceive.
The hot fire of this flame’s flambeau
will burn scurrilous page I know.
Then with glaive on this pole I’ll take
their head clean off for they name’s sake.
Little Miss Muffet
" Fair damsel loitered, arachnoid annoyed her."
Jack Be Nimble
" Avoid yon flambeau with agile gambol."
Mary Had A Little Lamb
" Pet with positive valence kept mistress under
surveillance."
Mary Mary Quite Contrary
" Pugnacious female with botanical care hast thou made
right everything that's there?"
There Was An Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe
" Octogenarian with surfeit of progeny indwelt a brogan
in a state of monogamy."
Jack Sprat
"Carbohydrates and sinew are on this pair's menu."
Candle
Spark in the dark
burns clear, melts fear, brings cheer
ready to die spreading the Light
Flambeau
Cinquain (Traditional)
04.01.17
FIRE OPERATIE. (operatie is Dutch word for operation in English)
F ine matter in combustion with oxygen too luculent,
I ncandescent fire's poise flares up its ligament.
R esourceful if used with a well crafted stroke,
E nds up in its originality into a smoke.
Barbeque pomfret dances on the hot grill plate,
Fella operant is harum scarum,focus drifts to marr,
Fish a dish untowardly gets blackish straight,
Penchant of the palate now becomes a scar.
Water cycle disturbed,soil has furious fire,
Ex improviso calamities,lava,firestorms dig deep,
Diseases new to skin pop up,scorching rays conspire,
Greed of us if controlled,time again will reap.
Flambeau flickers soothing fire,inner heart purges,
So many wants wanted,this is what one urges.
Contest:Elements Part 4.
Sponsor:Brian Davey.
01/05/2016
Saturday Morning’s routines
The odor of wood smoke
Came into my bedroom
I saw the flambeau flickering lights
From my window
That when I knew it was time
To get out of bed;
I heard old man Sealy voice
He said to his wing man
To put another log on the fire
Keeps the fire blasting?
He said
I put on my rubber rain boots
I Headed down to the barn
Knowingly, it was so close to dawn
Pappy said hey “small point”
Where are you going?
Go back to your bed.
I just wanted to watch
The pigs being slaughter
^
Every Saturday morning
Old man Sealy slaughter the animals
On my granddad farm
It meant meat for the villagers
Pork, beef, chicken and lambs
Fresh Meat for all:
Pappy always said
Do not handicap the children
By making their lives easy
So I hurried on down to the pig pens to watch.
The pigs struggle and squeal violently
The lambs’ trembles
As they struggle to be free
^
As a little child,
I thought that animal was raised
To be killed for food;
Now looking back on those days
I think it was incredible and sad
However, I had some wonderful time
Grilling meat on a stick
With the Butcher’s team
My Childhood memories
Of the slaughter house
what is your stories...Attachments
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