Long Burn off Poems
Long Burn off Poems. Below are the most popular long Burn off by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Burn off poems by poem length and keyword.
I remember the cold of a winter night when the snow brought the hills alive. When the valley stream was ice, I remember the cold of a winter night.
I remember the snowdrops of the spring. The dew would burn off eventually. The air would be fresh and clean, I remember the snowdrops of the spring.
I remember the swallows in summer flight. When the blue sky turned crimson almost every night. The soft air on open fields. The beauty of the fuchsia flower yields. The sun and moon could be seen together riding the sky. I remember the swallows in summer flight.
I remember the autumn colours of magnificence. The deep reds and yellows could create paintings without the frames. The soft warm of evening sun. Nature’s beauty without comparison. I remember the autumn colours of magnificence.
I remember loving nature because you found that in me. Your smile and your deep blue eyes shone brighter in the sun you see. The way you’d stop to help an injured bee. You saw so much beauty in life, even in me. I remember loving nature because you found that in me.
Gray shrouds cover my way
sets the tone for the day.
Our silent sun sends
rays running round corners
slowly beams burn off -
melting morning misty mind.
As I tread these stone slabs
rapt in wonder of this awe,
great stone bones in it all.
Metropolis makes stirring sounds
anxiously awakens around me.
Rails screech like prehistoric birds,
wind whistles through tunnels twirling,
chatter and honks and hums.
Hear humanities' street symphony.
Parkways sever city canyons.
I cross white striped asphalt rivers,
pass primal Ponderosa stone spires.
Wary walls of glassy eyes glare at me.
Watch my droll daily drudge passively
through towering hollow statues.
I arrive to hug my office door,
seeking some soulful signal.
This inner city, my sentimental friend:
now I'm fearful this soon will end.
Put my face flush on its stone skin,
felt a mounting tear in my eye,
trickled out down between,
turned my head to kiss its skin.
Felt raspy, tasted of grit.
Like kissing a corpse.
Then pulled back and looked up
its everstill edifice to the sky.
Poses the query who am I?
And there I stood a while and thought.
How can we be one?
How can it be me?
Color Pencil illustration G. Gaul
Free Verse Philosophical look at inanimate
stone city structures and the
universal concept of oneness.
11/17/2019
Ann today the "Rain" is coming down hard, We will sit "Home" and help your "Mama" bake. We just finished the icing when your "Father" walked in. She makes the best chocolate "Cake,"
The "Unfair Calories" from last night almost did us both in, You and "Me Today" must start a diet so we don't gain. Let's go buy some "Green Apples," "The Fact" is we cannot ever eat a whole cake ever again.
Tomorrow we need to work "In the Garden," We can pull some "Weeds." We can burn off some calories from the evil cake we devoured "I Know" we can plant some seeds.
They say "See No Evil" but that sure was an evil yet delicious cake,
"Another Day" eating apples. Do you "Hear Me" no more evil chocolate cake ever for us,
Today please just one pineapple.
Date Written:5/19/2021
3 Place
Dedicated to Ann Foster. Written using titles from some of her poems.
Title Wave Contest Judged: 6/28/2021 Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
The summer fog has not yet lifted from the enclave. The candyfloss glow of the sun suspended above the horizon of the valley in the Jock of the Bushveld Concervancy where I have made my new home reflects on the ghostly blue of the dam in front of my house.
early morning
dense fog blanket--
burn off reveals
One of the nesting pair of fish eagles does a low flyby. The distinctive call of the fish eagle is synonymous with Africa, pulling on my heartstrings like no music can. A primordial longing fills my very soul. Banished to purgatory for the best part of my life, this paradise is my just reward in my autumnal years.
young fish eagle—
shadows cast by papyrus
teem with silver carp
An African Jacana teeters with its long toes on the emerald green leaves of the pink water lily flower. It pecks delicately at something at the edge of the flower, before taking flight; long legs dangling behind it like superfluous appendages—its sharp, ringing tone cleaving the morning silence.
a black mamba
slithers off the jetty—
tropical winter
I am not alone; a blouapie (marmoset) with his distinctive cobalt blue and crimson genitals surveys my progress along the path to the jetty. Damp, golden leaves carpet the pathway, the pungent smell assailing my olfactory receptors, alerting me to the many unknown vegetation growing in abundance on the embankment—names of which I need to learn and applications I need to discover.
long winter of
dormant passions—
spring stirs in loins
Into the fire
By Michelle Morris
25/01/2026
Into the fire
All of your fears
Into the fire
All of your tears
They don't deserve them
They aren't your muse
They are just burdens
Nothing you'd choose
People don't listen
People don't care
They are more focused
On walking on air
Most of them lonely
Most of them sad
They don't want to change
They'd rather be mad
Make a decision
Just do it today
Into the fire
Time to be brave
No more complaining
Just get it done
You deserve greatness
You've already won
Into the fire
Burn off the old
Into the fire
Time to get bold
Into the fire
Phoenix rising each time
Into the fire
You're the reason and rhyme
Into the fire
Ignite your dreams
Into the fire
You're already seen
Into the fire
Never forget
Into the fire
No more regrets
Into the fire
Stand in those flames
Into the fire
Embrace the gains
Into the fire
You become whole
Into the fire
Release magic untold
© Michelle Morris, 2026
Poor White Trash
By
Patrick Kelly
The sun sinks low over shanty town there, a sweating woman sits on a
dilapidated porch.
She sees herself in the eye of her mind and pictures appear of what might have
been.
She retains her rocker and sweats in unquenched heat, unrelenting ferocity of
the beaten down poor.
With a cigarette between chap lips, she fights off the need to cook, her energy
long departed along with the good of life.
In a silent rage, she screams in anguish yet, there is no one to listen and
nowhere to run.
Too suddenly, her hair has turned to gray.
Her beauty, slowly decaying til all is lost.
Now, wrinkles vanquish the smooth complexion of her youth.
No longer does she smell the sweet aroma of her bed, its luster gone, along
with her pride, with too much despair and too little money.
Sometimes she walks the old dirt road, waiting for the heat to burn off and the
night to embrace the coolness of the late hours.
She dreams of things that might have been before youthful lust became a
nightmare.
She could have walked in beautiful gardens, her home, a pleasure to herself and her one time proud spirit.
She wills the madness to subside, her thoughts splintered upon her return to
realization and the unrelenting heat, dirty dishes and that drunk she calls a
a husband.
Wiping a hand across her sweaty brow, she turns to retrace her steps to her
lowly shelter and the realisation that she is poor white trash.
There are fires a plenty; and then there are fires a few. All kinds of fires there be; but here, I speak of only two.
There are fires that consume what's in their path, even me or you. They may be of human origin, or caused by natural forces of destruction.
They come with great visiability and blasting sounds of massive intimidation. A wind blown spark can change our world forever, causing complete disruption.
But courageously, we pursue our course, and by God's grace, we carry on and persist. Such fires are external in nature, and over time, they are contained and extinguished.
But then there are also internal fires on the inside of humans like you and me. These fires are not of human origin; nor are they sparked and driven by natural forces. These fires were planned personally, prescribed with precision and purpose by our creator. These fires are within us at birth, carved into our DNA, burning and longing to come out. These fires have a language, a character, an emotion, an expression, an inspiring word or two. These fires are already burning, not wishing to spark, but waiting to exit, to speak, to write. These fires want to teach or preach, to sing and shout, and to share its flames of love all about. These fires come to burn off impurities, bring warmth, healing, and love; creating beauty from ashes.
11082017 PS Contest, The Fire Inside, J. Rodeheaver, 3P
Bleach - disinfectant
fly and hairsprays
polish - air fresheners
used everyday
In our homes
without a thought
whilst the planet around us
becomes out of control
Smog from rush-hour traffic
on the urban scene
irritates the chest
but then leave what you don't see
Chlorine in the
swimming baths
our work's not done
better change them to ultra violet
Oil prices gone up
while our fossils have gone down
yet fumes burn off in furnaces
straight into the clouds
We're digging out gemstones
creating deeper mines
We've dug for years for coal
and now hydraulic fracturing - we're fracking
What of the gases
that protect our Earth
The holes just getting bigger
yet we're not being heard
We are opening Earth's crusts
increasing vehicles on our roads
using all our silver - using all our gold
whilst the Earth dies screaming
And meanwhile whilst we live
in our ignorance
Generations that follow
will have health suffer in horrendous penitence
Form:
I woke up when the roof caved in, the smoke slithered under my bedroom door
As I Crawled through my Sin, to that bedroom door, as I slowly Lift Myself off the Floor
I look through the window, and what do I see; My Bride, My Wife, My LOVE : LENORE
Shouting “ Harry the “Vail” is all You have Left of “ ME “ “Open the door “ SAVE ME “
I cry as memories, burn off the wall, I see the “Vail “ untouched by Satan’s Fire
The Burning Hot Flames, are biting on me; the Untouched : Vail “ is all I can see
My “FOREVER and ALWAYS, My Most Only; BELOVED, LENORE my DESIRE
I Grasp the : “ Transparent White Vail “ Jump through the Window of “ ETERNITY “
In a black flame of glory; the Devil speaks to me “ You Do Love Your Wife “ LENORE ?“
I Look at the Ecru, Aging Transparent White Vail. My ALWAYS and FOREVER “LENORE”
Begone Satan you do not belong here
With Almighty GOD,the GOD that you fear
Inspired by the Contest : " Last Chance : Sponsored by Kristen Bruni
Dedicated to Forty Years of LOVE To my Life, My Wife, Lenore Ellen (Adams) Johnson
November 4, 1951 - August 25, 1971 YOU are ALWAYS Remembered in My HEART
Author's Note : The Vail is what I would save in a fire; but I was robbed four Years Ago : The Thief's Prize - " A Transparent White Wedding VAIL " Please bring It Back
LOVE ALWAYS and FOREVER, YOUR Liege...HG
The new year now is creeping into view
with resolutions, hopes and dreams galore,
so this year what I thought that I would do
is get off on the right foot weeks before.
I've upped the rate I pace at when I walk
to burn off calories and trim my waist,
and breakfast times now need no knife and fork,
it's Muesli , hope I get used to the taste.
Brown bread instead of white, meats are lean cuts,
tins of mackerel ,more omega threes,
for extra protein there's unsalted nuts
and tons of fruit to help stave off disease.
It's great to know that as the years go by
I will be really healthy when I die.