Long Burners Poems
Long Burners Poems. Below are the most popular long Burners by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Burners poems by poem length and keyword.
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
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.
Grey skies and cooler mornings, moisture on spiders silky webs which show off their patterns and circular beauty and as you walk along little clouds of vapour form as you breath.
Yes, autumn has arrived stripping the land of its emerald beauty and foliage
but also presents us with a stunning masterpiece of autumnal colours of browns, reds, and gold on a canvas landscape.
Not far behind is the winter, its seasonal cousin, but is presently in the wings waiting to make its unwelcome appearance.
Shorts and tee shirts are now stored away but eagerly we await the return of those long hot summer days, with family outings and barbecues and sitting in the garden, glass of wine in hand watching the bees go from flower to flower collecting the pollen that will provide us with sweet golden honey.
And the butterflies, who seem to flutter aimlessly in flight, but catch your eye giving you an aerial spectacle.
But you shudder as a chill air brings you back to the present and realisation dawns that boots, coats and warm scarves are the uniform now.
Ready for the onslaught of winter, of cold days, fog, frost and snow that will bring joy to some and untold misery to others, although severe to the old and very young, the abstract landscapes of winter hold a certain beauty that inspires poets and artists alike.
A lull in winters campaign against us will come at Christmastime and we are able to retreat into our warm defences of fires and log burners whose shimmering flames radiate heat that recharges us with warmth and cosiness.
A glass of warm spicy mulled wine provides us with our inner glow.
Every day past the shortest day in December will bring us to our victory of summer days once again.
Before that though, the winter will withdraw and herald the start of spring, bringing the birth of new life to the land and preparing the way for the joys of a long awaited summertime.
Written 8th December 2017.
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
Libby Lou was a professional intermeddler
She had her hands in all most all of the towns people’s pots
Adding carrots and potatoes to some, digging tomatoes out of others
Criticizing the amount of thyme and pepper,
Constantly tasting, moving between their houses, burners and pots
Taking out, putting in, advising everyone, fixing things
Stirring, stirring stirring. Constantly stirring.
She came up missing in the middle of winter, chili fixing season.
We did not find Lilly Lou’s body until the park thawed out in March.
Murder was afoot.
There were potholders placed over her dead not-now-prying eyes.
It must have been a woman killer, the police chief said.
It is potholders, right? A woman’s weapon.
But wait, what about Marty, the short order chef.
Does he use potholders?
Coroner could not figure out cause of death.
Police gave up after a year or two.
Too many suspects.
Whole town knew Lou.
She had been fiddling in their stews for a long time
Criticizing everyone’s pot.
The fire burns,
tempestuous rain raging,
stokes, fires spirit;
a leaping energy,
after burners thrusting in flight;
a searing phantasm.
Fire phantasms,
like phosphorous, burns.
It becomes in its flight,
An angry dragon, raging.
Such is the spirit
of energy.
When you see a spirit,
unlike a phantasm;
pure energy,
in its burning;
does not rage,
while in flight.
The cosmic flight
of a sacred spirit,
need not rage.
The phantasm,
Fueled by fear, burns;
it’s fickle energy.
A sacred souls energy,
in its spirit flight,
will brightly burn,
it’s the power of such a spirit.
Recognize a phantasm
by its dark energy rage.
Onward raging,
in its miserable flight;
the foolish phantasms
are dirty energy;
unlike sacred spirits;
they have a cold and dark burn.
Burn your rage, you foolish phantasms.
The sacred energy, of spirits is golden.
Spirits in their joyous flight, have a benevolent burning.
This Lightworker Path
By Michelle Morris
26/03/2025
There is this Spark of Divinity
It is deep within my Soul
Nothing can dim my Light
I am Beautiful and I am Bold
An Old Soul that came back
To help Humanity Heal and Grow
To Fight against the Darkness
And reveal Truth for all to Know
It's definitely not easy
This Lightworker Path we take
Being an Empath and Earth Angel
Makes Life challenging every day
For we are blessed and cursed
To Know without the Proof
It takes Courage for you to Believe
In accepting our Heavenly View
We're often labelled and disparaged
Crazy, imaginative and misunderstood
Our Magic and Miracles are seen as coincidence
We're ostracized and treated with aloofness
For as anyone will tell you
People shun what they cannot understand
They close their senses to the Truth
Like witches burned and assumed as damned
But no one feared the burners
No one questioned those who committed murder
No one asked about the possibility
Even now, we'll believe nonsense rather than think further
Regardless of these challenges
Regardless of the Darkness
My Spark and that of my fellow Angels
Will Glow forth with our Light Army
No Evil will ever truly flourish
No Dark Abyss allowed to stay
For the Light shall conquer and last Forever
Beyond God's Judgement Day
© Michelle Morris, 2025
What do I want to write?
I will write about whatever the h I want to write
Why do you feel like you have to write about
Christmas on Christmas Day?
I will write about dreams
Do you believe in dreams?
No
Dreams are for dreamers
Because everything you do is dictated by the Man - God
You cannot do, say anything that
if He doesn't want you to do it
you can't do it
I want to start things long ago
But can I start?
No
He doesn't want me to start it
Everything has a time - its time
If if it's not the right time
You can't do it
So what are dreams good for?
They motivate you
They put things in the back burners
- in the back of your mind
That yes, you should get to it
When are dreams fulfilled?
When the Man upstairs fulfills ya
And that could be today
tomorrow, who knows?
Who is the Boss?
It's certainly not you
You are not the boss
I am not the boss
No one is the boss - except Him
He dictates it
And don't you forget it
Got to tell you a story
I know this one girl
Who got promoted so quick
Until one day she thinks she is King
Because that was what I thought
When I saw the way she treated the other person
And the next day, guess what?
She was no longer running the show
She did something she was not supposed to
And get canned
So you see?
God can promote you
And He can demote you
Don't think you can run the show
Don't let your head get all wired
And forget
Only HE - can run the show
Whose show is it?
His
You are only here because of Him
You only do because He makes you do it
Don't think it is you who is doing it
Good luck and good show
Be a Merry Christmas, will ya?
A better place for you and for me
We will discover it today
My friend
Because I want you to
Know that I had kept
The promise that I
Had made to you
And I will be your
Best friend always
No matter what happens tomorrow
I will always be
There for you
So lets go
And find a better place
For you and me
That we can live in harmony
We walked to the end of the road
And there we saw a man
That saw us also
And he had invited us
For the hot air balloon ride
Because that hot air balloon
Belonged to him
The man filled the propane burners
Of the hot air balloon
And waited for the hot air balloon
To warm up
For about 30 minutes
After that he had called us
And we all had climbed inside
The hot air balloon
The hot air balloon started
To lift of the ground
Very slowly
Into the air
And two hours later
The hot air balloon
Ended up in the sky
With all of us inside
We all had looked
At the beautiful view
When we had looked down
From the hot air balloon
30 days later the hot air balloon
Landed safe in Johannesburg
Which is in Africa
And at that moment
My friend had looked at me
And I told her that
We had found what I had called
A better place for you and for me
To live in harmony
My percolator lost its balance
While it was a’bubble,
Spilling all the coffee grounds
And causing lots of trouble.
Below the burners there’s a space
For storing pots and covers,
A perk (no pun intended)
For apartment-living lovers.
Well, coffee grounds were everywhere
As well as brew half-finished
And suddenly my leisure time
For breakfast was diminished.
An hour later, all was clean.
Still, though I wasn’t shirking,
I noticed only 3 of 4
Gas burners now were working.
I made another pot of joe,
My morning meal much later
And took no chances, using
A much bigger percolator.
The stubborn burner got in gear
And soon was back on fire.
I’m glad my stove (from 1951)
Need not retire.