Long Combustion Poems
Long Combustion Poems. Below are the most popular long Combustion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Combustion poems by poem length and keyword.
Windows creaking while cold whistling winds blow..
Snowflakes falling gracefully from the deep dark sky..
The intricate designs of snowflakes everywhere..
Formed a blanket of pure white snow on the ground..
A representation of intense innocence..
A winter wonderland of beautiful..
So tranquil....
Outside of a window..
One gazes at the wonderous miracle of Mother Nature..
Inside a warm cabin..
There is solitude..
A tranquil combustion of inner peace..
The crackling sound of the fire while sitting by the fireplace
A fresh woodsy scent hitting one's nostrils..
Contentment arises..
As serenity fills the air..
Curled up in a cozy cabin in a sacret forest..
Solitude brings forth comfort followed by gratitude..
I thought I told you about it;
The dream I had with eyes wide open.
I met this girl whom sparked a world of curiosity.
The way she stares, the sparklers that melt away in her eyes.
She traced the sky with them, her stare.
Little by little like the stem I was devoured;
Lost in conversation we ventured along the fringe of the sky.
An internal combustion of our hearts; black cats and roman candles shot into the air as flares,
Tumbling down, Cascading into a world of thought.
Venturing off into the smallest detail, not wanting this moment to end.
This vivid display captured under bright shades of red green and purple,
This implosion consisting of her and I.
This fragile yet explosive feeling shot into the sky in quick bursts of fireworks.
Zooming head first into infatuation .
Such liberty given with the touch of lips. tender, passionate.
I thought I told you how bright you've made everything
My mind is always running like an overflowing faucet
Like a never ending bouncing ball that someone took and tossed it
Paid for with attention that I forgot how much it costed
As my mind will sometimes lose itself and I forget just where I lost it
A mind is that a beautiful place yet it can also be very scary
As those with sight to read the mind all readers be wary
Like the venom of a beautiful plant flaunting poison berries
Poison thoughts can rot the mind and the perspective that it carries
What would it be like to explore another mind
Is it like a whimsical circus from thoughts of different kinds
Or would it be a calming stream to help leave troubles behind
Perhaps reality is an illusion conjured from the thoughts we find
As my mind sits in mental slumber
I sit in a corner and sometimes wonder
How I allowed myself to be pulled under
By my own mental blunders
Still thoughts run like a marathon with no intent of stopping
Time would steal a moment's notice while seconds continue dropping
As time sheds into the past the present continues cropping
For time is neither round nor linear but explodes the moment popping
Times combustion blinds the mind stealing that which it most wants
Memories reflecting the past with the regret that serves to haunt
The present steals the frown from the past wearing a smile that taunts
Reminding thoughts that the confidence it bears comes from the pain it flaunts
In the past, when the present seemed to be facing a downward slope
As if the foot of reality lost its traction slipping on water and soap
When falling to an inverted sky reality extends a rope
Some may call the extension luck while others call it hope
Or maybe faith, hope and luck stem from the same fibers of thought
Like time catching us in the moment thinking it is time we have caught
Reminding us of something we don't know but ought
Control what you can control for time we can not
In the hush of dusk when streetlights flicker alive,
obsidian sheet metal catching dying light,
A black Chevy Impala – Detroit steel poetry in motion.
They don’t make ‘em like this anymore,
All angles and attitude, chrome catching moonlight like silver promises.
This ain’t just transportation – this is transformation.
V8 heartbeat rumbling beneath the hood,
Speaking in tongues of combustion and freedom,
A gospel of horsepower and torque.
My grandfather’s hands knew this car,
Calloused fingers tracing her curves,
“This,” he’d say, “is American muscle memory.”
When she rolls down the boulevard,
Time slows, respect follows,
Heads turn like sunflowers tracking light.
Blacktop beneath her wheels becomes a canvas,
Each mile a brushstroke of possibility,
Each journey a verse in an unfinished American ballad.
That black Chevy Impala,
Carrying dreams like passengers,
Night rider, soul provider,
Concrete waves surfer,
Four wheels and a tank of gas – that’s all freedom ever needed.????????????????
I swallowed a clock and it never struck twelve.
Now time drips from my ribs in Morse code,
each tick a prayer carved in reverse.
The stars forgot my name,
so I renamed myself after things that break quietly,
a bruise in the shape of a hymn,
a mirror that bleeds only under moonlight.
There’s a violin growing behind my lungs,
strings pulled taut with the nerves I never learned to silence.
Every breath is a sonata of knives,
still, I play it sweetly,
as if pain is just another way to stay melodic.
He touched me like an eclipse touches the sun,
brief, devastating, impossible to look at.
I didn’t burn. I became the shadow.
Something softer than ash,
but just as forgotten.
The ocean inside me has no shore.
It loops in on itself like a lie I told too well,
saltwater laced with syllables I choked on,
his name,
folded into the lining of my stomach
like a secret I mistook for hunger.
I wrote love letters on paper made of smoke,
sealed them with the blood of a voice I no longer use.
They vanished in the wind,
or maybe into him.
He was always good at absorbing storms
and pretending they were rain.
The saints won’t take me.
I burned my wings for warmth too early
and now I sleep inside the furnace of what I couldn’t say.
Even silence has a temperature.
Mine rests somewhere between longing and combustion.
I dream in algebra.
His face is always x,
unknown, unsolvable,
but rooted deep in the math of me.
If you ever find my ghost,
don’t call it a haunting.
Call it a rhythm.
A heartbeat trapped in a hallway.
A pulse too stubborn to quit.
Must explain my reason for grinning
It's not what you might think
Got a cramp down in my nether regions
Maybe too many beans methinks
It's easy for people to think I'm just happy
Coz I am the majority of the time
The look on my face can be very similar
This time it emanates from behind
Think I just need to let a big boomer go
One that could shatter tall buildings
I hesitate to let the damn thing fly
For fear it would loosen people's filling
Guess I'll just have to suffer in silence
Till I reach a McDonald's restroom
If I make it, I hope they build 'em strong
Down with my drawers then kaboom!
The shattered remains can still be seen
They decided to make the site a memorial
Seventeen people have lost their eyesight
Six swore off Big Macs overall
Now I've divulged my reason for grinning
It's not that I'm happy, you see
The real reason is internal combustion
Not allowing my wind to blow free!
His life raft drifted helplessly in an ocean of tears and lost dreams
In tangible finite and impermanent flow
He lost his compass and the needle festered in Tom’s purulent arm
A portal to hot flushes of receding pain
Chasing sea dragons and hobgoblins he punctured reality’s voyage
Fixation gripped an underworld of relief
Rudderless he floated fuelled by psychedelic currents of reprieve
Full of intrigue for surfing waves of delusion
He floated perilously before he submerged in uncharted waters
Unable to navigate he sunk like a stone
Emergency flares reached stars but failed to hook into the sun
As one single ray refused to yield revelation
Yet when he crushed at rock bottom and scratched translucent surfaces
One more shot blasted spontaneous combustion
Dissolved in oblivion by pirates Tom finally took off his eye patch
And realized that they patronize his demise
18th January 2020
they warned me
against extremes
intensity must not be indulged
"Flying in between
is your safety scene
not too high
not too low
don't look too longingly below
don't fly too close
to the sea of his splendor
the blue green of his eyes
hypnotize, mesmerize
desire will dampen your wings
weighing you down
nor must you fly
too close to his passion
blazing bountiful in brilliance
his sensuality, a searing sun
will melt your wings; you'll come undone."
I should have listened
I should have known
Icarus ignited was I
My hubris lifted my higher
nothing seemed dire
overconfident in my ability
to fly away if need be...
your sensuality seduced me
drew me closer and closer
solar combustion on display
you would have your way
rays of radiant heat
in wave upon wave
emanated towards me
doused in desire
you set on fire
melting
melting
melting
burning turning twisting
writhing rigorously
pain and pleasure
came upon waves together
spiraling me out of control
seared straight to my soul
I fell
Oh, how I fell
from the apex into the swell
of the blue green sea of your eyes
sizzling fire subsiding
subsiding
awash in wetness
about to die
you hear me cry:
"I would do it again
and again
and again
today and any day
molten passion in my core
consuming, always wanting more
I know
you'd have me fly
again...
Icarus ignited
right up to your sky."
Eileen Manassian
"In Greek mythology, Icarus is the son of the master craftsman Daedalus, the creator of the Labyrinth. Often depicted in art, Icarus and his father attempt to escape from Crete by means of wings that his father constructed from feathers and wax. Icarus' father warns him first of complacency and then of hubris, asking that he fly neither too low nor too high, so the sea's dampness would not clog his wings or the sun's heat melt them. Icarus ignored his father's instructions not to fly too close to the sun, when the wax in his wings melted and he fell into the sea." Wikipedia
Consider this: He simply said, "Remember me when you come
into your kingdom"*. He was a common criminal, nonreligious,
and not a scholar. What was he really asking for, and what
did he really want? Did he think that remembering him would
really matter?
Based on the context of his life provided by the Biblical story,
the only thing the pleading thief had was hope and faith.
Considering the magnitude of his situation, there was no
human calculation for him to reach such a conclusion that
involved a good outcome for him.
There appeared to be faith and hope, not built over time,
but generated spontaneously by actions experienced at Calvary.
Perhaps at a critical moment his childhood teachings came into
play and ignited a spark that created such combustion that enabled
him to make a mercy plea.
I can sense the 'spiritual recalls of his youth' intermingling with God's
Amazing Grace, resulting in a thief being transformed on a cross.
Consider God's generosity. He got far more than he asked for.
"For by Grace you are saved through faith. It is the gift of God"*.
072822PS*Luke 23:42, Ephesians 2:8,9
I want to walk with you
on the hills of tomorrow
drag fingers like tines
in the dark dirt
prepared by centuries
of anticipation
nothing but a few shoots
of grass there
waiting perfectly
for growth, some
human attendance, some
ones to roll
and plant deeply
sending roots
to the aquifer.
I want the honey-sweet sun
to make your skin quartz
glimmering like a thousand mirrors
and every living thing,
every dewdrop-living microbe
and sharp-eyed circling hawk
and waving photosynthetic wand
to take notice--
Strangers from a city
are peaceful now,
love bound and harmonious
and mean everything to you,
are here
infinite one minute
and the gone the next
in combustion of what you created.