Long Fire burning within Poems
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You know a magnet exists not from its form, but from its effects.
Many things are like that, I suppose.
Last night, I had a few glasses of wine; normally, one will suffice.
But I fear there was a kind of fire burning within me that needed to be put out.
And my mind was crafting dreams a bit too fast; it needed to be slowed down.
Every word she says casts a shadow in a thousand directions,
and I yearn to see how each one falls, and what it means for us.
I've found a good way to check how far it's come:
You'll think of her at the beginning and the end of each day.
When you wake up, your plans will shape around her.
I-beams will bend to accommodate her every move.
When you struggle to fall asleep alone,
your mind will pine for that solitary company.
Your earthly success will be measured by whether you've made her smile.
It doesn't come too often; but you'll know it when it does.
Your alpha and omega will align just as she pleases.
The iron filing of your heart is helpless before her eyes.
And you hope she'll draw you closer, closer, ever closer,
until your souls are one.
21 July 2017
Written for "Obsession" contest, sponsored by the Silent One
How does one describe true love?
no measuring tape can do this
even when it's filled with truth
that surface evidence can be a myth
What we would call real love
can be artificial in its effect
that's why friends so much divorce
what a waste so many are a wreck
We need a metaphor to explain it
a red-hot coal fire burning within
this shows the need of the hour
your fingers daren't touch even a whin
In your courting days gone by
that first look and touch did excite
there was something not quite like it
more was your requirement into the night
So get your inner fire burning
make it glow an eternal flame
so your lover will pine for more
hold you both together as a runaway train
A fire dreams inside a pit
Cosy as it starts to glow
Matching the fire burning within
Seeping in the warmth it throws.
Her flames now reflecting in my eyes
Amber coloured hot ribbons of light
The sparks now fly, with crackling sounds
The wind helping it, in it’s crazy dance
The need to leap and fly
The embers with destructive strokes
Landing close to flaming wood
The glow slowly dying out with billowing smoke
The dreams it stole, now rising up
From the darkness of my soul
Now burnt to ashes, a silver grey
Left warm and silent on the ground.
Ambedo
Sponsor: Silent One
Dated: 1.11.2020
Strips of being here are drawn all over you, fine lines intertwining with your skin,
It is not within the whites of dainty skies to praise who you are,
I hope you don't hide the only thing that makes you, you,
That unique spark, that fire burning deep within your soul.
The black mark curving down to your collarbones remembers the anguish you scrubbed off,
It is not an abyss's purpose to make you love staying,
I hope you don't die as someone you don't know, don't lose yourself in the cloak of a foreign identity.
On an endless night, with stars like ink dots on an ancient parchment,
I think of you, of the fragile strips that contour your being,
Of every line that tells your battles and victories,
Of the shadows dancing on your skin, echoes of a tumultuous past.
When the wind wanders through the leaves of old trees,
I feel your presence like a sad melody, a symphony of a lost soul,
And I wonder if you'll ever find peace in those shadows,
If you'll learn to embrace those black marks not as a burden, but as badges of honor.
In the labyrinth of your mind, where every thought is a dark corner,
I carry the hope that you won't get lost in the unfathomable depths,
That you won't be seduced by the abyss's call, won't dissolve into its silence,
That you'll find yourself, in all your splendor, in all your vulnerability.
Your soul, a wandering ship on emerald seas,
Floating among waves of thoughts and emotions,
Seeking a lighthouse, a guiding light to bring you home,
To a port where you can reveal your true essence, without fear, without a mask.
And perhaps, one day, when the sky is white again,
You'll dare to show the world that spark, that fire burning within you,
You'll understand that you are not defined by the black marks, but by the way you carry them,
That you are an entire universe, full of stars and constellations, and that every strip of you is a chapter in a magical story.
Never hide, never lose yourself,
Live as who you are, love what you are,
In this world of shadows and lights, of dainty whites and dark abysses,
Always find your way back to yourself, never forget who you are.
The journey through life can be hard,
it is a real struggle at times;
leading to stress, anxiety and anger,
frustration in completing daily tasks.
Held in strong clenched jaws,
it causes me strain in my life;
like a prisoner in heavy chains,
with a strong grip hard to escape.
Is it because my expectations are so grand,
is it because I am weak ?
I feel a huge fire burning within me,
and I have a warriors heart;
yes, I can release myself from the jaws,
but it will take a lot of determination.
My jaw with be held strong,
confidence, I will feed daily;
Will get plenty of sleep at night,
I will eat healthy at all my meals.
And will lower my expectations in life,
will just be me, myself and I !
L,
You walk by, you stare
not perfection but you're drawn
to its unique flair
blue shingles caressing
the night time sky
intrigue enters the picture
and you start to see
inside the sheerness
the classic curtains
with a touch of grey
you get closer and feel
a fire burning within
warming up the wind
there is comfort in the air
and living without despair
still looking
you can't help but wonder
the workings laid about
the entry and the halls
the mirrors revealing to us all
water runs
tepid thoughts tempt and bathe
a soothing serenade
there's a swing
and the moon happens by
you notice I notice
homes are built to last
the doorbell chimes
I open you close
the door to an ancient past
This is the closest that I have ever been to a funeral for more than forty years, a young boy just eighteen was shot dead for stealing
I sat quietly on the school veranda and watch the hearse drive into the yard and parked on the property that house the church and the school. I saw them arranging the chairs the day before
But I did not know what was going on for sure, so I inquired within. I could hardly believe that it was a funeral, neatly adorned blue and white ribbons, everything looked so divine and pristine. The casket and the dressing was so pure, it looked like a romantic wedding on the sand shore. I watched people streaming in and I could feel the fire burning within, no tear no smile, just a useless grin and the chatter and the laughter has caused me to wonder. I could hardly believe that it was a funeral because the dress code was very loud, short miniskirts and party shirt, and a fashion that was so impure, the old ladies, the young girls, and men galore, some not ready for the season and they come without a reason. I could not tell who was close to the youth because no one was telling the truth. The hearse parked in front of me and I heard a sniffling and continuous talking, a man that looked like the father of the youth was crying for truth because it was his son lying beside the gun. He seemed a bit anxious but he did not fuss He had the expression of an officer and a body of a father. I could see deep remorse in his eyes and the spirit of God standing by. At quarter past twelve the service began to bury dead. I could hear bits and pieces of the sermon as the procession roll along, a thief? A gun slinger and a potential murder his innocence was so hard to tell. The day was already done and there was no more room to have fun.A young man whose life was taken too soon was destined for doom, the shouting from the pulpit and rebuke from the sermon could not bring back the dead to life.
The procession ended with a happy song and the minstrel marched along. Sunrise, sun set the spirit of death rolled up the street and community followed the hearse to the cemetery.
In glass displays, they stand, forever seeking new prosthetics,
Slumbering consciences drift on waves of ads and hollow promises,
We swallow mass culture whole, like blind fish in murky waters,
Forgetting to deeply breathe life's essence, lost in superficial noise.
Distorted mirrors show us false faces, we steal our own identity,
Invisible barriers rise between us and existence's crucial questions,
The soul, a captive bird, breaks its wings in cages of consumption,
Our spirit, once thirsty for knowledge, fades slowly, unheard.
We are puppets of a civilization offering us artificial limbs,
Instead of healing deep wounds, it covers us with shiny bandages,
Estranged from ourselves, we become strangers within our being,
Forgetting to look inside, hypnotized by pale lights and sounds.
Consumerism devours our essence, turns us into pale shadows,
Our souls, once blooming gardens, now become barren deserts,
We seek happiness in things, ignoring the wealth hidden within,
Becoming robots without conscience, lost in the labyrinth of mass culture.
O, souls lost in the jungle of concrete and plastic, awaken from lethargy!
Break the chains that hold you captive in the illusion of prefab happiness,
Rediscover your spiritual essence, that sacred fire burning within,
For only thus can we save ourselves from the abyss of a senseless existence.
I look out across the ice
towards an igloo in the distance
It is like a diamond sparkling in the night
I see a fire burning within it's centre
Refracting light through the crystallized walls
I walk towards the light
There are dogs basking in the warm glow
I feel the crunching of my boots on the ice
My breaths heatless smoke escapes my body
I pray that this is not an oasis
A cruel trick my mind is playing on me
Moments ago I longed for sleep
I longed for relief from a sea of white ice
To sit by an open flame
There it lies beneath a sphere of ice
Will I be allowed to enter?
Will it's heat be released to me
One foot in front of the other
Inches away
Angel emerges from the ice home
I am a welcomed guest
Warmth love
Now I can sleep
Ice and fire both offer shelter
By:Richard Lamoureux
For Fire and Ice Poetry Contest
I was born with the spirit and soul of a writer. The cathexis to invest emotions,
and have a great affection for my poetry. I love the children born of my pen
and pour my heart into each write. My pen bleeds emotions. Love, agony and
ecstasy, and rapture. Oh, there has always been a fire burning within me.
I pen of great suffering and grief, of my tragic life experiences. But, I can pen
poems of nature quite beautiful, and fun kitty cat poems. Oh, yes I can write
pretty and fun poems. But, I am what is called a Graveyard Poet, writing of
death and grief and sorrow has become my forte ....
a cold shadow falls
the cemetery trees wail ~
birds have stopped singing
Writing for me is life itself, the cathexis that keeps me going. It is a need and
it is like breathing air and drinking water. It is life. It is the nectar of my
soul. When I am broken it is the glue that mends the cracks within my heart.
Through my writing I can release all my emotion, all my grief, I can write it
and let the words flutter away like a thousand birds. But, we writers know
that the emotions and words come back to us like a boom-a-rang. We can
never really let it go. To be a great writer it is said one must suffer, I have,
so does that mean I am a great writer? Not sure but, I will say I am a writer !
where do my words sleep
they are safe within my mind ~
a thousand bird wings
___________________________
May 05, 2023
Poetry/Haibun/Cathexis
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1545-137-05
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Theme chosen - No. 3 - Cathexis
Written for the Standard contest, Pick-A-Title, Vol. 16
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 05/20/2023
First Place