Long Fireballs Poems
Long Fireballs Poems. Below are the most popular long Fireballs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fireballs poems by poem length and keyword.
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
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Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
Mommy had a cold, now Dragon has it too. Oh woe is me! Woe to you, too!
Fire’s dribbling, fluidly from his eyes, as lava flows, in a nasty watery goo.
Coughs shoot in fireballs, as he coughs, with a non-tiring, and bitter croup.
Even his little bum, found itself, with the same un-erring problem, it’s true.
OH… ME… OH… MY… WHATEVER ARE WE TO DO!!!!
The house has finally imploded, so we have him floating on our big lake.
Hoping to bring his fever down, the water’s boiling, heavily in it’s wake.
So we’re now hosing water, from the shore, to cover him, in a soothing flow.
But now, the lava’s building an island of floating fire, in a bright red glow!!
OH… ME… OH… MY… WHATEVER ARE WE TO DO!!!!
But Mommy won’t be stopped from comforting her widdle, bitty Dragon Man.
So I rowed out sitting in an ice filled boat, as we had a brilliant, big, game plan!
I waas putting ice on his forehead, as others are trying to row out more, to me.
But the ice was instantly catching fire as it hit his forehead. Oh NO!! Woe is me!
OH… ME… OH… MY… WHATEVER ARE WE TO DO!!!!
Surprisingly! Singing to him, has put him soundly, and amazingly fast, to sleep.
So now I called the Vet, to save my widdle Dragon Man, as I soundly weeped!
But much to my surprise, Grandpa Troll and the Vet steadfastly, did totally agree.
Dragon’s in no trouble, for you see, fire is a kinda, Very Normal, Dragon Thing!
OH… ME… OH… MY… WHATEVER ARE WE TO DO!!!!
WHAT! You’re kidding! I said in Alarm! He’ll be fine? So just let him sleep?
But NOW he’s blowing fiery bubbles that are floating off high, into the air!
And every time he hiccups, they’re getting bigger! Do what? What did you say?
Get a gun!! OH, to shoot them from the air? And he should be fine by morning?
Honestly, a Momma’s job is never done, as the fever did finally pass at dawn.
As we exhaustedly, all took Dragon home. Well, to what was left, of it, that is.
But Momma had her widdle baby Dragon back, and that was ALL we did want!!
My prayers were finally answered! So Dear God! THANK YOU!! and AMEN!
Written by Carol Eastman 4-8-2016
when scorpions crawling on the boiling sands
dance the dance of death with tail culled up
the gaudy toadstools grow in the dark and dampest spot
in the wasteland, and as day progresses the never-ending
merciless killing under the very same scorching sun that hangs high above
the wasteland drags on and on in the urban, areas where people carry out
the activities of daily routine to sustain ordinary lives.
on the street and alley the children’s corpses
though laying here and there
no one knows how to stop the deafening roar
that comes from the blasting bombs and the report of the guns
that take more innocent lives away from loved ones which do not allow
even a moment to the bereaved one to mourn with own accord, and when
the tears of a woman in black burqa slaps forehead and bangs her breast with palms and cries, her maternal affection benumbed and become stone as her tears coagulate and harden.
a small rough and simple wooden coffin goes
carried by the stern looking bearded men followed by not requiem
but the shout of the angry crowd brandishing empty fists that won’t do
anything in air the agony of the incompetent father who incapable of
keeping his dearest daughter’s life
nor able to provide a decent funeral and burial services
for the child’s last journey overlays the new-soil-covered little grave
as many layers of sigh after sighs.
when the tanks and armored vehicles sweep through the street
where many, many of those horrible stories rolling and flying
all over like autumn leaves, the soldiers with dust covered
combat boots dash into the street with unceasing gun shots
that hit the shadows because it moves, only because it breathes,
and therefore must be slaughtered. the fireballs hotter than boiling
sun shoot in the air with loud report on the other side of the street.
and between those ear-piercing roars
another angry wave marches on the street
carrying a small coffin, and in this chaos
eventide with no tomorrow dyes the corner of sky
above the faceless battlefield with the red of blood.
Light, defined as electromagnet,
radiation; photon particles
Natural visible light: with intensity, and frequency
Light wavelength spectrum / polarization propagation
People pleasure and preen at the beach with sunny sun tanning
Sunlight illuminates Mountain trails for bicycling and trekking
Sunsets have lavender with orange bright beams extending
Solar sunrays light a day of picnic park fun with joyful frolicking
Some of the light spectrum is radio, white light, ultraviolet and x-rays
Infrared is only heat visible and gamma-rays are the most powerful
Small lasers are used in disk drives, printers, and fiber-optics
Fiber-optic networks is light fast digital information system
TV plasma, liquid crystal displays, LEDs light-emitting diodes gives visuals
These assist our everyday visual optic neural perceptions
Cars have headlights and ships use fog-lights
Light-towers have flood-lights and we use handy flashlights
Tesla and Edison partook in the light bulb’s invention
Lewis Latimer and Joseph Nichol invented its carbon filament
This did dispel much of the world’s nighttime darkness
Lightning lights reveal a charge of the negative and positive
Colors of violet, blue, green, yellow, orange, red: are in white light
Some colors viewed when seeing a rainbow over a dewy meadow
What can be possibly seen at the other end of a rainbow
This but to note God’s faithful abatement covenant
Starlight is continually being reflected and refracted
Earth and the Heavens is lit up by starry Star Lights
Great Stars round and renowned, in balance and equilibrium
They are fiery fireballs very luminous and bright
Stars dispersing their photon particles at light speed
"Light speed, “299,792,458 meters per second"
Light, is a part of the equation “E=MC squared”
“Energy,” not made, nor annihilated, yet always in flux
"Natures life sustaining and revealing light, "Light Particle"
Castles surpass fireballs of the sky
Where I forge through thought and pen, I the hermit writer
To fool the giant and steal the golden goose
As I carve and climb into my comfort of ivory tower
Passion masquerading obsessions counterfeit to wisdoms of this mind
Suicidal arrogance blind, tools to craft this lofty throne
And thus to sit, script and ponder
A poet, wig and gavel judging all alone
What need have I for these pathetic emotions to feel, suffer or love
Master of the dominions in this cosmos, creations but a will
Bestow my talents and splash them with quill upon the whites
And thou heapest praises, green confetti falls into the tills
And thou dost laugh out loud labeling insane, while others shed tear to my uni-verse
Unlike thee I travel the worlds, magical lands from this royal stool
Where does thou journey, fom wretched job then back into own
While I meet kings, queens and fight wild beasts, dear sir now who is the fool
‘Tis this justification of my solitary jurisdiction
That I be sole author of my exaggerated worlds and exalted words that I to, begin to
believe that I am above those beneath
More than a human being, a god perhaps, or do I drape myself within regarding titles, afraid
To discover I may be a shrinking violet underneath, a piece of moss or a speckled toadstool nestled
somewhere lost, high above within a tree
I leave thee to ponder this decision, of who I am or who I may be
As for me I shall continue to write and parade these words as well as entertain
The pedestal, 'tis not so bad with meager companionship of my trusting pen, transforming
this lonely spirit through ink onto sheeted realms.
Thus if through recital or reception of the read, thy spirit wanders lost then all of
this, the life of mine has never once, been in vain
Dedicated to all maddening poets
Written: November 08, 2023, For John Lawless Contest
Failure is a detour, not a dead-end street. Quote by Zig Ziglar
________________________________________
Along an endless route leading to a dead-end
Indigent, desolate, and deep in introspection
Tires burning, cars swerving, and bouncing starkly
Blindly suffering through a path of misery.
Reporters recount recurrent repulsiveness.
of men who murder, manslaughter, and menace
rage, rape, robbery, and racketeering. Ridiculous!
society sweats amid a status quo scandalous strain.
I'm in circles of despair.
Constant murderers must be naked.
as a result of hitting a stalemate in life
cease of sustenance, I'm alone.
Life on a dead-end street was apathetic.
when darkness casts fearful uncertainties
a dead-end roadway with limited promise
names lacking patterns are brought.
If vamoosed on a dead-end street?
All despairing, detachedly deserted
Follow your feelings and fulfill your soul.
Bow gently if you don't realize the gang status.
You stroll the shattered street.
You'll confront failure with bravery.
In the city center, shadows play
No matter what, the damaged street awaits.
Life's fireballs and street flames ignite constantly.
Obedient slaves to maliciousness feed malice.
After the wheel runs, he gets rocks at the corner.
Burning up, soaring, and yearning for the past;
repeated rashness rasped reasons,
perpetually
My era loses. My era is losing track.
The sign for Destruction Avenue is in sight
the route is one I decline to choose.
(Author’s note: This poem is a humorous satire on how a modern media mentality would view the story of Christ’s Ascension.)
The Ascension (with Rewrites)
By Mark D. Stucky
Look!
Up in the sky!
Not a bird.
Certainly no plane.
It’s super God-man!
Victor over gravity
as well as the grave!
The ascension was levitation
without benefit of special effects,
foreshadowed by walking,
without sinking,
on slippery water molecules
while strolling on the sea in a storm.
Miracles of physics.
Mysteries of motives.
Why leave just then?
Why leave in that way?
You canceled your ministry story arc too soon.
Disciples wished you had stayed for another season.
Think of the additional episodes untold and unsold!
You made a flashy exit, for sure,
but to a tiny audience share.
Why not soar spectacularly
over cheering crowds of thousands
and jump-start church conversions during lift-off?
Why not hover over those foolish Pharisees
and, with shock and awe,
rain fireballs down their open mouths?
That would also spice up the sequel.
The Book of Acts would need revisions,
and screenwriters would savor doing rewrites.
Your story could have been a blockbuster,
but you work in mystifying ways,
and your ways are not Hollywood ways.
(First published in Soul-Lit, Fall/Winter 2022. See also my poem "God’s on Mute.")
(Image by Josh Eckstein on Unsplash.com.)
Dance of the Spheres
As clear crystal fiery stars dance through the Milky Way
The music of Heaven’s spheres vibrates harmonies -
In dainty minuets comet’s trails and starry orbs waltz into the day.
With solar breezes astral tarantellas dip and sway
Celestial instruments in tune for moonlit symphonies
As clear crystal fiery stars dance through the Milky Way.
Adagio storms of fantasies through stardust cadence play
While cosmic timpani compose the choreography -
In dainty minuets comet’s trails and starry orbs waltz into the day.
Star dances of the seasons rotate in theaters of great plies
While heavenly chimes call the vesper’s dance in rhapsodies
As clear crystal fiery stars dance through the Milky Way.
Sparks of shattered fireballs take their place - the astronomic stage -
The pulsing planet steps with the eternal dance card agree
In dainty minuets comet’s trails and starry orbs waltz into the day.
In arabesque my spirit leaps to join the spheres ballet
The rotating company in lines - jettes of crystalline astronomy,
As clear crystal fiery stars dance through the Milky Way
In dainty minuets comet’s trails and starry orbs waltz into the day.
3-1-22
Contest: An Original Villanelle
Sponsor: L. Milton Hanks
N/A 3/3/22
9-19-22
Contest: Your Second Chance Second Submission
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
The Villanelle was originally a Spanish/Italian Renaissance dance song. The French poet Jean Passerat is credited with writing the first “modern” villanelle in 1606.
LOOK OUT, IT'S GETTING DARK
Look out, itís getting dark
Time never strode
Viciously before
Treachery, torment
And unleashed lust
Demonstrated route-march
Even at broad day light
Look out, itís getting dark.
Daughter has not reached home
Look out ÖÖÖÖ.
Clutches of evil
So visible, virulent
Brutish libertines
Clung in air embodied
Tender child
She is not at home
Look out-
Sharp beaked vultures
Incorporeal
Invisible,
They flap wings,
Ugly luring of tongue
Resounding rhythm
Vagrant beasts roam, grunting.
Celestial bodies, guardian angels
Keep eyes shut
Look outÖÖÖÖ
Way side brooks
Bogs lay bare
Ferocious shades in darkness
Fireballs roll from gut to throat-
Dispassionate halogen lamps
Hostile streets concealing
Treacherous holes
And ferocious bipeds to pounce
On pray.
Itís dark
As dark as the Black Angel
Our daughter-
Look outÖÖÖÖ.
A wail on wings of wind
A choked scream-
Nauseating odour swells in air
A shadow at the rear end
Of St. Joan street.
Stage sets of a trap pit
Scary shades, bitter fruits
Of calumny, distressing.
Arresting with claws
The black scorpion stings
Prey shivering in fear, disgust
Flames, flesh burning
A self immolation
Crumbling down to ashes.
Our daughter
Look out-
Itís dark
As dark as Black Hole
Devilís stake
Charred body-
My cherub
My blood-
She is not at home.
Night spreads heavy shroud
Over our dreams.
A death knell mourning
Slovenly
Crushing life
Our life
In the teasing bouts of an early spring,
One must have patience to watch a flower bloom
From the municipal bud to the ripe decor
From which pursed pedals seek to open.
The contents of sweet pollen rise,
Sway, circle and drift like an aging spirit.
Watch closely; you may find a spirit
Splashing the waters from where life springs
Lively enough to make the ocean rise
Above old towns where civilizations bloomed.
Let your shields down; keep your hearts and minds open,
Permeating love with an earthly decoration.
Strive to laugh and decorate
The petty who set fire to spirits
With the same buoyancy that keeps our eyes open,
Veering from traps that devils spring.
Search beyond the vile bloom,
Taking pride in ashes that fall and rise.
I will soon see myself rise
High enough to cast my decorations
Far enough to make the deserts bloom.
I'll paint the coast blue to match my spirit
As winds grow warm with spring.
Hearts will sing and channels will be open.
Likewise, the pores of the Earth shall one day open.
As that molten lava rises,
Ancient fireballs shall spring,
Coating the ground with horrid decoration,
But we shall lie dormant as spirits
Awaiting new life's bloom.
Winds will cool and aid that bloom,
And, beautifully, we will open,
For every spirit
Rises
And, decoratively,
Springs,
For everything that blooms, rises,
And every open heart is decorated,
And every loving spirit eventually springs.