Short Matchbox Poems

Two in a matchbox
Grasshopper and scorpion
and the winner is?...

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Matchbox and Hot Wheels
I played with both as a child
then came Tonka Trucks...

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destruction lies in its wake
matchbox houses whirled about
we huddle in our bathtub
and wait for the train...

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My pen is like a matchbox,
My poems fire,
Your spilt won't cease it,
In distance to warm,
If not get burned!...

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A thought came
Dressed as soldier
Telling me;
“Never buy matchbox
Trap shooting stars
To light the a charcoal stove
Forever free fire for you.
No tax, no smoke
Go now.”...

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After work,
drinking in a matchbox bar in Shimbashi,
waiting for a sign...

The noren twitches.
A hand appears between the flaps.
An eye assesses the interior,

and is gone....

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phantom purr, fantasy fur
obscurity occurs;
matchbox rattlesnake
roulette universe stirring the milkshake.
hitching the horizontal,
words play the stars.
street signs become platonic,
particle dust becomes my sunset
on the narcotic checkered floors.

circulating rotten taste,

secrecy keeps transmitting awake......

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Unprotected piece of a house
exposed to fierce drops of water
prone to melt away in mud
like a music box in a matchbox,
unbelievable and unnecessary
and yet there,
a dwelling of husband and wife
to nest and breed
their young
willing to go away
and build their own music matchboxes,
stronger and safer
yet still
exposed to the ruthless transparency
of falling water....

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I'm just an old country boy
City life's not for me
In the country I felt free
This city life is chokin me

I got my clothes packed in a matchbox
A pocket full of affairs 
My thumb up in the air
And I'm country bound, I swear

Had to hobo me a train
This boy was country bound
Far from that city crowd
Back to my old hometown



   an original poem by Daniel Turner...

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I did in my garden see a Snake.
Curled calmly around the gardener's rake.
Knowing that my dear life was at stake,
I beckoned in fright to my son Jake.
"Get the matchbox and fuel for God's sake.
Burn him or precious lives he might take.
Recall the curse that came in the wake
of man's sin for which God did forsake
him in a world he couldn't retake."
But swiftly the Snake made for the lake....

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Tick Tick Sit Wait.
Left to ponder, left to rebuild.
A cut so deep, it cant be healed.
Forced to change, forced to adapt.
Does love change, inevitable trap.
A love thats lost, an answer to choose.
A scheduling conflict, an unfaithful excuse.
Deception, lies, and wrongful blame.
Powerful hurt extinguishes the flame.
Plentiful candles, fireworks and clocks.
Time to reset, uncover matchbox.
Tick Tick Sit Wait....

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You are a thousand miles of sheer delight,
When I turn the key our passions ignite,
Firing off a strong robust heart that's yours,
My knees weaken waxing your sleek contours,
O' my splendiferous, overpriced Genie,
My bright yellow, dream Matchbox* Lamborghini

8/12/22

*Toy collectible cars

Bitesize poem No.56 poetry contest

Sponsor: Line Gauthier


14/12/22
Second Chance N/A Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand...

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LORD KRISHNA
Want to burn a candle in that temple,
Matchbox fires candle to burn while.
Can go to hell or heaven don’t know.
But candle burns in the temple so.
An old idol is inside.
It is Lord Krishna where incarnation by priest to belief.
Candles are spreading flame to fulfill my goal.
Garlands of flowers put on neck of that great idol 
Coin throws to pavement like tossed head forward.
God knows what magic looks toward.
Saroj khan [sakha]...

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I went to bed to lay my head,
Too scared to close my eyes.
For every night it was the same,
Every night my demon came.

A huge green elf from an old matchbox,
He picks up the box and chases me.
I shrink with fright, I start to shiver,
When I see him coming I start to quiver.

He chases me up, then down the hill,
He chases after me far and wide,
Just as he closes for the kill,
I wake, I'd wet myself.
I cried.

© Dave Timperley 2012....

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Smell of onion rouses I room
I brain sizzles on
blood soiled fat of I pimples
In this matchbox
a lone rattling stick
decries the clinging dark
Out these windows faint lights call
Within I box,the shadows grow
I hand trembles at the knot
I dream dangles in the void
Silent,the walls stare now
their ears are full
with frizzling omelet sounds
Hear them sniffing so
I must go before they speak
...to meet the sunrise while it sets
...to meet the sunrise while it sets...

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Who Buries the Sparrows

Who buries the sparrows
soft wings gone silent on the wind
mourning choir diminished by one.

Who weeps in the shadows
matchbox casket tissue lined
quiet tears at life’s passing.

Who scans the heavens
knowing one will be missed
by the many at sunset.

Who could be touched
by the weight of a sparrow
alighting on a heart.

Who buries such dreams
in the darkness of age
denying the life of one sparrow.



John G. Lawless
12/30/2016...

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