Short Pyromaniac Poems

I am a pyromaniac
A little bit of a brainiac
Don't you give me any smack
I'll sick yo' arse with a stack
of fire balls at your back
*wink*...

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A pyromaniac named Jack,
Who hailed from the town of Hackensack,
Decided one day, 
with matches he’d play
He’s a mummy now, flat on his back!
...

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Here lies the arsonist, Ash James -
Although, he would have chosen flames.

It amazed us, once, to see the grave of a notorious pyromaniac in a local grave 
yard - I know that she would have certainly preferred cremation!...

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Dropped By A Peacock


I can no more justify these poems
than can the pyromaniac

his conflagrations. We both
stand back, the pyromaniac

in his alley, I on my hill, 
each of us loving

the leap of our flames.
His are gazelles but mine

are just feathers
dropped by a peacock.
 

Donal Mahoney...

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We are fire
Dancing in the wind
To the left, to the right
'Till the end of sight
Cascading down and down and still further
Silence, not our forte 
We blaze
Red, blue, white hot
We, the undefeated
We are the champions of the night
Spreading wider, and even more
We spread, until the breath of life lives no more...

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You ignite my sense of passion
Something we all lack
Desire is burning a hole
And I am a pyromaniac

Let the bell take its toll
More fodder for the fire
The bartender says "last call"
And the way you move sparks my desire

So the night is crashing down
As we all open Tinder
And we all leave with just another
Night to remember...

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the orange of the burning house
is the most comforting color i've seen in years
it's better than the red that's been coming out
of my eyes and nose and ears

as a compulsive liar and a pyromaniac
i know a thing or two about hell
oh yeah, i'm doing fine, i've never cracked
and i've never been so well

i'm blowing all my energy
on hypothetical drugs
who needs TV
when you've got a bucket filled with bugs...

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The polka dotted tit mouse was not tame.
She did not like faeries, it was her claim.
She loved dogs, had a female great dame.
Serendipity was her doggie’s name.
Polka dotted tit mouse had one big aim.
A pyromaniac, she loved a flame.
Burned a forest but never took the blame.
I know this may sound a little bit lame.
But burning stuff was her natural game.
Titmouse never meant to kill or to maim.
Unfortunately she did both, just the same....

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You set fire to my soul
When I thought I was lost
Brightened my whole world
Warmed every square inch
Of my ice block heart
You thawed me inside out
Put a light in my eyes
The sparkle I thought I lost
Then burned the whole thing
Threw it in the flames
They destroyed me
I went up in flames
Charring my once thawed heart
Burning it to a crisp
Unsalvageable
You lit a match and 
Dropped it in the gasoline
Igniting everything
Like the pyromaniac you are

(Pyro-Kings of Leon)...

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Pyromaniac element gracefully glides
Lightning strikes at menacing rates 
Away, retreat and resign from us
Young, yet determined Forceful Grace
Igniting nature and passionate glass
 
Natural and still controlled hazards
Growing frantically,swiftly in Number

Wild,burning Orange Orbs
Inner Pyromaniac yearns
Through the Fear However stubborn 
Hustiling unruly Fire

Fighting the rebillious flames
Inntrospective Fiery games
Ravishing the Frontal Brain 
Ever-winding Cerebral Grain...

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