Torching Poems | Examples

We Live in Denial

In blackest halls, a phosphorescent light
Shines forth from darkest depths, a honey glow.
Enraged, ignited, I now blinding bright,
A magma burning, pyroclastic flow,

Torching golden beams to desolation.
Enveloping destruction, ash I leave 
Until it’s done, my wounded heart’s cremation.
Now hushed to ember, my healing reprieve. 

Returned to dormancy I hear it more,
The walls that groan after each explosion: 
A leaning ceiling, tilting walls to prove 
The damage I cause from each eruption.

Like cherry blossom rain the charred wood falls
Death I see, but I? Safe in blackest halls.

Wokery, no just jiggery pokery

Febrile Fog obfuscates palimpsest varnished promises..

Naysayers hoodwinked... deluded players peeling layers..denuded..

Deafening din of our chagrin...

Espoused by rabbles roused by mandarins’ sins..

Tarnished...pampered pilferers pickpocketing public purses...

Deploring the warring cacophony of citizens curses.. 

Ignoring the boring nagging nadir of nurses...

Corporate castles built without stilts on hourglass sands..

Placards versus lanyards.. 

Culprits preach parsimony from privileged pulpits..

Civic critics.. protests...pyrrhric..?

No tut tuts..relax…gluts of tax cuts for property sluts..

Licentious larcenists..lust for boom then bust..

Lavishly lacing our lives with lies..

Yet the more we holler...hanker..

Murky truths get darker...muckier.. starker..danker..

Avaricious arsonists torching our cries of why...

Leave us lolloping in a regret & forget.. leaking latrine...

Reeking of what could & should have been..

Kindred

Kindred

Hooks and loops
Laced the path
Burning minds
Torching trusts
Tightened lasso 
Strangling hopes 
Frail words
Breaking bonds

asiL Marie Gargano Combs of Black Town Fort Myers Wings of Ashes

Remembering a granddaughter good times of Kentucky bourbon visits back home a doting father Pete Pete Lil Pete the many flowers planted I always chose the yellow ones these were for friendship sheer loss Gargano loss father mother daughter granddaughter not to mention the empty graves used for show when ever a Gargano fakes his death another violent offenders get their wings early released from prison from Mexico to Venezuela the many organised crime figures burning veterans alive torching homeless persons alive in Chicago the arson murders hidden while today I remember asiL Marie Gargano combs standing still unable to fly with wings of ashes life shortened by mafia vengeance car bombs fires explosions meets flowers the yellow ones saints and sinners greets on burning angel wings perched over black town fort Myers Florida Andersen ave.

BLANKETY-BLANK VERSE

Alas it is a chore to write Blank Verse
Unable to peruse my rhyme filled purse
In search for words not better but not worse
A sad lament of poetry’s last curse

To stab the darkness with an ill-used phrase
Twisting the reader’s mind into a maze
Of flaming thought a-dance within a blaze
Torching the rules by which a poet plays

Oh, Rhyme, cold torturer of frigid muse
Why must you heap upon him such abuse
Require him to use words so obuse
That they cannot uncover his shrewd ruse

The truth, perhaps they’ll stumble upon it
If it rhymed the damn thing’d be a Sonnet

KOMOREBI

       KOMOREBI

        Pushing dense bush walking in pathless forest
        under tree canopy, continuous.
        At dawn sun rays penetrating at best,
         torching dark tunnel , making luminous.

       Sunbeams filtered by leaves and foliage
       interplaying sheen and shade to astound.
       Komorebi  cast on dappled image
       forming lovely lattice on forest ground.

        Komorebi caused by leaf lamina.
        Pretty patterns to adorn forest floor.
        Sunlight is sieved by leafage patina.
        Wonder and dreams of sunbeam to adore.

        Morn glow of Komorebi ! End of night.
        Dark shadowed tunnel on opacity,
        finding flash of thin shafts of twinkled light.
        Profound pure pristine tranquility .
        
        When sunlight shines through tree in environ
         Contrast of light and shadow to receive 
         on re-energised radiant ion,
         Komorebi  to charm at morn and eve.

Forgiven Trespasses

Forgiven Trespasses 

Sensual sounds surround
a scene of peaceful pleasure
Pulsing flailing promises
impossible to measure

His torching voice eviscerates
that massive measure of pleasure
The treasures of solemnity 
No longer leads to leisure

Lightning lips aglow disguise 
The coolness of lost slumber
His glimmer gliding gorgeously
Progressing on to wonder

Needful night navigations
Shimmering shadows in the dark
Sullen soothing sensual 
On Psyche he leaves his mark

Immortal mythic majesty 
With gods not meant to sleep
Sizzling searing serenity 
With a  lover she can’t keep.

A collaborative piece with my friend and talented poet Imelda Garcia.

Purple Train

Driving down the distant highways
How can I survive 
Just me and my Cadillac sailing free and far
Gravity is pulling all my thoughts towards you
My comfort level contorted
Things was easy street before you mattered
On this broken bodied  highway
Strapped in this tin can with only leather straps
In this faster than light Cadillac
Flying passed the fields and pastures  
Leaving our Galaxy to infinity with my girl
turning to dust and the rebuilt again
You bring me to my knees in with your beautiful decease
Watching years go by taking my sweet pie time
Did I ever believe if that's what god said
That if I wait, I will get you
Did I ever tell you it wasn't you in my dream
Shelby Shelby I ain't no soldier of make believe
Shelby Shelby listen to what the meadow lark says
Ill be here for you bright an early 
Ill be here for you in my own way
Our love has no ending that could say that was
My song has been witnessed 
Distant sun pushing flares torching train tracks 
Haunting blue sapphire delinquent diamond true
To another disputed day
Know one can say
What is a holiday

Resurrected

Enclosed 
in eggshell
darkness
trembles 
the earth 
aghast
mouth of rocks 
cracked sighing
veil of temple 
ripped up
tempest of fear
has scattered
wavering faith 
of disciples
few  
by the cross 
stayed crying
with Mary
His Virgin 
our Mother 
torching flames 
in dry fields
demons 
dancing in glee
with screeches 
and howls
claim victory  
over Christ
Who has died
so 
they think
eggshell 
cracks up
third day
splendor of Risen 
lights up 
heaven and earth
and disciples 
who return
with Him
to sup
rejoice lovers of love
sing spring birds 
a new song
ring bells of the sky
angels with trumpet 
and lyre
rejoice for truly 
He is risen 
His blood our sins
has forgiven
all believers 
united rejoice
with His Father
has united us
in love
and the Spirit 
in the glory
of their joy



First Place Winner: Brian Strand-Your Choice N -4/13/25
Tenth Place Winner: Regina McIntosh-Easter-3/25/24
Second Place: Regina McIntosh-Easter Contest-4/8/23

Lake

In the depths of Mt Rainier fire stirred,
The earth around trembled in dire anger,
As the fiery spirit Elf wandered
In the depths of the spouting volcano
Exuding thick feculent, fusty smells,
And from the volcano's top, exuded
Ash, smoke, flaming rocks and burning lava.

Dare a human female refuse Elf?
Not that he loved her as Indians love.
His fervid lust for her knew no limit.
His anger increased beyond all known bounds.
Rising to the top of the volcano,
Elf hurled fireballs, torching the forests,
So that poor humans flew towards a lake.

There they prayed to their good God to save them.
A large stone fell into the volcano
Burying Elf and his hateful fire.
A fearful blizzard formed and rain and snow
Filled the volcano until all was calm.
A large lake formed and a lovely island
Rose majestically from the waters:
A seventh wonder of Columbia.

Things You Do Not Start

There are things you don’t start. 
Would you just break a heart 
Like some daughter now tart,
Earlier being trained: for Art?
You might too, break a leg,
While there’s no means to beg:
In bad terrain, bad cart 
Now this way that way dart…

There are things you can’t start:
Much like torching a mart,
Not unlike a stark bloodbath,
Minds can work out like Math:
Dreams of counter attack:
A pregnant woman track…

Play we should not bad part:
Away Public Wealth cart;
Before a panel fart
No “Please, try to take heart!”

Because its never smart!

Beauty of Night

Silver ball roles in dark-deep-blue-mix sky,
Silhouettes of trees, as deer-antlers, lie;
An angel seems swiftly appear and pray,
Pink spreads like special effect of a play...!

Moon, like a princess, now swims in blue lake,
Escorted by stars; each looks like a snow-flake;
Does the angler fish torching moon-star paths,
Know that in lake-tubs they're having their baths...?

Is the wolf searching his companion lost?
Is he eyeing, a fawn to get exhaust?
That owl in thick spectacles seems to scan,
Night-scapes as though for them he has a plan...!

Hay-roof-huts look like Siberian cats,
Stooping in silence to catch brown field-rats?
Insomniac frogs croak feeling unease,
While chirping of crickets are yet to cease...!

Enchantments of night-scenes feelings evoke,
Not to express, silence, my mind does choke; 
Words, yet, like streams betwixt Hyacinth fields,
Flood from my pen breaking orthodox shields...!


14 November 2022 
Beauty Of Night Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet

The Vanished Family of Hickory Sticks

A chilled-to-the-bone night in October
During a fog hovering over the hills,
A West Virginia family came up missing
The story still gives neighbors the chills,
Seems their clapboard shack went up
In flames, there was nothing anyone could do.
Six people died in that house, supposedly,
No fragments were found sifting through,
No bones, no hair, not a single remnant
Testifying to the fate of the family of six
Rewards were offered for additional clues
To the vanished family of Hickory Sticks.
No fire would be hot enough to obliterate
All traces of bodies in such a conflagration
One by one the possibilities were discussed,
For years the subject of rapt conversation.
Could they have vanished to another place
After torching their home that awful night?
The strange disappearance was never solved
A memorial was built on the gruesome site.

Written October 17, 2022
[based on a true story]

Malcome Staines

It never rains; if it can pour,
On many folk and just one more'
Malcome Staines, now here's a man'

He's homeless yet never down the pan'
Others his mission whilst on the floor.

On Sheppy Island with boot fair stand
His set was really smashing he was
Gaining many fans '

Yet with sepis to hospital he did go
Left his van in its car park just like so '

Theives then took it, torching his plans
It was his only shelter, rain or shine
Yet aimless youths did a senseless crime

I'm told there could be a fund him page
Maybe some can help even in this sad age?

The Secret Place

"The Secret Place" 

Inside 
the secret place
we sleep it wakes

pushing nightmares away
poems it breathes 
into burning flames

walking in 
and 
out the gate

torching black hearts
each one a post mark 
to light the long way

Inside 
the secret place 
we sleep it wakes

breathing words between 
our lips, it kisses kindness
injects its absolute strength

opening minds to love
in our dreams, 
we drink it all in

inalienable words, 
we hear it 
speak

when it is time
we will need it 
when we wake 

but do not sleep 
and what we were 
becomes forgotten dream

Inside 
the secret place
we sleep it wakes

waiting for that day
when we will meet
at the gate

(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)

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