Burn And Rage
alone...
in a room of voices,
dirty curtains sweating,
bodies without heat!
you buried me,
a 100 miles back...
poured milk on my grave,
and answered the phone.
but even the scar throbs,
the moon calls...
and the fire in the fugitive field,
burns down.
old men tell stories,
old poets burn and rage...
run with wolves, mad and hungry,
for touch, skin, and need!
when the soul becomes a tongue,
and fingers break windows.
the water in the well boils,
owls tremble and undress.
the hand that calls rain...
shakes, lights a smoke!
sweat sings on the pillow,
the scent of wild flowers.
travelling the night...
looking for a match!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
The Secret Lover
I am the lover of my brother’s wife,
Said Jane; we sit and talk when he’s
Away at work. I love the way she sits
And the sound of her voice, the sparkle
In her eyes when the room lights capture,
Breathe in her scent when we draw near.
I touch her hand to feel her pulse, sense
The blood race beneath her skin, her fingers
Clutching the glass of wine she’s poured,
The way her other hand rests upon my knee.
She is the object of my dreams, the subject
Of my thoughts and sight; she sleeps beside
Me in my bed at night, sometimes imagined
Often for real when her husband’s away.
She is the sun of my body’s planet, the moon
That lights up my dark in a universe of doubt
And deep depression. She is my guide through
Dante’s Hell, my lover behind my brother’s back,
The one who covers me in kisses, who puts her
Tongue where my tongue dwells. We embrace
Like vines about each other, our fingers touch
The contours of our flesh, trace out the features
Of each others’ face. We make love now and then
On my brother’s bed, my head upon his pillow,
My spilt juices where his have laid, my body
Brought to the highest passion, brought to life
And the hottest love by my brother’s wife.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fire-Time
He walked toward her
a fire-stick in his hand
and spoke softly.
'This is fire
my gift to you.
It is safety from wild animals;
heat for your food;
romance for your life;
Igniter of Passion;
The Secret Furnace
which fuels the Sun;
the Starry Blanket
which covers the night;
the Milky Way which burns
hot-blue.
The Heart's Flame
is Cobalt Fire too.
She touched his fire-stick
and felt the burn.
He grabbed her singed hand
and kissed it
saying:
Fire too
burns
human things;
Passion too
sears souls.
'But how, ' she said,
'shall I know fire which heals
from Stinging Fire which
burns my soul? '
'How can I be sure my fire
is safe fire,
that all my passions
are healing flames
and not destructive ones? '
He, said 'Fire is like touch;
go close enough to feel the warmth
but don't press too much
or the skin recoils.
Fire is like two kissing lips;
go close enough to feel the heat
but pressure too much
you chip the teeth.
Fire is like making love;
it can sweep you away
but be sure Fire's Orbit
brings you back
ensuring sure you don't get too close to the burning Sun.
When young be the bubble-bee sampling nectar,
not the moth obsessed with flames.
Use fires' heat
but regard more its light;
for Fire is both;
heat is good
light is knighted.
Fire correctly lit
is a balm of both
and allows Love and Lovers
to survive.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Howl (The Returning, Part Two)
gods hate, too damned late,
you worship what you fear!
while buddhas whisper
behind hidden doors,
and leaves fall from trees condemned!
souls traded, manipulated,
for a loaf of bread.
childrens' bodies, wrapped in money,
never make a sound.
bought votes, sacrificial goats,
toe the party line.
buildings blaze, justice burns,
the bells of liberty chime.
the human hand rises from the rubble,
grasping at poisoned air.
the tears of those long since dead,
fall like nuclear rain!
love me, hate me,
see me with your eyes.
feel me, touch me,
treat me like a man!
voices lost neath stained glass windows,
only the memory of need.
the final blow, blamed on god,
the result of human greed!
while naked bodies walk dirty streets,
their holiness defiled.
the stranger calls, the light falters,
as we trudge the final miles.
the eagle screams, hot flesh dreams,
the child raised by wolves...
the only hope, human desire,
and the will to light the torch!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Charcoal Night
On a charcoal night the owl calls.
On a charcoal night wolves sharpen their claws.
On a charcoal night children shake with fear.
The charcoal night is growing near.
On a charcoal night the demon dogs sing.
On a charcoal night the little stars gleam.
On a charcoal night the air goes cold.
The nightmares and stories are always told.
On a charcoal night wolves wet their fangs.
On a charcoal night the owls call rang.
On a charcoal night the beasts are out.
On a charcoal night this is their town.
On a charcoal night lock up the doors.
On a charcoal night don't sleep on the floors.
On a charcaol night say good bye to those dear.
Because the charcaol night is finally hear.
poem by Okami Kamikaze
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Fire Burns! Fire Burns!
If you like you can enquire
There are rings of fire
There are hearts on fire
There are desert, grass and bush fires
Burning with a red hot rage on a different stage
They burn and mature that one can only admire
O! Fire O! Fire
My heart is on fire
Inside my soul a little flame has transpired
Have my words mis-fired while I speak of fire?
Fire burns like a scorching red-hot sun
And when fire burns its impact is sometimes no fun
Fire burns! Fire burns!
People die, people cry, people sigh
Fire run, run and run
Let's take turns to run before we turn into a bun
When you play with fire your hands will burn
When you lay with fire, heads will surely turn
Fire burns! Fire burns!
A hand pulls a gun and fires
A man goes to work and gets fired
And while I tire, I ask myself am I a liar?
For I speak of the uncontrollable forest fires
That cannot be announced by any town crier
A little spark
A brittle panic attack
A burning flame
A red-hot blaze
In seconds fire can take out an entire space
Fire burns! Fire burns!
And while the fire transpires
I can see the fire in your eyes
A hot passionate desire that flies and flies
And the fire burns and burns
Run, run and run for heads will turn
And the heat will rise like the scorching sun
Fire burns! Fire burns!
I ask silently for a ceasefire
For fire only ignites to inspire more misery
And out of that misery are born some high fliers
Run, run and run for heads will turn
And whatever burns can never be undone
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Passion
As I look in your eyes,
In the pale moon light,
And see your lil smile,
That lights up the night.
As I feel you body,
Pressed tight up to mine,
Your skin feel as silk,
As our bodies intertwine.
Feeling the passion,
With each touch of you skin,
The breathing gets harder,
As I kiss softly your lips slowly to your chin.
Our hands are wondering,
Exploring each others bodies as they go,
Kissing and caressing each sensual spot,
As we feel the passion start to flow.
Thrusting to one another,
As the heat starts to rise,
Kissing your soft lips,
As I slide my hand up your thighs.
As the sweat starts dripping,
Our bodies start to glide,
Feeling as tho we are one,
Each time our bodies collide.
Each time we connect,
Its like the waves crashing ashore,
The feeling is so wonderful,
As never before.
poem by Richard Goolsby
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Keep Looking For You
i keep looking for you
somewhere behind your face,
where the signs of life
still flicker and tremble.
where ice flows melt
with your fleeting touch,
and the scent of you falls like rain...
i keep looking for you
somewhere just beyond the distance
that seperates us from who we are.
the thin veil between light and dark,
the door for which you are the key.
i keep looking for you
somewhere behind the bars,
where anger shatters like glass
into tiny slivers colored by light.
where the match strikes,
and the fire burns and rages
with our passion against the night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Magic Wand
As an April garden
Breathes the scent of rain -
Rain that calls her treasures
Back to life again -
So my spirit quickens to the opening strain.
In its sheath of darkness
Fancy's folded wing
Thrills and stirs and quivers
To another spring,
When the bow is drawn across the trembling string.
In their grave of silence,
In their husk and core,
Dreams that winter buried
Feel the sap once more
Running warm and vital, as it ran before.
Into secret chambers
Where old passions sleep,
Through the long-closed shutters,
Lights of morning creep:
Through the opening doorway airs of morning sweep.
Hope resurgent, and Youth,
With their dancing train,
Mingled grief and glory,
Blended bliss and pain,
Ecstasies and agonies, come forth and live again.
Wizard hand that summoned
Each forgotten ghost,
Plays like wind or water
With the spell-bound host,
Sailing seas supernal, for no earthly coast.
Yet no magic music
That an ear can mark
Draws them winging upward
Through the mist and dark,
As the sky at sunrise draws the mounting lark.
Through the poet-spirit,
Touched with heavenly fire,
Heavenly voices whisper
In the wood and wire.
God is the musician, and my soul the lyre.
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Winter In and Out
To chase the cold away
Someone puts on sweater
Someone burns the dry leaves
And somewhere hearth becomes a fetter.
While one sits beneath the Sunshine
One finds the closed room better.
Seeking a bit of warmth many windows are open;
One looks through Facebook and another follows on Twitter
Covered in the mist of loneliness, some await phone calls
The heart only knows which touch can make it better.
But for some, the winter is never gone
Like one in a closed room with old tear-wet love letters.
poem by Kingshuk Chakraborty
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When Death Calls
He saw the world, dim with the glow of the vertical sun
His skin crept cold knowing that this was the hours of dying
Misguided mortals, youll burn with me
Spirit of man, cannot be freed.
When death calls - this is the hours of dying
When death calls - the spirit of man cannot be freed
When death calls - theres no tomorrow
When death calls - just an evil shadow
Tell me not fear of the flames means that heaven is closer
For I believe satan lives, in the souls of the dying
Misguided mortals, youll burn with me
Spirit of man, cannot be freed.
When death calls - heaven is closer
When death calls - feel the heat of the flames from the souls of the dying
When death calls - here it comes, here it comes, here it comes
When death calls - youre gonna burn
Dont look in those sunken eyes
Dont look and youll stay alive
Dont laugh at the face of death or your toungue will blister
Cant die until satan says you die
And satan takes your soul
In the face of death or your toungue will blister
Dont look in those sunken eyes
Dont look and youll stay alive
Dont laugh at the face of death or your toungue will blister
Cant die until satan says you die
The devil takes your soul
With all his wrath he calls the reaper
When death calls - this is the hours of dying
When death calls - the spirit of man cannot be freed
When death calls - theres no tomorrow
When death calls - just an evil shadow
When death calls - feel the heat of the flames from the souls of the dying
When death calls - youre gonna burn, burn, burn
When death calls - heaven is closer
When death calls - I can feel it, gonna take you down
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Communion (Dance of the Lovers)
if you can hear me
before i speak, and
know what i'm saying
even before my heart knows...
if you can touch me
across the miles,
leaving no doubt
that it was you...
if you can smell me
in the wind... and your
lips quiver, your heart races...
if you can taste me
in the rain... and your body
burns with a holy fire...
if you can miss me
amid the lights and
the hustle and bustle
till your soul moans
with darkness....
i can hear you
before you speak...
i can touch you
across the miles...
i can smell you
in the wind...
i can taste you
in the rain...
i can miss you
amid the lights...
neither kings nor kingdoms,
beasts of the night,
nor fogs of illusion...
nor the death chimes
of time can keep
us apart....
i live in you,
you drink deeply in me...
we are one flame
that lights up the
entire night sky...
wave upon wave...
lapping at the shore!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Embrace!
body bruised,
burning in the fire
that consumes and names!
living by hunger,
fed my memory...
and the scent of something
from that faraway shore!
stories written in ashes,
the crackle and the smoke...
winter, and stillness.
but the light still burns,
the room stark and empty!
hand extended,
naked, unashamed!
calling forth the lover
dressed in flesh and touch!
breathe on me!
softly blow the ashes....
still fire beneath...
waiting for embrace!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Riot, a Voice in the Fire
You voice calls out through fire
Is violence all you ever knew
What are you seeking to be heard
When the sky is lit with anger
You voices become lost in a scream
And looters steal from everyone
Without a care for the cost they inflict
This is no revolution in this town
Just a fight against your boredom
Lay down you arms and speak clear
Your voice calls out through fire
While the innocent look on afraid
Their message has been stolen
In the actions you have undertaken
I can see blood on your hands
You are free and freedom is glory
Until you abuse it for terror
What of the freedom of the innocent
What about their voice being heard
Your voice calls out through fire
I don’t even want to listen
Let it burn and pray you will burn with it
Your voice called out in fire
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Dirty Epic
Sweet in winter sweet in rain.
Shake well before use she said.
You never touch me anymore this way.
Connector in. receiver out.
You let me in through the back door.
Ride the sainted rhythms on the midnight train to romford.
Ride the sainted rhythms.
Sweet in winter sweet in rain.
Shake well before use she said.
You never touch me anymore this way.
Oh no.
Connector connector connector connector.
Youre a connector connector connector connector.
Im so dirty. and the light blinds my eyes.
Youre oh so dirty. and the light it blinds my eyes.
Here comes christ on crutches.
Call me wet trampoline she said today.
Well I was too busy with my hand.
Shake well before use she said
But you never touch me anymore.
I was busy listening for phone sex
Coming through the back door.
In skin-tight trunks.
And we all went mental and danced.
I get my kicks on channel six.
I get my kicks on channel six.
To the off-peak electricity.
And the light blinds my eyes.
And I feel dirty.
And the light blinds my eyes.
And I feel so shaken in my faith.
Here comes christ on crutches.
And here comes another god.
Here comes another god
Like a buffalo thunder
With a smell of sugar and a velvet tongue
And designer voodoo.
And I got phone sex to see me
Through the emptiness in my 501s.
Freeze-dried with a new religion.
And my teeth stuffed back in my head.
I get my kicks on channel six.
The light it burns my eyes.
And I feel so dirty.
Here comes christ on crutches.
I will not be confused.
Will not be confused.
They left me confused.
I will not be confused with another man.
This pressure of opinions.
Lighten up.
Listen to your eyes you said.
But all I could see was doris day
In a big screen satellite.
Disappearing down the tube hole on farringdon street
With whiplash willy the motor psycho.
And the light it burns my eyes.
And the light it burns my eyes.
I get my kicks on channel six.
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And Then You Wanted To Go And Leave Me Here
you come like a shadow creeping beside the twilight of my life
i wake up at dusk and hear the faint sound of hope and there
you are dressed in morning light shining upon the drapes of
my room where the windows are tightly lipped in silence
we talk like the wind getting inside a leak of my wall and we
whisper what we know from the beginning, about love and how
some of it lay broken on the road of mishaps and how some
wounds begin to know how to heal themselves and pretend that
a scar is beautiful and shiny upon a skin that knows how to forget.
i smell the skin of freedom spreading on your bosom and i touch
the scent of your hair and i begin to know what life is all about until
you know the real hour for leaving, the sunset calls you and then you
hear the song of the sea, and then you wear upon your shoulder the
wings of the seagull. You leave me and i am like a window waiting
for the white sail from the ocean its shadow getting smaller from the
horizon. And then the moon rises up with the stars lighting the darkness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Ashes!
break out the windows,
kick down the doors!
stack all the old furniture...
and set fire to it!
the windows....
...through which we stared at life
......safe from its touch!
the doors....
....we closed in our fear
......of who we are
.......and what we see
...........in each other.
the furniture....
....we sat on and laid on
.......while the cries of the struggling
.........and the hands of the hungry
.............reached out...
the fire....
...that burns apathy with pure compassion
.......burns the lie of self till we find
.........the faces of God in the ashes!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Childhood’s Retreat
It’s in the perilous boughs of the tree
out of blue sky the wind
sings loudest surrounding me.
And solitude, a wild solitude
’s reveald, fearfully, high I’d climb
into the shaking uncertainties,
part out of longing, part daring my self,
part to see that
widening of the world, part
to find my own, my secret
hiding sense and place, where from afar
all voices and scenes come back
—the barking of a dog, autumnal burnings,
far calls, close calls— the boy I was
calls out to me
here the man where I am “Look!
I’ve been where you
most fear to be.”
poem by Robert Duncan
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In Search For The Beating Heart
words break on cobblestone paths,
as bare feet testify.
hearts spill from fugitive ashtrays,
while thumbs stand in line to pray.
damned souls with railroad faces,
shuffle by the barrel.
small babies paint their faces with ashes,
dogs crow, and fences stutter.
bodies cling to scattered dirt,
messages written on dirty windows.
if it is for this that god expressed,
then let the funeral begin!
how far we walk in search of near!
at each scent of identity we shudder.
even water burns in this wasteland,
and robins walk on broken eggshells.
there be no tongue that is not lit,
as frost scorches the pilgrim's eyes.
if love then breathes it sweats and growls,
while pencils claim their souls.
the very sky rent with passion,
this madness lifts the cup....
these lips melt with hunger unrestrained,
in search for the beating heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Fire Of Love
Yes its true,
the fire is bright.
As Its burns right through,
the day and the night.
Like a wild fire that dances and sings,
as spreads across the forest
with a whispering of the winds.
For Its our love of the fire
that ignitions from within.
As our two worlds become one,
as we reach towards heaven.
For there is nothing to quench
there longing to burn
which feels like the fire
of love we have always yearned?
poem by Craig Moon
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