Coals glowing orange red
Coals glowing orange red in the half drum
blazing through the holes in the sides of it
and a guard warms his hands
where he stands watching, with eyes alert
one hand touching the baton
as if testing if it is still there
and his shadow is gigantic
on the white building behind him
and above him, in the night
God’s coals are aflame
burning through the holes in the sky.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The night watchman
The fire in the holed drum burns bright
and I can see red coals flickering
like the shining stars up in the sky
and white teeth smiles at me
while I walk by
and the night watchman puffs at a cigarette
and with sharp eyes watches
from his black overcoat
as if nothing passes him
with one hand holding a baton
and somewhere up there
eternally a watchman guards
while the lights of his fires beacons the night
against the dark, against evil things.
[References: Nagwag (night watchman) by DJ Opperman and the nightwatchman by Fhazel Johennesse.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The thunder cat
In the bush I see a strange thing,
a secret cat
that like a phantom
follow our tracts, shadowing behind
leaving no tracts of its own.
Red eyes glow at night
with the intensity of a fire burning
but every time that I really look
it’s out of reach.
Around the orange-yellow fire
where we are barbequing the meat
from the day’s hunting
I can almost smell the monster
where it sneaks out of sight
around us.
I wonder what has awaken
in the wild veldt, the jungle
and what hell of a thing
we now have drawn
from its sleep?
My.308 rifle and hunting knife
both lie near to my side,
but something let me comprehend
that no usual weapons
will stand against this monster
but at that time I am still convinced
that it’s only imagination
and the tiredness, the party
at the fire
and my thoughts are playing with me.
Totally unconcerned we go to sleep
and with time the flames
burn lower and lower
and there are only glowing coals left.
When I wake up with a start
a bright moon is in the sky
and something strange
stand over me
and it looks part transparent
but still with a fixed
dark form.
I can smell death
on the breath of it
and see its teeth glittering
and it’s as if thunder
flames from its jaws
when it bites at me
and an urge for survival
let me jump from the ground
to the other side
of the glowing coals
and its teeth clash on each other.
Next to me lies a shovel
and some of the coals
still have small flames
and I see that the coals
make it hesitate for a moment.
Desperately I grab the shovel,
scoop if full of coals
and when the monster
opens its jaws again
to take another bite at me
and I get the rotten smell
of its foul breath
I throw the whole shovel
down its throat.
For a moment it roars thundering,
is filled with bright white thunderbolts
and stand ablaze
and looks like a thunder cat
before it disappears into the darkness
and becomes nothing
as if suddenly it’s in another dimension
and everybody stares at me
with eyes huge as saucers
and from the sand
I pick up two teeth
that shines strangely, like diamonds,
but with an unknown blue-white fire
glowing from the inside.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Holes
There's three in the wall from those pictures in the closet
Two in the bedroom from that night I lost it
One deep inside me determined to stay
They don't get any bigger but they don't go away
Holes in and around me I keep falling back into
Holes digging its around me
God knows what I'm gonna do
To fill in these holes left by you
Left by you
I pour drink after drink but nothing hit bottom
I've been on my knees admitted my problem
The love that we made still barely an echo
I'll try anything in these vacant hollow
Holes in and around me I keep falling back into
Holes digging its around me
God knows what I'm gonna do
To fill in these holes left by you
Left by you
There's two through my hands and one through my feet
From this cross that I bare to the day that I see
Its guilt and its blame its shame and its love
song performed by by Rascal Flatts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sunrise over Edenvale
In Edenvale the summer breeze
shivers through some willow trees
and the morning sun sizzles
hot red in the east
like coals flaring up
from the large tin drum
and the night is gone
where some early workers
are warming their hands
where the night lies spilled
like the burned out white ash.
[Reference: sunrise over edenvale by Dikobe wa Mogale.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Y - hole- 9+2=11
Lucky at this hole.
Watchout - they steal holes.
WHO-WHO-WHO
Not them - them.
Flowing sands-sands-sands and man.
Catch infinite vibes - MAN.
HOLES-HOLES-HOLES
Gone hole insane, hole insane - PAINS.
Peephole, porthole, volcano hole.
HOLES FOR SALE 'smart guy'.
HOLES FOR SALE 'smart guy'.
Sells nothing - makes money - SMART.
HOLES FOR SALE
LUCKY, , , bought a hole....SMART.
Donut holes-Bagel holes - *FOR SALE*.
Never thought about holes before.
LUCKY, , , at the, , , , ,11 hole.
LUCKY-LUCKY-LUCKY - 'knows'.
HOLES FOR SALE - {sale day}
SALE DAY - SALE DAY - SALE DAY
HOLES FOR SALE
2/27/2009 Joe Poewhit
JESUS SAVES
poem by Joe Poewhit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Book Of Black Holes
You be on yourside
I'll be on my side
In between there is a book
the book of Black Holes
You sling your arrows
I'll dodge the harrows
And then I'll record it
In the book of Black Holes
There be many pages
that goes through many stages
In the end you may find it
In the book of Black Holes
If it's a five or ten
Even a zero I win
And I have recorded it
In the book of Black Holes
Your comments cryptic
Your words haze, eliptic
And like I said goes down
In the book of Black Holes
Your choice to be insipid
Your dreams are timid
Compared to what's collected
In my book of Black Holes
poem by Midnights Voice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Walking Across Blazing Hot Coals
Walking across blazing hot coals,
Has to be easier to do...
Than to tell a mob of people the truth,
About anything.
Especially if they have been fed beliefs,
They are entitled to everything.
Even making attempts to do it...
They will immediately threaten to burn their season passes,
To a local amusement park that employs most of them.
Try to confront people like this with the telling of the truth,
And everything they have ever known...
They will reduce to rubble to leave chaos and trouble,
With demands to have their fantasies left intact.
As well as their biases against others from which they thieve.
Walking across blazing hot coals,
Has to be easier to do...
Than to tell a mob of people the truth,
About anything.
Especially if they have been fed beliefs,
They are entitled to everything.
And promised!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Synapse
I don't mind this
barefoot again
just a skin full
what we choose to forget
thinking you know
thinking you see all sides
casting a stone from your hand
yeah right
hell is where the heart is
synapse again
nothing more i can do
i have not done again
only worded nothing wrong
taking a cue from seven days
i bet you never listen
burning holes in all your clothes
razorblade suitcase
all the tricks of the trade
favourite ways you can lose
favourite ways you can hate
hell is where the heart is
synapse again
nothing more i can do
i haven't done again
i haven't done again
only worded nothing wrong
taking a cue for better days
i bet you never listen
burning holes in all your clothes
burning holes in all your clothes
hell is where the heart is
synapse again
nothing more i can do
i haven't done again
hell is where the heart is
where the heart is
where the heart is
song performed by by Bush from Razorblade Suitcase
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire.
quote by Solomon Ibn Gabirol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Burnt
Why can't we look
Deep inside ourselves?
While my sole existence
Is a fountain of amber
In the breadth of your
Burning waltz with each other
You fan his putrefaction
By throwing a dry stick
And the victim of the immolation
Is my scarce flame
And he fans his own fire
With the coals of my dying
To meet a fire break
With you
While the sly tongue
Of fire I held is
A picador hurtling
For its own death
Because I shall not
Succumb to this
Incendiary death
So while we banter
About valiance,
Lies and promises,
And selfishness,
I shall careen into
The holes of the stitches.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shifting Floors
A hand without fingers
draws a self-portrait.
Faceless, only eyes glaring
like bucketfull of burning coals.
Was it not enough to call ‘wolf’.
The pain scorches the compound
where the blood of innocent flowed
because somebody was burning woods.
The shifting continues in the ocean
of grief, but the kelp
remains there, connot be eased out.
Even the violence makes the water blue.
You were inhailing the white
gowned death everyday. A
moonlit landscape mourns
for the living on earth.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pounding
pounding, pounding nails,
pounding heartbeats, pounding feet.
pounding voices, pounding anger,
pounding need, pounding greed.
hungry, hungry eyes,
hungry souls, hungry holes.
hungry children, hungry countries,
hungry hands, hungry man.
throbbing, throbbing blood,
throbbing dreams, throbbing schemes.
throbbing ideas, throbbing hatred,
throbbing inside, throbbing cant hide.
touching, touching hearts,
touching true, touching you.
touching forbidden, touching daring,
touching color, touching wonder.
pounding, pounding nails...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
World, Take Good Notice
WORLD, take good notice, silver stars fading,
Milky hue ript, weft of white detaching,
Coals thirty-eight, baleful and burning,
Scarlet, significant, hands off warning,
Now and henceforth flaunt from these shores.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Helping Hands
these hands
these so sore helping hands
and these eyes
seeing through all the black and white,
a monovision more incommon than not,
these hands like talons ripping as fast they can
fish
trapped inside
the barrel
as he cocks his wrist,
that tiny gap of silent air
and in an instant these fish know they're goners,
full of holes
that what this life of mine has been like...
a great tapestry to the biggest moths
and the kindest spiders
as well as the coldest eyes
and the softest hands
however these hands,
rough and dry
witnessed it all first hand
and then the other.
poem by David Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Moving Pictures
The slowly burning logs inspire.
Half forgotten memories.
Moving pictures in the fire.
Recalling scenes from the past with ease.
Other times and other places
Recollections from long ago
Of the friends I used to know.
Where are they now? I cannot say
Our paths diverged and we lost touch.
The glowing coals make my thoughts stray
and I remember far too much.
The things I did or did not do.
As I recall the past anew.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pioneer Dwelling
Against the wall a lantern is burning
and the wick is turned high
making it flame brightly
and the thatched roof farmhouse
is cosy on this cold winter night,
the big old family bible is folded close,
there’s a fire of hardwood in the fireplace
burning red hot
and the dim half-light
draws shadows over the rows of portraits
hanging in the passage
and some of the drops
of the rain shower that suddenly falls
(unusual for this time of year)
hiss on the coals
while a lightning bolt falls blue-white on the outside
and there’s tranquillity
that you only find on a farm
while the frog choir sings outside
and the night is getting darker and darker.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Once at the White House I was asked to conduct the Drum and Bugle Corp. The man just handed me the baton and I finished the song. It was great. I got to keep the baton.
quote by Dom DeLuise
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Watchman of Dark Christmas Night
The brazier’s glowing coals lit up his eyes.
I asked the watchman as he guarded time:
tell me, watchman, of the truth of Night..
he said: when I had conquered all the tasks of day,
I took night-watching as the sternest test,
to seek the weakness, and to seek the strength
which I might find there in my deepest self..
In darkest night, I lost myself – or so
I thought I had: for every night,
as the third hour after midnight moves
into the fourth hour, there came a time
when all one held as precious to oneself,
all joy and consolation, all the point of life
was taken from me… then I felt
myself an abject, faithless wretch..
for it seemed that even God
is in repose, in that abyss of time..
taking from me, even faith,
and hope, and love itself..
and then one day, I saw in paint –
it could have been by Rembrandt’s guided hand –
the darkness, to be full of light..
more full than day itself..
the light itself, as God, all in repose;
and in the darkness are all things
drawn back into themselves;
so that they may awake at dawn
the fresher; Diadochus, holy man,
who knew dark well, for all his holiness,
and welcomed it… gave it a name:
‘educative desolation’ was his term…
for what mortal man would not become complacent
to think he walked with God both day and night?
At that darkest hour, faith, hope, and loving-kindness
may be withdrawn from human kind; yet,
they cannot die, I learned; they must return..
And no one may tell – as shepherds watch,
and angels fill the skies –
what Mary feels, before her faith and hope
are born as joy and love..
what Mary feels, this night as dark as sin..
what Mary feels, before the holy dawn;
only humility, for her, for us,
will see us through the testing hours;
will teach us in this darkest night
the darkness full of brightest light..
We sat there silent for a space,
I and the watchman of the Night;
the brazier glowing warm and bright;
the silence full of grace.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Holes get filled
Holes in skills, the voice fills them.
Holes in voice, the skill fills them.
Holes in both, the tune fills them.
Holes in all, the figure fills them
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!