Kerosene
everywhere I look I see
exclusive huddled
uninviting shelter
is privilege
of the same and competent
kerosene keeps me warm
I'm alone to watch it burn
kerosene
exposure is a pitiful
and pointless way of dying
before it gets me
I'll set a funeral pyre
kerosene keeps me warm
I'm alone to watch it burn
kerosene
i'm a man and
my dignity won't wave
Tonight buildings rage!
kerosene keeps me warm
it feels so good
to watch it burn kerosene
kerosene keeps me warm
feels so good
to watch it burn kerosene
song performed by by Bad Religion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Safer on the Outside
i'm no good
i feel too small
something's gonna burn
sink on you
drunken highways
someone take the wheel
[chorus:]
faded in the blackout you left me in
it's safer on the outside
i'm swimming in
this kerosene it's hard to breathe
statics got me down
i can't sleep
i'm disconnected
everything went wrong
and certain stars
are sad and bruised like
someone's cheating heart
[repeat chorus 3x]
got me down
song performed by by American Hi-Fi from American Hi-Fi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of Painful Plea 1
Who adulterated our kerosene?
Where are they? Where do they live?
Unimaginable pains I have seen
For their greed I live in grief
Broken hearts and scars
Fills every where like cars
Aftermath of deceptive greed
We did no wrong
We hurt no one,
As innocent as the babe
And fresher than the day
Your hearts are charcoals and
Your conscience as dead as Latin
Let thy evil pursue thee like a cat
After a mouse, thou shall experience
The pains you’ve inflicted as boomerang
Young ones kept captives of pricking pain,
Praying for freedom by the day
Old ones gnash fragile teeth and say;
“In all where’s the illusive gain?
We are your sisters, wives and mothers”
Who adulterated our kerosene?
Where are they? Where do they live?
Are they the visionless touts in the crowded street?
Or the greedy man
Standing at the podium, in black suit?
poem by Ingibo Benson
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Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner
Drink down that Gin and Kerosene
and come spit on bridges with me
just to keep us warm
light a match and leave me be
light a match and leave me be
I keep my jelousy close
because its all mine
and if you say it makes you happy
then I'm no the only one lying
Keep Quiet
nothing comes as easy as you
can I lay in your bed all day?
I'll be your best kept secret
and your biggest mistake
the hand behind this pen relieves a failure everyday
Keep Quiet
nothing comes as easy as you
can I lay in your bed all day?
I'll be your best kept secret
and your biggest mistake
the hand behind this pen relieves a failure everyday
and I keep my jelousy close
because its all mine
and if you say it makes you happy
then I'm no the only one lying
Drink down that Gin and Kerosene
and come spit on bridges with me
just to keep us warm
light a match and leave me be
light a match and leave me be
Keep Quiet
nothing comes as easy as you
can I lay in your bed all day?
I'll be your best kept secret
and your biggest mistake
the hand behind this pen relieves a failure everyday
Keep Quiet
nothing comes as easy as you
can I lay in your bed all day?
I'll be your best kept secret
and your biggest mistake
the hand behind this pen relieves a failure everyday
so where me like a locket
around your throat
I'll weigh you down
I'll watch you choke
You look so good in blue
You look so good in blue
so where me like a locket
around your throat
I'll weigh you down
I'll watch you choke
You look so good in blue
You look so good in blue
Keep Quiet
nothing comes as easy as you
can I lay in your bed all day?
I'll be your best kept secret
and your biggest mistake
the hand behind this pen relieves a failure everyday
song performed by by Fall Out Boy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When a blind man is happy he gives money to his child to buy kerosene for his lamp.
An Error in Creation
There was once a man who made a weird machine,
Employing dynamite and kerosene.
His subsequent destruction
Was a matter of deduction,
And a circumstance that might have been foreseen.
This gloomy incident I merely state
In case you have a yearning to create.
In which event, be wary,
Else, mayhap, a sad quan-dary
Will arise and face you when it's far too late.
Now, take the case of Toryphat, M.P.,
Created by the voters - you and me.
Then in matters legislative
He becomes, in turn, creative.
And creates a Deakook Fusion Ministree.
You will notice that this question, as a whole,
Is a matter over which we've some control;
For, it we'd contemplated
Ere the members we created,
We would not have landed things in such a hole.
And, in regard to this strange Ministree,
We are the folk responsible, you see.
For it couldn't have existed
Had not some of us assisted
In creating its supporters - Q.E.D.
Then, when a weird political machine
Of Tory flare and Fusion kerosene
Blows our policies to blazes,
All our most embittered phrases
Won't recover e'en the smallest smithereen.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Nobody gets a nervous breakdown or a heart attack from selling kerosene to gentle country folk from the back of a tanker in Somerset.
quote by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Making
Spurred the kerosene
to burn the logistics.
I had moved on untrodden snow
of tanned gifts.
There was no tomorrow for me,
living from moment to moment.
The warships
had moved into positions.
Adoring the monotheisn, I still
loved many angels, you were
making many moons for me.
Breathless I was running after gold rings.
Terrible, the bell breaks my ankle
and the anklets emit the trembling
moons. Let us go out on the lake
I have many scores to settle.
poem by Satish Verma
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Kerosene Dove
From the dithering distance
The fountain puke swelling
In the belly of the sedentary sheens
Excoriating the cobbled streets
In the void knots of the theme park:
Amused with clockwork courtesy
And a tethering idiosyncrasy,
But the azure moiré of the canopy
Was no better than the soigné hostility
Imploding a muted friction;
A compulsion in its best
That scathes the incrustations
Of a reticent fellow in the flue
Clipping the flustering plumes
In the comport of a king
Ousted from his throne
Injecting the secrets to the bones
That where hollow in constitution.
Our fellow dove made of kerosene
Opted the safety in the blear of the scene
Suffocating on the surfeit effervesce of coos
While the soupcon quintessence kicked and flew
Far from the cotillion of the pendulums
And the infelicitous instigator of the palming odium,
But in the frangible hurls of the paroxysm
Beneath the torpor of his brooding wings
Is a fire that consoles the condoles of bliss
Yearning for the violent daze of the setting sun
To flick the yawning switch of shuffled impulse
Clipping itself to branch out in deeper fathoms
In the bosom of a cavern with smoldering fences
The wafting with the winnows of inadequacy
Lingering in the air will gyrate to enthuse
The urges of sadomasochism in the kerosene
Lathering and inebriating our taciturn fellow
With pseudo-valiancy and its kiths and kins
Thus, he will hurtle unfettered by any string
And he shall kiss the pregnant gloaming
Allowing its fingers to seize and grate
The lithe feathers bristling to scintillate
With the ignition of the kerosene
And the air shall stop breathing
And fanning the implosion of whim
To watch the dove incinerate
Slithering in austere vividness
Into a surreal orb of quasar
Sending the sun to abeyance
While singing the swansong in synergy;
The demise in an esoteric lilt
Humming in a whispering sift.
poem by Norman Santos
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Knowing You Finally
it is my love of poetry
that has drawn me to you
and i imagine a face
the rhythm of your body
the softness of your hands
the gentleness of your words
like a flute a friend
must i discover a different you
from your words
those that have become
pilgrims living in some other
houses
brothels actually
there is bifurcated path
one that could have led to you
where i can be
happy
but there is that path that
leads away from
what is good
undressed it is a totally different
you in my mine
and i close my eyes and bow my
head and
i could have blamed myself
about something that could have been possible
but which i have denied
and so here i am again
solo flight
again to this journey
on paths that i have constructed myself
forgetting you
the usual
wolf in sheep's clothing
sorry...
this morning i get you book
of poems
pour kerosene over each page
and burn
them all....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Can't Leave It Be
What you found sure upsets you
You never saw it coming, did you?
It's easy to be surprised with both your eyes sewn closed
Handled with great precision
Another faultless execution
You're the subject of this exhibition
A willing cadaver
A willing cadaver
Scalpeled, sutured, made whole again
These cuts are leaving creases
Trace the scar, fit the pieces,
Tell your story, you don't need to say a word
Call off the cavalry
Can't save a wretch like me
Clean this with kerosene
If you can't leave it be, might as well make it bleed
Scalpeled, sutured, made whole again
Your wires are frayed, can't fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to stand and fight
There's something better wrong with you
Your wires are frayed, can't fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to fire right
There's something better wrong with you
Your pulse is anemic
You're tired of the fire
You're bruising too easy
And falling behind
And no one is waiting for you
And no one is waiting for you
Call off the quarantine
Can't save the rest from me
Clean this with kerosene
If you can't leave it be, might as well make it bleed
Scalpeled, sutured, made whole again
song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Poor Folks!
just poor folks,
living in an old house,
sleeping in a corner
'neath old handmade quilts.
scrubbing scarred floors
with pinesol pride mops....
while the smell of cornbread and
beans hangs in the air.....
stuffing cracks in the windows
against the cold...
kerosene heater,
2 five gallon cans....
a bare light bulb
hangs over the table....
they sit in silence....
reading and thinking...
the old car in the drive,
might crank, and might not....
but that's tomorrow....
and tonite,
they're almost warm!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Pyro Maniac
A pyro with a flame.
Just writing your name in the sand.
Time tics by and fire after fire does not end the desire.
It's passion.
It's love.
It's a child's laughter.
Nothing left untouched.
As he makes his mark.
Personal and distant.
He's lived it.
Through the the fires eyes.
He can't help it.
He just want to watch everything burn.
Burn, Burn, Burn.
He speak to the eternal flame.
And she rise from the ashes.
Back again just the same.
Glowing so bright, so hot.
So appealing he can not ever turn away.
A obsession everyday.
No he doesn't care.
His mind is most certainly else where.
He can't help it
He just wants to watch everything burn.
Burn, Burn, Burn.
As holy body it rises from the grave.
As a scientific miracle it saves.
Staving off the cold.
Turning something into nothing.
It's just so amazing.
Captivating.
A star studded glaze.
An everlasting stare into nowhere.
Exhilarating is the feeling he gets.
Ever single time.
He can't help it.
He just wants to watch everything burn.
Burn, Burn, Burn.
He's a maniac.
No doubt it.
Completely reckless to t.
But its his divinity.
His saving grace.
His ace.
And he has a constant need to play it.
Even if someone dies.
He's not worried about it.
It off to the next.
He can't help it.
He just wants to watch everything burn.
Burn, Burn, Burn.
Yeah just burn, burn, burn, oh burn.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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My House
holds spirits of the past like the
kerosene lamp in my dark
basement crawl,
and the names and the dates at the
top of the wall that I stand
on a box top to read.
A Mr. and Mrs. live in our rafters,
staring through ceiling at
we who don't leave;
critical of carpet and curtains and cooking,
and wondering what all that
darn cat can see.
poem by Rick Stokes
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If You Can't Leave It Be, Might As Well Make It Bleed
What you found so upset you
Never saw it coming did you
Its easy to be surprised
With both your eyes sewn closed
Handled with great precision
Another faultless execution
Youre the subject of this exhibition
A willing cadaver, a willing cadaver
Scalped, saturated, made whole again
These cutes are leaving creases
Trace the scars, fit the pieces
Tell youre story, you dont need to say a word
Call off the cavalry
Cant save a wretch like me
Clean this with kerosene
If you cant leave it be, might as well make it bleed
Scalped, saturated, made whole again
Your wires are frayed, cant fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to stand a fight
Theres something better wrong with you
Your wires are frayed, cant fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to fire right
Theres something better wrong with you
Your pulse is anemic, youre tired of the fire
Youre bruising too easily, and falling behind
And no one is waiting for you
And no one is waiting for you
And no one is waiting for you
And no one is waiting
And no one is waiting for you
For you, for you
Call off the quarantine
Cant save the rest for me
Clean this with kerosene
If you cant leave it be, might as well make it bleed
Scalped, saturated, made whole again
Your wires are frayed, cant fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to stand a fight
Theres something better wrong with you
Your wires are frayed, cant fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to stand a fight
Theres something b
song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here we go passing by
`
Coal-bright heat
pulsates a primal beat,
this light burns white
in the squalid night.
The windswept fury
in a drunken flurry,
toppled kerosene lamp
leaves the table damp.
Morning slips in sly,
waking the bleary eye;
pollen grain breezes
peddles raucous sneezes.
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Tiny Kingdoms Fall
tis the broken cup,
water boiling for the tea.
the curtain stained,
seven dollars in change.
the gas can empty,
the kerosene heater waits its call.
one last cigarette,
the hawk lost against the sky.
potatoes and ashes,
of such revolution.
things done out of season,
prayers spoken with shadows.
black and white photographs,
never eat or make love.
the world is shaken,
and tiny kingdoms fall!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Burn Three Times
Burn burn burn
Burn burn burn
Burn burn burn
Burn burn burn
Im cookin up somethin
Cookin up somethin
Cookin up somethin special for you
Its on the back burner
On the back burner
On the back burner waiting for you
Im no burger king, Im no pizza pie spinner
Dont come sniffin round here for something to eat
Its a gourmet thing, not a tv dinner
So stay out of the kitchen if you cant take the heat
Its gonna
Burn burn burn - you might get burned
Burn burn burn - cause its so hot
Burn burn burn - that you might get burned
Burn burn burn
Ive got a hot number
Got a hot number
Got a hot number bearing your name
Its such a big order
Such a big order
Such a big order turn up the flame
Its a champagne kiss with a surprise in the middle
I hope youre hungry, Ive been cookin all day
Got a love so strong you couldnt squish it with a griddle
Call out the volunteers cause my hearts a flambe
I gotta time it right so its warm when you get it
Turn up the heat just a little bit higher
It was a good idea but I think I overdid it
I cant reach the oven and the kitchens on fire
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Bruises III
I can wallow under the blackness,
the quietude underwater
coaxing to a surmised fray
I can endure the insipidness
sleuthing senescence arrive,
sleuthing balmy perfumes,
sleuthing cigarette kisses,
sleuthing ablaze kerosene,
sleuthing sly putrefactions,
sleuthing unawake buds,
sleuthing old handkerchiefs,
sleuthing ruffled pillowcases;
but am I the only one smelling
these black bruised fragrances?
poem by Norman Santos
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Elegy Written in a Country Coal-Bin
THE furnace tolls the knell of falling steam,
The coal supply is virtually done,
And at this price, indeed it does not seem
As though we could afford another ton.
Now fades the glossy, cherished anthracite;
The radiators lose their temperature:
How ill avail, on such a frosty night,
The 'short and simple flannels of the poor.'
Though in the icebox, fresh and newly laid,
The rude forefathers of the omlet sleep,
No eggs for breakfast till the bill is paid:
We cannot cook again till coal is cheap.
Can Morris-chair or papier-mâché bust
Revivify the falling pressure-gage?
Chop up the grand piano if you must,
And burn the East Aurora parrot cage!
Full many a can of purest kerosene
The dark unfathomed tanks of Standard Oil
Shall furnish me, and with their aid I mean
To bring my morning coffee to a boil.
poem by Christopher Morley
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A Proscribed Poster
Dreams
Insecticides sprayed
On stinking water in our streets.
Eyes of coming generations
Empty tins in our kitchens
Of dough, ghee and kerosene.
Dancer
Starvation dancing
In our courtyards.
Thirst
Our historical legacy.
Words
Prisoners of curricula
For you who read scripts.
We all
Prisoners of unseen dreams
For you who look for interpretations.
(1977, Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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