Dillon Shaw
I actually sent in two separate poems in response to the "where there's smoke" prompt
Where there's smoke
there are children
whose mothers left nothing
but asthma and tears
***
I savor the smoke, so ashy and dry
I remind myself it's the last one
Yesterday I smoked because I wanted to die
Today I stop because of my son
A cowardly way for a man to go
I recall it only with shame
The delicious poison lifted my woe
And promised a death free of blame
But today is the last sweetness I puff
For I now have a child to rear
Living is hard but it is enough
To have beautiful new life grow near
Nancy Pulciano
not only sent the smoke poem but all these others as well.
Where the smoke comes from…
Haven’t you heard?
Everyone knows.
Everyone knows-
Where the smoke comes from.
Talons and teeth
scales and rage
dated from history’s page.
A medieval dragon named Groth.
Don’t get him mad
He’ll surely blow
and you will know
because his eyes will begin to squint.
His temper will tip,
his nose will scrunch,
his lips will bunch,
he will hiss and flash white, white teeth
Then out of his mouth
or maybe his nose,
fire will burst like a lovely rose.
And then you will see.
Where the smoke comes from.
The hills were golden:
And the hills were golden
And the children would play
And the birds would sing
And the sky would open
And the trees would sway
And the wind would whistle
And the grass would tickle
And the acorn would fall
And the squirrels would chase
And the flower would blossom
And the night would come
And the stars would twinkle
And the dawn would break
And the sun would yawn
And the hills would glisten
And the dream couldn't wait
Cause none of this happened
but the hills were golden on
this dark and gloomy day
Bitterness Bites:
The bitterness bites at me.
Another day not happy to say,
nonetheless a bitter Monday.
I cried in the shower on one knee.
Asking for forgiveness,
begging for a plea.
I cried silently.
But nobody came or answered
my call. The bitterness bites at me;
like an unripe persimmon
teasing my tongue.
And bitter is my heart,
nothing more than a bird.
trapped in my ribs:
its cage.
But nonetheless,
it was nothing more than a bitter day.
Raindrops:
The sky is crying, putting a dampness on my page.
I can barely write with the weather's new profound rage.
The wind is drying out my eyes
and pushing tears on my face.
Looking up
I yell with contempt,
"I won't cry as well".
Lightning strikes profusely
A quick reaction in response.
I have no choice but to remain.
Dwelling in the skies sadness.
Sadness of my own won't manifest today.
Rain drops fell from my eyes only to sympathize with the pain.
Life's waiting room:
It was half past two
and we sat there
we sat there in life's waiting room.
I can't remember who was talking
my focus was on me and you,
and the sea foam blue
that brushed the walls.
we just sat there.
you held my hand.
like our eyes held the distant light
it was far and near but ever so bright.
there was life and death
all balanced on a rope pulled so tight
The clock stroke three
and its just me
the chairs all left and all I see
the blinding light that couldn't wait
I felt your touch
And when I opened my eyes
You weren't there.
I left life's waiting room.
Thoughts about love:
I once experienced love.
there is a difference, not infatuation.
Here I can describe it:
It's a burden.
Everyone holds the burden.
but once love is felt,
the burden will be lifted.
Lovers will be so free.
So free they will have no idea what to do with themselves.
That is why I write about love.
Where there’s smoke. . .
Zeeniya Yahiya
Where there is smoke
There is fire
The red, yellow flames soaring with desire
As the smoke attempts to reach
The blinking glittery stars
The night is vast, mystic and inviting
The heat of the flames
Combined with the heat of our love
Is at war with the cool night breeze
The embers trickle away
Cackling, as if mocking, yet approving
The rhythm of the embers and the fire that rises
Sweet harmony in our ears
Where there is smoke
There is fire
And two bodies in love, in desire.
Lynn Park
When there's smoke..
my mother's cooking fish
the aroma fills the kitchen
sniffing and water at the mouth
when there's too much smoke,
smoke detector starts beeping
we scramble around and panic
fan and blanket at the fire
when there's finally no smoke,
that's when we gather together
have a nice meal with each other
with a smile and the fish on our plates
***
Errin Hadnot
Where There's Smoke
It's winter-time,
cold wind blows,
in an empty room
nothing but a fire place and I,
chills run up my spine
causing goosebumps to arise.
Flip the switch,
turning the blazing flames on,
where there's smoke,
in the red brick chimney.
***
Salena Huang
Where There's Smoke
Where does my mind travel?
When I am forcefully caught
Helplessly planted in the gravel
And held hostage past the lot
What I remember becomes a fog
My adrenaline pumps and
My eyes peeled shut like a dysfunctional cog
To my surprise, I see a hand
As it have never looked so reliable
I reached out with all my strength
A determined grasp was undeniable
Just grateful for going to such lengths
The smoke was thick and unbearable
The smoke left everything incomparable
***
Allison Ferrini
Where there’s smoke
Where there’s smoke
There’s friction between bodies
Hot flame breath
There’s skin burning
Love and lust and heat
Wrapped around your ribs
Where there’s smoke
There’s dust
Gaunt coyotes and insanity
Parched brush
Scorching sand and talking skulls
Insincere sun tattooed onto flesh
Where there’s smoke
There’s explosions
Plumes of Armageddon
Missiles through the sky
Bright gun flashes
And shiny beetle helmets
Where there’s smoke
There’s history
Ancient battles lost
Gods dueling, mortal devastation
A heart kept in a box still beating
Useless hope
Where there’s smoke
There’s snakes in a pit
Preachers screaming temptation
Chlorine baptisms, plastic crucifixions
Tequila communion
Group suicides and poisoned punch
Where there’s smoke
There’s your hair
White cloud around your head
Whipped by the searing wind like a candle
In your inferno eyes
In your branding mouth
So don’t tell me where there’s smoke all you see is fire
***
Calista Baramki-Azar
Where There’s Smoke
It rises
Furling, twisting up chimneys
Caught on a breeze
Taken
Somewhere far, light under a bird’s wing
Stumbling, stretching its embrace through sky and clouds
Descending
Kissing willows, trailing fingers through streams
Rolling, expanding, whistling through your hair
Seeping
Hiding behind boulders, taking cover from the searching wind
Caught
On a breeze, sucked under the doorway
Only to escape.
Furling and twisting
Up your chimney again
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