Confessions of a Pyromaniac

The Incineration of…


So often, leaving well enough alone is better said than done:
    No sooner has a fire been reduced to a smolder
    someone comes and scoops up coals from underneath the rubble,
    making a new fire next to the one near extinction.
And while that new blaze is being nurtured into life,
    hot air is blown in just the right amounts and tight places.
Not only does this new fire now take flight, but the one
    reduced to nothing is now flamed back into existence.


Now, two unwanted fires blaze with such glorious faces.
New kindle is added to this new conflagration:
    what a kaleidoscope of color this new monument makes;
    how entrancing are those flames as they greedily partake.
Such treasured family heirlooms are now burning at the stake.
One’s precious articles are added for good measure’s sake.
Followed are the items closest to fondest memories.
Why not add the forest to the mountain as it bakes?


A bonfire’s not complete without some added extra fuel:
    as the golden rule assures, just a drop or two will do.
Crackle, crackle, pop: fuming flames now grasp at hungry air;
    spewing their spawn offspring seeds into a fragile world;
    searing silken flesh as they unearth their common ground;
    branding their territory by marking where they now land.


Now, since the fire’s all-ablaze, glowing strong and bright
    I’d like to add my own things and lighten up my load…
       First are all the insults, they really have to go.
       Next comes all the broken things hidden from the light.
       Let’s not forget the hurtful stuff buried with the trash;
          the items next to bitterness and harsh cracks.
I think it’s time to lose those red-hot coals upon my heart.
Plus the boxes of regretted things forever tearing me apart;
    their contents overflowing like a pack rat’s treasure chest:
       with pride so high, it hits the sky;
       with things allowed to slip by;
       with acts so selfish, filled with shame;
       with pity’s gritty sand;
       with things I’ve said in fits of rage;
       with vanity’s so grand;
       with times I pushed to shift the blame;
       with haughty, dirty hands;
       with lies so stupid they were lame…
And even after all of this, those boxes still contain more,
    but for sanity’s sake, I’ll say no more!


Now the fire’s burning strong and bright, as infernos tend to do:
    Perhaps I’ll save myself a stick while I watch the blaze ensue,
        and over the open flame I’ll roast a marshmallow or two.

A Century of Sonnets...Life in the Fast Lane: Sonnet 3

Who Should Pay for Your Road Rage?

How funny he should pay for your mistake:

The one you made when you were playing chase;

while in pursuit of fair, for anger’s sake,

your madness left an imprint on his face.

A fine or two, and you were free to go;

the damages, for him, remain intact,

and daily he’s reminded of the blow

he suffered from your STUPID careless act.

No matter how he tries to make things right,

insanity’s his daily food for thought:

The nightmares aren’t exclusive to the night.

Yet with a check, your sanity’s been bought!

I doubt that you’d remember him at all

while learning such a lesson standing tall.

A Shakespearean sonnet

~dedicated to my belovéd~

2/11/10

My First Sestina

This daily grind is wearing to the bone:

My wheels are spinning while I run in place.

How many times do I have to be told
to guard my heart from growing hard and cold,
and bite my tongue or find myself alone;

just blowing out hot air in empty space?

Sometimes I feel I’m orbiting in space:

Somewhere out there; chilling to the bone;

Going nowhere; feeling all alone.

Quite unprepared to dress for such a place,

I bundle up. “This world is very cold

and ruthless in its ways,” so I’ve been told.

There are the times I wish I would have told

you how I feel about this stale airspace;

then instead of leaving me out in the cold,

now and again you’d throw me a small bone

to satisfy me in this stagnant place,

and make me feel as if I’m not alone.

I have this fear of being all alone;

it’s bottled up with other things untold.

Trying to fit in, I’m out of place:

just like the odd stone in a herringbone

design; it’s cut to fit into the space,

and then once changed, emotions are acold.

You break my heart with cutting words so cold.

Sometimes I wish you’d just leave me alone.

How can you say these things? I have a bone

to pick with you; and once you have been told

my thoughts, my mind and heart will have the space

to fill the new uncluttered, empty place…

Let love take over bitter’s prior place,

while freedom rules by purging all the cold

and dying things once hidden in that space.

“Life’s too short to go it all alone.”

These words of wisdom often I’ve been told,

yet living by them takes more than backbone.

Within this space, I know my place:

I’ll bruise the bone; I’ll bear the cold.

I’m not alone is what I’m told.

And that Girl Phased Right Into History

I once was the girl they called Jeni
I’d race any boy for a penny
Every day I would plot
To find just the right spot
To blow their doors off for the ante.

Now over the years they still raced me
Or maybe it’s more like they chased me
How I never knew why
The boys called or stopped by
Is a mystery as deep as the sea.

And as I got older I could see
The game had become touch and feely
Where the “no” should have been
Toward these boys almost men
Was a senseless silence most eerie.

The lines that they used became silly
Or my being hip was more likely
How I’d turn them away
In the course of a day
While their eyes plotted how they’d get me.

I once was the girl they called Jeni
Who longed for a boy just to like me
How the time slipped right by
In the blink of an eye
And that girl phased right into history.

No longer a girl, now I’m Queen Bee
Funny, now there’s three girls below me
Now the boys come around
Seeking fun to be found
Now my motto’s “Over my dead body!”

All is calm

So quiet,

the methodical

ticking of the clock

is like the rhythmic heartbeat

bridging the past with the present

A saccharine lullaby to a weary soul

therapy to a chaotic filled mind

peace to a restless spirit

Even the air is still

All is calm

Bask

in this peace

soak it into very fibers

replenish depleted recesses

rebuild the temple a brick at a time

breath in this air filled with radiant life

feel the very flow of blood shifting

as it rejuvenates poisoned veins

and revives an abused body

like living waters

baptize

Be refreshed,

renewed by this grace

Rehydrate every ounce of being

like an athlete after the longest season

Prepare ye for the new season approaching

Rest within these solitude moments

even the windows to the soul

need their respite

Just breath in

to sigh

Translation please...

Perso nella Traduzione
                   Lost in Translation

          By Jenifer DeBellis

Qui si leva in piedi una ragazza
                   Here stands a girl
perso nella traduzione
                   lost in translation
prova di spostare la sua mente intorno
                   trying to wrap her mind around
momenti di innovazione
                   breakthrough moments

timore in modo schiacciante
                   Overwhelming awe
domina questa arena
                   dominates this arena
Mentre sensazioni esaltate
                   While elated sensations
intera esistenza dell'inondazione
                    flood entire existence