Adolescent Tongue

Photo of the Eagle Creek Fire provided by Oregon Live

Haze is in our voice,

Wraps the air in orange

Our mouths taste of ash

From heat and dryness

Encircling our throats

We speak through filters

We become speechless

 

 Our voice is smoke

As the sun turns colors

A Pumpkin glow, fluttering

Our talk is like cinders

Composed of dark cumulus

Layers bound inside bark

Released…we become confused

 

We seek the onshore flow

The lucid linear spoken spell

That quells our child tongue

Who claims immortality

Even if just for a second.

To deny the child

That sparks within us…for

It is us who light the dark.

The moth is eaten by flame….gone

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31 Responses to Adolescent Tongue

  1. grantman says:

    great poetry.. as for the golfers…. nothing unusual there

    Like

  2. Renee Espriu says:

    Wonderfully written poem. Here in Washington we have had more hazy, ashy days than not from distant fires that seem too close. They actually closed the Western Washington State Fair for two days this week due to poor air quality.

    Like

  3. Mel Gutiér says:

    Not liking the golfers either. Words are powerful. No surprise.

    Like

  4. Mel Gutiér says:

    Amazing poetry, imagery, ironic photo. Interesting.

    Like

  5. Elan Mudrow says:

    Yes, there have been more than a few smokey moments in Portland this summer. Plus, it’s been hotter than usual. It’s put people in a “haze”.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Elan Mudrow says:

    Yes, Mel, it’s the irony.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Mel Gutiér says:

    I guess your poetry is loud and robust. Usually it matches my brain. It just took me a while for this one.

    Amazing.

    I’m comming back to one of your older posts later. I understand now why I didn’t know how I felt about it at the time.

    Takes me a while to catch up to your speed babe!

    🙂

    Like

  8. Elan Mudrow says:

    Your comment is actually embedded inside the poem and is one of a few themes found inside of it.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Phil Huston says:

    Another artfully oblique mirror of the human / nature condition. All the planet has to do is sneeze and what we are and what we know is gone. Wind, water, fire. Life and Death. Art and the obvious bliss of ignorance in the infallibility of the ‘system’. The irony is in the seams. “Can’t buy me love, no…everybody tells me so.” But Henry sure loved his new putter.

    Like

  10. Renee Espriu says:

    Yes! A haze and then some. Had actual ash falling for quite a few days in a row. Hope we are both in for cooler weather soon.

    Like

  11. Mel Gutiér says:

    I responded too quickly. During a break at. I usually read your pieces more than once. I always let it soak in first.

    Now as for the golfers… It’s just that. I see them first. If I close my eyes and listen to your poem… I can see children playing. The golfers throw me off for some reason. But… that’s the point. Right.

    Talk more tonight.

    🙂

    Like

  12. This is beautiful!! New follower here! ❤

    Like

  13. Elan Mudrow says:

    Thanks. Checking out your blog right now!

    Like

  14. ivors20 says:

    In Victoria here, we have many a bush fire, and at their worst they are definitely the most scariest events that can happen, and day turns into ashen darkness…

    Like

  15. The well of creativity constantly bubbling up from inside you is inspiring. I’m learning from your detailed descriptions!

    Liked by 1 person

  16. Wonderful poem, Elan. You described the air, sky and red sun perfectly, as it was here this week. Ash has stopped falling now in SW Wash. and air quality has improved for the moment. No rain though. Need it to wash away the ash! 😕

    Liked by 1 person

  17. Elan Mudrow says:

    Yes, I’m wanting the rain back as well.

    Liked by 1 person

  18. Very appropriate considering the fires that have been ravaging the West Coast lately. Just WHAT are those golfers doing?

    Liked by 1 person

  19. Mel Gutiér says:

    The moth… It’s driven to light. Like a guide….

    Last line… that guidance is gone. We’re left kind of mindless.

    I love your writing. I love that the mind of your eyes can transport us. I love that you can do the same with words.

    Love!

    Like

  20. vivachange77 says:

    Your poem is exquisite. Every word and image of fire and its attributes creates a tight-woven tapestry. I loved the colors of the fire in the picture. I thought the golfers were young boys. “All in the eye of the beholder.”

    Like

  21. dornahainds says:

    Always, so Fantastically Creative and well executed. 😎😎😎🥀🥀🥀

    Like

  22. That’s a very surreal pic dude! A good poem to go along with it.

    KEEP THE LIGHT ON!

    Like

  23. Captivating image and words Elan.

    Like

  24. Elan Mudrow says:

    If it were only surreal. It’s real.

    Like

  25. “The moth is eaten by flame….gone”
    This, I really like how this sums up your words.

    Like

  26. elegant piece of writing. Love your concept and the way you connect it with the nature. “We speak through filters, We become speechless”. This line is quite esoteric.

    Liked by 1 person

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