Aftereffects Of Fire

Here, where fire once raged

Our voice is diminished

As if our speech leaves through

Lungs weighing only of paper

And this trail we have carved

To stand next to old giants

With charred arms

Comes with symbols and words

Revealing deepened ruts

A string of infinite finites

 

With sunburnt shoulders

We watch the eyeless sun

That harsh gardener….

Pierce through a ghost canopy

Wishing to reclaim its spent dust

Thinking only of its collection

….Cold baubles of gravity

 

All witnessed by the moon

Who never blinks once

While we lay naked

Underneath its glow

In several forms of desire

Waxing, waning,

Silver, blue, and crescent

Its face constantly upon us

 

That burning face in the night

We claim as eternal muse

And use as fire for the poetic

Inventing expressions

To lay upon Luna, leading us

To scramble and patch together

scrapings and scratches

Producing representations

Of a once noble fir

Which lies deep in our lush memories

Advertisements

39 thoughts on “Aftereffects Of Fire

  1. This is simply lovely. I’m glad I set it aside to read when I could give it my full attention without any distractions. As it happens I read it several times, coming back to it on three different days. There was a lot in this poem to think about and try to “experience.” Thank you for the opportunity to do so.

    Like

  2. Elan, I always seem to visit your pieces often. I anlarge the image and swim in it. I have a conversation with it. Then I tuck it away for future reference. Your gibberish is very satisfying. My mind is fully awake. Love this piece.

    Like

  3. Nice work! When I was about 10, we moved to a new house with a huge woods right out back. As I was exploring the green forest, I came across a gigantic cinder of what appeared to have been an oak tree. I recall thinking how terrible it was that this giant oak had been struck by lightening and in an instant was reduced to this oddly shaped charred black and lifeless charcoal corpse. As I walked around it, I looked inside a small hollowed out place in the burned out trunk — and there grew an oak seedling shining in a shaft of sunlight!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Mesmerising poetry. So many brilliant images conjured I could hardly keep track. This really is brilliant.

    “With sunburnt shoulders

    We watch the eyeless sun

    That harsh gardener….” My favourite lines although it was hard to chose.

    Like

Join The Discussion

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s