Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.110

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem


December morning
and already life is withdrawing
into the shade. The air
has the smell of smoke
blowing down from bushfires
burning up north. The sun
wears a red glow. 

The veneer of normality
begins to crack under heat 
to reveal what's beneath,
a furnace of fire. It's the way
of the land, primed as it is
with a vapour of eucalyptus oil
hanging in a blue haze

waiting for an errant spark
to ignite the very air.
There is a strange beauty
to it all when seen 
from a distance, the tinted
sky, the play of light
through clouds of ash,

too far away to feel the heat 
or hear the roar. Each summer 
the spirits stir and emerge 
in flame from the charcoal 
chambers of their ancient past
as if to remind us 
that we trespass.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required