You were a beautiful summer campfire.
The kind that draws you in with its warmth,
makes the night feel less lonely,
makes you want to sit a little closer.
So I did.
At first, I didn't mind the sting.
The warmth was too comforting,
too familiar,
too beautiful to walk away from.
But eventually, the warmth became a sear.
The comfort became pain.
And I realized I had been standing so close to the fire
that I couldn't feel myself burning anymore.
You were once the fire that kept me warm.
Until I realized
I was sacrificing myself just to stay close to you.
And maybe that's the hardest lesson,
don't keep reaching for the fire that burns you
just because you remember how warm it used to be.
Sometimes loving yourself means
stepping away from the warmth
before it becomes ash.
In wispy circles the smoke ascended
from a campfire that just ended
Embers yet glowing from below
from tales of ghosts and marshmallows
campfire
warm, toasty s’mores
wood burning, smoke rising
faint scent of stale ash clings to skin
outdoors
“Wake up, breakfast is cooking.”
Bacon in cast iron skillet,
sounds and smells, wafted through the tent.
“Coming”, the crackling bacon got me!
crackling noises
the only sounds of the night
I stared into the oranges and yellows
a therapeutic campfire that commanded silence
my thoughts sacred
Rainbow ribbons in her hair
Playing in the grass with no care
Making mud pies in the dirt
Skinny dipping in July no pants no shirt
Playing hide and seek football too
Finger painting pictures under sky blue
Racing the wind playing in the rain
Singing favorite songs pretending to have fame
Riding in the back of an old pickup truck
No seatbelt there on a dare so tough
Catching fireflies and huge June bugs
Sitting by camp fire drinking from a jug
Walking to church for Sunday school
Praying for sinners crazies and fools
Not yet finessed in politically correct
Calling it how you see it no regrets
The sounds of a campfire
Crackling through the forest
Embers glow while marshmallows cook
Small flames reach out
As if they were asking for a rescue
The flames do also do something magic
They light the black night of the forests
They create the flowing smoke
They release the flying sparks
All combined to create perfection
And a world very few get to see
© Poem – VIII/XII/MMXXIV
LRET
I am now "away from the noise,"
my fruit gum I am chewing.
Sitting here wondering what the boys,
could be doing.
Now all unpacked,
a book I will read.
Need to use bug spray before I am attacked,
Oh no I do not want to bleed.
All "satisfied and alone,"
I thought this trip would be more fun.
The rain has me chilled to the bone,
maybe I am done.
Campfire cologne will always stay,
since I used an orange can of bear spray.
serene and reflective : Line 5
song bird's chirp : Line 13
( Italian sonnet : octave with rhyme abbaabba followed by six lines with rhyme cdcdcd. )
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starlit hillside embossed in lush green peaks
campfire singes our cold hypnotic night
in orange flames, woods crackle to ignite
cinders seeping darkness, in sizzling streaks
serene and reflective, nature's soul speaks
through a stream afar, trickling in delight .
memories snuggle close in moonshine white
spilling tender love on our ember cheeks.
You and I adoze, the fire within yearns
smoking in billows, with smores roasted mild
devouring the scent, specters of air burns
till logs turned to ashes, tawny shades smiled.
song bird's chirp, a calamine dawn returns
rekindled dream... cradling our lovechild.
Bright fingers of crimson and gold, reaching skyward,
The flames flicker and dance as they illuminate the dark.
As we toss on another twig and some old plywood.
Now and then embers would escape with a loud spark.
Amidst the smoky scent of our cozy campfire.
Mouthwatering infusions seem to be airborne.
Familiar sensations waft into an aromatic spire.
Can it be hot buttered toast, or is that popcorn?
The fragrances so inviting, mixed with earthy sprays.
As the breeze diminishes so our campfire's warmth we feel.
The eucalyptus enhances a perfume, in a smoky haze.
The overwhelming aroma of our campfire is quite surreal.
The spellbinding flames flicker, casting shadows of their own.
Its all made more spectacular by our campfire’s cologne.
beneath serene and reflective night skies
gentle feelings silence each tear, each fear,
breathing in smoldering dreams who arise
rustles of stillness, spark a soft prayer.
glowing faintly beneath the moonlit night,
flames enchanting, silencing the sad sighs,
warm odors tempt the eager appetite
along the camp’s edge, before the fire dies.
stars like glitter stand in the softest clouds,
caressing heaven with easy refrains,
love getting away from the noise, the crowds,
where relaxation is all that remains.
scents of the back woods fill the heart and soul
with a tenderness that’ll make the life whole
May we be blessed to acknowledge all the wonders in our life
that have, for us, thus far accrued…
and to begin each day with a word of thanks…
and thoughts of gratitude.
Today I’m thankful for campfire clothing…
because I shall never tire
of putting on a jacket or coat
that has absorbed the aroma
and the memories of the fire.
We love to light campfires in the mountains…especially in the Fall
In the cool of the evening…our fires are warm…and cozy…
they are intimate…and small.
A campfire has the power to mesmerize…to relax us for a while…
as we sit and watch it’s colors change…we close our eyes…and smile.
I love watching the flames leap into the air…in the silence of the night
seeing the faces of friends and family…illuminated by its light.
There is magic in a campfire…in the way it casts a spell
taking us to the place within our memory where other campfires dwell.
Suddenly we’ve moved…we’re not sitting at the same campfire anymore.
We’re children telling stories…toasting marshmallows…making s’mores.
And we realize it’s not just this campfire we love…it’s all the campfires we’ve amassed
and that a campfire’s special gift is how it links to all the campfires of our past.
And we remember with fondness a time…when we were more innocent and free
when nothing else mattered in our lives…
but a campfire…
friends
and family.
Some people don’t hike through the wood,
especially on All Hallows Eve.
Ghosts of boys and girls of good
float at the campfire, if you believe.
Elves and pixies dance through the trees,
with taunting, mocking, and leering.
They swing and sway in the brash breeze,
their faces frighteningly jeering.
What was that? The crack in the wind
unleashes demons and banshees!
Their hideous yowling will send
even the bravest to their knees.
Ghosts and goblins arise from their graves,
harmonize in a cacophonous chant.
Don’t try to hide in the darkened caves.
They’ll find you in their raucous rant.
They’ll steal your bones with giggling glee
and make toothpicks with your ribs.
Quickly now, turn. Run, and flee
before they find you and call out “Dibs!”
I always hear the sound of guitars strumming
harmonica music and cowboys humming
when I feel a warm night breeze upon my face
Whenever I look at a summer night sky
or hear the sound of a coyote's lonesome cry
it always takes me back to that peaceful place
Where men who did not care where they spit or cussed
with wrinkled leather faces covered in dust
would gather around the glowing campfire light
Singing those songs about how life used to be
when cowboys on the range were peaceful and free
until the day’s work tucked us in for the night
We’d rise up each day even before it was dawn
throw on a hat, a shirt, and shove our boots on
ride out to the herd to meet the rising day
It may not have been a fancy life that’s true
seems we always had a million chores to do
but this old cowboy still dreams of living that way
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