Red, yellow, brown and green
All colours will be seen
Love this time of year ~ fill your cup
Hot chocolate, hats , scarfs gloves cosy up
Log fires lite in gardens brings dazzled light
As days get shorter ~ blazing sight
Kicking leaves, roasting chestnuts magic in the air
with just one spark
nature is destroyed and will
never be the same
Upon a forest floor where many lie
and breezes stir, the upper branches bent
to meet the final breath of shrivelled sigh,
a leaf would cling to heaven’s tears when sent.
Its youthful lustre now recalled through tales
as varied as seasons – verdant meadow
below the clouds which often yield to gales
then scud along periphery of show.
When thermal blast from forest fires above
an ocean scape of waves competing in sound
with rumbling progress fits the Man like glove
through ignorance – eventually hound.
A leaf in woods that’s silent, is the Hope
we need to cling to – shadows rest on slope.
As I awake each morning, it’s a new day, for me to learn,
as I walk through the fires, my soul does not get burned.
I am no longer, the man, I use to be,
for as I rise daily, the fires now strengthen me.
The trials and tribulations, of this day, that I must face,
going through the refiners fire, I am saved in Mercy and Grace.
In the truths that He has shown me, as I walk in this light,
I’m guided by His Spirit, to be that which is right.
For, He’s an ever consuming Fire, burning off all my chaff,
allowing me to join in, with the Angels, a Holy laugh.
For things are not as though, they appear to be,
once I was blind, to these things, but now I can see.
I now seek those Spiritual things,
which keeps me from, these deadly stings.
Giving love for hate, peace for strife, I turn myself around,
I begin walking, in the truth, that I have found.
Led by His Spirit, the Truth, becomes my stand,
and when I touch the darkness, my fire’s, now get fanned.
ANGER SPEWING FORTH
CANADIAN SMOKE FROM UP NORTH
WE SHALL NO REMORTH
(thanks Sylvester thuffering thuckatash)
In the hush before morning, thought stirs—
An ache for meaningful threads in empty rooms.
Existence is the quiet weight of sunlight
Pooling on the floorboards, unnoticed.
The chaos of living, a gentle nudge beneath the ribs,
Unfolds in the silence between conversations.
We gather moments as if they were stones,
Building cairns to mark the passage of crucial days.
Each breath dissolves into the vast, indifferent air,
Yet every glance, every gesture seeks witness.
We drift in the tide—sometimes lost, sometimes found—
Haunted by the shimmers of fleeting and luminescence.
I have been through the fires, melted by it’s flame,
yelled at, cussed out, then to get the blame.
Walking here on earth, is like walking through hell,
as we wanna ring, one another’s bell.
We know it’s all to common, those emotions they can be,
we put each other through the fires, every day you see.
Loaded down with burdens, do we really care,
or is it more about the fires, in which we live to share.
Those who play with fire, they have a smell of smoke,
as they walk by, we seem to take a toke.
All we do is destroy, in this very way,
death, hell and destruction, in our path does lay.
If you think this life is hell, I have news for you,
stop turn around, do the opposite, of what you daily do.
Give love and forgiveness, instead, of the fire you see,
see how easy, that can truly be.
Not many will survive this, they will go back to what they know,
and once again, they let their fires grow.
Words rule the world, they make it go around,
in Gods children, that fire won’t be found.
It could be miles away
Or it could be around the corner
There is no way to really know
But the horror is there
And its blackness is there to see
It takes animals and people
Tearing them from their homes
Sometimes, even taking their lives
But they will come year after year
Mother Nature sees to that
Burning more and more each time
Someday, maybe forest fires will be gone
Then there may be no more smoke
Perhaps no more lives are lost
And maybe no more trees are left to burn
© Poem – III/XI/MMXXV
LRET
He said, it’s futile fighting raging fires
With weak resolves that may tend to stoke it,
I’d much rather go with my heart’s desires,
So spare for future your wisdom’s tool kit
And loosen up to enjoy passion's heat,
Bask in desires’ warm glow, never retreat.
Beware, warm passion often heat acquires,
She posed, to know it is what this life is.
Why? Enough to know fair from foul desires--
The fair ones feel much like a pleasant breeze,
Whilst raging fires are whirlwinds, far from joy.
Fair, fanciful, desires are leads of life,
Let’s be a child engrossed in her new toy,
Yea, toys each to each be husband and wife.
_______________________________
Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) | 06.04.2005 |desire, fire, life
Note: Here is a dialogue between two newly married. It begins with philosophy, but as the moments warm up in passion, they tend to forget all arguments to come close to agreement. A conjugal bed is a great leveller where all differences tend to even out.
stacks and stacks of books
filling up Aunt Edith’s home library
the nephews and nieces laugh at them
They are old-fashioned, antiquated, useless
Some of these missives were read over and over
Cherished like an old friend with each reading
Others never made it past page two
Boring and dull, deemed useless, put back on the shelf
Upon Aunt Edith’s death these books are stacked.
Ready for an enormous bonfire. The relatives sing while they burn.
Edith watched them enjoying her books from her seat in heaven.
Too bad they never looked through them where she hid her money.
Dry fuel in the bush
allows fast fires to burn
reduction too late
while the country is burning
as we pray for rain, tears fall.
with precious lives lost
families are then shattered~
firemen all weep.
Her skin drinks light like rivers take rain,
each dappled edge and sun-struck curve,
a landscape under my hands, soft yet severe,
where desire meets the edge of breath.
Fingers trace the small hollows of her hip,
catching sunlight in each soft valley,
dipping, trembling, as if they might slip
into some dark, endless tenderness.
She is a map of quiet fires,
a fever I can barely hold.
I find her pulse in the hush of thighs,
the places where words lose themselves.
My mouth opens to meet her skin,
each kiss a tender bruise of ache,
pressed and perfect, lush as wine
that fills, that floods, till reason splits.
We break where passion's blinding flares,
colliding in waves of sweet surrender,
so fierce the ache it stings like glass,
we drink of each other, ravenous, undone.
In the silence after, breath upon breath,
her skin still glows with sunlit trace,
and I am carved by the strength of her
in places I never knew could break.
for its heavenward ascent
each God-spark seeks love’s consent
first employing mind’s thought crutch
until it can learn by touch
spirit, a fire, grazes air
with all elements does pair
love the unifying force
shaping each earth bound soul’s course
when polarities unite
life in a womb does alight
a new born soul thus takes birth
to live life and prove its worth
without sense of ownership
the child is raised in worship
breath by breath embraced-released
that God in heaven is pleased
The right to protest's overrated
~ fuels the fires of mankind’s hatred
My heart is breaking
as the fire wins,
An elemental only doing
What its nature demands:
Eat, heat, repeat.
Some spirits walk on
As the fire fights
Any efforts to defy its nature.
We count, one by one,
those escorted by fire
To the edge of understanding:
bitter taste of pain on one side,
On the other, wholly unimaginable
to us. Holy. And unimaginable.
We are slow to learn their names,
To understand the holes
Burned in families, communities.
The wind is doing
what it's designed to do:
Feed the fire,
to do what its nature demands:
Eat, heat, repeat.
My heart is doing what it's designed to do:
Break.
Break, for the powerful presence
Of absence.
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