I don’t want to ‘curl up with a nice book by the fire
on a long, cold, snowy winter’s night’
No! I want something riveting
a story with some punch! to challenge me
and my prehistoric convictions
Can it sit me up straight in my chair,
hair, not hearth, on fire? If not, count me out
~ my heart's not retired
Faces all on fire,
eyes catching the dancing flames~
light in their pupils,
dark fireplace gathers each gaze
keeps them when eyes look away.
Wood splits and whip-cracks,
sparks surge up into night's arms
like stars finding night~
the fireplace adores show-time
in its arena of stone.
Ash calms burnt embers,
stones lament the loss of light
warmth without a flame~
the fireplace cradles the shape
of what can no longer burn.
Smoke has lost its verve,
curling up now from the seams.
staining blank-faced stones~
glowing warm in the half-light
clinging to the afterglow.
Dark, damp, and dank now,
night has drunk the final warmth
Cold soot scents the stone~
the shiny green-black hearth waits
keeping winter for the years.
Morning finds no glow,
only the smell of old ash
clinging to the stones~
the fireplace dreams of footsteps
time itself tending the cold.
The last ember died
while darkness quietly drank
its final warm breath~
the hearth retains every face
beneath its moss and silence.
Its like you always have the last word
And nothing then ever gets resolved
At times what you say seems slurred
Though still what you have said bold
Makes me feel like a complete nerd
As again l am left back out in cold
Though what now seems so obserd
I choose silver though you still gold
And l ask how this ever occured
When upset ,you l so want to hold
Yet the truth then be really heard
Like you say ?if the truth be told
A follow on from open ended
About past relationship
Sleet licking its tongue at my window.
Leaves its icy gift on the glass panel.
Logs on the fire still give their glow,
To objects seen in the mirror on the mantle.
Need Apollo share with Artemis his cloak!
On this cold and tempestuous night.
That dark star-spangled overcoat
Keeps from frost with its warmth so right.
The sun has set and retired beyond the shade,
Though its golden faded trace is yet seen.
The moon prepares to begin its promenade,
Making midnight shadows dance in its gleam.
As hearths nobly extend their gentle heat,
The sun consoles itself in a cloudy bed.
Then sweet dreams and solace meet,
As moon tips his cap and bows his head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter's hush descends~
a letter pressed to my palm,
ink still warm with love.
The hearth crackles its own song:
tidings of comfort and joy.
Set the table, and let the light fall,
cut the bread, cost nothing but time.
Read my face for the story—
for and, or but, yet so—
we keep finding ways to meet.
A few laughs shared,
a lot of pauses filled,
twenty of those small gestures
put us back in step.
So often, many times,
and always once more,
my hand set beside yours,
the rhythm unchanging,
the word read aloud together.
Not grand, not distant—
just the steady cost of care,
the hearth of language,
the warmth of being here.
.
Soot
seeking
old embers;
long extinguished—
flames
In the cozy inn by the fire's warm glow
Lies a woman's body, lifeless and cold
Her hair splayed out, like flames in the hearth
But no fire could warm her, not even in death
The guests all gather, hushed whispers abound
As they try to make sense of this tragedy profound
Who could have done such a heinous crime?
In this peaceful place, where we come to unwind
Was it the lover she spurned, in a fit of rage?
Or a stranger passing by, with demons to wage?
Perhaps it was someone she thought she could trust
But now she lies broken, her body just dust
The cozy inn is no longer so warm
For the chill of death now lingers and harms
The memories we had of laughter and cheer
Are now tainted with blood and filled with fear
So let us remember this tragic night
When murder came calling at the cozy inn's site
And may we find solace in the warmth of our kin
For life is fleeting, but love will always win.
KEY: H: Heart h: hearth
h: I can see footsteps coming close to me a mile away but if they stand in front of me, the noise will be blinding.
h: I stand flat-footed on my bedboard perpendicular to my body. Beyond my pane, are the viewpoints on life from the many. 'His slants differ from my own.
He constantly reminds me that when he's out of prison, he'll find me and get me.
H: But he's standing right there.
h: But he won't do anything.
H: Why not?
h: His parole officer is standing behind him.
H: But it's a woman?
h: His mother.
H: Oh, making certain that her son stays on the straight and narrow, eh!
h: Ohh! You are a right smart person--she's his lookout!
How could I have known,
How could I have seen?
I listened, but I didn't hear,
We dreamt of different dreams.
And now it seems the end is near,
And all we feel is pain.
The mask of strength has disappeared,
Empty, we remain.
Time will pass, and time will clear,
If you and I were meant to be.
No room for love when hearts have fear,
No room for dreams when you're not free.
Days will come of clear feelings,
Days of growth and understanding.
Days of sun sound so appealing,
For now, my heart for you is standing.
It ought to light up my being
With the color and passion
Of its crisp, browning magic
It ought to bring the sounds
Of fire crackle, warm abrasions
And unlimited clinks to hearths
Of every size and flavor
It ought to turn down the heat
Turn up the chill
And turn on the love
It ought to renew our sense
Of joy, togetherness and those
We wish could walk through the door
Just once more
It ought to gather all the lost sheep
Whether dislocated, disaffected or disowned
Into a herd, bonded with purpose
It ought to create human nature
Along the same lines as Mother Nature
Turning green with envy into
Subtle tones of peace
It ought to allow pumpkins
And turkeys and trees and menorahs
To dance the dance, and hug it out
It ought to be autumn..
(10/21/17)
Life is about priorities
Home, heath, and family
Heart our hearth, where the love flame burns
It’s a fire without smoke
Behold how bliss magnetism churns
Ego to death does choke
By being self-aware
Under God’s loving care
Bliss currents take the chair
Bubbling mirth
Heart our hearth
04-April-2022
Quietus
Hestia, the Greek goddess,
Has a veil on her head
Hearth, her identity
Humble to family
Hospitable in style
Holds to be a virgin
Honored for sacrifice
Greek mythology Poetry Contest
Pleiades poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Syllable Count: PS
Date: 28-02-2022
Her laughter is all seasons:
It is the April rain that trickles like a fugue
Down the twisted branches of the laburnum.
It is the sparkling rill that rushes gaily
From the first bite of a summer strawberry.
It is the incense mist that dances volute
Through the golden leaf of the temple forest.
It is the sleepy smoke that rises softly
From the predawn embers of a winter hearth.
How long the years have passed since last I heard her laugh!
© Barry Freeman - August 1995
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