Hell smells on this nice land
Land where there is severe killing
Killing of innocent people
People hating their neighbors
Neighbors with grudge
Grudge against everything
Everything has decayed.
Decayed, as morals are in danger
Danger of living on this land
Land with endless fire
Fire from the morning until in the evening
Evening, when death squadrons chop and shoot
Shoot and set ablaze fellow humans
Humans stand in the inglenook watching the burning of men
Men observing humans terminating fellow comrades
Comrades are in hell here.
Poem by N. Mugisho
Categories:
inglenook, abuse, conflict, hate, horror,
Form: Free verse
Oh, my Inglenook my Inglenook
a whole life time spent within thee,
my name is Ember
I create patterns
of dancing shadows
a need to be stoked constantly.
I can be an inhospitable harrowing flame
for those that dare to glare
and too hot to the touch,
phantom notions I can conceive
when low and in a mood
and the chill becomes apparent
I die.
It is so cold out there
beyond the glowing rays
of flickering abate,
a need of more fuel to score
or the silence continues
till flame again breaks through
by the fire just renewed.
But one day
an empty fireplace
where life once reigned supreme,
someone to rake
through the spent ashes
to return to where one cometh from
so, the clergy tells everyone.
To the wind one is scattered
no void intended; one’s death
a space for the new born
a tiny Ember renewed
to inherent this inglenook,
the process to start all over again
from spring’s kindling
To winter’s deadwood.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Categories:
inglenook, senses,
Form: Free verse
The joy of the peace that comes.
From being away from the humdrum.
A cottage so many miles away.
Creates tranquility for the time you stay.
The winds can blow and they can howl. These thick walls wrap around our souls.
Log fire burning and crackling away.
Views to look at of mountains beyond the bay.
Nature unfolding before the eyes.
The rain creates a magic in the skies
The sound of water hitting the panes
It relaxes the mind to have such days.
Take a step back to a forgotten way.
Huddling round an inglenook watching the flames.
Listening to wind in the trees.
Watching the light dance with the leaves.
Relaxation hits deep and hard.
A few years without such disregard!
To the rules and limits placed on our days.
Makes you realise how much you need to get away.
Categories:
inglenook, absence, beautiful, beauty, freedom,
Form: Free verse
Windhoek, 2000
Nabucodonosor! thou shouldst be living at this epoch:
Namibia hath desire of thee: she is a quagmire
Of quiet rainwaters: slab, blade, and cage,
Inglenook, the courageous fortune of manor and retreat,
Have sacrificed their primeval culture talent.
But those who came before us will teach us.
They will teach us from the wisdom of former generations.
When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago.
But looking back we do not find what we left behind.
Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real
Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by
Until all our emphasis befits
The creatures we used to be,
The gaffes we made in our lifetime.
Oh, if only we could see
What we are now that we were then?
May memory restore again and again
The tiniest tint of the minutest era:
Past is the school in which we learn,
Antiquity is the intensity in which we burn.
There's a realm of astuteness in our previous.
Our souls are lost and tossed like a ship unruddered in a shoreless sea.
Our lifecycle is a flair, a gift that only we can give.
Why waste something so precious.
Categories:
inglenook, 12th grade, age, analogy,
Form: ABC
In my home amidst the bucolic pine trees
My time spent at home is so fugacious.
Autumn has come to my halcyon garden.
Ephemeral summer has said her good-byes.
Migrating birds from Alaska, harbingers of fall,
Consume the vestigial of summer's ripe fruits.
Redolent pines welcome the crisp clean air
Penumbra in the setting sun as they keep vigil.
In my inglenook, I curl up with a poetry book
Which brings me such sempiternal happiness.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Note: This poem is dedicated to my oldest
daughter who lives amidst the pine trees
above the Russian river in northern California
mountain home. I wrote this for a challenge.
Poetry Challenge words
1) Bucolic means In a lovely rural setting
2) Fugacious means Fleeting
3) Ephemeral means Short-lived
4) Halcyon means Happy, sunny, care-free
5) Harbinger means Messenger with news of the future
6) Inglenook means A cozy nook by the hearth
7) Penumbra means A half-shadow
8) Redolent means Fragrant
9) Vestigial means In trace amounts
10) Sempiternal means Eternal
Categories:
inglenook, august, autumn, dedication, garden,
Form: Free verse
I entered a village in Algonquin park
as dusk approached the tattered edges of dark.
And fell in love with the bucolic setting
all except for the mosquito’s blood letting.
The pine smell was redolent riding each breeze
carrying halcyon memories of trees.
And for a fugacious moment I felt lost
amidst the penumbra where I weighed the cost.
I could find a safe inglenook or camp out
a vestigial whiff of pie gave me doubt.
And taking that as a harbinger of treats
to come I headed to a lodge with grass streets.
My ephemeral connection with the Earth
somehow gave my sempiternal soul rebirth.
For I felt rejuvenated young at heart
and with each footstep felt my tensions depart.
Categories:
inglenook, beauty, environment, how i
Form: Rhyme
Inglenook
She, the face in the embers,
The remnants of a raging fire,
Smoulders like a cigarette
Between lips of lustful desire.
Where men stoke in gay abandon,
Pokers hot as blacksmiths arms,
To fade and die in the ashes,
The inglenook of her charms.
Breathe, breathe, smoke inhale,
Fill your lungs, my laddy, my son,
And when you spit the bloody spit
What manhood will be done?
Ten a penny, 'tis Rose and Jenny
For whom you shall but die,
But it is dreams of her raging fire
That will burn the smokey sky.
She, the naked, fireside chat
Will weep upon the ashen grate,
And you dowsed her, her inglenook,
How it sealed a young mans fate.
Where flames rose and flames fell
Like the dance of a harlots fare,
And you, the gasp of life and death
Did often purvey her there.
Breathe, breathe, my laddy, breathe,
How dare you die so young,
The inglenook knows many tunes
But you have hardly sung.
Ten a penny, yet be you broke
And deader than her yearn,
She, the face in the embers,
When once, my son, you burned.
© RJVHorton2016
Categories:
inglenook, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
Mr. Fireman please
furnish my stove with some fuel
two logs on the trigger is sufficient start the fire
gentle strokes on the hearth side will stir and build more heat
yeah like that
gentle and slow...
feed the furnace with another log i need more blaze
better yet put that chimney in already
glide the toaster right side and center
hit my inglenook till am all flaming fire and flakes
And when your pipe cannot restrain the diesel no more
gas it on my bed of coal
let the explosion awaken Himeros and Aphrodite
And it shall be called Sir+Lady BARBECUE!!!!
Categories:
inglenook, for him, how i
Form: I do not know?
Though the years he remembers
blue skies some that turn to grey
an inglenook of burning embers,
verdant pastures turning to hay
the snow rides on Santa’s sleigh.
Yet here he sits in his lonely room
A case of dementia we are told
Now a silhouette of youthful bloom,
His only misdeed being too old
Another mind enters the fold.
© Harry J Horsman 2011
Categories:
inglenook, sad,
Form: Quintain (English)