All he has left is his will to write, and he must go with this. Sad but it could happen, and if you write you would not stop there, so begins the rebirth. Maybe if you structured it a little differently, gave it more flow. Nice poem. Regards Roscoe...

This is a wonderful write fromthe prospective of a poet and his work.
Please don't be upset, but I re-structure it to follow a kind of wesrtern classic style
This is your poem. so you do as you please. I like it so much, but I just felt in my opinion it works better this way., but thats just me.

A man sits on his knees
as if he were praying
the fire hoses viciously spraying

as he sits and watches
his life’s work on fire
as he maintains the composure
of the sane

His eyes watch intently
and like a hose pouring water
his pain run off over
but the heat so intense
evaporates the water

A corner of a poem
inflamed flutters over
to the ground by his feet
he can't do a thing,
but weep.

He pulls himself together and
and stands on his feet

He Walks to his fire truck
and washes
the gas off his hands
then he sighs in relief

The rebirth of his work
are the ashes
at his feet

PS i also think that the title should be something like " A firemans Sorrow"
I hope that this help some you do as you please because this is a great piece of work regardless of my opinion.

"Welcome to Neopoet, land of the free thinking Poets"

Welcome to Neopoet. I was going to assume that you are a returning member from the old site, but I don't really know, so welcome and welcome.

I like this poem of your''s, the theme is a good one; the idea of the poet being an arsonist, destroying his old work, appeals to me very much. The ending is very good, tight and well paced, and the imagery solid.

I feel that the beginnilng is a little weak and passive, however. The meaning is there, clear and concise, but first four lines are wordy, to me, after which the poem tightens up and flows with a much better cadence.

If I might suggest:

"A man sits on his knees as if he were praying
the fire hoses viciously spraying
as he sits and watches his life’s work go up in flames
as he maintains the composure of someone sane"

A man sits on his knees as if praying, ...(who it is is already established, so a second "he" is not needed)

the fire hoses viciously spraying ...(this is a marvelous image, to me)

as he watches his life’s work go up in flames ...(the fact that he is sitting has already been established in the first line)

while he maintains ...(the change here conforms with the cadence of the rest of the poem)

the composure of someone sane" ...(as does this line: yet the two lines together still maintain their original meaning)

Of course, your edit would be different than this one, but I strongly feel that editing those first four lines to tighten them up will make a great deal of difference, and make this poem even better than it already is.

I hope this helps.

I have no commentary on critiquing the poem, I'll leave that to others.

Just wanted to welcome you to Neopoet and tell you that happened to me twice. The first time all is kaput,the second time, I'm lucky PoetryChaikhana is restoring the old database to a new forum.

I still have to get my poems from Neopoet's archives. Which reminds me have we had any success retrieving the last 3 or 4 months, most of those poems I DIDNOT post anywhere else.

The gift is that we are able to write still, that our muse still adores us. ;-)

~Anna

This is called "Kafka Syndrome". Always dissatified with his work he tried to destroy it. Fortunately he had a friend who saved it from the flames.
Don't do it! Yoru work has great value.

I remember you and I want to tell you. I read this twice and a pang to the old kicker made me think of so many fireman and yes the ashes from your poetry of seven years. You will have many more years to add to your library I am sure. Keep up the good works.

Great metaphors used and glad to see you back

Magics aka Mona

How often by fate of war or nature people have lost and and till today lose some or all their life's work- flood, fire, earthquake, you name it. This is a good poem about that. Make us feel that profound loss.

I wasn't sure of this;

washes the gas off his hands
as he sighs in relief

Why was there gas on his hands? and what is the relief? These are not clear to me.