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Fire Sermon for one.

I kneel in reverence to ember dulling
then blow in a prayer hissed
rushed dragon kiss
of life into the night's glowing coals

I exhale with a fury of love,
having imagined the world
has taken your face, your form
and more

replaced you with mere
frail memory-

And so the kiss of fire,
hiss and crackle
pyre and pile
on furnace face

glows in rapt attention
at the light thrown red
as heat and life is given

watch now: light seeks out
the form of the room
reads this entreaty to flame

to light the form of your face,
lest coals, stove and room
cave in to dark and take it cold

indifferent in frozen mind,
to the gloaming memory of you
and how you lit the world

Best I breathe, from breath, to breath
and beat back darkness, black
jack frost seeping in to the

places where hot breath left.
and roar though the incandescence
of conveyance, heat, the heart bellows

look, it burns through the roof
of the world, and sends shuddering sparks
up to rejoin with stars!

from this little
space inside, out
into the spinning universe
where you reside.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
A poem about lighting a fire...
Editing stage: 

Comments

Loved this.
Originality and wonder, a sense of awe.
Helluvan achievement.

"I exhale with a fury of love,"
great line!

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet is a workshop. Poets take the time to read and think about your work and offer suggestions.
There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

that and the twin goal of one I wished to share heat with. Haha - I do tend to over-think some things (what's the alternative, under-think?) - but I read this and thought that an "Helluvan achievement" was some sort of literary term, and I missed that day at school, something to do with the Hellenistic world view, but then urban dictionary put me straight - oh yeah, "helluvan idea to Google it" - what a pillock ! :)

Thanks Jess.

Chris.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

I made it up [grins]

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet is a workshop. Poets take the time to read and think about your work and offer suggestions.
There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

was on a dock in glorious pioneer and old money on the muskoka wharf
eighteen hundreds steam vessel restored.....forget the name of her..
all then could walk freely...even at night for a stroll..
I had never smelled coal smoke.....by seventies it was replaced by
the refined furnace oil....tanks in the basement....an old electric
blower and pump and a giant spark plug apparatus to ignite
the air fuel mix sprayed in....that smelled atrocious!
shovelling off the snow on the roof we would take turns who
worked near the exhaust...
but coal

such a flavour....aromatic and bitter...and sweet
with an after lingering taste in the nostrils
on travels on a gravel flat beside a stream
where the railroad workers had steam cranes
we picked the old lumps of it in an old fire
bucket for decoration..the spillage which
was plentiful...in the depression my friends
would through coal at the firemen and engineers
driving the lake dock rail spurs in the little
Georgian Bay coastal villages...the firemen
would fire coal at them...the ruse was to get
enough coal during a childs work to fill the
stove for supper and then heat for winter..
or steal it from the tracks or yard at nights
sacks of it.....repeat!

immensely rich this poetry of yours
the ornate detailing I enjoy much!

Thank U Chris!

mr wolf

Stare out of my childhood, when you recount this memory of coal. Iremember all the council estates back in Nottingham, with row up row of chimney in mid-winter, gouts of the black smog above the terraces. The acrid smell, sometimes sweet and reassuring of warmth, sometimes full of sulfur like the acidic syrupy yellow smog of lungs at the back of the school bus, later I remember linking the smell of the coal, dirt sulfur and brimstone, some ancient guilt, and vow never to smoke, which of course i did. As we all did back then.
Shoveling coal from the "bunker " at the back of the house after the coal-men came delivering with their sacks, black and sooty from head to toe, with minstrel white eyes in a clownish impish wink they would throw the coal in - my job to shovel it into a bucket and bring it inside.
Now, down here, i traipse the woods, look for old dead limbs on the gum trees to lop off, or fallen dry trees from previous years, a whole days sawing and lugging, and splitting, dog hard work, donkey work we used to call it might score you a weeks worth of timber. Life and limb, chainsaws, trucks and heavy logs - what we will do to keep warm eh?

Thanks for reading..

Chris.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

Once again sparkling words, images, movement, and pace have come together in a great read.
I like the way you broke up the stanzas, allows us space between in images. Love that the flame sometimes resembles a beloved person, and other times the currency of flame.
Bravo. Keep blowing the poems out!

Does Dylan Thomas "own" jack frost? Not really, but I can't help noticing and it did interrupt my reading...(from I see the boys of summer" "the jacks of frost they finger in the hives" or from "why the east wind chills":
When cometh Jack Frost? the children ask.
Shall they clasp a comet in their fists?

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

I checked because i am more familiar with the wonderful "Under milk Wood" - so out of interest, looked to see if he was lurking in there, but no. Jack frost, just a familiar term from childhood, and derived from some Norse myth I think (will have to check) - his frosty fingers literally the icicles creeping in to the world. I do love to get lost in Thomas every now and then, and the great Richard Burton lead cast of the play for voices, played on a windy night, can be very inspiring, thanks for reminding me.

Glad you enjoyed.

Take care,

Chris.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment
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