Monday, April 8, 2013

Fire Bones

One Second Hand Held

 Fire Bones

The corpse on the hearth
 knows the system
of a fire. From the
thin branch wrists
flame fingers tickle air
fire hair streams
up in smoky wind
amber gold;
nothing so alive as fire
till it licks up all the dead that
it can burn.

Only beyond the room
twilight ejaculates
a great arc that driving downwards
burns the  world
before it dies;
earth eats storm
at tree's crown,
the fine full head catches
the skin splits
from top to root

and system
alters system

~April 2013

fire firestick 7

Hover mouse for image attribution, or click on pic to go to photographer's flick'r page.


  1. This is a lot for my early morning senses to claim. It reminds me of our year-end bonfires where we burn what is left of the xmas trees. I stand in awe at the power of fire, changing things indefinitely. I enjoy your intense and bold imagery.

  2. Ablaze with fantastic and unique imagery....."and system alters system forever". Wow.

  3. oh i like that ending, all systems go! alert! alert!

  4. ok that is a wicked crazy picture...and what an intriguing second half of this....i love a good fire though....the sounds and watching t consume....there are a few systems i would not mind if it did consume, you know...smiles....

  5. The awesome might of Mother Nature, lest we uppities forget who is really in charge here.

  6. Wonderful wonderful - especially love the fire licking up dead. k

  7. I do love a good fire, in the right place of course. And I love lightening storms too, but you bring a whole new and different way of looking at them. I really like the lines:

    nothing so alive as fire
    till it licks up all the dead that
    it can burn.

    And also you closing stanza. Very, good.

  8. There is something inexorable about this, it feels like something fated and final.

    Where do you come up with poems like this one? You have an utterly unique and marvelous poetic imagination, Joy.


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats