in restless sleep
as he dreamed
the fire rose
and swirled
the devourer unleashed
to color the skies red
a storm
wild and unbridled
burning
where it struck
grey ash
cinders and char
in its wake
in restless sleep
he dreamed the fire flew
in black
and he knew
an empty place
within
~
Poem #497 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.
I enjoyed this, Frank.
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Lovely. Thank you, Robbie. I’m pleased.
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Excellent.
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Thanks Mick. This little subset of fire poems came out quite powerfully, I think.
There is a ferocity in fire – either released or on the leash, but always there.
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I wasn’t sure whether it was actually related to the fire poems or was a stand alone, so to speak. But fire, as you say, is always a powerful metaphor.
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It’s stand alone, Mick. Comes from the Bachelard text – Fragments of a poetics of fire. Very small book, but yielded much along the lines of the phoenix and stealing fire and so on. Wish he’d finished it.
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Beautifully crafted poem, Frank. And wonderful imagery!
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Thank you, Alli.
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