A Conflagration of Poets

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allets's picture
Joined: 2012/08/19



This chapbook is dedicated to Ashes_Twisted. After reading her poem, Brushing Off Embers, I was enormously moved and found the love gone wrong and off theme exceptionally entertwined in the title, superbly executed with the imagery. The consistency of the construct used to create the artwork was exceptional. Thanks you Ashes_Twisted for letting me use lines from the poem for titles in the chapbook. Let this serve as notice for permission to use the lines. 







A Dying Zeal


Conflagration to the sky

a dying love goes drifting upward

like the reverse of snow falling

or white ashes twisting

on a cold summer night.

You are consumed by fire,

molten desire.


So much energy released

we have ceased

love decreased

to ashes.


No phoenix will rise from this,

no mythical rememberance

or dream. It seems there

is no zest or zeal left.

I am touched by the fames.






Flare, Disappear


Dancing on winds, tossed

on breezes that ignore you

as nothing. Hot with old

passions, memories fading

ashes gliding.






Cinders Are Flying, My Eyes Are Burning


It is not as if my eyes

have never been singed before

the demon of fire owned too much

desire. Lies and other women

are real things.  Deceiving

is now believed. Such pain you

wielded and conceived.


Why can I not banish lit candles

from seeing? First a spark in the eye,

now a fire raging coming down and down

like rain, your ashes burning, drifting,

turning, like embers fading.






Brushing Away Embers


Here we go again, walking

under volcanoes, thinking about

nuclear blasts of the heart

and what comes after. Footprints

in the chared tree boughs left

as ashes turned to bereft dust.

Must find a way to begin again

from ruin.


Ashed and covered with silt

from the soot brushed away

by a hand with no redemption

the assumption waning,

we used to be fire resistant

wood. Should I remember

three-quarters burned char?

You are embers on the wind.

I am ashes rekindling.






Nothing But A Stranger


Leaving a shore with the treeline

burning, the pine cones falling like

pebbles from a flaming forest. You

started the heat with flint and

design to remind the ashes

you passed this way. Like one fired

ash in a midnight sky, I cry gleefully

as you die.


I, the phoenix, purged from the

embers, emerge like new feathers

renewed forever. Execution guaranteed

by a cold sky decision. Good night

executed with poetic precision.

Quoteth the raven, with permission.


Gazing the hot horizon, smoke rising,

you live briefly now among them. Gone

like smoke, dissolved by free air. Poe

had you in mind when he said,







A Spark Against The Dark.


Like a mote in the eye

hurting like a nuisence phantom

out of reach, waiting to be

cried out and forgotten.

You go besotten as wet soot

in a chimney gone rotten.

Dead embers are your lot, hun.


On a no moon night, you

ascend outlined by fire

accompanied by heat devils

at midnight, or a few minutes

before. A ghost, once alive

merely seen from the corner

of vision, but looked upon

you vanish like a spark up

from the source to become

nullified dark. From the ground

Pacified, I watch your ending.






Burnt Remains


I ran faster, the flames

were my friend. You were

not as fast as you pretended,

drifted, faultered, then burned.


I did not strike the match

or rub sticks for your demise.

You were the agent of chaos

and surrender. Your eyes saw

the ember's glow beneath you,

fading Knight. See what remains

of brilliant light, as you are

swept into a no street lit

starless height, beyond my







Dusting Off The Memories


For this I use my magic duster

grip it tightly in both hands

to clear you out, like a lingering

cobweb. Ashes to ashes, please

leave quickly, waltzing among these

swirling dust motes heading

for the door.


The tabletop was my skin

and I took cloth to your ashes

and flicked you with my wrist. Suddenly,

you were gone, captured by snares

bound for the dust bin. Evermore.


A new door opens and the dirt

is sucked out, unable to return

you are best left spurned. I wish

for new terrain, new soil to plant

my heart in and let grow. Dust

to dust, that's you.