Above the Fire
Peter Sacks

Above the fire a man floats in a boat.

Above the fire a woman is devoured by a snake,
unseen.

The leaves are yellow alongside & in the wake

the trunks & branches
mirror one another, black, rain-soaked.

And now he's old. He trails a hand until it snares
a leaf--saw-toothed.

Clouds break above the buildings
where there had been none.

The snake is old, its jaw completely
unhinged for the swallowing.

What now?

There was a continent.

Below, the last gods bum along with their last
offerings--

no smoke, no film, no evidence.

The gold-shagged blizzard of the willow

spills again.

Climb down. Prevent.

He leans back & the oar drips like no other memory.


The Peach Pot *lisaluera





I Looked Up
Mary Oliver

I looked up and there it was
among the green branches of the pitchpines—

thick bird,
a ruffle of fire trailing over the shoulders and down the back—

color of copper, iron, bronze—
lighting up the dark branches of the pine.

What misery to be afraid of death.
What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.

When I made a little sound
it looked at me, then it looked past me.

Then it rose, the wings enormous and opulent,
and, as I said, wreathed in fire.


Remembering the Winds of War *fractalinda





The Heat of Spring
Janaka Stagnaro

Spring has come to this Bay
And with it a burning—
A burning so hot
It has cooked the waves of my dreams,
Washing me upon the shores of Consciousness,
In a bubbling bath of time.

In my hands I hold bloodied shears
Over the feathered pile of wings,
Reminding me of chickens plucked in Cameroon,
Soon to be washed down by beers.

I have tried, God,
You know I have,
To fall from my knowing of You,
To plunge into this House of Matter—
A house with a great wardrobe of pressed costumes,
Waiting for bodies to adorn;
Not one of them fit for flying.

And so I’ve cut and cut
And sometimes torn,
Trying to forget Your Name.

Then just when I think
I have found my tailored suit,
Trimmed and measured by the footsteps behind,
Your Name I hear once more,
Uttered by one of Your Lovers,
And again such a fashionable garment
Becomes ruined by the sprouting of wings.

Oh, how the nights burn and burn
With its molten waves of dreams,
Cooking me just like a Cameroonian chicken.

However, I know, God, I know,
That behind the scorching heat
Of shredded wings,
Comes the cool Hand of fog.



Yellow Orange Rose 2 *THOM-B-FOTO





Burn
Mark Turcotte

Back when I used to be Indian
I am crushing the dance floor,
jump-boots thumping Johnny Rotten
Johnny Rotten. Red lights blue bang
at my eyes. The white girl watching
does not know why and it doesn't matter.
I spin spin, eat I don't care for breakfast,
so what for lunch. She moves to me,
dark gaze, tongue hot to lips. The music
is hard, lights louder. She slides low
against my hip to hiss, go go Geronimo.
I stop.
All silence he sits beside the fire
at the center of the floor, hands stirring
through the ashes, mouth moving in the shape
of my name. I turn to reach toward him,
take one step, feel my skin begin
to flame away.



--Inner-- `scissors-hands



Fare Thee Well
Indigo Girls

fare thee well my bright star
i watched your taillights blaze into nothingness
but you were long gone before i ever got to you
before you blazed past this address

and now i think of having loved and having lost
but never know what it's like to never love
who can say what's better and my heart's become the cost
a mere token of a brighter jewel sent from above

fare thee well my bright star
the vanity of youth the color of your eyes
and maybe if i'd fanned the blazing fire of your day-to-day
or if i'd been older i'd been wise

too thick the heat of those long summer evenings
for a cool evening i began to yearn
but you could only feed upon the things which feed a fire
waiting to see if i would burn

fare thee well my bright star
it was a brief brilliant miracle dive
that which i looked up to and i clung to for dear life
had to burn itself up just to make itself alive

and i caught you then in your moment of glory
your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage
with a memory so clear that it's as if you're still before me
my once in a lifetime star of an age

so fare thee well my bright star
last night the tongues of fire circled me around
and this strange season of pain will come to pass
when the healing hands of autumn cool me down


A Brave New World *Fraxa





This is the Time of Fire
Elaine Maria Upton

There is a time of Water and a time of Wind.
This is the time of Fire, and Fire eats time.
The sands of the desert are uncountable!
Let go of the reckoning! Let go of time!
Let go of rain! Let go of forgiving!

Fire eats rain and Fire eats trees. Fire eats
The leaves of corn. Fire is the grain and the husk
Of corn. Fire is the raging of Water. Fire is the roar,
the hum, the sting of Wind. Fire is the pepper pulsing
from the flower. Fire is the frenzied volcano dancing.
It is the lightning's blitz, the drumming, the singing,
The beat of tribes, telling their story all night,
Piercing the bottom of dark, birthing the light.

Fire is the Earth exhausted, folding, sleeping
from days and nights of love, til there is no counting.
When flowers bleed, when lions sleep, when angels sigh, oh bleed, oh
sleep, oh sigh then! Oh, burn with mountains!
When leaves flame and fall to the ground,
When grass grows brown then gray, grieve not.
Grieve not, but follow the eagle and follow the grass.

Weep not for the Earth. Weep not for the corn.
The Earth is the lover who gives all to love.
The Earth makes a bed of Love and the Sun knows.
The Earth makes a table of Love and the Fire knows.
The Earth feeds Fire. The Earth gives all to Love.
Follow the Earth. Look beyond your eyes as you go!
Follow the Earth to the beat of the Fire!
Open your thighs. Give all to Love!


End of Days *Beesknees67