Single spark,
gust of air,
scorching soil
ignited by chance,
whipped up into a blur of a flame
ascending into a column
tall as the tallest jungle trees,
a furnace consuming the green
above and below
where the creepers crisp
and the branches burn
and the inferno engulfs
the canopy and the roots,
every animal for a thousand miles
runs, slithers, flies and gallops
for the edge of the jungle,
but the fire's wrath redoubles
the blaze pursues the denizens,
leaving clouds of ash and rubble behind
till the flames meet the river
and the scalding hot thirst is quenched.
Showing posts with label fire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fire. Show all posts
Friday, 19 April 2019
Saturday, 27 October 2018
Defenders of the Realm Act III
(Read Act II here.)
Come dawn and a threadbare breakfast,
the men set out to find the menace
and fix the problem at its source
before it could take flight again.
Having never trekked overland,
they were a lost and tired band,
with no navigators to hand
they reached the nearest village,
untouched by the dragon's fury,
free from its wanton pillage,
overrun with rat spillage.
At lunch Aled had a tipoff,
info he couldn't just write off,
about a cave in the green hills
where the wyrm had made his lair.
Telling the others of this news
and with not a moment to lose,
and no time to enjoy the views
they headed for the green hills,
following a sprightly stream
to the cave in the green hills
where they hoped to make their kill.
They reached the cave upon the hour,
its dark mouth ominous and dour,
but did not enter for terror
of the beast living within.
So they set about conspiring,
their strategic now firing,
and just as the friends were tiring
a thought entered Aled's head
which turned into a careful plan
certain to get them ahead,
but it filled Aled with dread.
They gathered firewood from the woods,
their servants helping where they could,
and laid it at the cave entrance
from one end to the other.
The wyrm must have been in slumber,
naive to the inbound lumber,
then its sleep was torn asunder
when Fergal torched the kindling,
the flames towering in a row,
air full of cinders sizzling,
choking all who dwelt within.
When the fires died and the smoke cleared
the four friends rose and drew near
to the mouth of the cave to see
the dragon's lifeless corpse.
Yet much to their amazement,
instead of the dragon's encasement
for them to win appraisement
were corpses on the floor,
corpses covered in long brown fur
strewn all about the cave floor,
a sight the friends all abhorred.
Aled had heard of these before,
the memory came to the fore.
They were woodwoses or wild men
from church engravings of yore.
While struggling to recognise
his accidental genocide,
Aled saw with his smoke-strained eyes
some footprints headed outside,
leading to the edge of the trees
where the lucky one could hide
and find others of his kind.
(Continued in Act IV here.)
Come dawn and a threadbare breakfast,
the men set out to find the menace
and fix the problem at its source
before it could take flight again.
Having never trekked overland,
they were a lost and tired band,
with no navigators to hand
they reached the nearest village,
untouched by the dragon's fury,
free from its wanton pillage,
overrun with rat spillage.
At lunch Aled had a tipoff,
info he couldn't just write off,
about a cave in the green hills
where the wyrm had made his lair.
Telling the others of this news
and with not a moment to lose,
and no time to enjoy the views
they headed for the green hills,
following a sprightly stream
to the cave in the green hills
where they hoped to make their kill.
They reached the cave upon the hour,
its dark mouth ominous and dour,
but did not enter for terror
of the beast living within.
So they set about conspiring,
their strategic now firing,
and just as the friends were tiring
a thought entered Aled's head
which turned into a careful plan
certain to get them ahead,
but it filled Aled with dread.
They gathered firewood from the woods,
their servants helping where they could,
and laid it at the cave entrance
from one end to the other.
The wyrm must have been in slumber,
naive to the inbound lumber,
then its sleep was torn asunder
when Fergal torched the kindling,
the flames towering in a row,
air full of cinders sizzling,
choking all who dwelt within.
When the fires died and the smoke cleared
the four friends rose and drew near
to the mouth of the cave to see
the dragon's lifeless corpse.
Yet much to their amazement,
instead of the dragon's encasement
for them to win appraisement
were corpses on the floor,
corpses covered in long brown fur
strewn all about the cave floor,
a sight the friends all abhorred.
Aled had heard of these before,
the memory came to the fore.
They were woodwoses or wild men
from church engravings of yore.
While struggling to recognise
his accidental genocide,
Aled saw with his smoke-strained eyes
some footprints headed outside,
leading to the edge of the trees
where the lucky one could hide
and find others of his kind.
(Continued in Act IV here.)
Sunday, 30 April 2017
NaPoWriMo #30: Tiger Fire
And so, it has come to this; the final day of NaPoWriMo. How better to see off this year's event than with a recurring theme which lent this blog its name?
Tiger Fire
On the edge of a lake in Northern India,
where crocodiles gather and bask in the sun,
the way chital and sambar are restless
as the sun is directly overhead
and the grass is as dry as sand.
A fire crackles into life
and rages across the meadows,
flushing unsuspecting creatures
from their hiding places
and into the blaze's lethal path.
A tiger, resting under a sal tree,
feels the heat of the fire's hunger
and flees towards the lake,
flanked by the langur monkeys
and wild boar following in his wake.
At the water's edge, the tiger halts.
The flames cut off paths of escape.
The forest across the water remains unburned.
The tiger spies the chital running,
running to the lake to save their hides.
At last, the fire claims the shore,
but the tiger fears it no more,
for he alone amongst cats
masters the waters of the lake,
and tears past the crocodiles
to reach the opposite shore.
Tiger Fire
On the edge of a lake in Northern India,
where crocodiles gather and bask in the sun,
the way chital and sambar are restless
as the sun is directly overhead
and the grass is as dry as sand.
A fire crackles into life
and rages across the meadows,
flushing unsuspecting creatures
from their hiding places
and into the blaze's lethal path.
A tiger, resting under a sal tree,
feels the heat of the fire's hunger
and flees towards the lake,
flanked by the langur monkeys
and wild boar following in his wake.
At the water's edge, the tiger halts.
The flames cut off paths of escape.
The forest across the water remains unburned.
The tiger spies the chital running,
running to the lake to save their hides.
At last, the fire claims the shore,
but the tiger fears it no more,
for he alone amongst cats
masters the waters of the lake,
and tears past the crocodiles
to reach the opposite shore.
Thursday, 29 December 2016
Ideas
He walks
through the grass,
an ape on two feet
descended from the branches
of the primordial jungle,
bestowed with a sense
of festering independence,
the unknown ape
forges the first ideas
into tools of stone,
banishing the night
with newly tamed fire.
A broken cycle,
a bit of breathing space,
at least until hunger returns,
and the long trek north
following the Nile's coils,
passing through the gateway
to the rest of the world.
(Okay, so maybe the weekend was a bit ambitious, but at least I've done one poem before the year is out. Hopefully things will be more productive come the new year. Hope you've all had a nice Christmas and Happy New Year!)
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