Thursday, 10 February 2011

On Fire

In our primal memories -
the red shimmer of the first fire,
our pride in making it.

We sheltered it and worshipped it,
built our homes around the hearth,
carried it with us to new lands.

But awe became obsession
as we sought out hotter fire
and better tools for making it.

Now endless burning forests
fill the air with clouds of smoke
and the cries of dying animals

hang in the orange skies.

15 comments:

Caroline Gill said...

A powerful and poignant piece.

Lisa said...

Beautiful, and moving.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Oh yes Juliet - fire was such a precious commodity when it was first made - but now whole forests burn.

Cathy said...

Beautifully observed and poignant. I often think of the poor animals who suffer in times of fire and flood. My brother and I were discussing the danger of those Chinese lantern things everyone seems to think are vital to a good wedding. Such a danger in a dry summer and a danger to animals too.

JoMo said...

Powerful words.
Oh, Progress...

Bill said...

Thanks for taking this on. Beautiful, thoughtful, powerful. The notion of burning something to heat, to fuel, to survive would never have been a problem but for too many people.

sandy said...

The opposite of green living for sure. Sadly, it is a way of life for so many.

bunnits said...

beautiful

LauraX said...

It is true, desire can become so fierce it becomes the fuel that burns all we love...and tenderness and care become lost.

James said...

Wow, you captured the necessity of fire and its destructive potential so well. This has a great mythic feel to it too.

Megan Coyle said...

Wow. The last four lines are incredible - great imagery!

gabriellebryden said...

Excellent poem - loe the last two lines particularly. Everything has to be bigger and better it seems and we will pay the price.

Kat W said...

Powerful, moving & important.
Kat

mavis said...

a very moving and poignant piece
thank you for the chance to read it.

Sandy's witterings said...

An excellent and powerful piece this, Juliet. (Perhaps I should feel bad about typing this from my desk on an oil rig)