Year In The Fire

The fire glimmers softly at this time of year,

Dulled with amber glow and vague reflection,

Crusted embers fused in furnaced carbon tears,

Mingled joyous sadness and dejection.

Beginnings of the ending of another passaged year,

Vault of mem’ries scanned in observation,

Stockings hung, as adults, anticipating all good cheer,

Pros and cons on mantelpiece selection.

Twas once upon the last day of the dying of each year

That I gazed into the flames of self-perception,

Feather to the balance of the heart, reviewed with fear,

Weighted gaze, self-analyzed confession.

Distanced through the haze in the glow of burnt-out year,

A summary of days passed in completion,

Banked one upon the other, at life calendar I peer,

In moments quiet peaceful introspection.

Some coals that I have gathered in the bunker of this year

I’ll store in baskets woven for retention,

Others I will burn to warm and I’ll hold dear

The treasures earthed from pits and recollection.

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So Odd…So Real

I dreamt anger last night,

woke late to the strangest feeling,

one I can’t recollect dreaming before.

Perhaps I have but don’t recall.

I’ve dreamt so many allsorts, remembered and not.

But to wake in anger,

disoriented, wondering why I felt so peculiar, was odd,

then

seeing the pictures flood back as spoon filled coffee cup,

pausing as steam turned its contents black,

visions in the molten awakener, of

one person attempting to bully

a whole crowd of grown-ups,

young and old but all compromised by power,

held hostage to her whims,

immobilised by fear.

I snapped several times, went against the pack,

refused to cooperate with petty injustice,

got right in her face and snarled,

‘They all hate you, you know.

It doesn’t have to be this way.’

She turned slit eyes on me, red and fierce

and spat, ‘ I despise you all’.

My parting shots,

witnessed askance by all, became

full of heat and promises 

of just retribution.

She mouthed, ‘I’ll lie.’

I knew she would.