Ashes
Orange limns the horizon,
burns in protest;
feeble stand
against the night.
Pale blue sky flees upward,
bound by endless navy.
Silent boats glide towards shore, their white sails
falling,
shrouds for the dying day.
Quenching, drenching, clouds pass away
and the parched land
lives. Muted greens and golds,
under a crown of stars.
Released from durance,
free to live
unencumbered.
Golden brass with sinuous sound;
smooth moves and liquid notes,
Cascading,
a cajoling wail down the spine
hits a nerve,
leaves the soul thirsty.
Cool breeze off the lake, cool beer
slides down the throat.
Day’s fire is banked.
Thank you! It's amazing what a really good beer and good companionship can inspire you to.
Bridges, Burning
There is a far side, and a near side. That's the way it works, with bridges.
the crash, a disturbing rumble of spectral lumber, a plank falling free, smoke rising toward heaven
One link severed, one friend gone, one bit of history signalling the clouds to rain.
another plank, another step gone, the reek of history, footsteps, no way home, invisible flame
Gaps showing, far side and near, flames catching, another plank, the river of time red below, no safe place to set my feet.
Unable to cross the burned bridge, unable to turn away, I will stand here forever.
waves.
Well, damn. I never come here, because I don't really write non-fic fic, so I hope you'll forgive the intrusion. In light of the beautiful poetry (Sail, Deb,
damn,
lovely) this seems doubly embarassing, but I was wondering whether I could ask your indulgence to have a wee look at a first chapter of a novel? It's not exactly lyrical, but I think it might work. Possibly. But I'd be grateful to know what you think. If that's okay.
What kind of story is it, Fay?
Well, it's a sort of Anita Blake meets Bridget Jones sort of story. I think. Probably. Something lightweight with a Buffyish sensibility, but set in London.
Oooh, that sounds like it could be fun, Fay. You can send it my way if you want. Profile addy is good.
