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Firestorm (Free verse) by Dovina
A massive river creeps in lowland morning slow in orange haze the sun a disc of red in Mississippi murky morning and folks don’t think it strange when summer follows rain But for those swollen bushes briars, brambles, weeds over-watered, drying fast on San Gabriel Mountain slopes summer’s answer comes there too in hot pink evenings orange nighttime ridges lovely in the glow of firestorm annoying with the mess of ash in morning yellow murk and bloody unfamiliar sun We’ll not talk of ebb or flow or weather’s common passage but of strange and undeserved events of portent and of blame

Down the ladder: Scars

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Arithmetic Mean: 5.142857
Weighted score: 5.03842
Overall Rank: 7214
Posted: February 17, 2007 6:36 PM PST; Last modified: February 17, 2007 7:32 PM PST
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[0] madamefrufru @ | 18-Feb-07/5:02 PM | Reply
As pointless as taking "poemranker" too seriously.
[9] Ranger @ > madamefrufru | 19-Feb-07/1:15 AM | Reply
That does not excuse your lack of a bum :(
[7] richa @ | 24-Feb-07/2:19 PM | Reply
I find the namechecking of all these colours a bit unsophisticated.
[n/a] Dovina @ > richa | 24-Feb-07/9:47 PM | Reply
I suppose that back in Merry Old England, you have never seen hot pink evenings, morning yellow murk, or orange nighttime ridges of the San Gabriels during a summer firestorm. It’s the way of things here, like the rising of the Thames after heavy rain, or the bloody sun rising over a Mississippi morning. Unsophisticated? Yes, it’s why we left.
[7] richa @ > Dovina | 25-Feb-07/2:23 AM | Reply
If I leave aside the frankly mind boggling idea that you left for America in search of sophistication it is not the amount of colour that is the objection rather the weak description. Also you seem to have confused me. I am no more a cockney barrow boy than I am a negro maid.
[n/a] Dovina @ > richa | 25-Feb-07/6:25 AM | Reply
Perhaps the description is weak. Maybe my comparing the colors of a summer day and night in the Lower Mississippi Valley to the colors of Southern California during a firestorm in the mountains above the city “seems to have confused you.” Or you are confused as to whether you are confused. In either case, the thing is likely not apparent to someone who has never seen the two scenes, and I should make it so.

It’s the differing attitudes toward normal workings of nature that’s the thing I was struck with, and wanted to convey. Many a negro maid in the South would understand if she moved to California and witnessed a firestorm; as might a borrow boy from California, awaking for the first time in Mississippi.
[7] Prince of Void @ | 25-Feb-07/8:16 AM | Reply
I’m far away from the claws of the dark city
I’m heading to the firestorm
And the summer wind tries to creep beside me
I’m going slowly against the sitting sun
My eyes will be the flame of a candle
The Candle burn at both ends
I’m pursuing the best ends
By my beginning knows my end
However I’m crossing the horizons of Mysterious silence
It’s more like outlook of my life
[n/a] Dovina @ > Prince of Void | 25-Feb-07/9:22 AM | Reply
Go up the ridge from Echo Mountain,
Past the stand of bug-killed pine
Rest your candle-eyes in manzanita
For the fire creeps that way
And all is well
[n/a] Quarton @ > Dovina | 27-Feb-07/10:24 AM | Reply
The imagery and flow is excellent. Can't believe you got a zero as this is one of the better poems I have read on poemranker. Cynicism is alive and well and for some, "it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt."
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