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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 donât think it strange
when summer follows rain
But for those swollen bushes
briars, brambles, weeds
over-watered, drying fast
on San Gabriel Mountain slopes
summerâs 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
Weâll not talk of ebb or flow
or weatherâs common passage
but of strange and undeserved
events of portent and of blame
Up the ladder:
The wispears of the night
Down the ladder:
Cry
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 5.142857
Posted: February 17, 2007 6:36 PM PST; Last modified: February 17, 2007 7:32 PM PSTWeighted score: 5.03842 Overall Rank: 7214 Comments:
[0]
madamefrufru @ 89.243.45.180
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18-Feb-07/5:02 PM
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Reply
As pointless as taking "poemranker" too seriously.
[9]
Ranger @ 81.103.124.179
> madamefrufru
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19-Feb-07/1:15 AM
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Reply
That does not excuse your lack of a bum :(
I find the namechecking of all these colours a bit unsophisticated.
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. Itâs 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, itâs why we left.
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.
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 âseems to have confused you.â 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.
Itâs the differing attitudes toward normal workings of nature thatâs 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.
Iâm far away from the claws of the dark city
Iâm heading to the firestorm And the summer wind tries to creep beside me Iâm going slowly against the sitting sun My eyes will be the flame of a candle The Candle burn at both ends Iâm pursuing the best ends By my beginning knows my end However Iâm crossing the horizons of Mysterious silence Itâs more like outlook of my life
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
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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