He Grew Up in Fire

By Richard L. Provencher

Thu, 28 Feb 2013
  • 1284 reads
6 comments
 

when the land was like
a bowlful of panic

flames breathed smoke
trees like candles
birds falling from sky

baby rabbit cuddles
on his own
mother somewhere
instinct said run to the
water---he did.

Now he squats on
a small hill
overlooking the river

unable to face what
used to be home –
blackened toothpicks
not just a memory

but tombstones
on land filled with ash.

© Richard L. Provencher

Certificate U
Poetry - For All Reasons
Nature

Comments

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
a very sad and quite dramatic poem here Richard. Jenny.

 

Submitted by Richard L. Prov... on
Hello Jenny. I was thinking about a forest fire that came through a part of Nova Scotia about 1976. And zillions of trees were nothing but burnt toothpicks for a stretch of 50 kms. My wife and I drove through it on a road that serviced that area. One section of the fire was put out about ten feet in front of a home. It was a bad burning, gobbling up a helicopter with three Forestry spotters in it. And I thought of all the little animals worn down and passed on and in order to show the fire it did not win the struggle---I selected a baby rabbit as a survivor of the clan. Make sense? Richard
Richard L. Provencher

Submitted by coolibah on
Why do I desire to change that title to Lady Bug Syndrome? And to tweak it in a few places to become moreso as such? Interesting this, R.

Submitted by Richard L. Prov... on
Hello coolibah, like your comments. I am always seeking new horizons to admire and say---try your ideas on me---thanks. Richard
Richard L. Provencher

Submitted by coolibah on
Keep in mind that fire doesn't discriminate and meteorite strikes are uncontrollably devastating, like lady beetle bugs which kind of look like them too. Mind you also, here in Oz we get lots of fires, and I'm yet to see/here of birds being struck from the sky by one. when the land was ablate a bolide plate flames breathed smoke tree candles fell with birds from the sky bunny cuddled on his own a mother somewhere said run to the water---he did. Now he squalls on a tor overlooking the tarn unable to face what used to be home— blackened toothpicks— not just memories but headstones darn full of ash.

Submitted by Richard L. Prov... on
A very interesting overview, Coolibah. Thank you. Richard
Richard L. Provencher