Cold Winter Nights

(No, it hasn't snowed at Brimm Manor ... yet. But it's coming. I know it's coming!) 


Aha! Another poem about writing ... touching somewhat on a process that remains something of a mystery to me ... but also reaching the heart of the matter, I think, the satisfaction that comes from putting thoughts on paper.


The poem:

COLD WINTER NIGHTS


I have dreamed
that my poetry
might go like
wildfire lighting
the emptiness
of night, dancing
ahead of the wind,
smoke of creation,
furious burning,
rising to join
the lingering clouds,
drifting, drifting.

Ah, but a smaller
fire it is,
burning within,
chasing nothing
before it, raising
no alarms, warming
only me on these
cold winter nights
with a lamp
keeping me company,
and these scratchings.
© 1996
(originally published in ByLine)

Today's word: wildfire