A late autumn afternoon – the smell
of smouldering leaves, Chigwell Green,
transported me back to another place
another time...another life ago.
A fire burned in a group of allotments...
it was almost mid November; pitch
dark then, by at least four o’clock.
A pall of smoke – dark and hanging low
in a frowning sky, fretted with crows.
Orange flames leapt high – licked
a nearby paling fence; I looked
for my brother amongst the crowd
of men, but I couldn’t pick him out.
They were jeering, chanting; words
beyond my ken. I knelt down;
the soil, damp and peaty. Grabbed
a handful of leaves, stuffed them
in my pocket, and as the fire died
its death, took the long way home.
Comments
celticman | December 23, 2011 - 18:55
I must admit the title grabbed me. I've written something with more or less the same title. I'll post it here so you can have a quick look. It's in no way the same, but it's one of those synchronicites.
Silver Spun Sand | December 23, 2011 - 19:03
Hmm...interesting, as they say. Shall look forward to reading it;-)
Tina
Highhat | December 24, 2011 - 14:31
Loved the image of the child stuffing leaves in it's pockets- this is so earthy Tina and so atmospheric. I always feel I am in the world of your poems when I read them- transported. It's a good feeling- your words are so descriptive- you are a master of adjectives.
;)Pia
Silver Spun Sand | December 24, 2011 - 16:08
Thanks, ever so much, Pia;-) It's so satisfying for me to know I create such atmosphere for you, and I really do appreciate your words.
Tina;-)
skinner_jennifer | December 28, 2011 - 10:35
A very haunting poem Tina, taking the reader back
with you, to another place, another time.
Wonderful read.
Jenny.
Silver Spun Sand | December 28, 2011 - 10:40
Thanks, Jenny. Pleased you enjoyed;-)
Tina