Fire Dance Poem by Jennie Radley

The night is not silent;
A million creatures scuttle and creep, forage and flee,
Sniff and snarl in the darkness.
Terror and death wait there, pressing in,
Prepared to pounce, haunting, hating, waiting.
Shadowy shapes steal ever nearer,
Invisibly immobile to the fearful glance.

Leaves whisper, twigs scratch and crackle,
Branches scrape and rasp to a pyre.
A low thrumming in the black night;
Breath hisses as a spark dies;
The whirling, whirring sticks create a glimmer, a glow,
Greedy flames reach out, spitting incandescence,
A syncopation as a drone becomes a hum,
Becomes an ullulation building to a roar.
Flame dervishes writhe and twist for fuel, a flamenco of lust,

The Firemaker brandishes a burning talisman, howling defiance as he
Banishes the Forces of Darkness to the cold distance,
Summons the Spirits of Light and Warmth to protect the tribe.


Mrs. Smith polishes her Fire Dance with pride;
At the touch of a button, she creates glowing embers,
And paints pictures of pagan rites
In the blue and purple of the gas flames.