After The Bone Fires Poem by Tony Noon

Rake them. Riddle sticks
through cooling embers.
Beds and books burnt
to blackened crisps.
Yesterday's news and the lost
wisdom of authors left
like Gideon Bibles.

All extinguished here,
odd phrases quivering
in the updraft like skydivers
fiddling with cords.
These thin words
would crumple if touched,
their essence lost to flame

A history of gunpowder
hangs around here
like drunks after parties,
filling nostrils with remorse
for exploded peace

In our sad afterglow
the smoke is tasteless.
Did the fire turn back night?
Was wrath appeased by
strained fibres cracking?
Did this sacrifice
of stuffed effigies

save our souls?


Tony Noon