Ι do often remember those flames
crazing in playful cracking laugh,
to whistle, fizzle and quarrel,
in threatening talks with each other, complot
arround there at the fireplace,
being our company on wintry chilly evenings late
back then when still innocent small children we were.
Fiery rushing jets persistantly aggressive,
glutton tongues, chatty Vampires ablaze
by our blowing chased
left and right carrying the blaze,
attacking on brushwoods first,
burning off crackling dry branchlets, twigs,
to go on against seared logs in voracious whirls,
in leaping, lapping and licking vehemence.
Ooh! How did we like flames!
Shed light on cold faces, made warm little icy hands
when they rushed to set fire on woodbuilt castles
and turned gates and battlements into debris aflame and ash.
Scarlet, yellow, green, cyan-blue
distended, billowd, swelled,
manacing at any time a sudden outbreak.
Galaxies glittering were their sparks
expanded in bursts, wonder to eyes of lads.
On the walls real giants the affrighting shadows,
scarecrow moving accross corners, roof and floor,
figures fleshless seek and hide playing on our backs.
Ears of hares standing up, tails of weasels to and fro,
mouths of dogs and wolves gapping ready to bite,
projected hunting scenes to walls by our fingers intertwined.
How, how fancy to our eyes seemed those flames!
But seeing them languished, effaced, wiped out,
declined, extinguished no more flaring up,
ember, cinder the wood, melting in ashes grey,
in despair and silence was drawn th' inference
that for all things in the world
sometime it is time where there comes an end
to miracles gleaming.... in joy fair.
Sitting around the hearth on a wintry evening watching the tongues of flame leaping into the sky, the children's imagination also is set on fire. They enjoy it and watch it with endless curiosity. Even when they grow up, such scenes remain a sweet memory with them. As a child I used to enjoy those nights when my parents heaped the dry leaves and set fire to the heap as part of cleaning the compound. Against the flame, we too used to make figures of animals, especially barking dogs on the wall by twisting and holding our fingers in a particular way and position! The poem concludes with a salient truth that all things come to an end as the fire gets extinguished and turned into ash! Lovely childhood memories!
Ι was so pleased to hear, dear Lady, that you had the same experiences with the fire at home of our youth, especially with the practices used to project on the walls our fingers' the imageries.Thank you so much for the kind comment.
Flames from a child's innocent look! Everything looks different while we are young! Nice descriptions!
Hello, Leloudia. I do not see you active.Write...! Thank you.
I have always been fascinated by fire. Now, as when I was a youth, I can watch it eat, breathe, dance and reproduce for hours. This poem is a delightful and brilliantly descriptive view of the phenomenon and the wonder it inspires
Thank you, dear Kelly, for your generous words.Inspiration from youth's time with its nostalgia may lead to verses like these indeed.
Nice images and a memory with which most of us will identify.
Although, dear Barry, it offered some delight in the severe cold we use to face in cold winters, we were not fully protected by the fire we had.Rooms were too cold, wind blowed through different little openings , but we children could play even by projecting shapes on the walls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful poem with amazing imagery, and detailed description of childhood memories! A great poem to read this time of year!
Oh yes On Cristmas, when parents both at home, around the flames it was a great feeling.