Reflected Fire

Burning, a lone candle
braves the breeze
along the quiet shore.
A wick of worries, his
questions flicker–so
convinced, so unsure.

Calm, the lake awaits
like a  lover combing
her hair in the mirror.
Come closer friend,
she coaxes the candle,
then you’ll see clearer.

She knows him well,
the best infact, and
and sees the wonder
of the candle at his best.
I want so much more
he admits only under

his breath. Look, she calls.
In her reflection he fully
expects a burned-out
fool, but no, a lighthouse
crowned with blazing fire
guides all round about.

I knew it, he shouts
and in awe, the candle
hovers over the shore.
Her smile reflects the light
but not the warmth, still
he loves her all the more.

But, why does this affection
wax cold? A drop, like a tear,
falls. But she loves me too,
would this flame really die
and dreams end? He knows
now what he must do.


Reflections on Poetry

Reading poetry is like
watching fireworks
over a body of water.

The water can be a river,
a stream, or a an icy lake,
even a nude beach will do.

I must be near enough
to lean over and see
myself reflected.

Poetry sparks images in the mind:

a Grecian urn, white
chickens, a red wagon,
an uninvited raven
perching on a bust
the torso of a broken
sculpture,a morning minion
buckling in flight.

They are so bright
these firecrackers
I can’t stare
straight on;
they must come

Each flash sheds
light on my likeness–
rippling now.
Looking into those
wavy eyes
listen for whispers
surfacing: You
are a liar. You
are a Hero. You
must change your life.

I see. I truly see.
If you find me
at the water’s edge,
we’ll find
sunken treasure
down deep
in the heart
of the cold waters.

Do I dare drink?
The water is dark,
will I swallow
the vivid sparks
whole? Will I ever
be the same? Or
will I get drunk on
this poetic river
and start sparking
fireworks from my
open mouth?