Poem: Flowing Flame

Flowing flame

Interchanging, interchanged

Standing still and flickering forth

like raindrops

from eyelashes


Sparks that are shed

With every tongue’s slash

Through the air

Caress my skin

Set light to my hair.

Shouts on high and

Thoughts far below

The surface of the ember’s

burning glow

Dance in the fire

The meek and the blind

While I stand and wait

For their touch to climb.


High ’round hands

Higher, ’round feet

Standing with my fingers

Atop coals meant for me

Trees sway high

And I sway low

Listening to the fire

As it draws to a close.


Its tongue touches skin

And leaves me brown

Its fingers wrap hair

And leave a smooth crown

Its eyes burn to mine

Leaving black holes behind

The fire swallows all

of me

All that I am

And to the glowing black ash

Sinks the ember

of my mind.


Startled wide awake

And staring at a flame

Which teases at my toes and tickles at my frame

I feel its faint call

That it’s eager to caress

And standing all at once

I take leave of my dress

I strip it from my frame and toss it down

to the flame

Til naught upon my body but my skin

Does remain

Roaring in frustration

The fire jumps high

Sweeping burning fingers up

‘cross the sky

I stand straight

naked before the heat

before turning my back

And beating my retreat




One foot before the next

To my home and my bed

And a long awaited rest.


©2014 Sam Oliver (Eris)


Guys! I did another one! That’s three in a row!

Golly, that’s a lot of poetry this week alone. The flow of this one feels right, I think. Can’t imagine why I’m fixated on fire. It’s not like I’m a pyromaniac. My younger sibling is, but I sure as heck ain’t. Fire is scary! I guess it’s just neat symbolism or something. So yeah, this is my contribution to surreal poetry for the day. Enjoy.



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