Poetry by Jeff Green



by cricketjeff on March 16, 2010.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

Midwinter, round a bonfire, with a sausage on a stick,
And toes like ice, and cheeks as hot as toast.
One side’s as black as cinders, if you haven’t got the trick,
But that’s the sausage taste I love the most.
The gold and yellow dancers made their magic in the smoke,
While we small boys blew harder and pretended not to choke.

A glass of wine and romance, cuddled closer on the rug,
We looked for shapes like lovers in the flames.
Pretending life was golden, drinking brandy from a mug,
While eyes were teased by firelight’s sultry games —
The logs went snap and crackle as they warmed our naked skin
And embers glowed their brightest as they watched a life begin.

The belly of a steam train glows like Hades into night,
A dragon’s roar explodes across a glen.
The viaduct stands ghostly in the Moon’s sepulchral light,
An element in service of mere men.
The coal keeps glowing brighter and the smoke and steam escape,
Past sleeping farms and cities while the cows munch on and gape.

Too many people running from the roaring through the street
And engines charging back against the flood.
The bravest men must battle till the flames are in retreat
And lives are left as ruins in the mud.
Magnificent and brutal as it rips through roof and wall,
A fire that’s uncontested shows the mightiest their fall.

The words are sad and joyous, we are here to say goodbye;
Though truth would say you left a week ago.
The curtains close to music and your friends and lovers cry,
The final end is never put on show.
A furnace takes your body far from where we mourners see,
The flames the final ending of a race to simply be.

Author notes

Sort of spiritual in a rather Jeffish way I guess, reflective anyway. Elemental