I do not write poems often. When I do, the ones that rhyme are usually silly ones or do not rhyme well. My rhythms are not schooled or honed. When I write like this, most of the times I do is because I am trekking trudging questing wading through a valley. Here is a shadow of last year:


--a premature confession--

some dark, glowing coals--quietly burning but very, very Alive
sit deep inside the soul
and fester
are waiting silently, shamefully, underneath the cover of polite, insecure
Skin of body and ashes.
skin and ash keep it hidden and restrained from revealing itself to full daylight
where, in roaring upon the body of ash--comes to the surface and
cathartic'ly twitches
mutates into flames.
Relieving the ash of the seething, burning fires within itself,
this Kraken lets loose a rage that rids the world above it of new wood
fresh sap is turned to bubbling, boiling tar that appears as glass skeletons
trees turn to naught but black scaffolds.
From a distance, it looks out of place
something doesnt click
for we cannot see the twisted flesh from far away
to those who know him, though, the fire has scorched them too.
They know about these Krakens, who do not die
upon confession.
But the ash thinks itself cool and sweet--for it knows only itself
ignores the pleading, groaning, cracking of the oaks and elms
thinks not of the truth and grace of the forests
but now the ash is selfishly comfortable
a wide gape-toothed grimace (thinks it is a pleasing smile)
invites others to share in his orgy of ignorance
his shame is his glory
and we are repulsed.

-copyright 2002

I welcome ideas to better the poem, but it isn't going in for publication or anything so I would much more welcome your thoughts on the content rather than the form. thanks for taking the time to read it : )