Squatting Bouquet, a poem

A bouquet of flames
Squats within
A snug brick pit,
Spitting up hot,
Chimney-friendly gobs.

Sweet, smokey orange
Floats from the flames,
Painting the room in
A flickery glow,

No shadow
Able to

They prance through
The window,
Turning the outside’s
crisp, sleeping sheets
Of dove-white

Into a mad
Canvas of blood-like

The moon
Gazes below
Soon shooing these
Kids to bed.

The flames slither
Back into the pit,

The snow crumples
Into its sheets,

And the moon hangs
Its watchful eye
All through the night.


One thought on “Squatting Bouquet, a poem

  1. Pingback: Another Month’s Worth of Poetry (December) | Frambles

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