Embers to Stars

Embers to Stars

On a still night, with ambient light
nothing more than flames rising
from ash and maple into thin smoke
that wafts upward in a loose spiral,
coaxed ever higher by glowing embers
that lie in the pockets between
those slowly settling logs,
we sit in a circle, feeling the warmth
seep into us as it pushes against
the chill pressing into our backs.

Talk of the day’s events behind us,
we gaze into the sky in awed silence,
a wordless communion blessed
by a blanket of stars, those flames
now as if nothing. Even as the fire
is reduced to embers, the night’s chill
has no effect, for what could rival
a brilliance that inspires the imagination,
kindling wonder that knows no bounds
as it blazes across the sky?

This poem is my response to Twiglet #273: across the sky.

Off prompt, but also shared with Day 8 at napowrimo.net.



There is dignity, even in hauling coal,
when masts stand tall with sails unfurled
as they hold the wind as their own.

But treacherous waters care not
for dignity when the wind howls
and waves rise to meet a bowsprit.
You drew the short straw in that lottery,
your life cut short after eighteen years,
your graceful lines no match
for the rocky shore that met them.

Within the shallows of that narrow bay
where you’ve lain for a century,
you know no wind, yet you have
a view of the sky that holds it,
so blue during days of calm, or darkened
gray when those winds swirl. The water
around you, cool in any season,
steals from you that rippled view
in winter, yet offers a cool blue light,
nearly electric, filtered through its icy ceiling.

And though we may walk above you
in your winter obscurity, we can still imagine
you as we might on ice-free days,
when, though your masts are gone,
you are still known as Sweepstakes, your lines
still graceful before the winds you held so dear.

This poem is my response to Misky’s Twiglet #259: cool blue.

I started scuba diving in 1981, and during the 1980s I made several trips to Tobermory, Ontario, and the Fathom Five National Marine Park. Twenty-two shipwrecks (and likely more) can be found in this underwater preserve where scattered islands create a hazardous passage into the Georgian Bay of Lake Huron. The two-masted schooner Sweepstakes, built in 1867, struck Cove Island in 1885 and was towed to Big Tub Harbor at Tobermory, where it sank in twenty feet of water. The shallow dive was always enjoyable, and I even made a trip to Canada to dive on it as a part of my Ice Diving certification.

Image source: screenshot from YouTube (Sweepstakes in the winter) ~~ click for larger view
Map source: Wikimedia Commons



Kansasas in not in
but you are

barely in
a reminder

wheels rolling
across plains
not so plain

hills rolling
from flint to smoke
at 75 miles per

grasshoppers nod
among remnants of wheat
in fresh-cut fields

destination, family
where words roll
in stories told

heat in the air
nothing compared to
warmth in the tales

with bonds
stronger than the hills
deeper than the bottoms

bonds now stronger yet
make parting
no easy task

hills, once more
until, finally
not there, anymore

A weekend trip took us to Kansas, where we celebrated Independence Day at a family gathering.

There’s nothing massive about the Flint Hills and the Smoky Hills of Kansas, but they still provide terrain with a striking view.

(Kansas City straddles the Missouri River and the Kansas-Missouri border.)

More travel for two weeks to visit family (starting Saturday) will means less time checking into WordPress.

Image: Library of Congress “a pumpjack, sometimes referred to as a ‘grasshopper’ oil pump because of its appearance”