Crackle and whorl,
the fire casts shadow on her
within the chalet cave.
It echoes, misbehaves,
in a way, it speaks
of endless waves,
molten rowboats,
and they’re carried away,
drifting on the driftwood
of a flame.
A psychedelic dancer, rare,
of swirling yellow hair,
insane, a fast lane,
a supernatural slur,
rockabye fame in a
blue bed of frame,
forked tingles
tickle,toppling
legs and logs
of a flame.
Conspiring and willowing,
I can hear his
sails billowing,
gliding them way
on a river ablaze,
serpentine vine and
wheezing waterfall,
they experience landfall,
the intense incense
of a flame.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
Very creative descriptions!!
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Thank you. Haven’t been around a fire place in several years, so it was inspiring.
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A nice personification of fire, well done.
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Thank you very much. Enjoyed both the fire, and the lines of poetry that emerged. 😉
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It’s always good when we can find local inspiration 😊
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That first stanza is gorgeous. Perfect line breaks, like swaying hips.
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Thank you, Misky, for this great compliment. The flames can be like those hips sometimes, can’t they?
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Very much so.
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H.O.T. write, K.
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Thank you, Ron. Craving that fire now.
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