house on fire

flames appear
out of somewhere
in one minute
a licking flash and burst
into a small inferno
in two minutes
the ceiling catches fire
everything in the room
is burning
engulfed by fire
in four minutes
most of the house
is flaming
small explosions
fill every space
in six minutes
within that obstinate crackle
horror and conflagration
the entire structure
engulfed by fiery destruction
flames shooting
out of shattered windows
broken by small explosions
blaze fueled by tinder
and scattered ammunition
rupturing the gates of hell
in six and a half minutes
a gutted woman
bursts out
tumbling out
of her front door
in the next
instant
she runs back in
broken people gathering
in the token street
yelling for her
to please come out
another fifteen seconds
the woman emerges
falling down
those steep front stairs
crumpling to the ground
sobbing and hysterical
this is her home
in eight minutes
the two story house
is completely afire
that poor woman panicking
surely others manic
clearly neighbours
maniacal yelling
gathering onlookers
calling for someone
who is lost somewhere
in the burning building
another four minutes
the doomed house
is totally consumed
with rising flames
with raging fire
in thirteen minutes
the first police car
arrives with lights flashing
another two minutes
somewhere in the distance
a fire truck is screaming
rumbling towards the blaze
in fifteen minutes
after that first uncompromising flame
the first stomping fire truck
arriving to this tragic scene
clomping firemen are slow
pulling their limp hoses
like fumbling puppets
on crisscrossed strings
another stumbling minute
creeping crawling by
tangled time stops
universally still flying by
finally a gurgle and a trickle
water down a twisted garden hose
spraying from the first
thumping fire truck pump
the house is lost
someone inside
choked by smoke
fire wins again
consumed within those walls
someone burned
now dead
what could have been
should a forgotten candle
become a misbegotten wind
instead this crying disaster
those dreadful seconds
amount to lacking moments
precious raging minutes
apprising this catastrophic count
endless reckless inferno time
with its crazy feckless lustre
fire with its explosive bluster
infernus with its shocking crime

                 * * *

 

Haiku Monday

there are chairs in hell
but nobody sits on them
cushions aren't allowed

             * * * 

Nirvana loves soul
while heaven worries for as
thus this falling snow

            * * * 

God fed us diamonds
prayers did not relieve us
we spewed toxic waste

            * * *

 

we try so hard
trying to reach the top
sometimes on guard
wanting to turn around or stop
so many difficult years
trying to climb the tallest peak
if only we could be prophets or seers
knowing what it is we truly seek
sometimes we stumble and fall
there are those times
when we can't even speak
those trying times
we don't know anything at all
a few of us those lucky ones
learn to fly and seldom stall
so many lives
both daughters and sons
are blinded and confused
by some tragic pall
if God could see us now
standing here alone
if the world could be
honest with us somehow
running in circles
trying to find a home
wishing we could be perfect
those times we don't
pick up the phone
to hear what that other
person has to say
those moments
they come and go
we wonder if success and love
could ever stay
but the world
is so big and scary
so often our hearts
want to wander and stray
and if we think
we've reached the top
we could still go blind
we could still fall and flop
such is life
I heard someone once say
and we all eventually know
love cuts like a knife
we all eventually see
that hard times and love
changes our lives
sometimes we bleed
sometimes we fail
other times
we get what we need
if we can only survive
somehow continue to prevail
but reaching the highest peak
is really just a hope and a dream
real life is so often
too hard and too bleak
once we think
we've achieved something
we too often discover
life and success isn't what it seems
sweet honey turns bitter
true love is a dream

                 * * *

 

rage draws red lines
across fields of old snow
all those staged insistent signs
new blood spills freely
nobody really knows truth
as far as truth and propaganda go
everything is uncouth calamity
so with this late winter storm
bombs and death raining down
a low front with a morbid stench
frozen dead men are splayed
along with insolence in ragged trenches
exposed corpses displayed like stoic mosaics
torn and reposed in bitter tank tracks
forlorn as far as anything could know
everything is stark insanity
dark Orcs commanded to not think
ordered to attack and perform
hope and honour long dead now
only butchery and hate remains
so the hateful story always goes
these distasteful frigid times
of incorrigible destruction and incessant war
those despots making plans and more
guardedly perched in some far-off luxury spa
ensconced in some covert gold leaf mansion
drinking American whiskey and Russian vodka
quaffing heads off glasses full of zealous froth
crazed and polluted by war crimes and torture
drunk on barrels of ice cold Guinness draft
so much political need and monetary greed
so much for peace or rightful forfeiture
this war thought and heartless creed
deemed as military craft
while guts and blood
leave red hues on frozen fields
rearranged brains splattered
chewed up in shattered woods
blinded innocence and murder
litter torn up villages and city streets
so now survival is mere existence
how can hope weather another tragic winter storm
when there is no peace or compromise
now armed resistance is the crippled norm
how can forgiveness and hope ever rise
all those echoing cries from hapless dead
all these acerbic horrid bits and acidic acrid ashes
left by artful war's destructive stead

                          * * *

 

in the end
darkness won
stars and suns
exploded in a violent fury
creation disintegrated
everything and everyone
into a mix of River Styx slurry
black holes consumed themselves
heaven related and relented
into that hellish well
no high or low sound
any and all screams and yells
profundity relinquishing profound
silenced in that final violence
everything had been released from hell
so much for solace and insolence
even too those hell hounds fell
losing all their shameful bite and howl
lest there be less
even more horrid somehow
accompanying this tragic mess
all surrender was lost
taking all in all
with that abhorrent din
forever and always
wasted in that violent fall
forever and eternity
was finally done
all creation was lost
along with infinity
what a catastrophic cost
neither care or sense
was done and done
no less it was not perfunctory
for darkness was truly first and last
God was sucked in
as emptiness was the final cast
into that destroyed void
both future and past
were unemployed
so darkness
in the very end
had finally resolved
virtually all invention and creation
yet not by conclusive invitation
nor recompense or constitution
in the definitive end
disengaging institution and absolution
everything was gone
in the ultimate end
ignorant darkness finally won
totality was done and done

                   * * *

 

when God comes
to pluck out our eyes
when God comes
to cut out our tongues
when God comes
to puncture our eardrums
when God comes
to tear out our hearts
when God comes
to tell us how wrong we've been
we will see
in a certain light
we will speak
knowing soul is right
we will hear
lightning in the sky
we will love
since heart and soul provide

               * * *

 

those profiteers
those prophets
those profitless
numbers in equations
those things I recall
some of those
I wish weren't true
I don't like those thoughts
thinking Sylvia is dead
why can't beauty remain forever
or are memories
meant to make us cry
all those things
making us wonder why
those profiteers
those prophets
those profitless
making history
mysteries mixed with complex
gathering wheels and round things
things that spin and turn
completing creation's cyclic vortex
this current circle
spinning fervent memories
we always return
fire and water
those prayers
the sum of things
such a profit
smoke and mist
amen and amen
so the prophets say
those profiteers
profitless
what would they say
memories of wealth
all those numbers
prospective health
all those prophets
what to do
hold fire in our souls
hold water in our lives
sacred profit
such a joyful kind
with love
renewing our hearts
filling our minds

            * * *