Kindled
Firewood in a pile of seared deadfall
from a big fire over a decade ago.
Cut down to stove length then thrown
like stones toward the old mule trail.
One big round splits down to the knot.
The stuck axe will not go further.
-sharp smack- report from the maul
drives the wedge deeper with every blow.
Can cold coals set new wood aflame?
Broken open clockworks of ring kept time
ask in an ageless voice, a slow complaint.
A shard from one of the half burned splits
has become lodged in my book.
It opens
to a fresh almost new section. In my own
early hand one word, in a smear of charcoal. Yes
8 thoughts on "Kindled"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Beautiful poem Coleman. Its rhythm really works. I like how you are weaving your daily life in the woods into your work. I’m thinking of poets such as Gary Synder. It’s fun to read the growth of your work during LexPoMo.
It’s Snyder actually. I’ll dig out one of his books and share it with you.
That surreal turn at the end is dramatic and also, a relief.
I love especially the detail about the knot in the wood being too hard for the ax
Like:
Cut down to stove length then thrown
like stones toward the old mule trail.
Especially like the question.
Can cold coals set new wood aflame?
and the ended is perfect:
early hand one word, in a smear of charcoal. Yes
What a finely woven poem. The question and answer work so well, too.
Really like this excellent work, especially the last stanza.
Thanks Coleman. As one who cuts and splits firewood for home & shop
I appreciate the heft of this. “Broken open clock works of ring kept time.”
Now there’s a Great line.