July 10th – Today we are huddled around the campfire. We are swapping stories. We are listening to the sounds around us. We join in a song or two. Or we look at the flames and just clear our heads and dream. Write about fire. Or marshmallows (the s’more, the merrier). Ash and sparks. Or an internal flame! Think campfire and tell us what the image inspires inside you!
STAYING ON THE TRAIL
July 6 – HELLO MUDDAH, HELLO FADDAH
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
10 CAMPFIRE
Within the burning coals we
seek to find anew that
one hot, hidden spark
that erupted
Igniting
our first
love.
Marjory M Thompson 2014
Love it; fires come in all forms…..
So true, Glad you like it Wm
How beautifully romantic.
Oh, I agree
🙂
Camp fires can do that Viv. 🙂
satisfaction in the RIGHT form. (saying from the ads about the new TV show)
I do like good form. Thanks D, 🙂
WALT, I love the July PAD and it’s subject matter. My schedule is just not letting me get posted what I do write, Hopefully I will get them all in place before the end of the month. I loved camping it was a big part of my growing years. Thank you especially for your ‘passing on your mom’s comments about Typ-o’s.’ … 🙂
IN THE OPEN
A cold night
and stars high-bright
and campfire burning low
make summer in the mountains feel
like nothing else is quite so real.
The universe can flow
across the sky
while here I lie
as embers leach their glow.
copyright 2014, William Preston
This is pure poetry! I love it.
Absolutely breathtaking words – my all time favorite of yours… so far
Can I join you in the mountains? I miss Colorado
Sooo Relaxing. Great job Wm
[…] response to a camp fire prompt at Creative Bloomings, which had my head buzzing with songs from long ago, to most of which I can […]
This prompt fired up a load of old memories ot happy singsongs: http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2014/07/10/campfires-burning/
This is a delight, and I’m not going to forget “ging gang goolied.”
Like Wm said – DELIGHTFUL.
Awakened
Laughter, jokes, singing, debate
around a pleasant, friendly fire
now it is late
night collapsed upon itself
gentle, hushed, reverent.
I stare into the flames as
a pleasant lassitude settles in
and see nothing but
the hissing, hungry flames
darting, dancing,
swirling, twirling
in wild abandon
igniting a fire
in my tepid heart
a fury
to be that free
unrestrained
burning with passion
at the joy of being.
For me, your poem mimics the sounds and action of a campfire with the sequence, “darting, dancing, / swirling, twirling.” Wonderful work.
a whole life in one night’s fire. beautiful
Hypnotizing….just want to flow with it.
GOOD MORNING, SUN
Gold coin in the vast sky,
You don’t fool me one bit.
All day you spew fire
In your galactic neighborhood
To impress all those rock spheres
Floating like ornaments,
Attending the birth
Of still another new day.
How you strut your blazing stuff
Down the cakewalk sky!
The bravado you show:
Is it meant to impress us?
We of this green planet,
We of the wooded forests
And the cool blue oceans,
We know you are lonely.
#
I love this, especially “How you strut your blazing stuff / Down the cakewalk sky!”
cakewalk sky! I love it! Yes, how we take the miracles of the universe for granted.
Smile..
A LOVE POEM IN JULY
True love can set
two hearts on fire,
forge within the flames
pure golden happy lives,
but love must stay true,
keep its distance from deceit.
Two hearts must beat as one
yet remain always two,
and lovers to survive
must love God more than
each other and walk in His Light,
be totally consumed within
a conflagration that true love
ignites for all eternity.
#
a lovely poem of joy and commitment and faith. Your wife (I assume) is lucky to have you
(Poem w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)
Smoldering
I see him there
in firelight’s glow
Those eyes burning
And I want to know
More, so much more
And where, where
this will go.
I love this, dual images and all.
William, thank you!!
shivers of beauty
Wow, Thank You, Darlene!!
OH, Hen, memories are so haunting. love this.
Thank You, M!! I’m so glad to see you here again 😀 !!
SCORCHED EARTH POLICY
Condescending diatribe,
incendiary words meant to consume
the essence of all in its path.
A logical progression
in the succession of all things in sight.
Leaving nothing behind,
an endless string of pathos and heart,
a man who could fashion line,
chapter and verse, and what’s worse,
stand by his convictions to rise
above the smouldering ashes,
proverbial phoenix of passion’s pyre.
The fire within becomes his sin,
leaving nothing in his wake,
taking stock of every nuance
of worded profundity, the undoing
of a finely crafted association,
no celebration; no elation.
Just the station to which he has
himself resigned. For in his mind,
he holds the flint that will spark
his survival; a revival. He will not
look back lest he turn to salt.
Poetic Gomorrah is burning.
He will not fan the flames.
Just let the bastard burn and walk away.
(C) Walter J Wojtanik, 2014
The cascade of elevated expression had me thinking that some sort of surprise would be waiting, and I wasn’t disappointed” the last is a real punch line. Love it.
the fire within becomes his sin . . .so true of so many of us.
Walt, you say a lot and cover a lot. Well done.
CAMPFIRE SECRETS
Weary eyes squint out of focus
staring into the blazing campfire
in search of signs,
portents perhaps of the future
the way Superman’s x-ray vision
pierced steel walls
or the dark muscovian eyes
of Rasputin held the czarina’s gaze
What am I looking for?
Marshmallow buildings up in flames
reveal what to me?
The owl above us in the trees
hoots a plaintive song of night
or of things to come?
Are the fires consuming the branches
gentle ocean waves or Hell-beckoning fingers?
Jimmy Hogan says he has one more
spine-tingling tale to tell
but I half-listen, still caught up
in the hypnotic swirl of the campfire.
“Where is my head?” asks Jimmy’s beast.
“Who stole my head?” he asks, touching each of us.
As the fires begin to take on what feels like someday,
Hogan pokes my chest, screams in my ear, “YOU!”
#
I jumped with you. Well done.
The Near-Sighted Firefly
Although quite blurred, he saw a flame
and figured that was where he’d aim.
But strangely, ‘round the glow were sounds
that sounded human. That confounds,
he thought, but nonetheless, he came
much closer to the heat and light.
Poor lightning bug with myope sight.
[When one flies into blazing fire,
one’s consequences could be dire –
he needed intervention, right?]
So…near the campfire, someone laid,
mistakenly, a vision aid.
A pair of glasses had been dropped
and it was here the firefly flopped.
The lenses showed that he had strayed –
but just before he flew away
good Karma he did thus repay.
The kid who lost her ‘helpful’ specs
now found them since bug-light reflects.
And that’s our campfire take-away.
###
Oh, how much fun this story is
So true. 🙂
This is another of your delights. The idea of a near-sighted insect is hilarious anyway, but one with Karma? Wonderful!
‘Round the Campfire
We strum
We sing
We’re doing the sing-a-long thing
The fire
Getting’ higher
As we join in a somewhat odd choir
It’s the evening campfire time
Singing songs with lines that all rhyme
Don’t really care who’s off key
It’s praise time, can’t you see
The girls
And the boys
In a circle making some noise
Fire burns
Sparks fly
As we all sing “Sweet Bye and Bye”
At Bible Camp at the end of each day
We’d sing, we’d talk, and we’d pray
And think what our lives were all about
As we waited for the fire to burn out
© 2014 Earl Parsons
I’m singing along
That is so full of nice memories. Thanks.
I think this is charming.
Here again is my attempt at humor. . .you can probably guess why I have called myself “humor-challenged.” Thank Bambi for my phobia.
SPARKS
Campfires bring different mem’ries to mind
Eat burn-black marshmallows, sing songs that bind
Not me! Not me! Rainless Southwest
Under burn ban, and fire’s a pest
Sparks, once my name, I changed without regret
Not me! Not me! Campfire sparks are a threat
Yes, fire is so very frighting in those circumstances!
Yes. I looked at the poem and realized I hadn’t written what I imagined–poking fun at myself for being afraid of fire. I should write another one. . .
Actually, I did take it that way; “Sparks” did it.
Thanks, William, glad it worked!
[…] Creative Bloomings- GRANADA CAMP FOR WAYWARD POETS – CAMPFIRE […]
Spirit Kindling
The meadow is silent but for the sound of crickets
and the hollow echoing croaks of pond frogs.
The night is dark but for the sky lit of stars
and the frequent blinking lights of fireflies afield.
My soul is still but for the constant awe rising
and the ever-glowing ember of inspiration igniting.
Nature’s way is written in lengths of lavender
purple plumes set the scene aflame with beauty,
wildflowers grace the stage in surges of color
and their scent on summer breeze is consuming.
Blooming and fading they’ll each take their turn,
fading and making space for the next set of glory.
A story unfolds in intricate layers everyday
it’s written in crickets, stars and fireflies –
it’s scripted in soul-stirrings and blooming.
Lavender scented memories plant poignantly
light and lushness seed one’s spirit deeply
and I’m set ablaze again by the brilliant season.
AND…
Little Light Bearers
Tiny harbingers of luminescence guide my path tonight,
small lamp of great delights remind me to breathe as a child –
full of wonder and awe for a simple gift blinking in the night.
Fill me forever with your treasure that I might see with eyes afire,
that I may be fervent for life, thank you, Little Light Bearers.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
I love the little light bearers. . .
I think these have the ambience and soothing caress of meditations. Lovely.
At The Campfire
Dragon moon, half awake
gleaning my sleepy attention
as I watch feisty kindling flames
maneuver their soaring imagination
The dance of light and dark
amplifying night time velvet burn
that flits and flirts with an inky flare
encompassing an embracing enthrall
Nascent stirring sparks
fly on invisible broomsticks
into goose bumps of owl stories
dousing them in gossamer laughter
There is an ochre sacredness here
smoldering logs and cravings of frogs
an unpretentious hewn warming of souls
a common ground crackling away at layers
Look there, swirling in phantom smoke
out there, glistening in purple fronds
between that half-lit dreamy glaze
there blows an ashy hint of you!–
line after line here makes me sigh for pure beauty . . . and that terrific closing line . . .beautiful
This draws a lovely gossamer picture, even though the last line stunned me a bit.
Sorry this is so late. I’ve been a bit tied up today. Here’s my little offering for today.
Fire’s Heart
Flames dance a jig
of joy for their release,
winding upward toward
starlit darkened skies.
In fire’s heart lay ingots
of red-gold coals fueling
the heat, the life,
releasing dreams for flight.
Claudsy, as a newcomer to poetry, I enjoy shorter poems to the point, and I love this one!
I agree
Around the Campfire
Around the campfire, we breathe in smoky air.
The flames dance up and down, as if they have no care.
We toast marshmallows and hotdogs on long and pointed sticks,
watching orange and yellow tongues get in their fiery licks.
Then we load our flimsy plates with goodies brought to share.
We watch with fascination, from each folding chair,
twigs, paper, plastic cups meet their end right there.
It’s how we sometimes get our kicks,
around the campfire.
And when red embers glow, we dare
tell scary stories or sing with flair.
With words and melodies we transfix,
when gasps and laughter oddly mix,
till we have no more time to spare,
around the campfire.
I love this form, and you did a superb job with it, in my opinion.
Burnt Marshmallows
The flame flares higher,
grab a stick.
Push top through
center of marshmallow, wait.
When singed to black, eat.
Hmmmmm…what if it melts?
That’s the trick
That is the trick! It has to retain its crispy outside, and melt into your mouth.
🙂 Ya got that down pat.
[…] Written for creative Bloomings Day 10, Campfire […]
Before the Last Star Fades Away
We sit by the campfire
telling stories, singing,
sharing our adventures of the day
but slowly we disappear
one by one
as sleep beckons,
until
I’m the last man sitting
gazing at the dance
between smoke and flame
and I’m metaphorically drawn
to compare life’s relationships
to the dance before me
even while my brain is
slowly hypnotized by the
soothing arcs and bends
and I let life fall away
as I become complacent
with the dying dance before me.