A poem I wrote after visiting Pompeii. The poem should be centred - see the version at
http://www.susanwatkin.wanadoo.co.uk/Poetry%20Vulcan%20Awakes.htm I have not yet added my poetry to my Lulu wikidot website [mentioned below]

VULCAN AWAKES



"rivers of lava leaping sporadically in luminous jets like

lightning, with red-hot stones hurled out. The reflection formed

a brilliant light on the clouds, resembling the aurora borealis

girdled by a thick of smoke." Eyewitness account of 1754

Vesuvius eruption.







The wind is whistling round

and biting through my skin.

The sun is shining strong

and burning my skin.

The snow is beating down

and numbing my skin.

On Vesuvius.

Today.

Crusts and crumbs and clusters

of volcanic rock

go tumbling under my feet

as I clamber up this portentous volcanic cone

Quiet today

save for the sound of climbing and slithering tourists.

The summit once a long way off approaches.

A massive crater.

Of silence.

Here and there the odd wisp of smoke oozes out

Crowned by one continuous white belch.

Otherwise you are quiet today.

A strange feeling standing on debris

jettisoned from the bowels of the earth.

During which eruption did you emerge?

But go back.

Go back.

The kettle boils

The fire burns

The sea is in turmoil

The sky is black

The earth is shaking

Vulcan is waking.

Tossing and turning 'neath sheets of rock on a molten mattress of fire.

And thrashing and lashing 'gainst stone walls of containment

His breathing heart and pumping lungs

move faster.

Stronger,

Uncontainably,

Uncontrollably.

Vulcan awakes with a yawn of ashes.

And a sneeze of upwards evacuation

Multiplied millionfold.

The ashes towered into the sky

And parasolled out

Like a mammoth fir tree

Angels of death danced on the branches

The demons of devastation deluged down

In an avalanche on Pompeii.

The tears that fell that day

were not the tears of Christ.

Raindrops fell like bullets

And hailstones like bombs.

Citizens fled to shelter

As the storm increased

And showed no signs of ceasing.

Yet the day is brightening,

Though the clouds are black,

Becoming yellow.

Fumes of sulphur

and acrid smoke

fill the air.

The downpour is thickening.

To ashes

Wet yet growing hotter and hotter

The roof cannot hold much longer.

is cracking.

A flood of cinders

A sea, an ocean of smouldering embers

And molasses of mud

Are burying me alive.

I cannot move

or breathe

or see.

I just hear the thundering roar of Vesuvio.

"Another body in the lava here. Got some plaster.....Great!

Another cast."

The tears of ashes are still falling

Thick and heavy.

And cold?

Hailstones of today.

The debris thundered down on Pompeii that fateful day

of destruction.

Today we look back on that eventful day

of preservation.