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Odin odin@aflx.com

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Books
· Perceptions

· ECHOSIS

· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1

· 3 WAY MIRROR


Short Stories
· Patience Waning

· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)

· A Gentle Man

· Pacing Love's Journey

· Gratitude

· A Sticky Conversation

· Blazing Now and Then

· Vulnerable Captivity

· The Kite That Would Not Bow

· Time


Articles
· War and Peace

· Desperation Breeds Desperation

· Preference Manifest

· Innocent Guilt

· Barbed Isolation

· A Place...

· Sanity's Loss

· Organs Anonymous

· Fatuous Beyond Absurdity

· Truth is One


Poetry
· The Life-long Pernicious Evil

· Cherishing Sounds of Silence

· Understanding the Unexplainable

· Reality of Another Kind

· Finding Trust Again

· Aromalicious Memories

· A Jungle-rain Pastorale

· Sediment Within the Soul

· Life's Enormous Green Chest

· Roadkill Memoriam

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Flames

by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com

In an effort to stay informed, it seems our species of late is trying very hard to be its own worst enemy. Politics is just the tip of the iceberg, conservation thrown to the wind, fire, drought, flooding, melting, et al, feeding upon each other continues as inevitable. Writers may only have words to apply to the wounds. However effective, for me, the effort to cauterize the irresponsible flow with words seems to help address, if not correct, the sadness of it all. And yes, I too find a disturbing picture staring back at me at times. Try as we might, mirrors don't lie. (Image by Gedagles)

Friday, September 23, 2016


Poem Artwork
Flames
by Odin Roark

Can the world's flames be stopped?

Will all things soon perish
from rock to feather?

Humans…

Existing in a conflagration of time,
where matter and space
unknowingly seek accord with cosmic stability
ignoring their own swirling man-made flash fuels.

Unlike a venturesome camp fire,
stopping the mortal flames’acridity with stones,
heat begs awareness, within which
innate self destruction opts to dominate,
even as smoke-smothering consciousness
attempts to satisfy hunger
with a claim of choking sanity.

Still…

Like nature's carpet
of red and gold passions
smoldering at forest's edge,
some of us humanoids remain conscious,
while others remain insatiable,
blinded by the lack of oxygen to think
about one’s own demise,
the planet’s disappearance,
greed, ignorance and lust
consuming any thing…
Any Being.

Why is there so much yet for mortality to willingly learn?  


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Reviewed by Michael True
Reviewed on September 27, 2016
With lightening sparks to set the world ablaze can it be nothing less than some aboriginal god? And if so how can we ever think we are the boss of it? Perhaps you are suggesting we are not worthy of its mystery, forever playing with fire as if it were a toy.

Reviewed by Ronald Hull
Reviewed on September 24, 2016
Whether the fossil fuels burning or wildfires caused by human indifference, it does seem like we are rapidly burning our resources in the name of today or this year's profit. Maybe we can't stand what we see when we look in the mirror, and why we don't really look.

I've often stated that we are too ignorant, too childlike, to grow up and do the right thing. We will have shaken to our very core before we wise up.

Ron

Reviewed on September 24, 2016
yes, mirrors don't lie; what sometimes lie are our own eyes and ears, so long as they are living parts of our human vibration (formation). For this reason, politics occupy such a huge portion of our life. That's why 'there is so much yet for mortality to willingly learn.' Cheers, alex

Reviewed by Jansen Estrup
Reviewed on September 24, 2016
Those hell-and-brimstone preachers terrifying little children have sown a self-fulfilling prophecy for us-we've had a summer-long smoke-fest around here - devastating!!! Your choice of Gedagles' illustration fits perfectly ...

Reviewed by John Herlihy
Reviewed on September 23, 2016
Love your comment: "Mirrors don't lie." How true. As for the poem, yes, as in your title . . . "Flames". We seem to be going up in flame, watching the smoke in wonder. Your poem is reflective and sets the reader a-wondering. . . John


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