Tinder Box

I up and disappeared today

went out, like low burning embers

in a springtime bed of ashes.


I sizzled and hissed a little

then just waned without much fuss

I reckon a few cold folks


will miss me, and one or two

may even poke at the stove

to try and rekindle me


but I’m silent for five years

except here, inside this tinder box

where I nurture this flame


keeping it alive

for my day in the dry forest.

13 thoughts on “Tinder Box

  1. ozy,

    Thank you. Potential energy, law of convservation of energy and mass…you speaka my language. haha. I really hadn’t thought of it in that way, but absolutely. That’s the underlying idea of the piece!


    That’s true, one never knows. But five years seemed fitting since this poem follows on the heels of another one with that number. I guess I was thinking of it like a sequel…a poetic sequel. It works in novels [okay, I’m being goofy, I know, but everybody’s allowed to be goofy sometimes.]


  2. Rick,

    Thanks so much for finding your way back! Thank you for your encouraging words. I think I’ve told you but I love your paintings, especially the Nahuatl-like images, feel and color to many of your pieces. I like the originality and movement in them as well.


    I have had so little time to write lately. My father had a heart attack recently and helping him get back on his feet has been extremely time consuming and I suppose you know how demanding teaching can be this time of year. I do hope to write some over the next few weeks, especially in April when I get a spring break.

    As for forums, I haven’t been doing any. I honestly think that the best feedback I’ve received has been from folks like you on the blogs.

  3. My wife said something must have happened in your life–I do hope things get better for you and your father…yes the countdown is on and the pace picks up right about testing time–no forums–getting about 100+ hits a day on blog–see ya soon.

  4. i found your site awhile ago…lost it somehow…so now ive found it again havent i….

    Ambit noise; ambient.
    That finds a place amid the breathing.
    All those quiet proofs of life. Standing still
    In quiet contemplation ,
    of the Breath
    Sweet gasps
    To know it’s just… quick
    Proof of life
    And right
    To breathe


  5. Thank you, Rick.


    I’m so glad you found me here.

    Your reply is absolutely beautiful, very much a poem I completely enjoyed reading.


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