Seventeen years ago
a roar engulfed
the singing pines -
countless breaths exhaling
the needle sting of smoke.
They stood in shredded funeral garb
flinging glowing ember flowers
onto us below.
They witnessed our
syncopated falling
and the operatic scream
of twisting steel,
the cymbal crash
of exploding windows.
We knelt prostrate
before the fire
bowed and broken:
an army in black surrender.
Up on the hill, now
between the sleek sheets
of glistening modernity
and long embedded gardens,
I am still here.
The run-away grass
(that feathered doom)
tickles my concrete pad.
The triad tongues
of fire, water & tanin
have left printed shadows
and the jagged prod
of steel beams into nothing
is my toothy skyline.
The house that was.
The House at No. 3
Published
Out of the Cave 
Well written description of an occurrence which is becoming all too frequent.😒
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed. 😢
LikeLiked by 1 person
Terrifying and utterly tragic.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes. The fire this talks about swept through some suburbs of Canberra in 2003. Everyone who was here has stories to tell about that day. The fires arrived so quickly. The city wasn’t prepared.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Re-read this several times – so vivid in colour, form and sound.These lines especially struck me
“The triad tongues
of fire, water & tanin
have left printed shadows”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Laura. Glad you liked it. A very interesting prompt.
LikeLike
This is exquisitely composed …. wow.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, Helen!
LikeLike
You do a good job of showing us what the experience was like to be that close to a raging and killing fire. I imagine the pine tar is very flammable and made it even worse. This sounds so terrifying:
“flinging glowing ember flowers
onto us below.”
I’m sorry you lost your house but am so happy you survived.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for your kindness. But this was not my house. I saw the burned remains on a walk with the dog and was shocked that, 17 years later, the site remains untouched, while around it people have rebuilt grander and more modern houses. I was in Melbourne that January day… actually I was on a bushwalk in the Dandenongs (mountains, unless you’re Billy Connelly. 😂). But I remember it well because my boyfriend – now husband was in Canberra and I was surprised he hadn’t called me for my birthday). When I found the reason, I was just glad he was okay.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You imagined it very well. What a haunting reminder for the neighbors that the site remains untouched! I’m glad he was safe through the fire.
Frank Prem wrote a book about the wildfires in Australia a few years back, poems based on conversations he had with survivors. It’s called, “Devil in the Wind.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh yes!! Somebody else told me about that and I did find one of his poems online. It was extremely haunting!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
wow! full of sound and fury; excellent —
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, John! 🙂
LikeLike
this poem unravels so well!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love how your ghost is the house itself, its voice woven of fire’s memory in what was left. A tragedy for the occupants but something wider or longer or both for the space once domicile now weeds. I immediately thought of the small village in Idaho where my first wife grew up, a space in a field where there was only the foundations of a house that burnt decades ago. What a voice to hear and how well you channel it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Brendan. Abandoned houses are definitely are sad and spooky places.
LikeLike
This is so topical and evocative. There are so many of these fire scarred and destroyed houses now. Our Australian fires last year and those around the world this year suggest many more to come. We thought we were accustomed to it, but now it is scary on a whole new level.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It really is. It really really is.
LikeLike