The colour of a flame—
we might have surmised that
what we are, our essence,
is flammable substance,
skin of wild pea flowers,
a yellow flecked by red,
a furze, its ember grit
scented like coconut;
fire that leaps like fever
across our skin, crossing
our borders then to spread
(reports declaim) faster
than torch-bearing sprinters,
taking the river town,
several forest parks,
the mountains, then south;
burn scars left in its wake,
from the start to the finish,
as though flammable thought
had lit a pathway home,
scorching parts of the land
the gorse had covered once.
David Mohan is based in Dublin. He has been published in Agenda,
Stand, Acumen, New Walk, The Cincinnati Review, Spoon River Poetry
Review, Poetry Salzburg Review and The Interpreter’s House. He has won
the International Cafe Writers’ Poetry Competition.
Stand, Acumen, New Walk, The Cincinnati Review, Spoon River Poetry
Review, Poetry Salzburg Review and The Interpreter’s House. He has won
the International Cafe Writers’ Poetry Competition.
Latest posts by David Mohan (see all)
- Gorse Fire - 16th December 2020