The Fire Rekindled.

A poem

Photo by Andre Foseca on Unsplash

Burning my heart soul brain. Scorching page thoughts so fast smoke wisps through words. Blazing.

Sometimes, I miss the 90s.

Notebooks and espresso bars. Writers conference bragging rights. The fire reminds me. Remembering.

Natalie Goldberg, Alan Ginsberg, Annie Proulx

and I

walk into a hotel conference room.

I catch fire.

Flaming creation blossoms roaring raging forests of blooming words. Painting writing art music flows smoking or shooting. Escaping.

Way back in the 90s.

That fire my fire suffocated by time and trauma and drugs and betrayal. Snuffed so no idea trees would grow back green and lush with thought and meaning. Soul fire dowsed under waves of narcissism. Disguised.

One tiny spark hiding. Burning coal banked in the deepest recess of subconscious mind heart soul. Waiting.

Sometimes I miss the 90s.

Grunge and youthful beauty zooming creating burning through my 20s into my 30s new millennium. Ageing.

Love oxygen blowing fanning accepting the tiny spark fire. Rekindling. Growing maturing raging flames fertilize the thought forest burning my heart soul brain.

2019 and I don’t have to miss the 90s.

The fire rekindled.