The Fire


In the cooling air of the lingering dusk,

the flames from the fire-pit clawed higher

The steps to the wood-rack, heavy and slow,

retrieving more fuel for the pyre

Each log, as it’s placed, sends bright sparks in the air,

chasing tendrils of wispy grey streaks

Glowing coals painting pictures within the mind’s eye,

crackling sounds of the fire as it speaks.


Soft shadows on faces, in the flickering light,

twist features from memories grasp

The warmth from the front, the cold on your back,

go together like a lock and its hasp

Like a magnet for friendship, the heat and the light,

the bond of the fire binds us all

An emotional forge, whose hammer rings out,

in a timeless and deep natural call.

James Geehring

I am an observational poet, fascinated with the wonders of life. I have worked many years with my hands and now hope the work of my mind pleases


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