One man’s art

The match lights.

The newspaper sparks immediately —
the flame matching the intensity 
of the ink passionately spread through
a dozen stories — and dissolves into ash.

The infant flame crawls onto twigs.

I stand mesmerized by this transmutation:
words once poured over by anxious writers
now spilled into a fire as kindling, sweat 
burning into memories I’ve already forgotten.

The winds shift.

I rearrange the sticks to assist their demise,
wondering how many revisions — how many 
editors’ notes — were born before the news 
fanned out to a half awake audience.

The flames leap from twigs to logs.

I stare transfixed at the graceful movement
of the blaze (so gorgeous as it spasms
on this log, then another) effortlessly 
transforming timber into trifling confetti.

I find it poetic. 

My stomach screams an idea, an ephemeral epiphany 
I must immediately share for art’s sake,
enthusiastically published on pulp
and eventually catalyst for another fire.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #69: Kindle and Ragtag Daily Prompt: Scream.

18 thoughts on “One man’s art

  1. What an inspired write! All we are, create, eventually turns to ash. As I read, I thought of my first novel, written for my grade 8 English teacher – months of sleepless nights, toiling – accolades in the end – and then I burnt it, watching the pages and words transmute.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love this. Having lived in the Maine woods over 30 years back in the not
    too distant past, we had plenty of brushfires to clear trails and such. I’ve been a writer all my life, and I am ashamed to say none of these things ever occurred to me. But they surely will now! Well done.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Powerful and exquisite writing, as always–my fave pick: “words once poured over by anxious writers
    now spilled into a fire as kindling, sweat
    burning into memories I’ve already forgotten”…

    Liked by 1 person

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