Firelaken (a poem)

Sometimes when I write I write about how much trouble I’m having writing…

The made-up words are hard
to fit into context

Before you can describe something as firelaken
you have to decide what that is

My imagination is still on its extended vacation—
the stack of mail being held at the post office
must occupy a couple of warehouses by now

Funny thing about the impulse
how it requires fuel to function
but keeps running nonetheless
settling for regurgitation
and revelling in false starts and fragments

I was thinking about the large cats
chasing gazelles in the savannah
and how they can maintain their initial burst of speed
for only so long before they have to stop
regardless of whether they have caught their prey

I came to no conclusions

Instead I wondered:
Is it lions or cheetahs that I’m thinking of?

Marlon Perkins is no longer around to narrate
so I’m missing that crucial bit of information
until I remember which programme it was I was last watching

No, I don’t think firelaken fits here…

(30 December 2021)

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  1. Marlon Perkins, I remember that guy. I really enjoyed reading your poem. Carry on with your wordmaking.

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