The Scent of Light

The Scent of Light

The power is gone. Again.
I’m muttering after candles,
scented,
scented, too many
scented.
Candlelight is a gauze
in this spectral darkness,
and the air stiff
enough to snuff-out a flame.
Scents, breathless rose
and beige wilderness,
a perishing smell,
greasy, ropey with ash
from the hearth with its low
glowing coals strangling red
like a famine’s ache, and I sit
in a tall-back chair
with patches on its cushion,
and its stripe ticking leaking
like a stuffed trout,
and how did people sit
in such gloom
and foul air, and spend
their eyes reading by candlelight.
The scent from the candles
grows sickly – my head aches.
I rattle windows open
to darkness and light rain
and faint wind, and watch
as one flame after
the other flickers,
recoils,
dies,
smokes,
droops to darkness, and then
the room is blind again.

 

 

Remixed from Charles Dickens “Bleak House” and my diary from March 1991

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The Happenstance of Candlelight

candlelight_19Jan15

The Happenstance of Candlelight

Candlelight can cause the walls to dance,
or so I once observed. Its beauty brought
the world to knees, innocent as fire.

Alone so tender, touching hearts, preparing
happenstance, that flame bright as morning
sun, it lights the universe. Glow deep

in hues of golden hair, softly hum a dance
of candlelight. Attentive hands shall warm,
attentive smiles I see. Shadows blend

surrounded light, ghostly motion caught
my path. Dance on, dance long, perpetual
light, reflecting motions slowing thoughts.

 

Inspired by Bleak House by Charles Dickens.