Green Flames
Author: Stephen Whiteside
The best thing about this poem, I think, is the title. I was really chuffed when I thought of it!
Again, this was written during that period when I was not feeling especially committed to four line verses. I must admit, I’ve swung back again. I do really like them, and I think the reader generally does, too.
Green Flames
When winter comes, we light warm fires to help relieve the gloom.
We have a cosy fire-place inside our living room.
The petrol station sells big bags of neatly chopped-up wood,
But daddy will not purchase these. He says they are no good.
He says they come from forests. He says it isn’t right
Consuming native habitat to keep us warm at night,
And so he scours the neighbourhood for little woody piles
Standing on the nature strip. He sees one, and he smiles.
He parks, and opens up the boot, and stacks it in the back
Or, of the piece is very long, he’ll lash it to the rack.
I see the merit in his plan. I know it makes good sense,
Saving all those animals, and saving, too, expense.
But still, it feels a little odd to mine this free resource.
I feel I am a beggar, thought I know I’m not, of course.
And when we’re home, dad saws it up, and chops it down to size.
This is what he most enjoys. It’s like he’s won the prize.
We have a mighty varied mix of firewood out the back;
Gum trees, wattles, plum trees, pine trees all make up the stack.
Exactly what we’re picking up, we often cannot tell.
Our cosy fire gives off at times a most unusual smell!
But, still, I’m glad we do it. It is really rather neat
Collecting piles of wood that folk have left out on the street.
It’s green. It’s eco-friendly. It’s recycling at its best.
Searching high and low for junk is such a noble quest!
© Stephen Whiteside 27.05.06
Commended in the 2006 Nimbin Agricultural & Industrial Society Bush Verse Competition.
