the season of fire, Chris Brown and other ‘beautiful people’ …

I’m about to leave my beloved beach and head south to Adelaide and Melbourne for various events, workshops and a festival at Torquay – http://www.torquayfrothandbubbleliteraryfestival.com/whowhenwherew.html

I’m leaving the burn-off season that provides the most spectacular sunsets on the planet. The burn-off infiltrates your wardrobe, your imagination and your poetry, as follows …

how to treat a scorched angel

 

1

Smoke veils the midday road.

The air is powdered.

The trees fail

to distinguish themselves.

I’d like to clean my view with a cloth

but that would scratch the burn-off deeper

into my eyes.

 

2

Ahead, the road is apocalyptic grey.

We drive towards the unveiling

of a Messiah

who will come downloadable.

This must be the time of falsehood

when Chris Brown sings of Beautiful People

with the innocence of a teen

and his scabbed knuckles.

His shirt smells of scorched angels

and the laundry instructions

don’t give much away.

 

3

Then I’m a witness to a fire

that’s taking the night by storm,

that’s storming the stage,

raging to the north,

finding those young enough

not to remember the recent past;

the crack and rush of the grass,

an eager market. It catches on,

and women escaping like me sing along

with beautiful people

and transfigured people.

And Chris Brown lives his life, lives his life

as if what ‘transpired’

was a flick of a cigarette

and not a felony.

Fireworks party

high in the trees.

Charcoal blurs Rihanna’s face

and it’s a danceable bass.

 

4

The singer fled on foot,

taking the keys to the Lamborghini,

leaving his hammered girl.

Don’t lose your head, lose your head.

Your beauty’s deep inside,

he advises,

pleading God and plastic surgery

and a failed memory.

These are the things that rage

in the season of fire.

Cracker night is a month away

but I set one alight.

 

5

I shut the door on the burnt night

and a chart-busting hit.

I pull back sheets that smell of ash

and the safety of childhood

with someone else making the decisions,

calling for firewood

as the sun weakens its stance

on smoke.

That was a time when divorce was a song

and DV was a spot fire,

quickly smothered.

And on the bank of a river

was a pot of scalding water,

and somebody else

making the call on life and death,

pinning swollen claws,

boiling them red.

 

Advertisements

About sandrathibodeaux

Poet and Playwright
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to the season of fire, Chris Brown and other ‘beautiful people’ …

  1. Val says:

    My day begins with your inspiring words.

  2. Graham Nunn says:

    This is superb Sandra… and boy does it kick hard. Safe travels and am so looking forward to catching up in August.

    • Thanks so much, Graham. Can’t wait to be there in August, too. I’m on the road at the moment, and internet is intermittent. I have been enjoying your blog, though. And all the best with your new baby. x

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s