Today’s poem

It’s autumn now and

golden leaves Are falling on the

grassy ground, I rake them into

ragged piles With twigs and bits of wood

I found. I find the place where we

pile logs And start to build the

fledgling pyre With layers of wood and

leaves and sticks To make our first

autumn bonfire. I fetch the box down from

the house That holds the things I need

to burn, I’ve gathered them

throughout the year All piled in waiting for

their turn. The card receipts and

bank accounts, Utilities and council tax, The poems that just

didn’t work, The manuscripts that came

right back. As evening falls and

daylight fades I build the bonfire strong

and tall, (And with the water pail

to hand) I strike the match to light

it all. I’ve stuffed the papers

through the base To make the fire catch

all around It starts to burn, I see

the flames It generates a

crackling sound. It’s quite cathartic,

every time To burn the papers no

one needs. This year we moved, so lots

of junk With legal stuff and old

house deeds, Removal bills, surveys, reports There’s nothing here we need to keep. Our old life will go up in smoke In with the new we boldly leap.