Archives for posts with tag: Fireworks

The sky luminescent pearl, not lacquer,
shifts from blue imbroglio to serene to indigo
hue; rain swirls as wind and cloud breathe great globes
of balloon splattering drops, each visibly bursting as if leaping
from the ground in answer to multiple echoes of countless
splat others at impact.

A thundercloud resplendent as an admiral’s ship
settling into harbour, blows in above us. Lightning
bursts within, impossibly back upon itself illuminating
hidden canyons, mountains of charcoal plumes that suddenly
ignite with giant sparks that leap within, a giant lantern on parade.

Jarret, resplendent, his stance wide, his
weight forward, his green white magenta
water pistol aimed at the skies, aloft against heaven
says, “Pyow, P-yow, P-yow.”

The echo of fireworks drifts to us on the wind.
The night is crackling, popping, echoing with
pings, patters, pongs, POWS and; EXPLOSIONS LOUD
far away.

Cannon, mortar fire, flare, pop caps and tiddly-pangs
we wait, anticipating the stench
of sulphur, cordite, potassium to waft past.

Jarret says, “Fireworks sound like thunder.”
We sprawl at the lintel of Granny’s door,
watch swirls and sheets of rain sweep across the lawn,
our gunpowder safe and dry, stored for another night.
The wind blows backwash of spray upon us.

Jarret and I curl into each other. Lightning arcs
from cloud to cloud. “Listen”, “Quiet”, “Any moment now”
I distract him until suddenly CRACK
unexpected thunder sends him leaping against me.

“Listen to the sky go Pow Pow Pyow,” he whispers
The thunder passes, far off pops and rumbles
I wait for another flash as suddenly

arc flash explodes

thunder clap beside us we JUMP
into each other, Jarret shouting “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”
raises his pistol, “Shoot Daddy Shoot” he implores

I guide my thumb and forefinger to mimic his salute
“PYOW, PYOW, PYOW,” we bellow into the wind

that echoes, rumbles, in our stomachs. The earth

spins beneath us, an incomprehensible corona.

(note: Victoria Day is a holiday weekend celebrated in Canada. Inexplicably, it’s the day we celebrate Queen Victoria’s birthday. With fireworks.)

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the sky luminescent pearl, not lacre,
shifts from blue imbroglio to indigo to serene
hue; rain swirls as wind and cloud breathe great globes
of balloon splattering drops, each visibly bursting as if leaping
from the ground in answer to multiple echoes of countless
splat others at impact.

A thundercloud resplendent as an admiral’s ship
settling in harbour, blows in above us. Lightning
bursts within, impossibly back upon itself illuminating
hidden canyons, mountains of cloud musclin’ might;
a giant lantern on parade.

Jarret, resplendent, his stance wide, his
weight forward, his green white magenta
water pistol aimed at the skies, aloft against heaven
says, “Pyow, P-yow, P-yow.”

The night is crackling, popping, echoing with
pings, patters, pongs POWS and; EXPLOSIONS LOUD—
far away.

The apex of all that was British or colonial or so we are told
by cannon, mortar fire, flare, pop caps and tiddly-pangs—
we wait, anticipating the stench
of sulphur, cordite, potassium the past to waft away

People imitate thunder and do not realize it.
Jarret and I sprawl at the lintel of Granny’s door
watching swirls and sheets of rain sweep across the lawn,
our gunpowder safe and dry, stored for another night.
The wind blows backwash of spray upon us.

Jarret and I curl into each other. Lightning arcs
from cloud to cloud. “Listen”, “Quiet”, “Any moment now”
I distract him until suddenly CRACK
unexpected thunder sends him leaping against me.

“Listen to the sky go Pow Pow Pyow,” he whispers
The thunder passes, far off pops and rumbles
I wait for another flash as it blinds us

instant arc flash explodes

thunder clap beside us we JUMP
into each other, Jarret shouting “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy”
raises his pistol, “Shoot Daddy Shoot” he implores

I guide my thumb and forefinger to mimic his salute
“PYOW, PYOW, PYOW,” we bellow into the wind

that echoes rumbles in our stomachs, the earth

twirls beneath us, an incomprehensible halo.

I watch fireworks through my rearview mirror
wrap about the silhouette of my city in retreat.
I savour the umbrellas and dahlias of explosions
that trace my way through the street lit night
as I rush into it, driving in reverse.

I cannot reach out and touch my life but I can touch
the tracers and sparklers, comets and butt rattling booms
in a piece of glass on the side of my car.
Jarret asks, “Dad do you know how to touch
fireworks?” and I can’t answer him, I am too intent
upon the road unwinding and if I will ever reach it.

I am lost in my life, trapped from the pure surround
of fire and sound; I am just a part of the script of my life,
reduced to a character that lurks on stage, wanting
to climb into the film, and take over a line or two, dream
the real fireworks start when I open my mouth and say
something.

How can you watch the explanation of things recede,
just drive somewhere to get by, and no one has time to talk
about the exploding star rising on the horizon, spitting gold
and silver, the roar of a dragon, or perhaps I didn’t hear,
I just dreamt that I could reach out and touch a world
and that everything I have ever known would explode.

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