The birth and death of love, as told in fireworks

Poems and reflections

Fireworks and fire have long been used to describe feelings. We often talk of ‘sparks flying’ between people, someone being ‘hot’.

Many of us experience emotional states as colour - have you ever basked in someone’s golden glow or bathed in their warm pink? Maybe you’ve been dazzled by a person’s intense white or burned by their strong red….

I wrote this first poem some time ago now, to describe the vivid feelings of excitement, joy and nervousness I felt upon falling in love.

The giddiness, dizzy reach for sky…..the rush of rubies sweeping through me…..

If you’ve not experienced it for a while, perhaps it will help you remember the glittering sensations that soar inside - strong yet delicate butterfly soldiers taking you over. The contradiction of the submission. The colours marching…..

The last part of the poem refers to the way other people notice it in you. Love refuses to hide.

Fireworks and fireflies

I try to keep a lid on it....

But my fireworks have other ideas

Wriggling children 

They climb mischievously from their box

Moving gingerly at first.....

Until they spot their perfect petrol-navy

And decide it’s their destiny - bees for their cause

To swarm that heaven alone 

.

Rockets race, burst and bleed 

Scribing gold intent with hot pens 

Into latent midnight abyss

Green sorbets of Spring shed dainty mint 

Lolloping giddily to emerald cities

Linking orange arms for burning duets

Pulses chat in coded jazz LP sizzle  

Cackling over dirty blues cafe trill

.

Red leaps unashamedly 

Snaking carnival ribbon

Down West Side Story streets 

Sashaying Roman Candles

Stalk alleys my heart’s yet to meet

In search of their Jet-Shark match 

Heat is dotted on to gleaming bare shoulders 

Fireflies chew cold Autumn fat

Like shiny toffee apples 

.

As a panting crowd draw icy breath

They crane necks backwards - eyes agog

Left in no doubt of what is foretold tonight 

In luminous dripping moons and foaming stars

This next short piece is, in many ways the opposite of the one before it. It represents the death of love. The type that drags on as lingering illness, pleading to be put out of its misery.

For one person at least.

Must it always end that way?

Maybe it could serve as warning to any new love birthing as fireworks…..

I wrote it more recently to voice the idea of someone grappling with letting go of a dead relationship - knowing the finality is inevitable but unwilling to face it.

Sparkler

He searched November’s frowning sky for dabs of gold…….the stamp of damp sealing once crisp air.

He remembered the early days when together they had leapt into the void of black unknown - their love chalking an uncertain night with confident strobes of neon.

Now, he held her the way a child handles a sparkler - awkwardly clutching, his eyes following her lead.

He knew one day soon, it would end, the fizzling light would come to an abrupt grey halt and he’d be left holding nothing but a memory.  This moment was fast approaching but still, he clung on, attempted to keep it twirling, moving, dancing, alive….

And there she remained, at arms length - the act of holding on becoming ever more pointless as he watched the dwindle.

‘Write my name, write my name…..’ his soul begged, but her sparks no longer obliged. Instead they hissed back, jumping further and further away.

For now, they wrote her own name…..and soon he would be alone with his aching midnight hour.

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