'Eruption'

I finished my novel today and I'm going to write some poems and paint some pictures before getting on with the next one.

I found a lovely new word today, DEUTERAGONIST - in ancient Greek theatre a player of secondary parts, and altogether someone in a secondary position. That definitely gives food for thought!

And how about a poem? An oldie perhaps?

Over the weekend there have been dramatic scenes in Nepal as a massive earthquake and tremors shook the country and killed thousands of people. I wrote this poem ages ago, but I think it's appropriate.

Eruption

It was a cold night.

Silence was draped over the landscape like a blanket.

One by one the lights in the houses on the hillside dimmed.

Sleep fell upon those who were not watchful.

Then there was a rumble and a murmur

And the earth began to tremble.

The sky was set alight by the orange glow

Of fire escaping from the depths of the earth.

The hillside came alive.

Vast showers of molten rock were spat from its peak and

The lava hurried down the slope in a cascade.

The orange splash was hot enough to melt the trees and grasses.

The energy of destruction tore gaps in the ground.

A bell tolled and the sleepers hurried from their beds.

They fought bare-footed through clouds of scorching dust and gas,

Engulfed by tongues of fire rising into the midnight air

And lava tumbling downwards to the city.

Many were swallowed by the cavernous furnace

Or eaten alive by burning orange tongues.

A few survived.