Saturday, 9 July 2011


The older/ i become/ the more/ i believe/ in dragons 

Swaddled in a blanket
of green smoke
I believed
yet did not fear them
their scuds of flame
benign as moonlight
on my amianthine skin.
When the time came
I ditched them easily
until not long ago
when I found one
in the garage
its breath reeking
of hot rubber.
I tried to slip away
but it spotted me
its sickled eyes
oiled by amber
Since that day
we have drunk
Oolong together
deconstructed Derrida
even spun around
the church steeple
a time or two
and though it has kept
its flambeau capped
in such a highly
flammable area
when the raven
taps on my window
I will be cinders:
gleanings and bone -
a grim ending
to any fairytale.


  1. Terrific, Peter. Stellar writing, indeed.

  2. I love this poem, grim ending and all... I am once again in awe of how moving some poems can be.

    Thank you for sharing it.


  3. I loves it! (Just hope that raven stays away!) x

  4. Thank you so much Lisette ~ really pleased you enjoyed it.

  5. Those sickled amber eyes! He smells of burning rubber; yet you spin around the steeple with him and drink Oolong tea with him. This Dylan dragon will not go gently into the night...This is one dark, lovely dragon...Wonderfully imaginative, Peter!

  6. Love the notion of drinking Oolong tea and deconstructing Derrida with a dragon - sheer brilliance

  7. Thank you for your lovely comments Abi ~ very much appreciated.

  8. Thanks Louise ~ so do I! Really pleased you enjoyed my poem.

  9. A wonderful way to put it, Jacquie ~ despite the inevitability of death there will be much raging against the dying of the light. Thank you so much for your lovely comments.

  10. Hi Marousia. I can highly recommend it (& the steeple tripes)! Thank you so much for your wonderful accolade.

  11. ... or 'trips' even. Freudian reference to the spilling of my innards, methinks :)

  12. Immediately from the first line this poem fascinates me to follow the events that Peter so beautifully describes: "Swaddled in a blanket of green smoke I believed yet did not fear them - their scuds of flame benign as moonlight on my amianthine skin." This is pure joy to read!

  13. We can smell, taste, hear, feel every inch of this beast. Spectacular poem. Vivd, visceral, well done as always, Peter.

  14. A fairytale and very real dragon as it seems. Hope you will still drink a lot of Oolong with him : )

  15. Thank you so much for your positive comments Edjo ~ so pleased you enjoyed it. And thank you for the wonderful dragonfly video that you posted to me this morning: absolutely fascinating.

  16. Madame P ~ thank you yet again for such lovely comments. I did try to titillate the senses in this poem & it seems to have worked. Really appreciate your support & encouragement.

  17. Hi Martin ~ thank you for commenting. Yes, I hope to drink tea with him for some time to come, though, at my age, I think I need to cut down the trips round the steeple ;)

  18. this is just so wonderful Peter ~ rekindling of childhood friends ~ but now he comes 'smouldering' 'breath' 'smelling' of 'hot rubber' ~ sharing a penchance for oolong and Derrida ~ what a delightful image steeped in philosophical muse ~ then a quick spin around the steeple ~ You just never know where those dragons are going to turn up ~ but I'm wishing the raven stays well clear ~ so to continue on this dragons tale and not another (Cinders # but that would quickly burn out :) ) ~ Delicious dragon tale Peter ~ Libby x

  19. Beautiful, Peter! May there be many fair tales of dragons and many a cup of long long Oolong tea and may the raven-call only come when life is spent. Q x

  20. Hi Lib ~ thank you so much for coming along & commenting on Cinders. Really thrilled that you enjoyed it so much. x

  21. Thank you for your lovely comments Quirina ~ I share all your sentiments wholeheartedly x