A Tribute to the Angels of the Lost Empyrean

April 27, 2014

by Jim Newcombe

Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.
-VIRGIL, Aeneid

Smoke and fire’s darkly charring luminosity
glamours the hearth with silky gusts of gold,
like liquid flags blown loose for liberty
or salamanders hatching from the coals
in the flap, thrash and crackle of the fire
where all flames dance with a dancing shadow,
each reaching skyward like a molten spire
that glimmers with a moth-beguiling glow.
Into the pallid ash, softly sunken,
the wavelet flames cast a mutinous spark
impulsively, subtle, savage, fallen,
a cinder kindled in the formless dark.

In the formless dark, gyrating flames of light
flash impalpably; hell-flowers unfurling
their bright, bewitching petals to the night,
reluctant to still their weightless swirling
and sink to their repose. And as I stare
I think of angels born of smokeless fire,
of brimstone steaming in the breathless air,
an ethereal threshold to a sphere
of original bliss, from which arose
the fatal cravings in us that entice
man’s damnable will to ruin, and compose
the pandemonium of paradise.

 

Contributor’s Notes: Jim Newcombe hailed from Derbyshire in the heart of England before uprooting to London in 2006, where he now lives in a goldfinch-charmed garret beside the sequestered Turnham Green. An amateur naturalist by day and a cordial maltworm by night, he is currently writing a novel and a series of short stories. He has had work published in numerous publications.

A Tribute to the Angels of the Lost Empyrean

April 27, 2014

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A Tribute to the Angels of the Lost Empyrean

by Jim Newcombe Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo. -VIRGIL, Aeneid Smoke and fire’s darkly charring luminosity glamours the hearth with silky gusts of gold, like liquid flags blown loose for liberty or salamanders hatching from the coals in the flap, thrash and crackle of the fire where all flames dance with a dancing...

Yggdrasil

by Jim Newcombe ‘We are born into the world, and there is something within us which, from the instant that we live, more and more thirsts after its likeness.’ (Percy Bysshe Shelley) ‘It was the year that everything went wrong.’ My father’s estimation says it all. Now, when I think about where I came...

In Hindsight, Demeter Thinks of What To Tell Her Daughter

by Andrea Potos   Not every danger points down my daughter, some stalk the air–his words– beware his claims of your beauty so great he nearly crashed his chariot at the glimpse of you on the road; and your voice that caressed his ears and petted him to sleep each night. Beware the sturdy...

First Glimpse of Hades

by Andrea Potos     Shudders in the chest, palls of thrill in the air– Upon her…..an avalanche of fire and snow.     Contributor’s Notes: Andrea Potos is the author of four poetry collections, most recently We Lit the Lamps Themselves, from Salmon Poetry in Ireland. Her poems can be found widely in...

We Heard It Before We Saw It

by Andrea Potos   …………Trevi Fountain, Rome   that first exhausted day, dazed and wandering the cobblestones from Pantheon to Piazza di Spagna, we came upon it as one would discover a shining beast growing from the ribs of a palazzo– water traced back from a spring they say a young virgin once unearthed,...


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