by Larry Vint

InPrintBlog_CampfireWisps of red accent
Flowing golden plumes riding
Ghostly waves of blue
As you tease and caress
The logs on which you dance

They snap and crackle
In protest as you
Turn their mass to heat
Their fuming turns to vapor
As you jump and race and roar

The logs turn black
And crumble as they fall apart
Til all that remains
Is the scent of acrid smoke
And a pile of dull gray ash


After a lifetime of technical writing, Larry Vint, has found that creating fiction is much more interesting and fun.  He leads a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators group in DeKalb and was a founding member of the DeKalb Area Writers Group.