Writing from the stemistry lab
Hot rocks
by Barbara Gordon
Beauty and terror.
Stinking sulphurous vapours
Vomit tempestuous rage.
Leaving a dream-like
Barren wasteland
No purpose but to terrify.
Active but inactive.
Energy, with latent power
To destroy.
Only the sound of the wind disturbs now,
Playing Gamelan rhythms
Steady, soothing.
Dramatic, erratic.
No birds fly.
No insects crawl.
No plants bloom.
Nature’s own eruption.
Hot rocks, liquid magma
The power of ancient survivals
Channelled to set us free
From the burden of guilt
The self-harm of global warming.