The Blacksmith

The Blacksmith

Shadows chase across the faces
of my children. The forge is lit,
flames spit to the bellows breath.
Buried in the fire, metal melts,
soon I shall fashion                                                                                                              
another sword for Urien.

My wife cradles our youngest life,
she is troubled but hides it well.
Like her mother, she has the gift
of far-sight, claims to see visions
being played out                                                                                                                          in the dancing flames.

I have no time for such notions!
I have a King to arm, children to feed!
My hammer falls, pounds
at my growing fear.
Yesterday, she looked into the forge
and saw only fire!

By photos,poetry and haiku by Derek Ross

I am a photographer/ poet from Dumfries in South West Scotland. I concentrate on minimalist images and prefer using an iPhone these days. As far as my writing is concerned, I usually write short poems (some in Scots dialect), hence my interest in haiku and related forms.

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