Can I begin to convey adequately the significance of the lit candle in the dimensions of imagination if you cannot already relate, in some way, to what it means to take heart from a struck match...?

I'll sit us there, if you're willing, for a moment.

It's a bright incandescent rhombus, a square turned-- perfect. A diamond. That is the surface of the lighted table. It floats in an otherwise seemingly borderless space. It might be said to be literature unmade, a meandering mess, reaching for oxygen. The way a book is closed, and the cover glares.

A darkness on so many levels. Lit.

We seldom eat here, though there is a freezer-fridge. It functions entirely as a closet, unplugged. We keep our cash in a pickle jar on the center wire rack. It is the kitchen in name still, and the wood table itself is like a plain slice of bread. Lightly warm toast. It's spread with books, and papers, and dotted with the Holy Bible in the center, and anchored by a pair of brass candlesticks.

We're dressed like we're going out.

I mean in padded pants and jackets. Hood, hats, layers on layers, and the kind of gloves "real artists" wear-- with no fingers. We cut them off ourselves in frustration, then splurged, and bought a couple of $4 pairs pre-made. Whether we're slowly sipping the second pressing of a shared teabag, or reading aloud in a near whisper, or silently writing and sketching some quixotic idea, the thing that keeps us glued and heartened, is the tiny glow of the eyes of two candles.

The poverty of less would demoralize.

Of course we can share, one. But two represents us better, each burning at the wick, at astonishingly even tempo. It is a kind of understated miracle the way household emergency grade wax melts at a fairly predictable rate. We know we have about two hours. I speculate that it's the extra chill of our surroundings that keeps these candles hardened.

Each should only last an hour-- according to the package.

a candle used to be light

it used to be my utility

heat and safety pack

a must for weathering

the storms of every day

imagination

it used to be

the illusion

on the kitchen table

of getting more, for less

it set the atmosphere

like steaming tea

now it's truly luxury

I hold the glow in my heart

a reminiscent blade

and haven't seen one

in years, close up.

not safe! I tell myself

battery operated...

it's like I've grown clumsy

among infants in old age

04.10.2024

A lit candle challenge @KarenKitchel

As I bent forward to blow the only candle on my birthday cake, my mate Dave quipped:

"Shouldn't we have moved on to LEDs with a switch? Imagine the possibilities: colours, even blinking in sequence!"

I know Dave's a funny bloke just taking the piss but after the party, over yet another beer, I reminded him:

"Hey mate, about those LEDs--"

"Sorry man! I was being silly."

"I know," I continued, "But I had a think about it--"

"What? Such an awesome party and you were thinking?"

I laughed. "Yeah, I am like that. Anyway, we could move to LEDs and all the bling but a candle is a constant. It is a reminder that legacy systems don't fail. It helps us stay grounded, connected to the past. Electricity has enjoyed, what, 100-plus years? The candle has been around for ages!"

"Bravo! Must be the VB talking" Dave lifted his bottle of beer flashing the brand.

I made my last comeback.

"Mate, I'll be sure to light an LED on your grave!"

The sudden expulsion of beer spray from Dave's mouth was pure joy.

temptation

noun

the desire to do something, especially something wrong or unwise -

oxygen escapes

the lit candle

by some mechanism

or maybe that’s

carbon dioxide

I failed chemistry

with a 59.9%

grade point average

my professor said

if you pass the next test

I could bump you

to a D minus

the candle flickers

indifferent

temptation

noun

the desire to extinguish

what wasn’t there

to begin with

A lit candle is a relative thing

The burning stub of a wick

The present fueled by wax and string

The future drilled down the candlestick

My eyes leave the wick aflame

Travel down the cylinder

Within which, is future, constrained

Until I can go no farther

From the flame of the present

To the dry wick lying in wait

The future, twice as incessant

If the other end burns at the same rate

One can't help but picture a group of tight-knit people cradled in blankets, fitting together in front of a fireplace. Somehow the flame of a candle gives me the same impression. It does not provide warmth physically, but mentally, for some inexplicable reason, it makes one feel right.

When I see a lit candle

that's when I know

what's going on...

No devices can work,

we're in a horrible storm

or somewhere some nearby

lines have gone down.

Either way, now I and

everyone else in the

community knows it well...

current is gone.

I the wick

burned alive

disappearing into an ashy head

smiling children clap sing dance

gasping in wonder at your glow

flaming hotblooded intense heat

wax drips air fills with fragrance

holy scared bringing us to tears

all you we bow to worship

all you we bend our knee

all you forgetting me

my thin meek thread

that made you magic

instead of just a limp

crayonnic of nothing