Ronnie Smart is a Paisley-born Christchurch poet and writer. He is currently studying at the Hagley Writers’ Institute. His flash fiction piece, Rubble, was published in the June edition of Flash Frontier, and a few pieces are forthcoming in Alluvia.
It’s stimulating for me, creatively, to work within certain constraints, such as using metrical forms, or a restricted number of words or syllables. This poem emerged mostly ‘as is’ in a period of almost constant listening to Bowie’s Black Star
From Ashes On
After smoking many years, you turned to ash.
And when time came, Mum went to take you down.
We knew that you’d be happy in the sea.
But standing on the shore we fumed and swore.
Seemed like some cunt had gone and welded shut
the box that you were in. My brother, Will,
was forced to use his knife to cut you out.
We took you down in handfuls to the beach.
The winds were chill and blew you back to home,
some to our lungs, to make us cough and choke,
that day you spun, black ripples in the tide,
to be an anchored ghost within the bay,
or float above to hammer out the clouds.