I wrote this short poem this morning when I saw the photo prompt for #poetryinmotion. It fits the Daily Post prompt too: simplicity.



So simple, I thought,

to be rid of you,

as if burning a photo

could obliterate the past,

send it curling,

a pearl grey thread of misery,

into the faultless blue.

But the trace remains,

soot-black on my fingertips,

staining all that I touch.


Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

7 thoughts on “Soot”

  1. As I walk toward home I can smell the burning leaves.

    The chill in the air brings a promise of winter.

    The ashes that remain are worked into the soil of our garden,

    Promising us an abundance of fresh vegetables in the spring and summer.

    As I enter my home there is a fire on the stove, and the oven is on.

    I can smell the home made vegetable soup, and the scent of bread from the oven.

    I tell my mom I am starving, she gives me a small bowl of soup it contains; carrots, green

    beans, corn, tomatoes, potatoes, lima beans, peas, parsley and other spices.

    As I sit there eating my soup I think, all this from burning leaves and ashes.

    Loved your poem, it gave me inspiration. :o)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s