Yellow (not the Coldplay song, but a poem that I actually wrote!)


The ribbon of smoke stretched for miles.

Thousands of miles, eastward, towards

the lakes, all five of them,  as the air choked

on itself, in search of water. 

The sun is gone…a hazard sign warning us

Don’t go outside!  Don’t look up!  This summer sky,

jaundiced and bruised…seeking refuge from

the flames of the great park 

Clouds, the color of drought, blanket

these northern Superior woods.

With a stifling aroma of quarantine, Heaven

is cursed with fever. 

Yellowstone is dying. Its charred earth

is now my neighbor, by way of wind.

A lion of a firestorm rages, rejuvenates while

Mother Nature looks down on us.

Personal note:  Publishing this on the web pretty much scares the beejeebees out of me.  I wrote this almost 3 years in a creative writing class.  If you like it, please say so.  If you don’t, well…lie about it and write a nice comment anyway.  My self-esteem is at risk here, people.


About Dena

I'm a suburban Clevelander by way of Oklahoma City, by way of North Florida, by way of Southern Maryland, by way of Upper Michigan, by way of Northern Italy, by way of Lower Michigan, by way of Texas. Because of living in so many places, I have something in common with almost everyone I meet. I love reading, writing, and American history (especially reading or writing about American history). I'm interested in culture of place, historical trauma, and writing about the kinds of histories most people don't know about.
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4 Responses to Yellow (not the Coldplay song, but a poem that I actually wrote!)

  1. chris says:

    Very nice.

    I will have to tell you about all the summers when people thought my last name was yellow and not in a bad way.

  2. Kristi says:

    Dena! You totally (I think) wrote an environmentalist poem. I’m a fan. It’s pretty awesome. All I can think of is that I would maybe work on the enjambment a bit?

  3. one of the girls says:

    I have never been able to figure out where and why and when poets stop their lines and verses. I still don’t. Now that you’ve made look at it again for that reason, I can totally see where I can move a few things.

    Nope…it’s not an environmentalist poem! It’s the summer of 1988 when Yellowstone was on fire and the hazy smoke cloud covered the Upper Michigan sky all summer. Some days we could go outside to play, some days we weren’t allowed to because the air quality was so bad. I was 11 years old and totally fascinated with natural disasters. But I was still mad that I couldn’t go outside to ride my bike.

  4. Pingback: an excerpt… « Two Girls and a Road

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