To preface: rain finally came to Colorado…
*Not* our storm, but you get the gist. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Featherlight and arrow tight
a clear cascade to scour light,
it downs the earth through flashes bright
and ends in walls to steal the sight.
A crackle, night, beckoned at the howl
while men descend into the bowl
and the old bark, it bends to growl,
swirled in blacktop mirror, like sinking fowl.
Yet there ride the drifting fires,
a four-wheeled beast to scatter its own pyres
drifting to the wake the Blue Wolf sires–
a thunder on the mountain, drifting ever higher.
Brown summer plains roil
It blooms in thundered breathing
Just a rasping—life.
My cousin's children, seen here at Christmas.
Youth. You smile as you
flutter off in crooked flight
spring storms—a notion.
Bear me up
Rustling cavalcade of coalescing
Music rush, on tempo speed
These breaths across my skin.
Of your exultation
Gives me strength
Beneath my wings.
Caress and coax
The resolution of my being,
Dive down into the deep.
The shores of apathy
And stir upon us yet the storms
That break inequity.
Quivering motions elate
To find the kiss, the touch of motion
In the sensuous sway of your dance.
Could ever hold thy hips
This beat, thunder of thy solitary
Rampart revelry of life
Shield yet the passions of hope,
A dream of majesty.
The world in thy being:
Ground this flighty soul.
* For the latest Monday Poetry Potluck!
There is a tingle on the wind
Like thunder in my skin
The air breathes
And the light quakes—
Such force is this!
This sudden heat,
This fireless heat
That beckons from the clouds.
The world elates to hear
The fury of its passing.