Tag Archives: weather

Thunder

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Thunder

The low rumble says “look out, I’m coming,” but never specifies what to anticipate. Lightning strikes? Floods? High winds? Sometimes even the rain neglects us. Our pup hides under a blanket in her crate, and I contemplate a run to the store for beer and wine. Three years ago tornados were spotted in this area; they never touched our hills. The storm’s downdrafts bring us the fragrance of ozone. I marvel that three oxygen atoms combined in the atmosphere to produce such delight. How I remember inhaling deep draughts of summer storms in my childhood’s last years, watching thunderheads roll overhead, dreaming of victories and love and certainty, not yet knowing that desires change, that the unexpected always seizes its turn.

Under this roof
we smile at the clouds
our kettle whistling

 

“Thunder” first appeared in The Zen Space in July 2018.

Tree, Ice, Window (December 13, 2000)

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Tree, Ice, Window (December 13, 2000)

I.

This doubling of age,
increments gained, like a shadow’s

flesh, ever flowering, ever diminishing,
consuming all.

And having gained stature,
what of the syllables lost in the blur,

the fecund process
unnoticed, unheard.

Reciprocity of motion, the leaf’s descent.

II.

Bent under the hour’s weight, it
departs untouched,

aloof,
yet watched and not alone,

enduring its slow release
as the morning deepens.

III.

The eyelid droops, then opens,
defying gravity and those things heavier than air,

and opening, rescinds
all notion of secrecy.

Somewhere the voice expends its energy
and lies fallow,

like a storm awaiting the perfect
moment, then appears

in all its arterial splendor,
tunneling through the night’s long reach

and the transparent dream.
Or a hand draws the shade.

 

An older poem, from the “vault.” I barely remember writing it.

Life among the Prickly Pear

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Life among the Prickly Pear

Rain’s twofold curse: not enough
too much. Still, I take comfort

even among the thorns.
There is much to like here.

Its moonlight flowers.
Paddles fried with minced garlic.

Wren’s jubilant shriek.
The fruit’s red nectar.

I wake to distant screech owls
purring their desires on separate

slopes. Late spring, storms looming.
I close my eyes and the creek rises.

* * *

A draft of this first appeared here in June 2015, and I posted this version in May 2016. It seemed appropriate to this stormy weekend. On a personal note, I’ll need to inspect a flood-prone creek on Monday. I wonder how it will be…

In the meantime, two of my guitar heroes:

Recording of “Life among the Prickly Pear”

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* * *

A draft of this first appeared here in June 2015, with the finished piece following in May 2016. It rained yesterday, and I thought I’d record this with the sound of falling rain in the background.

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Life among the Prickly Pear

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Life among the Prickly Pear

Rain’s twofold curse: not enough
too much. Still, I take comfort

even among the thorns.
There is much to like here.

Its moonlight flowers.
Paddles fried with minced garlic.

Wren’s jubilant shriek.
The fruit’s red nectar.

I wake to distant screech owls
purring their desires on separate

slopes. Late spring, storms looming.
I close my eyes and the creek rises.

* * *

A draft of this first appeared here in June 2015. I believe it’s done now.
On a personal note, twice in the past four days I’ve been unable to reach
a destination due to flooded creeks.

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