Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Holy Storm

It’s been a strange year, here, weather-wise. Rainy, and the storms seem somehow different and the way they come somewhat odd.
The other day I was driving through a city and I swear the storms sought me out in all it’s wrath. I looked up and watched a blade of lightning zigzag toward me from the heavens. It struck a light pole directly above me and the sparks flying had me mesmerized by the beauty of it’s violence.
Later, the same day but at home, another storm came for me. I watched it on the radar and went outside to meet it on neutral turf.
It came fat, full and arrogant and I wondered of it’s intent.

there are storms
that strike
terror and dash
and squalls
that piss rainbows
on the dockers
of dreamers

and there is a lightning
that races
to strike a blow
for the injustice
of ingratitude
for the Sun’s labor.

we picnic our plans
and summer
our worries
in the brassiere
of our dominance
upon the earth’s

this we do
until convinced
of our throne
in the power
of lies subtle ante

but there is a storm,
a holy storm,
of up your ass
and break your
feckless pride

it comes high
then low
and lightning
owns the sky
in end to end

the clouds twist
and say
they might
while I cower
in chin out hide

I step out in the open
and say, there
but not too far
and she throws
an angry glance of
do you dare another?

I think of the barn,
and those holding flashlights
behind windows
of farce,
and think,
for them,
them only,
I’ll retreat.

but my fear was real
and my challenge
as she lifted her skirt
and queened her eyes shut
to my withdrawal
letting her billows
bow the victory
and train her dominance.

It was a holy storm
and I the lamb
of peppered incense
but she had the high ground
so I’ll wait
for another day.