V.50

Rain! Rain! On the river! Falling!
Oh my world! Heavying my hair!
Til it drips down my face! Oh rain!
Cupping my jawline exactly!

Rain! Dampening my clothes! Cooling
my shoulders and neck! hanging out
on the windscreen! Little deltas!
Dancing on the mud! just dancing!

Always a pleasure! Falling out
of the sky! or so they tell me!
I believe rain is liquid air!
That gets so bored sometimes it melts!

I believe rain is a sea spore!
Ready to grow a little sea!
Wherever it drops! It could be
anywhere! Like in your ear-hole!

The audiologist would gawp!
At the little ships, their foghorns!
And the sea mist forming cloudlines
which pour down your neck and caress!

I would spend days alone with it!
Which roars on the roof at night! So
passionate and so sensuous!
Each drop its own exclamation!

2 Storms

8, 3×8, Storm 6

Then, I heard the thunder would come
but mouths murmered, the top end cut
So I never really got it

Their predictions had none or less
crunch or grind to my mouth, my eyes
now the thunder here, behind woods

does the scrape that only skies do
dumps all the folds in the stratos
rattling the bin of history.

We are talking, when the thunder
comes, stops us, sets us up on posts
ready for the whip-cracks, the fright

deep fright of the millions year
dark creep of the cloud-shadow, fast
ancestor. It puts us on edge.

I love it so much I could end
arms outstretched with one last static
shock to end all shocks, to end storms.

But you still tend orchids outside
As the rain tends all other plants
then sit close and we wait breath tensed

baited with small sounds to draw out
deeper ones. Each new paradigm
storm sound to teach all others how

2, 3×6, Storm 5

Thunder comes once when I
am stood among poetry
among the old books, new

Only once, but enough
to set a featureless
day in stone memory.

Storm 4

There was a storm, the other night
as I paced in a cold sweat
There was a storm which was persistent like a headache
Out the window I gazed, feverish
and the jittering fields gazed back
Paddock and field, the horses huddled in a corner
The thunder didn’t roll so much as it tumbled
and their black eyes in the darkness became grey in their wordless staring
moment by moment, grey, with the surging light
I was ill, I closed the curtains
And the thunder was my lullaby
a grating lullaby to jolt me awake, from time to time
Til lost among the collage of dreams
There was a storm, the other night
it loosed the dirt to carry it down the hill
an endless task, for the hills tend to rise again
I lied, fizzling out
My aches generating small pockets of consciousness
storms on the face of the earth.