.
There’s a fine mist
kissed by the snow on my head
while brain fried, cotton-wool dyed
birds fly high in the sky;
they screech through the leaves,
crash into branches of trees
and winter’s dry twigs
break as they shake to the ground.
Darkness descends from above,
and the air quivers… lightning shivers…
the birds calm down, they make no sound,
waiting… waiting… for the thunder
to rupture, to fracture, the peace.
.
©Denise G Allen, 20 October 2013 11:59
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20/10/2013 at 6:54 pm
nice energy in this…from the imagery but also the internal rhythm…i took a breath there in the end and waited for the thunder as well…smiles.
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20/10/2013 at 7:10 pm
Nice balance of levels of metaphor/imagery.
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20/10/2013 at 7:35 pm
Brilliant… really brilliant…
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20/10/2013 at 8:02 pm
Very, very strong. I can’t but help pointing to a poem I wrote using the same metaphor. Hope you like it…http://bookofpain.wordpress.com/2013/10/12/storm-spotting/
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20/10/2013 at 8:38 pm
^_^ I enjoyed this!
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21/10/2013 at 2:54 am
Love this one, adee. 🙂
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25/10/2013 at 6:01 pm
Great stuff, Denise. we have a storm on the way in the next few days, they tell us 80mph winds. “Watch our tiles”
But we are entering winter, which we hope will be a little calmer!
John
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