The Storm
Thunder growling,
as if an angry dog...
Agitated, warning,
before it threatens attack...
Heavy atmosphere building,
lowering, expectant...
as if the very sky,
is holding its breath....
Silence....silence...hush...hush....not a sound...
Before the growl of the Gods...
Splitting the air asunder,
with the mightiest of roars...
Booming, deafening,
tearing the sky.
Rain, heavy and warm,
large drops that splatter,
building to a crescendo
like a waterfall gush...
Darkened pavements, once dusty,
under rivulets of water...
chasing itself, hastening down
into the drains..
that gulp down the excess,
like the thirstiest of men...
Ozone so strong,
stringent, acidic....
An electrical charge, forked,
casting out fingers...
Snap of white lightning,
slicing, jagged and piercing...
illuminates,
as if a thousand bulbs
all flashing as one...
Imprinting stark images
on retina surface...
Colours so dark, black, grey,
mean and brooding,
with infusions of brightness
of a silvery white...
Alone...here in my bed,
I pull the covers around me..
As this beautiful, powerful
Storm rents the night...
I fall asleep to the music
of rain against glass,
as Gods rage above me,
in voluminous splendour...
Till their passion now spent..
and sweet silence returns
to this nocturnal night.
Now the Storm is no more
than a vague ghostly whisper,
of a memory passing..
And the drip..drip..drip..
of the rain kissing the earth..
Copyright Image/Poem Beverley Borresen. 2011.
as if an angry dog...
Agitated, warning,
before it threatens attack...
Heavy atmosphere building,
lowering, expectant...
as if the very sky,
is holding its breath....
Silence....silence...hush...hush....not a sound...
Before the growl of the Gods...
Splitting the air asunder,
with the mightiest of roars...
Booming, deafening,
tearing the sky.
Rain, heavy and warm,
large drops that splatter,
building to a crescendo
like a waterfall gush...
Darkened pavements, once dusty,
under rivulets of water...
chasing itself, hastening down
into the drains..
that gulp down the excess,
like the thirstiest of men...
Ozone so strong,
stringent, acidic....
An electrical charge, forked,
casting out fingers...
Snap of white lightning,
slicing, jagged and piercing...
illuminates,
as if a thousand bulbs
all flashing as one...
Imprinting stark images
on retina surface...
Colours so dark, black, grey,
mean and brooding,
with infusions of brightness
of a silvery white...
Alone...here in my bed,
I pull the covers around me..
As this beautiful, powerful
Storm rents the night...
I fall asleep to the music
of rain against glass,
as Gods rage above me,
in voluminous splendour...
Till their passion now spent..
and sweet silence returns
to this nocturnal night.
Now the Storm is no more
than a vague ghostly whisper,
of a memory passing..
And the drip..drip..drip..
of the rain kissing the earth..
Copyright Image/Poem Beverley Borresen. 2011.