Wednesday, 31 March 2010


When I stand beneath the storm-bruised clouds

I feel like they will fall on me.

Pent-up energy spikes the air, dizzying, electrifying.

Seagulls take flight; they can feel the tension.

The clouds burst with a noise like tearing silk,

Droplets of liquid light.

Polished gems fracture all over me,

My gleaming skin worth more than deep-sea pearls.

The sound of a thousand hooves.

An army of clouds, a sky torn by war.

Aeolus lets loose his winds, Poseidon raises his trident,

And waves breathe spray upon the stones.

Lightning. Milk in black coffee, sped up, on fast-forward.

Pounding, frothing waters. Foam on a cappuccino.

Pebbles. Sugar grains, stirred up, dissolving.

Wheeling seagulls. Coffee-grounds, escaping the strainer.

Inside the teacup, a storm is beautiful.

1 comment:

  1. Your imagery is very evocative, especially in Verses 2 & 3, I look forward to reading more...