storm upon the dunes

the storm wings across 

the dunes


thunder is its’ voice to 

be dreaded


the wind braces up–then finds 

itself accelerating


opens the gaits–galloping ghosts of lightning in 

the offing


behaves with un-gratuitous folly as it bests the 

ocean’s roar


the rain rides the wind–the skies 

are riven


and bursts as a wave from the clouds

that impend


then climbs down on stormy ladders–one rung at 

a time


the tempest’s onslaught charges the 

stormy skies


lightning strikes the highest points as the thunder claps 

for more


the wind delegates the ocean waves to lash the 

affrighted shore


as swift as a darkened shadow, as long as a 

dreadful dream–


the rain begins to carve its’ name with 

slanting lines


its’ signature most illegible, but 

most assured


ever expanding, the storm enlarges its’ field 

of view


and sets its’ sight upon 

the dunes


where grains of sand one by one are 

quickly deluged


its’ spirits bruised by the storm’s 

fierce intensity


and footprints are washed away like the remains of 

the day


as are the echoes of 

conquering children


their fate is the common fate of all, into each life some rain 

must fall


just as the sand-dunes, heaped one 

upon another


hide each the first, so in life are 

the former


deeds are quickly hidden by those that 

follow after


but still dreaming like the 



taking shape–not fearing the hand 

of fate


not hearing lonely winds 

great wail


that grasps the sand-

dune’s grass–


fastening itself–seeking to rout its’ 

very spirit


but soon tires and 

is spurned–


making it as momentary as 

a sound


for the wind itself has blown away 

the storm


and a bright new day 

always follows


so quick bright good things come 

to warm.


Copyright © 05/13/2103 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®


sing the electric flame

it seeks the current charge like ghosts
seek a house wire thought
it seeks the storm, seeks no time watch,
slides down on clouded ladders
shifts air wind movement like white
shirted workers shift 
delinquent paper stacks;
the sky opens
the sky braces
itself against imaginary boundaries
roll of the weather dice,
electric flame light with black clouds in the
just like looking in a rear view in a 
tunnel dark;
portal night riot of colors
prisons landscapes,
incarcerates swaying trees,
shackles those afraid;
loud clapping of thunder
crack of bright lightning
spreads its fingers apart
grabs emotions, they fold
up like cheap card tables,
tastes fear, knows its safe in its mouth,
the rain weeps, walks down on 
clouded steps
in anguish, smites gardens,
smites dry, abandoned
homeless man freezing on a park bench,
a poet in isolation, climbed up
attic steps
dented pots catch water here and there
he writes, ‘sing the electric flame…’
Copyright © 04/30/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®