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 

sand-dunes

 

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®

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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
offing
 
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
 
streets,
 
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®
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