I love the space of time before a storm when the clouds are running across the sky and the wind is screaming through the streets. As a kid, I used to sit on the carport and watch the trees, their … Continue reading Morning Meditation: Storm’s coming
The Gods are throwing bowling balls, cracking fissures in the sky. Continue reading Summer Storm
Tropical Wave Late summer. Still, stagnant, a pond surface slick with algae. Hot air, stale breath. Down in the depths something stirs from sleep. Lethargy levitates, collides with wind. A vortex is spawned, wilder than a drunken dragon. *** Prompt via napowrimo.net: This is a catch-up post from the prompt for 4/12/17: Write a poem that explicitly incorporates alliteration and assonance. Continue reading Napowrimo: Tropical Wave
We’re winning. So say the progenitors of such things. I hang onto that thought in the night when the wind gnashes its phantom teeth on the palms and bullwhips crack the sky. __________________________________ Shared on Poet’s United. Continue reading TS Lee, 5:45 a.m.