dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: storm

when the rain rests
right over the breeze,
the trees and grass feel it-
I do, and you.

so how come when news
brews above your tongue
no siren’s song
sears my skin?

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The shivering hay

in that winter field

made the air crackle

like a rain stick,

like it used to

when my grandpaw

slid the sound storm

between his hands.

I twirled it too

and felt the sparks

through the gray wood,

through the cold hay

in the bright echo

of early winter.


The sky’s eyelashes
Give their Eskimo kisses
To my windowpane.
There’s no screen to catch
The soft breathless tip-touches,
Clouds blush bright lightning
As cold glass brushes
Their most subtle tenderness,
Sealed invitation
.


You and I pirouette 
Under floodlights and
Bow with fresh
Foliage swirling around our
Pointed toes.

We look up
Just as the curtain falls
Black
With gleams
From spotlights overhead.

Sitting cold like the
Wet grass,
We smile exhaustion
Until the stage shakes
An unyielding encore.


Bionic black violin bow, 
Weather gavel,
Rain whip,

Chastening floodwaters,
Chasing each drop.

Heavy railroad crossing gate, 
Aquatic baton,
Auto eyelash,

Strong and simple 
Works until the job’s done.

Metal appendage of a grasshopper,
Water warrior,
Storm dial.

Hardened extension of nature,
Indispensable accessory.


One winding tree branch,

Like a large solid snake,

Sits by the road,

Terrifying muddy tires

With its sharp, splintered,

Two-pronged tongue.

Separated forever,

Ripped from the family tree

By its rebellious breakaway

During a storm’s distraction,

It becomes as Nebuchadnezzar,

Eating grass and finding claws

To grip the earth.


I want to drive

Without a windshield

Into the downpour

Of your mind.

Send troubles

Like tree branches

Crashing my way,

There’s no glass barrier

To shatter.