by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Sunday, November 17, 2002
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The hushness was full of faded, rumbling echos
ears are attuned to the faintest whisper of advance.
Stillness spreads to the trees, the birds, the insects,
waiting uneasily for gentle rain or shocking savage drowning.
With drums varying measures, vibrations and tones
the far thunder comes in low sound waves that tickle the skin.
A fly-by of scented errant breeze thrills the sense center,
vision is captured by the coarsness of dark, sheep's-coat clouds
ponderous and plentiful, throwing their sun-flared jagged bolts
into my heart and soul.
The quiver starts in a small wave, gathering it's skirts of heavy chaos
immutabley moving the thick dry air to it's triangular fore.
Lightness of wind-touch turns into sudden push of tottering unbalance.
A burgeoning weight starts the frantic movement of branches and hair
that begin striving to flee the rage that is coming from the gravid air.
Standing so small in front of this vast earth-eater, fire-starter, life-taker
are my body and soul.
Cracks of greater clarity deafen, and strobe-eyed from horrible energy
the pressure builds, twisting thoughts of security into despair.
Manuvering to encircle, the height of weight is about to collapse
onto the cringing earth, maleable and ripe for uncaring rearrangement
shivering in fear and howling in primal anguished hysteria as
the world becomes nothing but violence and agitation, swift-blowed and hammering
to the core of my soul.
The orgasmic sensations of earthly, angry fury and whipping water bullets,
tornadic gusts from right angles and squashing down thrusts, stream
through pourous fiber of skin, energizing to pulsating estacy
the frailness of life's gift, the yearning to be noticed by such a power
to actually be alive-aware, vast and dangerous,
reaching to fulfill my fantastic climatic path,
to fully know the life-force and feelings of
the thunderstorm soul.
Or, the short, acrostic version of Thunderstorms:
Hammering winds blowing fiercely
Under boiling billowing clouds with
Nowhere to hide from slanting rain,
Destruction is flung wide while
Energy is savagely dispersed in
Rampaging reaving fury, leaving me
Strobe-eyed from lightning as
Thunder claps deafen my mind and
Ominous darkness of sky
Reveals much longed for
Start to dry desert death.
Photo by Erin Moen
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|Reviewed by SilverCeltic Moon
|Great vivid portral of a storm! Outstanding. ;) Silver|
|Reviewed by Steve Reichard
|Awesome poem with such fantastic imagery:) such a joy to read and I also would like to thank you for the kind comments you left me on my new Fish food poem and I like your idea for a follow up to it too:)|
|Reviewed by The Voice (Reader)
|Very well done.
|Reviewed by jude forese
|very unique imagery describing the intensity of a thinderstorm... well done!|
|Reviewed by Dale Clark
|I miss summer already. We heard thunder in a snow storm the other night, quite rare!|
|Reviewed by E T Waldron
|An ambitious undertaking successfully accomplished...superp writing!|
|Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
|outstanding write, erin! love, your friend, karen lynn. (((HUGS))) :)|
|Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner
|excellent writes, erin! living in texas, i've seen plenty of storms...this describes them perfectly. (((HUGS))) and love, karla. :)|
|Reviewed by shannon Smith
|Reviewed by David Leigh
|"sheep's-coat clouds" I like this line. Erin I love the crescendo from the gentle utterings to the full fury. Beautiful.
|Reviewed by Ted Sheridan (Reader)
|Desert death and the renewal of life, nice|
|Reviewed by Roger Ochs
|A wonderful twofer.|
|Reviewed by Lisa Hilbers
|Erin, Both forms of this is breathtaking! A poet with an insight to storms in life, a need to be a great writer! Great job,,Lisa|