April 17 - East Texas Storms

East Texas Storms

Eight years and still when I step outside
I look to the southwest first to check the weather,
Half-expecting to feel a cool damp gust of wind
On my face; in my nose the slightly acrid tang of ozone
And dark clouds rising up along the horizon in that direction.
Flashes, sheets of light high up at first, until you start to see,
Ragged searing shafts of light crashing down upon the Earth.
Sometimes Earth fires back.  Blue white bolts of fire,
Streaking skyward. Setting clouds alight.
This afternoon I sat for a time out on the porch,
Watching fat, gray dull clouds roll up from the west
And the sea and over the thick stands of fir;
Across the volcanic plain at the foot of 14,000 feet of rubble,
Rock and snow. You'd think there'd be some noise.
But instead, unlike an East Texas storm, these northwest storms
Tend to be silent, well-behaved, to deaden the air.
Announcing themselves with a soft whoosh of falling rain.
I miss the rowdy storms of home. I really do.
Weather should be an adventure. Snow should whistle and howl.
Rain should lash and thunder. I do. I miss it. Even the thrill 
Of terror when the dark shape of a tornado skulks past
At a distance, silhouetted against the flashing cloud banks.
It is in the clean, damp silence when the storms have passed,
That you remember to breathe and you feel most alive.



© 2019 by Tom King

April 11 - Raindrops on Noses

Raindrops on Noses
By Tom King

Raindrops on noses,

Whiskers on old men,

Stumbling along the cobbles

On a wet afternoon.

Mist swirling ‘round legs

Dewdrops on young men

Pounding the jogging paths

In the foggy wee hours.

Sunshine on shoulders

Brown skin on children,

Running in the park

Through the golden afternoon.

Snowflakes on my bald head.

Frozen drizzle on my shoulders.

Impelling me forward

Along the pathway toward home.

Weather at rest,

Where it fell to the earth.

Falling on souls

Beside moments of living.

ã 2016 by Tom King

Whirling

Whirling                                  

I hear it first, then feel it;
The cool rush and whirl of dry leaves
Spun up on errant zephyrs,
Dancing in the face of the onrushing storm.

The very air is transformed - green and thick
The weather wizards waving magic wands.
Hocus and Pocus and the first cold drops
Spatter against my forearms.

The dog pulls at her chain turning back toward home,
Knowing what's coming;
And puzzled that I seem not to,
She nips at my hand to pull me along.

Stubborn me, I step deliberately
Oh sure, I've turned for home, but still
It's only rain and thunder and I'm sure,
That I would not mind a wetting.

But for Daisy's sake I step it up,
The hush of rushing rain behind.
Then trees gasping overhead as we are doused
Two steps shy of the porch and shelter.

The dog shakes off the rain and frowns at me,
Before she comes to stand pressed tight
Against my leg to watch the storm.
I laugh and Daisy grins, safe and sort of dry.

© 2010 by Tom King