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Electric
tittle tattle
little lightning
without thunder coming
little eel
Poemas sobre el tema: lightning
Poemas sobre el tema «lightning» en Poets.by.
The critic
A small brown moth drawn in
by the glow of his laptop
clings to the flat screen
with wings outstretched.
A few pixels show
through the clear patches
in the center of each wing.
Does that feel good? he murmurs
when the blinking cursor passes
underneath it.
The bedsprings creak
in the other room.
Beyond the softly whirring fan
the famous skyline flickers
with heat lightning as
his fingers go on clattering
Saved by Death
forest downpour heard
first in the treetops
i picture a cinematic
rain of arrows
or maybe small frogs
like the two in the road earlier
one still moving
the other just bones and wasps
i took picture after picture
on my phone which now
rests like a joey
in a dry pocket
soon the gravel road
is two torrents
and i am a turtle hunched
under poncho and umbrella
Epizoochory
spiderweb
on my glasses
name that tune
lost dog
enchanter’s nightshade burs
in its ears
tick-trefoil reversing
in mid-air
white spears
of black cohosh
an insomniac firefly
waterfall that only sings
when the stream’s a trickle
children’s cries
the holiday sky empty
but for a vulture
The Hollow (7)
the descent beckons
in three directions
old charcoal haul roads
crossroads deep in moss
a ladder of fungi climbs
a nearby snag
namaste means
I bow to the divine in you
lightning-struck oak
it’s not true
that lightning never strikes twice
spears of heartwood
Fulgurite
Lightning roots deep into the sand,
donning an instant sheath of glass:
a seemingly pointless exercise in self-glove.
Clap of thunder.
Could it be, though, that radiance tires of itself?
Nowhere in the alleged blackness of space
is there any relief from the ticking,
pulsing, clusterfucks of stars
except on cold planets.
Who can blame lightning
for burrowing in like a tick?
Even we humans, full of darkness as we are,
go on pilgrimage to the ocean,
dream of girls with gills,
get buried up to our necks in sand
or swim with porpoises, whose
Night Shirt
Two crickets call
nearly in unison.
Fireflies rise blinking
from the grass.
It’s the new moon
& the summer solstice:
a dark night, but short.
Heat lightning
on the horizon.
The humid air like silk,
like an unwound cocoon:
will we be cool enough
to sleep? Already
I hear the beginning
of a low growl.
The Storm of War
Rain pools around like the blood of men
Thunder screams like the cry of death
Lightning slashes like a blade on flesh
But the storm rages on, without regret
Thunder
Thunder, beautiful thunder
I can see the lightning
I can feel the thunder
Feel the thunder rushing through my veins
Thunder, beautiful thunder
You're the most wonderful catastrophe
Thunder, when will you be coming back to me?
Irradiations XXXIV
The flag let loose for a day of festivity;
Free desperate symbol of battle and desire,
Leaping, lunging, tossing up the halyards;
Below it a tumult of music,
Above it the streaming wastes of the sky,
Pinnacles of clouds, pyres of dawn,
Infinite effort, everlasting day.
The immense flag waving
Aloft in glory:
Over seas and hilltops
Transmitting its lightnings.
Stone Trees
Last night a sword-light in the sky
Flashed a swift terror on the dark.
In that sharp light the fields did lie
Naked and stone-like; each tree stood
Like a tranced woman, bound and stark.
Far off the wood
With darkness ridged the riven dark.
And cows astonished stared with fear,
And sheep crept to the knees of cows,
And conies to their burrows slid,
And rooks were still in rigid boughs,
And all things else were still or hid.
From all the wood
Came but the owl's hoot, ghostly, clear.
In that cold trance the earth was held
It seemed an age, or time was nought.
Song of Anastasia
Shall I mock you, and tell you that love shall endure.
Knowing you know the quality of things that are secure?
Let love be fierce as lightning, and as brief
As summer-hail, that is a storm's relief.