Bring me thunder,
stake this thick air to the ground
to the ground with a sizzling sword,
dazzle with drenching this braided hair,
touch these eyes with sparklers
of sky fire,
perfume the dirt,
storm down.
Take this cloud
of white bellowing promise
and blow it over and down the pass,
furl the rabbits’ soft,
bead the dove’s feathers,
imprint the quails trail,
lay the lupin sideways
and release the scotch broom’s sweet,
the sage’s pungent,
storm down.
Dapple across this water
and crease the fabric,
let me see your thread
stitch the sky to earth,
storm down.
MAKE ME A STORM
I talk to the mist
the steady drip that touches the leaf
I see it quiver
be bigger louder harder and enough
to make the smell of wet cement
I talk to the clouds
clutching at the light
give in to the dark
swirl with it in consort
make me a storm
The air is dense
strike it with your hammer
slap the sky into the trees
dance with these tall stalks of sunflowers
throw a torrent into the river
I am a small slug
just a trail across the dry leaves
wet them until they tear and shred
fall down on me until I am mulched
make me a storm
STORM TUNED
Torn the leaves of autumn
Falling falling no longer
Crisp with freedom flying
Unrooted and withered
Trod and gone to winter
In the room the window watch
Has closed the door to cool
And the pewter sky is waiting
In the stillness of the canopy
It is the watcher that binds color
And her light is casting no shadow
She sings across the waking storm
Her true of voice keeping her
From falling into pale
Despair is so damp
That comforting cannot robe the chill
Then in the echo of her song
She hears the first drops of rain
The sound is the opening
Where peace is found
THE COMING OF A STORM
I heard aluminum crash
against the spill of morning
and awake the desperate air
singing like lightning
it curled against time
and startled the trees
I was rain then
desperate for fire
filling the clouds until they were dark
riding the wind from the sea
listening to the spirit swift and keening
opening me
Awake now within the light
a crow is calling to another
and the trees have talking leaves
cool their fingers now release
the hold and twirl
the smoke is gone within this air
Against the spill of morning
the clouds are clouds in truth darkening
they move across the blue of sky
and in the gathering of time coming
there is a promise and a thank you
_____________________
Welcome to the Kitchen, Martie!