Waiting For The Storm

Far off the sky is waiting
For the storm to rise again
Waiting for the wind’s song
And the beat of steady rain.

The world below is shadowed
By the absence of the sun;
All signs of life retreated
Until the storm is done.

The towers have grown misty
Beyond the window frame.
The air is thick and heavy
And it echoes with a name

If Thor who marches slowly
With his minions ‘cross the sky
And children know the secret;
Soon they’ll see the heavens cry.

They will hear the mighty hammer
Of the god on every tree
And the grasses will be glowing
In a great, translucent sea.

As the sky looks down upon us,
The excitement that we share
Forms like a wild oasis
In the storm encrusted air.

Watching Storm

Through icy fields, meandering
Through mountain pass and wood
The stream followed its winding path
To where new forests stood.

The mountains saw it brush their tips
Now weighted down with snow.
A winter storm rode in the clouds
And watched the stream below.

He saw the ice break off its sides
And follow in its wake,
Holding off his angry blasts
To see which path they’d take.

Intrigued, the storm was very still
As he watched the river wind
Then he let his eyes look back upon
What the river left behind.

He saw a field of softest white
And he saw a stand of pine.
He saw the track of buffalo
And he thought he saw the sign

Of tiny rabbits who had passed
But, now, were safe and warm.
The little stream went on its way
Unaware of watching storm.

Mother Walking In The Rain

The mother of twelve children
Went walking in the rain,
Her jaunty red umbrella
Viewed through a window pane

Was just a speck of colour
In a world of muted grey.
Yet it added such a touch of joy
To a very dismal day.

The rain sang all around her,
Through the trees and on the ground.
She strolled along our lane today
And I know the peaceful sound

Had sent her back home smiling
To the chaos she would find;
But for just one stolen moment
She had left it all behind.

Above the Remnants

Up high above the remnants of the trees
A storm is born by angry evening breeze
And skies become a dismal shade of gray
As dark clouds leach the ending of the day.

Those cinder sticks that wild fire rampaged through
Reach bony fingers searching for the blue.
The heavens cry when it cannot be found
And make a quagmire thick upon the ground.

With all hope lost, the stumps can only stare
And feel the heat of thunder in the air.
They wonder at the callowness of fate
Denying them their dreams which rise too late.

But hope comes slipping slowly through the sky.
A rainbow forms.  It’s magic to the eye.

Spring Rain

Spring rain upon the Avenue
Lends a different point of view
Where muted shadows stroll along
As raindrops spread their lilting song.

It takes away the differences
The prejudice and tall fences
Making people look the same
No matter nation, creed or name.

The trees stand watch above the street
As life continues with its beat.
Awash with spring rain’s gentleness.
The street takes on her playfulness.

Hiding In Fog

The sky gods are inclined to hide today,
To wrap themselves in reams of crimson gauze.
Do you suppose that, in their hearts, some way
They fear themselves as having fatal flaws?

With no division of the sea and sky
We cannot tell just what the rogues will do.
The film, though it is pleasing to the eye
And adds to life a magic point of view,

Is like a thin disguise upon the earth.
But are we blind enough to let it be?
Have we not learned that knowledge has its worth
Or will we lose it to antiquity?

The sky gods are inclined to hide today.
Do you suppose they hope we’ll lose our way?