middle of the night writing
I was awakened at 1:30 this morning to a violent storm ... and my half-awake brain gifted me with this. Still not polished (in the extreme), but was glad to be able remember it today. I used to get these sorts of spontaneous poems way more often ... glad to have my writerly brain waking up.
Night Thunder
here at the edge of the Piedmont
where red clay slowly becomes
soil becomes sand
running down to bay to ocean
the storm rages downhill
like greek kindly ones
with lightening whips
picking crabs and souls in the dark
thunder like the train
running past colonial landings
through the backyard
rain lashing
angry beats across playground and grass
washed clean
when morning comes
Night Thunder
here at the edge of the Piedmont
where red clay slowly becomes
soil becomes sand
running down to bay to ocean
the storm rages downhill
like greek kindly ones
with lightening whips
picking crabs and souls in the dark
thunder like the train
running past colonial landings
through the backyard
rain lashing
angry beats across playground and grass
washed clean
when morning comes