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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

That Kind of Storm

Photo by Peggy Goetz
The rain
pelts the window glass
like thousands of tiny fists
in impotent fury

The sound
does not soothe or
amuse me
as it did earlier when the rain
pinged upon car hoods
with the sloppy rhythm of popping corn
or
rat-a-tatted
like little bird feet tapdancing
on the roof

This storm
sounds serious

The wind
howls like a feral ghost dog
in the night
and sends my own dog,
a cocky Maltese,
under the bed quivering

Me,
I make a strong cup of tea

It's a teakettle kind of storm
The nagging beep
of the microwave just won't do
I want to listen
to the whistle, brave
and persistent

I hold
the china mug between my palms
It warms my hands
and wards off the demons. 

4 comments:

Sam Edge said...


The alliteration and internal rhymes here are great and the feeling of this poem is just like safety on rainy night

Hannah said...

Wonderful descriptions throughout...I love the visual of the tap-dancing bird! :)'s

Peggy said...

Wow I am with you as you describe the storm here and I like the rhythms and word use. Neat images. Thanks for posting this. I will check out the other links as well--even tho you say this is the correct one.

Pat Tillett said...

It felt like a rainy day reading this one. Very good!