a typhoon stalled offshore, and dreary clings to this place a miasma written in solid hours when will clouds crack & let the light in? just one blue bolt of sky, showing through a crevice? my head is in fog, and I can't hear my pounding heart over the crashing of waves
On the shore of angry seas I hear the crash of foamy waves, but miss the crisp sudsy sizzle that one hears on a sunny summer day. That nuanced note is lost to the Churn
under storm clouds bright silver light shines like headlamps through fog
An anvil crawls across the sky, of soft shape but steel gray, and I wonder when to expect the inbound tempest fray? When comes the lightening and thunder, the shaking window sills, the neck hairs standing upon end -- herald of lightening chills? Will it pass by rumbling distant or strike the local spire? Will it rain so hard that it puts out its own blazing fires?
Savage winds hit like a ramming shoulder.
Pelting rains sting like sand-blast on pink skin.
Dipping ships drop from sight of their beholders.
Soft sounds compile into a raucous din.
Nothing stands still; everything is moving —
Sound and Fury signifying Calm’s death.
Minds conflate the confused and the confusing.
Mouths gasp open but they can’t suck a breath.
Angry gods find newly pious converts.
Sinners sin like they’ll not get one more chance.
While disaster plays the consummate flirt,
dunking sailors, but pulling them back to dance.
Every soul knows each storm must – in time – end.
But one can’t know whether time is one’s friend.
storm clouds hovering
birds refuse to sing
torrents are soon to pour
waters will rise through the floor
and this shack will float away
clashing in nature’s fray
and washing out to sea
the !n(tro)verted yogi 