The Churn [Free Verse]

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

POEM: Nimbus

Anvil-shaped cumulonimbus cloud. Pike's Peak, Colorado - NARA - 283883
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?

POEM: Timely Tempest?


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.