Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield
Beneath the storm clouds
purple mist shrouds the horizon,
as cool winds blow away summer dreams
to rain into the ocean, vast and timeless
leaving a breath of perfume
~drifting in the air~
pink fish fly, and you wonder what if,
as you watch the sun with his dazzle-tongue
paint gold across a fresh blue canvas,
while diamonds sparkle on ruby-red petals,
ephemeral jewels—a smile remembered.
Another puente from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows about the storms here, of course. Every day the sky seems to go from grey to blue to grey again. We’ve been fortunate–all around us, people have lost power and faced flooded homes, roads, and business. Last night though, the storm got a bit scary with lots of thunder and lightning and a tornado warning.
A lightning bolt zig zags across the grey and ominous sky. I quickly slide my hand down from the metal pole to clutch the plastic handle of my umbrella. Thunder booms. I walked faster but stop to look down at the sidewalk. There I see an upside-down, ephemeral world; beautiful and transitory, a skyscraper in a puddle.
in a summer storm
A Haibun for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, Poet’s Choice of words.
I wake to thunder. Lightning flashes in silver zig zags across the sky, and then the rain comes—first pelting, then plothering, then fading to a fine mist. Branches fall, weighted by their burdens. Flowers smile as they drink. If only summer storms could wash the world clean, ensorcelling all its inhabitants. I sip my coffee and gaze outside, dreaming of today and tomorrow, wondering at hearts that cannot be enchanted.
Verdure of summer,
nourished with morning rainfall
finch sings good morning
This haibun is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for magic and green.
We’re driving to the shore. Charcoal clouds drift and grow, and the day grows darker. All the rough lines and divisions between sea and sky are feather-brushed into one scene of blended grey. We circle the blocks, looking for a place to park, then sit in the car, listening to thunder, and watching the rain fall in silver sheets around us, filling the air with the scent of petrichor. The steady stream of water becomes drops that tip-tap-taper off, and the dark clouds blow away, leaving a blue sky with an egg yolk yellow sun. We walk to the beach. The sea is calmer now, but I hear it call–it is ever changing and never mute.
spindrift in endless cycles
blown by summer storms
Ocean City, NJ
This is for dVerse, Haibun Monday, where Björn asked us to write about grey.
I’ve also used this week’s words from Secret Keeper: Calm/rough/storm /ease /mute