Poetry Marathon Submission #8

The Storm
Ann WJ White

Shears of wind whinge up and around the ledges of mountains.
Atop, cream-filled clouds pass lazily over meadows, gathering,
waiting for the sultry heat to arrive and blend currents faster effort.
Indeed, bend the currents out of place, heat the cumulous clouds 
until they are black like vulture wings. Fill them with particles
of active humid molecules. Change their molecular structure to more.
Create the nimbus blends that crack with future thunder,
Bring the Gods to sample the storm.

The rain perkily dances in flushing, gushing streams. Enlarging drops,
Proving their prowess as missiles against gardens, metal conveyences.
Shove them downstream, clashing with boulders. Rebounding the storm.
Add the generating of lightning, gesticulating from the clouds as
if ringing profanity from above. Change color schemes to violent life,
to winds like wild griffins screaming. The bully storm starched in enormity. 
Hold your bolt high, then release. Threaten from flooded Skys.
Now the gale climaxes roaring, as they clash against each other,
Building the storm taller, a nimbi-cumulous monstrosity of fear,
seeking to sanitize the air of its dry thirst forever. Force the  
violent expulsions, let your weakness disappear. Bring the cold above.
Hail in summer, thrusting tornados, waterfalls created from the sky
As the weather reaches out for more and more.

Let a rainbow emerge to swiftly calm the madness, with violet
to color the shadows, orange to spotlight fires on the ridge.
Slow the choppy wind and tame it with hot tears falling upon the hills.
Bring cooler water to otters arriving muddy slides amidst the hills.
Terror gone from splashes of play. Breath a moment and separate the clouds.

Oxygen and carbon dioxide molecules sooth between city streets, 
Umbrellas can be opened to provide a cool safety as winds calm.
Rubber macintoshes sleeve the runoff so that children
Can find puddles to splash in like seals, bears, and foxes.

The rain sobs, then becomes a memory, flooding only flower pots.
Sun breaking through the wind, opening the winds to teasing play.
Soon it will vanish into pulses of water running the gutters.

The stores will reopen, markets change again to talk and laughter.
Bridges will calm, provide a bypass of passage for the ceremony of night,

Long since planned against the Summer's reign.


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