A COLD DAY IN HELL

This constant rain kept falling for three days
to saturate the grass and feed the streams.
Autumn weather cannot be predicted.
The atmosphere was draped in foggy haze
and attitudes inflamed to shatter dreams!
Such is life the way it is inflicted.
Another rainy day in Buffalo.
We pray for days in which the sunlight beams
But days like those cannot be predicted.
And soon we will be knee deep high in snow.
Frigid!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

Poetic Asides Poetic Form – Curtal Sonnet

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SHINOTSKUAME

I listen to the rumble. Such intensity in the city. Rains in buckets and sheets spill, the streets in rivulets streaming.Watching from my window shadows form, silhouettes bathed in every bolt of electric mayhem striking in the distance and nearer. The fear is that the power would surge and crackle and leave all in darkness. It hearkens back to the womb. Damp and dark, murmurs and gurgles amplify. The cascade filling gulleys and valleys, awash with nature’s fury. If you hurry, you can step out of the confluence before it ruins your shoes.

Hard and intense,
the rain falls in the distance.
In its wake, the calm.

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday: 50 Shades of Rain

 

 

CUMULO-OMINOUS

Mere days away,
a coronation is planned
for autumn’s shortened reign.

The temperatures decline
finding their descent hell-bent
on a rapid departure to parts unknown.

The trees have grown fragile;
the color barrage itching to begin
and within her palette the earth is apparent

an inherent nod to the warmth
sought, but not always embraced,
and faced with the scent of must and moth-balls.

And in the sky, standing tall
the harbinger of winter woes (so it goes
around Buffalo) dark and moody, looming

upon the horizon, rising skyward.
Storms  brewing, or memories
of days of storm-filled pasts recalled,

all seeded in the clouds for near future
reference. Your preference
is a temperate fall ending in spring.

But, here’s the thing:
the winds find their thrill in the chill
they provide. An equinox out of the box

stirring dreads of a White Christmas
long before the sleep of the solstice beckons.
Cumulonimbus is your reminder.

Better hasten to find your scarf and gloves
before the snows reign from above.
Ominous and threatening; keep your guard up.

...looming upon the horizon, rising skyward

UNENCUMBERED SLUMBER

The weather forecast delivers as predicted;
a wicked downpour, torrential and damaging.
All the while, I keep managing to sleep.
It is a deep doze, nearly comatose is my brain
as the rain continues. It appears she brought friends.
The lightning flashes and the rumbles never end.

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber.

Oddly, insomnia escaped me when the rains came.
The same can be said of my apnea, I wonder
if the hum of the thunder plays into my slumber?
Does the electricity cause static that makes it cling
within the ring of its timpani; a “drum” laden symphony
that pacifies my eyes allowing them to not be breached?
Does the lightning beseech my heart to remain still
until the thrill of thunder’s wonder subsides?

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber

and therein lies my answer. Is it right every night
to pray for the rain that offers my tired strain a respite?
For the hypnotic roll takes full control as I lay in a heap,
awash in dream filled sleep, unfettered and undisturbed.
But, the silence of the night supplies a fright that says I will lay here,
awake all night. It is then, I thank the forecasters call for rain with thunder.

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber.