The Storm will arrive but it’s just a matter of when

 

Lawns are beige with green tinges

all around dry smell in dry spell

eucalypt scents fading in gusts

dry hot scattering winds take the leaves

and my thoughts it seems

leaving me with a vacant stare, swipe across the brow

a furrowing frown of what was I thinking

a minute ago… standing alone bewildered in the supermarket aisle

my equilibrium thrown

I’m on the blink

literally

and no one’s listening

not even to these dry hideous whispers of She

the most wounded of all…

 

“Watch out , you think I’m joking but I tell you watch out…” she seethes with her hot breath

fractured with the brittle debris she collects

anger on her tongue whips across the world

what does she care of us…the degenerative bone spurs

in her side

unable to move in the right way… vices

some fool put us in her way

“I’m certainly not to blame for this…” she screams in hot flame

exclamations across the bush

if you can’t hear me…DO YOU SEE!!!

What I can do!

her bellow chorused with starving cows

faltering in the hallucinogenic heat haze of spring…yes spring

sniffing dust off calloused landscapes

 

Farmers load rifles in the shed

uncertain thoughts

vacant stares through shadows that once were beasts

and none of it makes any sense

the voices falling on deaf ears like sabres through hearts

bleeding their helplessness into cracks forged into arid lands

 

I smell rain on the wind

a fresh taunting reprieve

a storm cloud reverie that may just reach me

as I stand on the cusp of the sea

I wish I could sweep it west to the cows, the farmers

should it arrive as it suggests it might

but only SHE has that strength…or inclination

 

Walking my dogs in the cool of the afternoon

I feel a teasing solitary drop of rain

on the breeze

over the bay grey clouds smooth across the sky

 is it over before it even had a chance to begin

mudflats pop with life… hermit crabs graffiti

the shores with their drifting tracks

safe from raspy herons and poking stilts in their

built for one caravans

and one by one school children and workers

return home

the whole neighbourhood pops

voices, doors banging

lorikeets dangle on palm trees, corellas screech above roads

annoying galahs

makes me wonder

is anything really wrong with this picture

 

ask the birds…they’d tell us

all those scientists’ can’t be wrong

and the as the doors shut on another evening

we’ll wake up to groundhog day

without the puddles

 

 

posted for http://intothebardo.wordpress.com/2013/10/23/stream-of-consciousness-writing-writers-wednesday/

I guess this is what’s really on my mind at present, the weather and the strangeness of it…it seems a little outta whack and these dry gusty days just send my mind outta whack too!

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “The Storm will arrive but it’s just a matter of when

  1. nice use of groundhog day there in the end…a bit more of the same only a few of the textures change…i really like how you use the surroundings in this and touch all the senses as well….and surely nature knows, more so than we do…

  2. Well scripted, Di. I can imagine how the weather down there right now is commanding attention–saw news of really bad wild fires in Australia in today’s paper. The scent of eucalyptus brings back many childhood memories for me. Thanks for sharing.

  3. Di, this is a very evocative poem filled with vivid images and vivid justifiable feeling and a sense of Earth chastising us and the uncomfortable intuition that something is wrong and an ill wind blows. Bravo!

    Thanks for participating in this challenge. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s