Cold cream tile
Channelling the last of the sun.
Candle glow swells
Forcing outwards, meeting the sunlight,
Mingling within its dying moments.
The body warms beneath it.
Tepid water laps and sways,
Healing as it goes.
The mind settled, body peaceful.
Lungs taste the sweetness
Of Lavender and Geranium
Then exhale calm fortitude.
Sitar music tickles the air,
Winding, dancing on the condensation.
Steam whirls and twists
Around the flame
As mind and body coalesce:
A rare occasion.
This half light beckons me,
Lightly touching me awake
With the gentlest of fingers,
Placating me with the promise of day.
The night was empty.
A vacuum of dark unfamiliarity
Where I floundered
And craved the morning.
A plume billows up from behind the mountain,
Swallowing blue, looming, mighty architecture.
Like a giant swarm, it’s poised to consume.
It grows and morphs, ready to attack.
Throwing birds out into the air,
They scatter and screech as they go,
A warning to take cover and brace
For something is coming.
The springtime buds shiver and shake
As the updraft pulls and pushes them
Sucking air into the beast
Making it stronger and more powerful.
The sun beams its last few rays
Before being overcome by grey
As a shelf of cloud rolls over the land
The herald of things to come.
All has silenced and darkened
A cold breeze blows excitedly
As the monster opens herself
And the deluge blankets all around.
The sky fractures, a crystal crack to the ground
Then a few seconds peace before the bang.
A clatter of hail, like pebbles falling
From a child’s palm.
The sun gains the upper hand once again,
Victoriously throwing out rays from behind.
Mocking the April storm, who retreats,
Like a scolded dog.
As a fan of Tim Samaras and his team, I’m shocked and saddened to the core by their untimely and unfair deaths.
This poem is for them.
For Tim, Paul and Carl.
Today, skyward faces of intrepid chasers,
Are instead ground fixed and downturned.
Anemometers still, radars powered down,
Models neglected, ignored.
This brethren of hunters, these brothers of storms,
Mourn the loss of a father, a mentor.
Their everyday banter, emulous jibes
Are replaced by the silence of grief.
I ask of Mother Nature for a day of reprieve,
A moment’s peace for your fallen devotees.
Let the only rain be tears, no tempestuous games,
Give your soldiers of science time to heal.
To die in the field of battle,
Brings an honour that few can attain.
So rest easy, brave men of discovery,
Know your deaths will not let be in vain.