In the calm damp of morning, every color shines deeper, and everyone is cradling some bit of cloud, some cried-out memory of last night’s storm like all the roaring and all the screaming was only sky asking to be held. Now, the green things we step on fill their tiny laps, nuzzle tiny jewels, and the wounds in bark open themselves to clutch little pools. I keep asking the world to hold me together or break me apart, so I can hold this— the sky of us too heavy to sail, the sky of us recasting as rain. Maybe we all have to fall, through high limbs and down to the low, to the broken places and thorny things, who have known every kind of weather, know how to hold the howling, know how to wrap themselves around a storm.
This is so nice and moving, Korie. Each line in your poem is sweet and creative, and the totality of the poem is superb. I love the middle so much:
"The grumbling of the
Old man in the clouds,
And the upending of
All heaven’s wedding urns
At once, a deluge,
Beating on the earth
Until it’s mud,
While lightning cracks
Like the whip of Orion..."
I am thinking "how does Korie get all those wonderfully vivid lines in one poem!" "The upending of all heaven's wedding urns" is one of the most remarkable lines I have seen in a while and has me picturing heaven's wedding urns, something I had not thought of previously! And I really love your ending, "To startle even the sleeping,/Announcing the/Power of nature." A perfect ending to a remarkable poem!
"And what's left is to tend my patch / of tinder" . . . beautiful! I love how your love for the place you live and your deep awareness of precarity/impermanence weave together in this poem.
This is wonderful, Rebekah! I am so grateful that these bursts of inspiration come to you. You have such a unique way of expressing the simplest of moments, and amplifying the awesome power and magnificience of nature. These lines are as good as they come:
"(snow still pressed
into every pocket of the forest
like dollar bills earmarked
for something special..."
I love how you take human actions and qualities and integrate them into nature. Your connection with earth and the web of life is so dear and deep, and I am so grateful you share pieces of that with us. Thank you!
Lisa, this is a truly exceptional poem. As I read it, I thought of real storms, thunderstorms, torrential downpours. I also felt the poem in my deepest heart, spirit and soul, the pain, fear and uncertainty of the societal storms rolling across our land and planet, and wonder if they will end the way a thunderstorm does: a quiet calm and the scattered debris of branches, trees and and river detritus littering the landscape. Will we ever be able to clean it up? Will we ever be able to put back together what is so horribly dismantled and broken? Will we be able to heal even in the brokenness and how it will linger long after the clown car has derailed?
Your poems and writing has been one of the life giving forces that have helped me to feel centered and grounded in this time of deep disorientation. Thank you for being a bright beacon of light for me, and so many. I am so grateful for you and your dellcious, life giving poems.
Thank you so much, my friend! Your generosity, your thoughtfulness, and your poetry also help me to feel centered, even in this "time of deep disorientation," as you so perfectly put it. I like how you developed the storm metaphor further in your comment. In the long run (sometimes very long), the debris of branches and trees and river detritus can nourish the soil and help the next thing grow. There's enough goodness in the world that I believe it's possible that this can happen in the sociopolitical sense, too! Am I sure it will? No, definitely not. And still, it feels like a possibility worth living into.
Thunder rolls and booms and the muscles tighten. Fear or excitement? Both, I'd say, plus the visceral envy for the roar announcing itself to the world.
Just a quick thought, there is more to explore here. Thank you for this, Lisa!
Lisa, this was a great poem about the rain, really evocative. Lines like " the sky of us to heavy to sail, the sky of us recasting as rain". The rhythm of the words evokes the feeling of the storm, the downpour.
To answer your question/prompt about rain or storms, I wrote something called Rain Symphony if you have time to check it out...and ironically I used the same image you did for your poem. You know what they say about "2 great minds..." hahaha
You weave together so many evocative images and so many powerful emotions in this poem, Larry! Something about it gives me the feeling of moving in and out of sleep, soft and relaxed one moment, then jolting awake with a rush of anxiety in the next. For me, that captures what it feels like to be in this world right now - there is still so much beauty and softness and good . . . but also "the mad men are running loose."
A., I found it so cool that someone else was told the bolwing story as a kid! I am sure my parents (actually it was just my mom, my father would have thought it was foolish) had the story told to them. She also told me lightning was folks in heaven using their flashlights to get home... I grew up in Virginia and my family has Maryland and Virginia roots, but I can't remember any of my cousins telling me that my Aunts and Uncles shared this story with them. Even though I found my church teachings mostly unbelievable and often unsettling, these tales comforted me somehow. I am sure would not have been mentioned by any of the priests, nuns or CCD teachers that I knew. Perhaps I'll research the origins of the Bowling in heaven story!
My family's version was that the sound of thunder was the bowling and the lightning was when they got a strike (I love a pun lol). If you can figure out the origins, I'd love to hear it. My family all grew up in Pennsylvania, so it's probably more widespread than you'd think!
It’s the sounds that you
Feel in the storm;
The grumbling of the
Old man in the clouds,
And the upending of
All heaven’s wedding urns
At once, a deluge,
Beating on the earth
Until it’s mud,
While lightning cracks
Like the whip of Orion
To startle even the sleeping,
Announcing the
Power of nature.
"While lightning cracks / like the whip of Orion" - I love this, Korie!
This is so nice and moving, Korie. Each line in your poem is sweet and creative, and the totality of the poem is superb. I love the middle so much:
"The grumbling of the
Old man in the clouds,
And the upending of
All heaven’s wedding urns
At once, a deluge,
Beating on the earth
Until it’s mud,
While lightning cracks
Like the whip of Orion..."
I am thinking "how does Korie get all those wonderfully vivid lines in one poem!" "The upending of all heaven's wedding urns" is one of the most remarkable lines I have seen in a while and has me picturing heaven's wedding urns, something I had not thought of previously! And I really love your ending, "To startle even the sleeping,/Announcing the/Power of nature." A perfect ending to a remarkable poem!
Thank you, Larry - I’ve realized that I really like the use of a prompt to bring ideas to mind!
Didn't see this coming, but there was a little early-season thunder yesterday on my walk. Here's what came out of that.
.
First thunderclap of spring,
and though there is nothing to fear
(snow still pressed
into every pocket of the forest
like dollar bills earmarked
for something special:
bonfire, garlic shoot, willow bud),
it feels significant, like here we go.
.
It is a gamble, this life.
I know it is not mine to keep.
But it is so sweet down here
that I can’t help but hedge
as the strikes start falling.
Take rocky top of mountain!
Take high treeless meadow!
Stay up there with the angels
and let me spin again.
.
I have placed my chips on
every other number.
All that’s left is to tend my patch
of tinder and sniff the air
singed by the ball
as it lands, and lands.
"And what's left is to tend my patch / of tinder" . . . beautiful! I love how your love for the place you live and your deep awareness of precarity/impermanence weave together in this poem.
This is wonderful, Rebekah! I am so grateful that these bursts of inspiration come to you. You have such a unique way of expressing the simplest of moments, and amplifying the awesome power and magnificience of nature. These lines are as good as they come:
"(snow still pressed
into every pocket of the forest
like dollar bills earmarked
for something special..."
I love how you take human actions and qualities and integrate them into nature. Your connection with earth and the web of life is so dear and deep, and I am so grateful you share pieces of that with us. Thank you!
Lisa, this is a truly exceptional poem. As I read it, I thought of real storms, thunderstorms, torrential downpours. I also felt the poem in my deepest heart, spirit and soul, the pain, fear and uncertainty of the societal storms rolling across our land and planet, and wonder if they will end the way a thunderstorm does: a quiet calm and the scattered debris of branches, trees and and river detritus littering the landscape. Will we ever be able to clean it up? Will we ever be able to put back together what is so horribly dismantled and broken? Will we be able to heal even in the brokenness and how it will linger long after the clown car has derailed?
Your poems and writing has been one of the life giving forces that have helped me to feel centered and grounded in this time of deep disorientation. Thank you for being a bright beacon of light for me, and so many. I am so grateful for you and your dellcious, life giving poems.
Thank you so much, my friend! Your generosity, your thoughtfulness, and your poetry also help me to feel centered, even in this "time of deep disorientation," as you so perfectly put it. I like how you developed the storm metaphor further in your comment. In the long run (sometimes very long), the debris of branches and trees and river detritus can nourish the soil and help the next thing grow. There's enough goodness in the world that I believe it's possible that this can happen in the sociopolitical sense, too! Am I sure it will? No, definitely not. And still, it feels like a possibility worth living into.
'like all the roaring
and all the screaming
was only sky
asking to be held' .
'the sky of us'
Lovely!!
Thank you so much! 💙
Thunder rolls and booms and the muscles tighten. Fear or excitement? Both, I'd say, plus the visceral envy for the roar announcing itself to the world.
Just a quick thought, there is more to explore here. Thank you for this, Lisa!
Love, love your poem 🖤
Thank you so much, Fotini! And oooooh, I love this notion of envy for "the roar announcing itself to the world."
Lisa, this was a great poem about the rain, really evocative. Lines like " the sky of us to heavy to sail, the sky of us recasting as rain". The rhythm of the words evokes the feeling of the storm, the downpour.
To answer your question/prompt about rain or storms, I wrote something called Rain Symphony if you have time to check it out...and ironically I used the same image you did for your poem. You know what they say about "2 great minds..." hahaha
https://victorypalace.substack.com/p/rain-symphony?r=1f37in
Thank you so much for sharing this, fellow great mind. I love the playfulness of your metaphors - whipped cream, angel food cake, unicorns on acid!
Glad you enjoyed it.
Unable to sleep, light snow beginning to fall, this one birthed from my anxiety.
^
The little boy asks his wise parents and older siblings
what makes the thunder noise?
“It’s people bowling in heaven.”
Nice, I thought, though wondered why
I did not hear them bowling
In the sunshine.
Still, it as good a description of heaven
as I have heard,
and even the losers of the bowling
won’t be banished to hell.
^
One early morning last week,
raucous and rampaging thunderstorms
came barreling through,
piercing sweet slumber,
through the hazy ears of the thinning fog
sublime interludes between sleeping and waking.
In the fog, I wondered what all the loud trucks were about.
For an instant I remembered the bowling ally in the heavens,
and hoped the celestial playgrounds were abounding in joy,
the flowers soon to bloom like sweet love in a fragile heart.
^
Back here on earth, awake now
to a different sort of thunder.
A long season of biblical floods and
demons escaping into our heightening anxiety,
capturing waking dreams and deepest nightmares,
casting shadows over every single day.
The mad men are running loose,
and the fabricators of fiction and folly
have seized the wheel of the bus.
and won’t let the rest of us get off.
^
Unclasp the buckles and pray,
ready to jump from
this runaway train,
gathering all the hearts broken in the deluge,
rebuilding all the bridges ripped down in these plundering storms.
You weave together so many evocative images and so many powerful emotions in this poem, Larry! Something about it gives me the feeling of moving in and out of sleep, soft and relaxed one moment, then jolting awake with a rush of anxiety in the next. For me, that captures what it feels like to be in this world right now - there is still so much beauty and softness and good . . . but also "the mad men are running loose."
My parents always told me the same thing about bowling in heaven. I can't help but think about it every time there's a thunderstorm.
A., I found it so cool that someone else was told the bolwing story as a kid! I am sure my parents (actually it was just my mom, my father would have thought it was foolish) had the story told to them. She also told me lightning was folks in heaven using their flashlights to get home... I grew up in Virginia and my family has Maryland and Virginia roots, but I can't remember any of my cousins telling me that my Aunts and Uncles shared this story with them. Even though I found my church teachings mostly unbelievable and often unsettling, these tales comforted me somehow. I am sure would not have been mentioned by any of the priests, nuns or CCD teachers that I knew. Perhaps I'll research the origins of the Bowling in heaven story!
My family's version was that the sound of thunder was the bowling and the lightning was when they got a strike (I love a pun lol). If you can figure out the origins, I'd love to hear it. My family all grew up in Pennsylvania, so it's probably more widespread than you'd think!
I love that! The lightning is bowling a strike! 😀 must be some wild bowling tournaments there!
She didnt wake up.
No fanfare,no guns blaring,
Just Dead. WTF.
💔💔💔