Computer access is still spotty, but in the interest of keeping readers, here’s a little something.  I found this in my poetry notebook, dated 9/22/98.  

Of a Storm

The rain hits the pavement
like nickels
dropping and
bouncing and
rolling on a hard
cafeteria floor
echoing over the
noise of the thunder
that creates a dull roar
like the sounds of
voices in a large room
the lightning occasionally flashes
an unexpected camera shot
taking candid pictures
and no one is sure what they saw
or did
when the camera flashed
until after the storm has stopped
and the picture becomes
the trees sway slowly
at first
like autistic children
with secrets they can’t tell
then the limbs start to
whip, thrash, beat
faster, faster
in a dance
entrancing and rhythmic.
The wind whistles,
the flute music to which
the trees dance,
dancers twirl faster,
music frenzies higher
higher higher
creating a cacophony
of music and
voices and
nickels and
flashing and
dancing and
then slowly the dancers
tire of their flailing
the flutes cannot play
as high as before
and fewer nickels are dropping
and then only rolling
and the pictures are beginning
to develop.
The flutes now only play
a lullaby
and the voices are memories
of half-forgotten conversations
and bands
of water color
streak the sky
foretelling of calmer tomorrows.

I’ve always liked thunderstorms.  Re-reading this, I can picture the kind of storm I was describing.  I can also almost hear the way I would want it read.  Maybe this would be good for a poetry reading sometime.  Hmm.  Thoughts?