June 22

This poem came out of a great night. From about one to two in the morning, there was a huge thunderstorm over my place. It was amazing. Haven’t done it justice, but this is as close as I could get. Nobody on the road, nobody out walking, just me communing with nature even in the city. Awesome.

June 22

The leaves are talking in their sleep
While raindrops soothe their slumber
And lightning promises vengeance
On the wind that disturbed them.

The storm begins in earnest
Thunder speaks in tongues over rooftops
Torrents of water drench the cracking pavement.

And I,
The weary traveller, crouch
In narrow doorways to watch
The many-textured sky split
By light, by sound, in solitude.

This is feeling alive!
In the midst of summer’s first downpour
I breathe raindrops, wet earth and thunder
My heartbeat the only reminder
That I am not cloud, or water, or earth
Or the tumultuous sky above.

Once more,
My page is lit by blue flashes
As I shield my notebook from the rain
And wonder at the fierce beauty around me.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

Sorry I haven’t been around much. Stuff going on. Life happens.



Filed under Poetry

4 responses to “June 22

  1. Bee, this is a testament to how small we humans really are. I am always awestruck by – and in love with – a really thunderboomer, the rain pelting pavement and grass with equal gusto. You really brought this storm alive for me. Thanks! Amy

  2. earlybird

    I like this very much Bee. This ‘The leaves are talking in their sleep’ drew me right in. And this ‘I breathe raindrops, wet earth and thunder…’ was good. Describes exactly the way we become part of the elements in a situation like that.

    • Thank you Earlybird. It’s how I feel whenever I can manage to get outside during a night thunderstorm. It’s already dark, and it sets the perfect stage for a wild night of wind and rain. It’s hard to tell where the storm ends and I begin!

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