Poetry from the trail

I don't know about you, but when jammed into a tent during a rainstorm in Wyoming, I like to get out a pad and a pencil and jot down some poetry.
This storm moved in so fast and so furious, we were in awe. It kept us at bay until the next morning.

Storm
Light fades on distant skies,
chased by roiling clouds.
Last tendrils streak across slick rock,
a fingertip touch across a lover’s back.
Darkness fills the valley now,
storm clouds swirl angry.

How sweet the rain that falls,
delicate at first, patters that rhyme,
beats in time, heartbeats.

Unnatural dusk falls heavy,
a sackcloth cover that douses light.
A blaze of jagged light,
thunder echoes off rock walls.
The rhythm of the rain quickens,
as if by excited heart.

Mid-summer storm at daylight’s end,
Nature, she shows off a wild side,
another tempest before the coming dawn.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Beautiful poem Thom.
M

Jason said...

How did the Big Agnes work anyway?

ThomG said...

Jason: Took the Nemo GoGo out instead. Saved a whole pound. But I still believe in the Seedhouse. Up for a three-day weekend trip? Bingham in the Russians?

Jason said...

Yeah... Sellars too? It would kind of depends on when.