Sunday, February 10, 2008

Winter Creek


Roaring down the crevice
from the hilltop to the sea,
by way of several rivers,
my creek speeds to be free
turned into a dervish
of roiling winter rain,
it rises in an instant
over banks that can’t contain.

Thunder boomed the warning,
much too quick to heed,
scouring torrents rumbled
through rocks and soil and weeds.
Then just as fast, it quiets,
resumes its placid mask,
murmuring contentedly
through brown December grass.

Urban Poet

Ah, it was in the bleak December
that a storm came I remember
that flooded both our basement and our lawn.

The weather forecast guessed
that it might be for the best
if we headed for the hills before the dawn.

As we left the sodden town
we watched helpless chickens drown
as the neighbor's barnyard bubbled, and was gone.

Now the drought is really over
and the meadows are in clover,
but my neighbor's face is still so pale and drawn.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Your "Winter Creek" poem reminded me very much of the work of Banjo Patterson (I sometimes rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy...). I enjoyed reading it very much.

Brian (aka, roughedges)