Weathervane

[atiguhya padma]

Storms at sea
That have sailors
Battling for their lives.
Lightning strikes
That wither trees,
Leave them
Almost lifeless
In their prime,
And broadcast
Slate tiles
Down wet deserted
Streets, to linger
In the loneliness.

Lanes turned into
Temporary rivers
Consuming objects
Washing waste downhill
Into the debris
Of minutes past,
A rush of hedonistic
Electricity.

The darkness
That smothers
All the colour
Of the world,
In a mood
Inconsolable,
The sky that disgorges
Its bellyful
Of sea,
In Bacchanalian
Excess.

Yes, I love
The weather.
Tornado’s, hurricanes,
Blizzards, heatwaves,
Impenetrable fogs
And dripping mists
That hang over fields
Like Victorian photographs.

Windy clifftops
Where wizened
Hawthorns bend,
Injured by endless
Labour against the grain.
And old gorse
Bushes pointing seawards,
Showing the ailment
Of time.

The cracked beds
Of winters streams
That harden in the sun;
The snow covered
Pastures, where sheep
Seek fruitlessly for feed.

A weathervane
Spins dizzily
Pointing the way
For an army of warlike clouds

Sometimes, I feel
Like the weather
Is in my blood,
In my being.

Yes, I love the weather:
It is change, it is movement,
It is life itself.

[B-Mental]

I really like this poem. I too, love the weather. There is nothing I like more than hiking in a blizzard. You happen upon animals just mere feet away. One time while hiking near a river a beaver slapped its tail upon the water in signal of warning. It was maybe three feet away, scared the scooby snaks right out of me.

"Beavers! Yikes, I'm getting out of here!"