Thunder Dance

[Cyril Darkcloud]

For my parents .....

 

Thunder Dance

 

The birds have gotten quiet

like they always do when

the air gets heavy and

sets itself to swaying.

So you just leave that basket

setting right there by the steps.

It just ain’t worth the bother

of hanging clothes out on that line.

The clouds are getting dusky

on top of Bear Mountain

and the thunder’s making ready

to dance for us tonight.

 

You just come up here beside me

and we’ll sit here on this porch

and watch that sweaty purple

stretch out right across the sky

and shove the busy red of sunset

out of the way a while

to make some space for

the clouds to exhale long and slow

and me to tangle my fingers in your hair

and you to steal a few swallows

from out of my beer.

And that basket of clothes

that need to be hung

can just be left off to the side.

 

Mary .....

 

Mary, you worry about so many things.

And tonight just ain’t the time

for paying attention to anything

but that whispered rumbling

in the throat of the sky

and that breath of rain

hanging warm and quiet

beneath that curtain

of clouds upon the mountain

where the wind is keeping time

to that muted drumbeat

behind those purple folds

where the thunder's fixing

to dance for us tonight.

 

 

This piece took shape in the Writers' Workshop here.

[Salinye]

Well, Cyril. I feel like there is no place left with this piece for critique, so may I just commend you on an excellent wonderful poem? It's beautiful and I bet your parents loved it. I think you twisted the imagery brilliantly and I Loved how you incorporated the dialect of the people you were writing about.

 

Thank you for sharing, I'm always a bit in awe of your work.

 

~Salinye

[Rhapsody]

I love how the poem starts, what with the silence of the birds...that's always creepy, and the feeling that the air 'sways'.

 

to make some space for

the clouds to exhale long and slow

Wow, the imagery!

 

where the wind is keeping time

to that muted drumbeat

behind those purple folds

where the thunder's fixing

to dance for us tonight.

Again, I can just picture the sky. The poem seems almost ritualistic...what with the thunder dance and all, and the "muted drumbeat". But it also sounds kinda southern to me: "fixing to dance...."

 

Kudos.

 

*Rhaps*

[Wavechild]

um, i love you?

[Appy]

Every syllable clicks into place.. like it should be.

 

Big dark almost mystic feeling intertwined with deep love.

 

More then a good read