The east sky crouches--
dark blue gray as Grandpa's farm cats
when the blue tom reigned.
Thunder lurks somewhere
behind a semi's rumble.
The west sun blares
white against tree leaves
turned wrong side up
in the wind and the heat.
Gulls dip against stormscaped clouds
and catch the west's white shine
in their wings. I wonder--
will all that blue gray glory
pass us by?
"stormscaped clouds" -- wonderful image!
ReplyDeleteThanks! I'm glad it worked.
DeleteI like the successions of stressed syllables in "east sun crouches" and "west sun blares"; I also like the line about thunder lurking behind the semi's rumble. Well done!
ReplyDelete(I've clicked on the "summer" label, and am reacquainting myself with some of the older poems!)