A SUMMER STORM
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A SUMMER STORM
G'day Terry....I can do the rhyming narrative with regular ternary feet.. Not very well but it should look right.
A SUMMER STORM
At the rising, with portent of midsummer heat;
fom the east comes the sun with its fiery face.
To a diurnal summons from ages gone past,
this great furnace that flares from the reaches of space
has a task that is set and its progress is sure;
bringing light, making heat, giving life to the land.
And the energy sent from the heart of the sun
will unleash mighty forces from nature's hard hand.
On the fields and the roads, on the tops of the roofs
there is nothing can hide from the heat of the day.
Silent waves of the heat haze are rippling along
like a shimmering lake, on the flats far away;
as the sky burns to bronze and the breath of the air
has gone still, very still, as though fallen asleep.
Far away in the heights a chill crop has been sown,
for the scythe of the storm has a harvest to reap.
From the earth's gathered moisture the clouds start to form
into great gleaming mountains that billow and boil.
Rolling over the face of the land comes a tide,
forming wave upon wave, where the dark masses roil,
so a thick angry ocean is churning the sky
sending flashes of lightning and thunderous roar.
There's a promise of rain and relief from the heat,
such a welcome refreshment from nature's rich store.
All at once with a flash and a violent blast,
by a rush of the wind comes the charge of the storm.
Just a patter at first, just a tap and a knock
then a rapping and banging and rattling will form
a tumultuous tattoo of clattering blows
as the hail smashes down in a merciless spate
onto houses and fields, onto roads, onto trees;
a vast barrage of ice, hurling measureless weight.
For those long noisy moments, the deluge descends,
where it leaves a deposit of crystalline stones.
Now, the gale dies away and the soft steady rain
soothes the hot battered land, as if washing atones
for destruction that's wrought by the fury before,
when the elements raged in a feverish dance.
Angry clouds move away and the sun shines again.
It's the cycle of nature, of time and of chance.
At the setting, a farewell; the day's work is done.
To the west goes the sun with its fiery face.
In the diurnal pattern of ages gone past,
as the earth rolls around in the vastness of space,
there's a task that is set and its progress is sure
so that life will remain on the face of the land.
Endless energy sent from the heart of the sun
will obey unseen powers we don't understand.
A SUMMER STORM
At the rising, with portent of midsummer heat;
fom the east comes the sun with its fiery face.
To a diurnal summons from ages gone past,
this great furnace that flares from the reaches of space
has a task that is set and its progress is sure;
bringing light, making heat, giving life to the land.
And the energy sent from the heart of the sun
will unleash mighty forces from nature's hard hand.
On the fields and the roads, on the tops of the roofs
there is nothing can hide from the heat of the day.
Silent waves of the heat haze are rippling along
like a shimmering lake, on the flats far away;
as the sky burns to bronze and the breath of the air
has gone still, very still, as though fallen asleep.
Far away in the heights a chill crop has been sown,
for the scythe of the storm has a harvest to reap.
From the earth's gathered moisture the clouds start to form
into great gleaming mountains that billow and boil.
Rolling over the face of the land comes a tide,
forming wave upon wave, where the dark masses roil,
so a thick angry ocean is churning the sky
sending flashes of lightning and thunderous roar.
There's a promise of rain and relief from the heat,
such a welcome refreshment from nature's rich store.
All at once with a flash and a violent blast,
by a rush of the wind comes the charge of the storm.
Just a patter at first, just a tap and a knock
then a rapping and banging and rattling will form
a tumultuous tattoo of clattering blows
as the hail smashes down in a merciless spate
onto houses and fields, onto roads, onto trees;
a vast barrage of ice, hurling measureless weight.
For those long noisy moments, the deluge descends,
where it leaves a deposit of crystalline stones.
Now, the gale dies away and the soft steady rain
soothes the hot battered land, as if washing atones
for destruction that's wrought by the fury before,
when the elements raged in a feverish dance.
Angry clouds move away and the sun shines again.
It's the cycle of nature, of time and of chance.
At the setting, a farewell; the day's work is done.
To the west goes the sun with its fiery face.
In the diurnal pattern of ages gone past,
as the earth rolls around in the vastness of space,
there's a task that is set and its progress is sure
so that life will remain on the face of the land.
Endless energy sent from the heart of the sun
will obey unseen powers we don't understand.
Last edited by Neville Briggs on Fri Jan 13, 2012 7:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Neville
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
Re: THE SEVENTH PLAGUE
Great use of metaphor there Nevie ...
Well done ...
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Then our vocabulary improved.
Well done ...

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In the beginning the word was "Ug".
Then our vocabulary improved.
- Maureen K Clifford
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Re: THE SEVENTH PLAGUE
Gee Neville - this is enough to put the fear of God into a bloke - I am tracking Yasi as we speak and praying all will be safe up that end of the country - I am very fearful for them all. Your poem captures very well - too well perhaps the power and uncertainty of what is coming.
If any believe in the power of prayer now might be a good time to say a few.
Think this is very good Neville
Cheers
Maureen
If any believe in the power of prayer now might be a good time to say a few.
Think this is very good Neville
Cheers
Maureen
Check out The Scribbly Bark Poets blog site here -
http://scribblybarkpoetry.blogspot.com.au/
I may not always succeed in making a difference, but I will go to my grave knowing I at least tried.
http://scribblybarkpoetry.blogspot.com.au/
I may not always succeed in making a difference, but I will go to my grave knowing I at least tried.
Re: THE SEVENTH PLAGUE
Great imagery Neville. I think you are back in the saddle
Heather

Heather

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Re: THE SEVENTH PLAGUE
Thanks " swaggiejoe" I knew you liked metaphor.
Martyboy..Reverend !
granite pulpit !
The ten biblical plagues are well established in literary use, the first was the plague of water pollution , the seventh was the plague of hail. The ten plagues were used as part of the plot in the movie The Abominable Dr. Phibes.
Thanks for the encouragement Trish , Heather and Maureen. Just a question Maureen, is it the power of prayer or the power of what or who that we pray to, that counts.
Just a passing thought.
Either way we think of our compatriots up north, who are in for a rough ride.
I wonder how our mate Marty "Warooa" is faring. That's a BIG storm up there !!!.
Martyboy..Reverend !


Thanks for the encouragement Trish , Heather and Maureen. Just a question Maureen, is it the power of prayer or the power of what or who that we pray to, that counts.

Either way we think of our compatriots up north, who are in for a rough ride.
I wonder how our mate Marty "Warooa" is faring. That's a BIG storm up there !!!.
Neville
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
" Prose is description, poetry is presence " Les Murray.
- Maureen K Clifford
- Posts: 8153
- Joined: Tue Nov 09, 2010 10:31 am
- Location: Ipswich - Paul Pisasale country and home of the Ipswich Poetry Feast
- Contact:
Re: THE SEVENTH PLAGUE
whatever rows your boat Neville - I actually pray to my Dad to keep us mob safe and he seems to have done a good job to date... so I would suggest anybody that you may think has some influence up there would be a real good person to be talking too right now.
Cheers
Maureen
Cheers
Maureen
Check out The Scribbly Bark Poets blog site here -
http://scribblybarkpoetry.blogspot.com.au/
I may not always succeed in making a difference, but I will go to my grave knowing I at least tried.
http://scribblybarkpoetry.blogspot.com.au/
I may not always succeed in making a difference, but I will go to my grave knowing I at least tried.