Time Will Tell

There ...

... the streets are ghosts, haunted memories
of Last Time lingering. Nothing moves
except rain, lashing sideways on the
wind, and reporters. Always them, bent
on capturing the storm. How bad will
it get? Hopefully, not a repeat.

Here ...

... will we, who are far enough inland,
feel the effects? Depends on the track:
Last Time, all we got were clouds. Time will
tell. If it meanders further north
than expected, we could have heavy
rain, maybe severe weather. Pray not ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

Lives On Hold

... nerves so brittle they
could snap just like that,
wondering ... waiting ...
watching the weather
reports to see the
latest forecast track.

Is he eyeballing
us, wanting to make
our property his
or will he miss? We're
prepared for the worst,
hoping for the best ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

How I Became the StormSpinner

Who knew I would become the
StormSpinner. Bad clouds used
to thunder me out of bed with their
vivid flashes of lightning prophesying
my imminent doom.

Wanted to be a meteorologist
but fear of storm drove me down
the basement everytime it rained--
some brave weatherman I'd turn out to
be. Forecast: Panic!!

One blizzard, two indirect strikes
from lightning, three (or was it four?)
floods and remnants of a Category Five
Camille later, joined the service, moved to:
Tornado Alley.

And it's lived up to its name: six,
now. All have been weak, but when
the roof goes, does strength matter??
One it's gone, puppy's gone. Don't have to
chase: the storms find me.

A day of disaster was my salvation:
from ashy, tear-stained skies, poetry
began to fall: no shelter to hide within.
All I had: four walls of words and pictures
to help me survive.

Have been spinning storms, since. I
stall their forward progress, one stanza,
one image at a time, attempting to give the
extended to end the terror once and for all--
you're reading it, now.

(c) 2008

Electric Skies

Night skies, electric, charged with more
energy than I'll ever have.
Bolt after bolt, one climbing the
stepped leader of the previous,
nearly continuous. Pupils
shrink from the assault of light; ears
fold under thunder's weight ... but what
a write I'll have in the morning!!

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman.

The Creator's Morning

Thread lightning through needle, take
sky into My lap for a morning of sewing.
Hard making storms -- careful! Don't
overfill: clouds rip very easily. A bit
more thunder and rain and -- t h e r e.
Perfect. Now to align their dark edges
to fit against the striations of purple
and green: will be pretty once I get it
done. And then I'll stretch it across
the Heavens and watch the Humans
freak: except for a select few, they
don't know how much work I put into
this. They wouldn't know beauty if it
came, slapped them upside the head ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Don't Have To Chase ...

"Don't Have To Chase ..."

... storms chase me, following me into
my own backyard, searching for the
entryway to the cellar of my fear,
hidden deep within. Telling them to
go away does no good: they'll laugh
in your face with moisture-laden
breath and continue to beat at the
door. I stand on the other side,
pushing against the forces wanting
in. They are stronger; feet slipping;
can't hold on much longer. Eyes snap
open like shutters to greet the ... sun?

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Belly of the Beast

... get an eyeful as it hovers
over me, growling low in its
throat. Want to escape, but
legs won't work: paralyzed
by fear. Feel its teeth now,
smell its foetid breath (hint
of ozone). One chomp! and
swallow later, all is dark as
I enter the belly of the beast:
not the way I wanted to die.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman