Saturday, 29 March 2014

Pigeons rachet from a branch,
Like brittle pages, wind riffles leaves,
Low, bruised nimbus are summer’s thieves.
A change is on the way.
Blinds rattle, a door slams,
Raindrops in dust find sudden death,
All that lives holds its breath.
A change is on the way.

Wind-whipped wrappers, like baubles, on gates,
Ink lines of ants homeward scurry
Gaggles of children from schoolyards hurry.
A change is on the way.
Hatches are battened, chairs flattened,
Hasty unpegging of laundry to plunder,
A howling dog competing with thunder.
A change is on the way.

A ripping lights the sky,
A smattering, a splattering
A drizzling, a mizzling
And zigzags rend the sky
A rivulet, a brooklet
A-streaming, a-teeming
Rush, gush, lush
Cool change.

 © Rhonda Pooley  2014

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