After the Storm

The sudden silence of rain stopping
Wakes me to walk across drenched grass
Toward no place or purpose in particular.

Lightning lingers in the air, not the blinding
Sharp bolts that rent the rain but a soft
Luminescence left behind in the clouds.

Two cottontails still as statues by the pines,
Convinced they are safe in their silence;
A betrayal of instinct I've come to understand.

Such a simple thing, walking with bare feet
In tall wet grass . . . something children do
Without thinking, grow older, and forget.

The sky shivers, the clouds turn on and off,
The rabbits still in their cloistered quiet.
I walk on, back to my separate stillness.




Poetry by countryfog
Read 518 times
Written on 2011-04-07 at 01:16

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Doreen Cavazza
You can just feel the serenity and the wilderness in this. It's as though I morph to another place. You have a way with words. Beautiful.
2011-04-20


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
What I most enjoyed about his poem is that its quiet, deliberate pace exactly matched the thoughts of the one walking out onto the grass. Nice work, Fog.
2011-04-10


solomonstorm
damn fine poetry.
evocative, emotion is sanguine, almost transcendant of the now or here. read a few of yours, and enjoyed 'em all.
the "about 'you'" on your page brings to mind trying to describe the emotion evoked by a clean and pristine piece of lined or unlined paper, with a fine point felt tip pen centered at a 45 degree angle on top, waiting pregnantly for my pleasure.
i try to describe how that picture makes me feel, and invariably fail, not for lack of a listener, or reader, but for divine words, sublime, or even close. i'm not the poet i wish i was, but a poet i am, however powerless to define the indescribable.

loved your poems this morning. epic.

mind returning the favor, and reading a few of mine? very few comments or reviews on this site so far. getting lonely.

i write poems that rhyme, but you write poetically, and i'd like to think we both achieve the same goal, though that's sort of debatable. read standing tall, or the artsy-fartsy one in which i try to describe what i've mentioned here. not very well, i oughta admit.

thanks.
2011-04-08



Centered in this quietly reflective poem is frankly dark confession. There is no escaping one's self.
2011-04-08



Our separate stillness is so real and so palpable it rakes
at our inner beings. Externalised in the setting of a post raining landscape lends it such drama and emotive power.
This excellent collected image has no need of visual aids.
Thanks for sharing.
2011-04-08