No frost, morning warm—
flotilla of round clouds,
a raft of ships scouting

for a dark fleet, big guns
on the horizon. A welcome
invasion of the flesh:

earth, roots, bark, blade
and mind’s eye open—yet
now afraid of a real rain,

to be drunk with it—
to let go and be ravaged
at last, to turn loose the dry

and dusty lines of poetry,
my plodding momentum tied
to bare dirt and empty skies—

afraid to howl, to learn
the language of the gods,
to speak in tongues

and dance with trees
far from my secure delirium,
these years of drought.


12 responses to “THESE YEARS OF DROUGHT

  1. John, I can imagine the wild abandon of dancing in a long, soaking rain or even, perhaps, a wild storm. I pray that you and those in your situation may dance the crazy rain dance soon!


    Liked by 1 person

  2. Echoes of my depression/WW II-era parents. They had a comfortable life, but were oddly frugal, thrifty “DIY”-ers. Some things will always haunt you, I guess.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Having seen severe draught around Australia, I can very well imagine the heart felt dancing in the rain! I hope it comes soon so your heart can dance…


  4. Damn, brother!!!! Wow!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Wonderful, and the perfect photo!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Inches of rain, glorified—these series of posts are a reality check for me, living as I do on the Mississippi River in both Memphis and New Orleans where a surge of water is barreling toward both cities with flood warnings, cresting predictions, and frenzied news coverage. My dog reacts to the water rising up the banks as if it were a living thing, which I guess it is. Thanks for the lovely poetry.


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