Not Warming,

My first piece of writing on here for a while, I have stopped travelling so much, and time is full of work and commute. I am trying to keep all my time together and use it well.

Storm Classification

What happens when we use up all the names
for storms that whipcrack race to us
across the Atlantic?

Ready to lift trees, roots and most of our life.
We weather the storm, the ground opened
and the push pull vacuum.

We weather the clawing at the windows,
scoured walls, pock-marked by debris
as the dust settles to a silence, a wait.

Here now the milk moon is clear sky bright
and full to drag the tides high, to drag us all
into pitiless grayscale light.

We are such poor shadows without the sun,
in the new silence of un-named storms.
We stand and watch on opened ground,

waiting for rain that clears the sky,
breaks the shadow hold on watchers
hidden in the doorways. Waiting for spring

and the tidal race we find the world 
has turned her back on us. The weather is coming,
and the world turns with the coming storm.


Go on, tell me something, you know you want to.

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