Sew me a slip of thundercloud sky and I'll nestle the loneliness into my throat
Pen to pulse, dragging through lymph and blood
Starvation flutters can be soothed with a warm compress
          If only you can find one

Insomnia doesn't strike so much as rescue
          Against far more fearful alternatives
The mind screeches
The day commits suicide and the martyr falls on his sword

Pressing flowers and lips to poison
It oozes sweet within a skull
One day
          Someday
                    It will be too late

Trading Communion bread laughter
Pudding cups of trauma
And the shameful
          Beautiful
                    Time capsule Polaroids

Bless the Restless
Thunder for the Sleepless
For the ****** need storm clouds
          Not nightingales, you see

The clouds grumble
as if on cue
with my rage.
My palms streak the lightning
with utmost familiarity.
A pet loyal as ever;
always awaiting
the slightest nod
to curse all who ever belittled me.

Missing home,
which is built with love,
little thunder and storm.

The squall rousted the last of the roses,
a flutter amongst the mango blossoms.
The storm billowed with savage abandon,
a waterfall cascaded down the wall.
Lightning graffiti scrawled across the sky,
charcoal thunder rattled the fogged windows.

I held her trembling hand and stroked her back
as she leaped at the sound of every crack.
We breathed in rhythm — a steady tempo —
in-out, in-out, our tempest ritual.

He came to report a discovery
of roe while cleaning the rohu for lunch.
Spicy fritters added to the menu —
swift improvement to inclement weather.

The wind howled against the glass
Threatening to break it down
Mighty sky covered the clouds
In color grey, black and brown
Gush of wind blows out the candle
While darkness consumes it all
A thunder cracks through the sky
As if to answer darkness’s call
All the trees bow down to the wind
Maybe asking for mercy or kindness
The fallen leaves fly in the sky
Perhaps to win an invincible race.
The heavy rain drenched it all
Drowning everything pure and good
Looking at the weather I was sure
It was a perfect representation of my mood

The wind tapped at the glass
To inform it’s arrival
Mighty skies growled to let me know
That the future wasn’t my rival
Gush of wind blows out the candle
Maybe to tell me to take a break
A thunder shows me a glimpse of outside
The future, which is mine to take
The trees danced in sync with the wind
Happy again to be fresh and green
Or maybe they were simply thankful
As now the streets were sparkly clean
The heavy rain drenched it all
To wash away everything sad
Looking at the weather I was sure
That in this reality I am glad

When lightning bolts and thunder
begin to strike and rumble,
when heavy rain drops of my sorrow
first touch the lashes,
eyebrows furrow.
An era shall begin.

Shock
by Michael R. Burch

It was early in the morning, in the forming of my soul,
in the dawning of desire, with passion at first bloom,
with lightning splitting heaven to thunder's blasting roll
and a sense of welling fire and, perhaps, impending doom—

that I cried out through the tumult of the raging storm on high
for shelter from the chaos of the restless, driving rain . . .
and the voice I heard replying from a rift of bleeding sky
was mine, I'm sure, and, furthermore, was certainly insane.

Published by Penny Dreadful, The Eclectic Muse, Fullosia Press and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: shock, nightmare, insanity, dream, dreams, storm, rain, lightning, thunder, rift, sky, red, bleeding, ******, voice

Resurrecting Passion
by Michael R. Burch

Last night, while dawn was far away
and rain streaked gray, tumescent skies,
as thunder boomed and lightning railed,
I conjured words, where passion failed ...

But, oh, that you were mine tonight,
sprawled in this bed, held in these arms,
your ******* pale baubles in my hands,
our bodies bent to old demands ...

Such passions we might resurrect,
if only time and distance waned
and brought us back together;
                                                      now
I pray these things might be, somehow.

But time has left us twisted, torn,
and we are more apart than miles.
How have you come to be so far—
as distant as an unseen star?

So that, while dawn is far away,
my thoughts might not return to you,
I feed your portrait to the flames,
but as they feast, I burn for you.

Published by Songs of Innocence and The Chained Muse. Keywords/Tags: resurrecting, passion, desire, lust, ***, night, dawn, rain, thunder, lightning, bodies, *******, arms, portrait, flames