Stormy Countenances

This post-storm palette;

so outrageously orange,

salmon, scarlet, and sanguine…


Oddly, the same hues

that fly across his visage

when Hurricane Donald blows.

* I try not to finish the mondos I start with my poetic partner at but tonight I just could not help playing with the theme… sorry, mom!

Ionic Ironies

Air filled with portents,

intangible potentials

seeking easy paths to ground.


How that huge old tree

must feel the charges building;

dread their incandescent leap!


And, yet, there he stands,

reaching up, ever higher,

as though to taunt the lightning.


Will that shocking bolt

strike him by complete surprise

when it rends him asunder?


What of his remains?

Will they stand for the ages;

A monument to folly?