Storm Gardens

arise, yielding
enormous grey flowers.
Their electric stems
sprout
through buildings
trees,
the high point
in a field.

Leaves of flame
unfold at their bases,
sometimes buried
under a cascade
of raindrop petals,
sometimes growing
into a bush.

Eventually
the gardens wither,
die in a pile
of debris
to be swept away.

Sometimes
they are gone
in a moment,
without a trace.

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42 thoughts on “Storm Gardens

  1. Sometimes they look like flowers and sometimes cauliflours turned dark and ominous. But watch out when they go green there’s circulation, and turmoil above. While they may leave shortly, not without vacuuming worlds up into them. I have seen tornadoes and I know what they do!

  2. Wonderful deft use of metaphor–not an off note anywhere as the storm builds word by word and passes. In lieu of actual rain, badly needed here, this is an excellent substitute to refresh the mind, if not the garden.

  3. Great poem.. i actually read this two ways.. the build-up of a storm (meteorological and one within ourselves)

    really great stanzas..simply stated without the use of excess words to fill space.

    nicely done!!

  4. what a wonderful way to describe a summer thunderstorm! i especially like the image of lightning as “electric stems.” your words are full of beauty and power, just like nature’s “storm gardens.”

  5. The voice of the piece…especially “die in a pile of debris” delivers the tone so matter-of-factly, you can’t help but listen.

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