The Brainstorm

by Graham Cunningham (July 2020)

Sheep at the Dike, Jan Wiegers

 

 

Will the storm ever pass          

and will this one be the last?          

Will my becalmed and tethered mind          

remember the debris flying past?

I wished that I was of the earth          

compatible with green growth          

not expelling water and air          

I wished that I was not a fire.

That I could be earthly bound,

my words be made of clay

and falling rain would sooth their sound. 

Who am I talking to anyway?

I dreamed I was a fertile thing

in some glad primaeval dawn.

A rolling field primed to bring

forth gently waving ears of corn.

Not this gale of words; too loud

to catch the flow of what they say.

Who are they talking to anyway?

 

«Previous Article Table of Contents Next Article»

 

 

__________________________________
Graham Cunningham is a retired British architect. He is also a writer of occasional essays—and even more occasional poems—on aspects of political correctness and mass media group think. His work has been published in a number of online journals in Britain and the USA.

Follow NER on Twitter @NERIconoclast