920 Thunder 8-1-2020

I aspire to poetry.
I achieve only
rhythm and rhyme
or worse, doggerel.

But every once in an age,
collaborating muses
mix mystery and miracle
with muscle.
Mere words
take on that glorious role,
the voice of a roll of thunder.

This is the poet’s calling:

with sulfuric snap of lightning bolts
on the dark horizon of storm,
warn of a small-cloud-fist,
fast approaching.
remind the word-weary-world
there be meaning
in the whirl of the wind.
rumble the split air
with flashes of light,
streaks of beauty.
keep a journal of life’s
inevitable tempests.

About Ken Greenman

Married and Happy. Retired and busy. Living in NC. 71 and counting. December 12, 2020 and it's 72! ... I would love some written comments, critiques, adulation or kind suggestions.... If you have the time and or inclination, please feel free! Not in fear but by faith. We will see. See you later! If you ever want to talk for real, email me and I will send you my cell number.... I am enjoying this!
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