It was raining this afternoon, so I took an old poem (the last one) and added two more to it. Should I have left it alone? Do you like the other two better? Please tell me!


Blue grows grey as though it aged

A hundred years in a minute.

The air waits, its nerves on end,

Expecting to be broken any moment-

Charged and filled and whirled

In some ancient dance.

And the air waits.


Fat drops spill,

Like the tears of a child,

With tiny explosions

Over cement, steel, brick, and mud-

One by one slowly.

And then the sky exploded.

Noise and light and water

Pouring from heaven

To bless some.


The earth is cleansed

And all is fresh and new

I can almost see the flowers grow

After the thunder.

The drama, clashes of the white-haired,

Bushy bearded sky kings,

As they throw their bolts of light and shout

Making the thunder.

I see fresh green in all

The grass, the trees, the shrubs,

The weeds sprung up in my garden bed

Clean from the thunder.

I close my eyes to breathe in spring's fresh scent,

And catch instead steel, road, and gasoline

From the metal menace cruising down my street.

I liked the thunder.