Today the wind blew in cruel,
and on top of that bitter bitch's back blew in thunderstorms too,
too concerned with the rain in their bloated guts
to feel anything for a smattering of mortal fools,
zeppelins did loop-de-loops writing sky-cloud truths to warn
us of what would happen if the rain broke loose,
We stomped around in our cowboy boots
and seersucker suits ignoring the signs spelled out so well
o'er our roofs,
ignoring the clues,
invisible Zeus being pulled in a chariot of cumulonimbus clouds
loud with mad power within those tall terrible towers,
And then came the showers,
thunder broke into our homes like intrusive prowlers,
lightning leapt to the ground like the stem of a bright but temporary flower,
we prayed it'd be brief,
but the water fell for hours,
King Howard left his damp throne and rose into Heaven to plead with
the thunder god to lesson his aggression,
Oh, Sky Father, he cried, have compassion,
King Olympian, relinquish your transgression,
son of Cronos and the Titaness daughter Rhea, stave off this
sodden armageddon,
I am deafened by the awe of your legend, oh Pitcher of Thunderbolts,
but am here nonetheless on bend'd knee begging,
call off this wedding of earth and sky before we are buried alive
by water too high even for the mountain tops,
if this is a lesson then may this education session be terminated with prejudice,
we apologize with an emphasis on selflessness,
please, be sensitive of these bodies - our most precious possessions,
so fragile, so reckless,
a gift of your divine essence,
if someone must pay penance, then let ME, a humble king, step into the crevice,
spare us the endless menace of your jealous obsession,
It is said King Howard never returned from his visit to the clouds,
his proud son, the prince, bowed and was crowned,
the rain dried up,
ceased falling from the thunderclouds...
and then came the drought,
Again the people moaned and complained aloud,
groans were thrown like stones o'er the dustblown land,
until a bone-dry wind,
as cruel as sin,
sounded above the shouts,
drying out the words in the people's mouths,
a distant crackling sound,
the familiar fear,
the familiar doubt,
Another long-winded story of the disloyal and the devout,
most likely profound,
princes buried and forgotten in the sometimes scorched
and sometimes sodden ground,
surrounded by a long list of dead nobility under brown'd mounds,
alas, enough of sand and gout,
of downpours and heavy clouds,
that particular part of history,
I'm saddened to point out,
is not at all what this poem is about.
TA
and on top of that bitter bitch's back blew in thunderstorms too,
too concerned with the rain in their bloated guts
to feel anything for a smattering of mortal fools,
zeppelins did loop-de-loops writing sky-cloud truths to warn
us of what would happen if the rain broke loose,
We stomped around in our cowboy boots
and seersucker suits ignoring the signs spelled out so well
o'er our roofs,
ignoring the clues,
invisible Zeus being pulled in a chariot of cumulonimbus clouds
loud with mad power within those tall terrible towers,
And then came the showers,
thunder broke into our homes like intrusive prowlers,
lightning leapt to the ground like the stem of a bright but temporary flower,
we prayed it'd be brief,
but the water fell for hours,
King Howard left his damp throne and rose into Heaven to plead with
the thunder god to lesson his aggression,
Oh, Sky Father, he cried, have compassion,
King Olympian, relinquish your transgression,
son of Cronos and the Titaness daughter Rhea, stave off this
sodden armageddon,
I am deafened by the awe of your legend, oh Pitcher of Thunderbolts,
but am here nonetheless on bend'd knee begging,
call off this wedding of earth and sky before we are buried alive
by water too high even for the mountain tops,
if this is a lesson then may this education session be terminated with prejudice,
we apologize with an emphasis on selflessness,
please, be sensitive of these bodies - our most precious possessions,
so fragile, so reckless,
a gift of your divine essence,
if someone must pay penance, then let ME, a humble king, step into the crevice,
spare us the endless menace of your jealous obsession,
It is said King Howard never returned from his visit to the clouds,
his proud son, the prince, bowed and was crowned,
the rain dried up,
ceased falling from the thunderclouds...
and then came the drought,
Again the people moaned and complained aloud,
groans were thrown like stones o'er the dustblown land,
until a bone-dry wind,
as cruel as sin,
sounded above the shouts,
drying out the words in the people's mouths,
a distant crackling sound,
the familiar fear,
the familiar doubt,
Another long-winded story of the disloyal and the devout,
most likely profound,
princes buried and forgotten in the sometimes scorched
and sometimes sodden ground,
surrounded by a long list of dead nobility under brown'd mounds,
alas, enough of sand and gout,
of downpours and heavy clouds,
that particular part of history,
I'm saddened to point out,
is not at all what this poem is about.
TA
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