It’s a rare thing here

To smell the dry ground

As thunderclouds form

In the ozone heat of a summer’s day

Freshets of misty raindrops spill forth

The clouds recede

In the distance as I gain the hilltop

I’m in time to see a rainbow arc across the sky

A sky that’s clad in glowing clouds of battleship gray

Ripped occasionally to reveal

Towering white puffballs

They rumble

Rumble with Olympian force

Rumble with discontent

Rumble out a warning

So I retreat

Remembering the secateurs at my hip

Other metal items that could be a bad idea

On open ground

On a hilltop

In a thunderstorm

But it’s hard not to stay

Bear witness to the tale being played

Listen to the thunder

Track the lightning flashes

As elemental forces clash

Yet I retreat once more

And take shelter behind my door

As the thunder rumbles


Lightning illuminates with intensity

Then silence

The clouds darken

The rumbling begins again

Like a heavyweight fight

Destined to go the distance

No hold barred



David Trudel  © 2012






Filed under Poetry

7 responses to “Storm

  1. Heh, I was writing a poem about this same storm.

    I like it.

    Enjoy the thunder and lightning.

  2. I love the raw power of thunderstorms. You capture it well here.

  3. Kim

    and the smell. That ozone, dust settling smell. Evocative. Elemental.

  4. I might have kept going but I kept thinking the power might go out, or that the keyboard would blow up. I think we’ve had a few very close calls tonight – boom followed by flash as the ground shakes.
    Thanks for the support my friends.

  5. This will be a terrific blog, would you be interested in doing an interview about just how you developed it? If so e-mail me! 768735

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