Before The Storm (for Jim)

 

. . . a prelude perhaps to his "On A Ridge, Spring Storm"

 

 

The sky is still bright and clear

But across the road all the cows

Are lying down now in the shade

Of willows by the muddy pond,

 

Swallows gone back to the barn

And at the edge of the pasture

A poplar saying too it will rain,

The silver undersides of leaves

 

Turning a little, and a little more

Until they look up into the light

Shimmering on them like pebbles

Shifting a little in clear blue water.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 652 times
Written on 2013-05-18 at 16:04

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Yet another beautifully crafted work by you... I especially love that final stanza. *WOW*
2013-05-20


shells
Like Elle a country girl a long time ago, you had a feeling, the smell of the air, nature stirring, it stays with me still. It is so lovely the inspiration of others on this site, almost like letter writing ;-) the back and forth of inspiring, enquiring words.
2013-05-18


Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Once upon a long time ago, I was a country girl and we would tell the weather, not just by the cattle that lay down but in the underneath of leaves and the way the sky has that extreme beauty of vibrant colours - before darkening and the way we would watch the forks of lightening.

Elle
2013-05-18



I am immediately struck by the visual aspects you use, words that snap the poem into focus: bright, clear, muddy, light shimmering/shifting, blue sky, blue water; and, movement (or lack of): cows lying down, swallows now still; then, movement—the poplar's rain dance, the shimmering and shifting. It also conveys a classic rural scene, which contrasts a little with my own rural scene which is somehow less pristine (harsher) than this poem suggests. Still, there isn't a word here which isn't a part of my world (except for blue water. The creeks do run clear, but never blue.) from the cows, to the barn and swallows, to the leaves turing silver before the rain, though the sky is yet blue. There is implied tension here, but none immediately evident. This is truly *before* the storm. What I bring to the poem is sound.

Gosh, you nailed a piece of my world, thank you. That one poem leads to another makes writing something other than a solitary exercise.

It also takes me back to school days, when an assignment to write an essay on a poem seemed like a punishment. Now, what could be more fun?
2013-05-18