Pessimistic. Referendum 2014 - SCOTLAND

One more day, the Runes are cast.
One more day, then peace, at last.
Which politicians told most lies?
I doubt we’ll ever know.
But who would curb my Scotland’s rise
Had best lie low.

Freedom is our Northern light,
It brings a luminescence bright.
Some comfort in the autumn’s chill,
As leaves are slowly turning.
We must accept the voters’ will,
Yet feel the salt tears burning.

THE WEATHER THAT PUT THE “SEAS” INTO “SEASONAL”

The year has turned and once again
Our weather changes – Wind and Rain!
But wait, it hasn’t changed at all ,
A blink of sunshine, then a squall!
And just when we can take no more,
The rain-dance kelpies splash ; ENCORE!

This island’s weather gets me down.
Makes dismal, dreary, winter towns
The soil is sodden, nothing grows,
Apart from mould on dampish clothes.
TV shows farms which once were nice
But useless now except for rice.

Image; Visual- what one sees.

Through the mirrored sky I plunge
my weight meets clouds that oscillate
now caused to dance
the sandy bottom of the sea
full rippled with reflections as I glance
before the world becomes opaque
weeds sway in hair-like waves
their colours melding blurred
I see small snails slowly move on rocks
anemones bright like flowers
what visions when the water's ours.

Image: Olfactory- what one smells

In this waiting room I sit
old eyes are red from lack of sleep
hospital chair don't ever fit
wall clock's hands just barely creep

Stomach wanting to vent gas
as it rebels from vending food
but I refuse to let it pass
unlike some here in this brood

All the magazines areold
the newest May of oh eleven
one has even grown some mold
this place is near reverse of heaven

CRYSTALLED CRACKS

Listen to the still of winters exit

lulled in the heat of march midday

hear the great tit shout for joy

see the silver drips

that drop from snow-clung clumps in trees

smell the sudden brew of autumn's pungent leaves

the sky reflected deep deep blue

in pools of melted ice
too fresh to taste

icicles tumble, heavy thuds

their crystal forms crazed, cracked

transformed to lacy netting

holed and patched

one windy day at the lake
a loud whistling in the wind roared
spurned tornadoes breaking windows
along the lake's shore

suddenly, abruptly the quiet ended
as the cellar door opened then banged shut
screaming children crying mommy I'm scared
to sirens blowing in nearby towns

Iambic hexameter with alternating rhyme.

A wall of sound precedes the vortex barrier.
A windborne howling as of godlings passing by.
Lost voices shriek in whispers bleak and sepulchre.
Strained iron groans and snaps about the place we lie.

At once the soil is atomized and buffets tin.
It seems behind us armed cicadas ply their wars.
So loudly does the sand meet with metallic skin,
that clearly had their scatter guns discharged indoors.

Hurtling down through the atmosphere
silver drops of H2 O
With a splat, their mass is scattered
Then in streams they join the flow

The water rushes madly
down the slanted tin
Streams that run side-by-side
in a race, not one will win

The drumming, beating raindrops
left the clouds to play
Now there's water dripping in last place
while the storm moves on it's way

Falling down the rainspout
Winding down the curb to drain
The water from the sky
is gone down the sewer-main

windy day at Cooper's lake
a wind storm takes shape
dark clouds spin tornadoes
across clear blue water

a picture on my cellphone
running for the basement door
my dress tail caught a draft
I parachuted safe inside

Your skin slight colored from cold
Every now and then a warm breeze blows a bright leaf
That lingered against a darkening sky a little too long
But either way you hardly notice;
The startling soft touch of rain is on your neck
And the sky is the churning mad sea above
The trees lay themselves bare and dance for you
They have nothing to lose, stripped of their green.
The storm you had not seen is approaching
Whipping up creek water in the dark blue valley.
The storm you never even thought of before.