Let there be a Storm

Please, please, let there be a storm,

let the fierce winds shake the trees

and scream across the rocky heights,

the mounting violence shape the seas

with sloping greys and foaming whites,

howling round the rooftops, flicking rain,

spattering against the window pane.

~

And may the storm not peter in the night

but rage around the dark outside

and thump against the soaking walls,

and roar across the valleys wide

with branches breaking in the squalls,

the frightening force felt far and high and deep,

the maelstrom building beyond our gentle sleep.

~

And when I wake and find the storm has grown,

I will want to fly out in the rain,

enjoy the dim and early light

and race to feel alive again

while thrown about in Nature’s fight.

I shall run and run, heart pounding, to the sea

and face that fearsome wind and feel so free.

~

Grassy land with monstrous waves each side,

my plinth amidst the seething white,

leaning forward, arms spread wide,

flapping overpowered kite,

blasted back by its appalling might.

I will shout and scream, but my tiny voice be drowned

in the magnificent storm and its searing, awful sound.

Our World

Imagine if we owned our world,

the air that flows to every place,

the turquoise ice upon a mountain,

and all of Nature‘s grace unfurled,

and we, a single human race.

~

Winter snowflakes flurry from the blue,

and settle softly on the morphing land.

The burning sun unveiled, and what a view,

a fresh new world laid out by Nature’s hand.

But then I draw a finger through the snow,

and so can see the pristine white below,

the surface tarnished by Pollution’s stains.

My eyes sting, face tightens, heart pains.

We know we must step up and take the reins

from Dinosaurs with diesel in their veins.

~

We need to close our eyes and dream

and see a future world to be,

for if you love a dream, and others

share it too, you’ll have a team

to help the acorn grow a tree.

~

A helicopter seed, so slowly sinking,

sliding sideways in the scented breeze,

over waving virent foliage, crinkling

water shrouding mirrored lichened trees.

Now wondering out across a leafy pavement,

drawn toward a swarming crowd of cyclists,

gliding forward, dragging wind along.

Flowers. Fresh air. London’s future song.

~

This world is ours, has always been,

though sometimes this can pass unseen,

we helplessly accept our fate,

or realise our choice to make,

just think how it would feel to see

our dreams become reality.