Spring Gambit

We live through chill weeks Of dreary darkness, Alarmed a livid springtime flash Rends open deep night, Palpitating startled hearts— Feet spring from bed, toes grasp: Slippers, slippers; Bemused eyes at last lunge, Leap through wet glass, Past fogged panes quaking, Reflexive to turmoil, A stark panorama Of tatted rain Hurled by vehement wind, Lank, hunch-necked streetlamp Quivering in its duty To sow gold treasure Across drenched pavement And green-budded boughs, Nascent foliage thrashing, Limbs flailing wild protest Against dark, vengeful clouds Instantly roiling bright, Hot-blue ire sparking world Through klieg light to night … Bed, bed: snug haven From spring’s irate gambit, Warmth of vernal hope Mounting the barricade In rebellion to gloom. February 23, 2018 Describe a Thunderstorm Without the Sense of Sound Poetry Contest Brenda Chiri, Sponsor