Harry Horsman Poet Free verse

Storm Clouds

The rugged moor top
grew shapeless,
eternal stratum
hiding
within the
greyish shroud,
that cloaked
every enduring
contour.

The dense stratus
began to manipulate
the daylight,
while encircling
shadows
cast reflective
illusions
on shallow
murky pools.

Obedient trees recoil
in stark awareness
while inspiring to honour
the insensitive violation,
bowing,
waving in verve respect
as if only
to appease
the impending tempest…

© Harry J Horsman  1991

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Poet Destroyer A December 18, 2012 at 11:51 AM Harry, love the bowing tree... nature is she the tempest...pd

Sara Kendrick July 20, 2010 at 3:43 AM Reads like inclement weather coming your way in such a lovely descriptive way..Great write..Thanks for stopping by and commenting on my work..Sara

Isa Mahrie July 15, 2010 at 7:04 AM Very nice love the intensity and tempo in here i can feel that ...... Good one :)

Anthony Nutter July 15, 2010 at 3:25 AM Such an interesting and well written piece. I visulized rooted nature bowing to the God's floating overhead.