Storm painting (detail) | CB | Oil on paper
It started out
with a midday shout!
The thunder rumbled
The clouds tumbled.
The breeze blew strong
with a bird’s new song:
“Home, home, rush, rush”
before the rains begin to gush.
The lightning struck with a blinding
crack
The violent voice of thunder roared
back,
The purple clouds cut out the light
The creatures cowered with sudden
fright.
The rain hit hard and fast
People hoped the storm would last,
The earth was so dry
and gave a huge sigh …
The rivers were rising
with a speed quite surprising
The rain was bucketing down
Flooding the tiny town.
Then the sky began clearing
The sun was appearing,
|
had given new birth.
Philip Beynon
Meet my dear, gentle-spirited nephew, Philip - the author of this week's chosen poem. 12 year-old Philip - his birthday was a week ago - lives in Johannesburg with his younger sister Victoria, his parents John (my younger brother) and Lesley, a collection of Venus Fly Traps and two eccentric cats. Philip is a voracious reader, a deeply kind and perceptive young man with tender eyes on the world and a great love for people, animals, gardening and poetry. He has remarkable green fingers, keeps a thriving veggie garden, cultivates rare varieties of roses, knows how to deal kindly with aphids and how to graft fruit trees. Phil's lemon tree in Parktown North, Johannesburg, bears the largest, most fragrant lemons I think I've ever had the pleasure of eating. Amongst a good many other things, we share an appreciation for Lemon Meringue pie. During my last visit to South Africa, he coordinated a cook-up, challenging his Mum and I to new Lemon Meringue heights. A smart way to ensure there'd be a reliable supply of LM pies in the house for several days in a row!
Meet my dear, gentle-spirited nephew, Philip - the author of this week's chosen poem. 12 year-old Philip - his birthday was a week ago - lives in Johannesburg with his younger sister Victoria, his parents John (my younger brother) and Lesley, a collection of Venus Fly Traps and two eccentric cats. Philip is a voracious reader, a deeply kind and perceptive young man with tender eyes on the world and a great love for people, animals, gardening and poetry. He has remarkable green fingers, keeps a thriving veggie garden, cultivates rare varieties of roses, knows how to deal kindly with aphids and how to graft fruit trees. Phil's lemon tree in Parktown North, Johannesburg, bears the largest, most fragrant lemons I think I've ever had the pleasure of eating. Amongst a good many other things, we share an appreciation for Lemon Meringue pie. During my last visit to South Africa, he coordinated a cook-up, challenging his Mum and I to new Lemon Meringue heights. A smart way to ensure there'd be a reliable supply of LM pies in the house for several days in a row!
I am honoured to feature Phil's poetry here today. Thank you, Phil! Keep filling your notebooks with your wonderful writing. . . Your poem perfectly evokes the power and relief of those late afternoon electricity-laden highveld thunderstorms. . . . xo
*
This week's editor on the Tuesday Poem hub is Helen Rickerby (Seraph Press | Words that Matter)
with No time Like the Eighties/No Future
by Whanganui-based poet Airini Beautrais.
Excellent poem. Excellent commentary.
'I'm a sucker for hope', wrote Helen in response to Airini's poem.
Yes. Hope is the place to stand these days.
'I'm a sucker for hope', wrote Helen in response to Airini's poem.
Yes. Hope is the place to stand these days.
To read Airini's poem and to follow the usual fine trail of Tuesday Poems, please click on the quill.
