it is raining!
no, not water
from clouds
but dead leaves
from july trees
scorched by
a brutal heat
too sunburnt
to evergreen
falling, fallen
brittle brown
leafy teardrops
raining down
the dry warm
forlorn face of
mother earth
—Terri Guillemets
for the harsh heat wave
wet apologetic gift
from clouds to tree roots
—Terri Guillemets
princess lightning reigned
it was a dark and stormy
knight to fall in love
—Terri Guillemets
full moon monsoon clouds
glow pale light through windy trees
parched leaves shadow dance
—Terri Guillemets
watching birds splash in
morning-after rain puddles
cleanses my spirit
—Terri Guillemets
monsoon winds tell tales
lightning dances thunder sings
rain is main event
—Terri Guillemets
boom rustle tip tap
tippity clink rumble crack
whoosh whish shhh fade black
—Terri Guillemets
phoenix monsoon storm
haboob isn’t dirty word
it is dusty though
—Terri Guillemets
the world we abuse
roasting us like marshmallows
in a fire we lit
—Terri Guillemets
our apocalypse
once in ultra slow motion
now on fast forward
—Terri Guillemets
October has finally broken its scorching summer fever
turning the hesitant desert autumn into a true believer!
—Terri Guillemets
suddenly my life feels
like the air before a storm
silent, searching, charged
an imminent disaster
with destructive beauty
bright sun here and now
dark clouds at my horizon
electrified waiting
a whirlwind of stillness
it’s building, billowing
but to i know not where
and possibly to nothing
no body to forecast
whether or whether not
my future lies ahead
feeling ghosts in the wind
restlessness & anticipation
i dread this storm
but somehow
more than that
i welcome it, ache for it
oh i sorely need to become
sodden, grounded
struggle bedraggled
so i can revive
regrow vibrant —
dead branches torn away
old beliefs ripped from roots
worry whipped to shreds
powerful bolts striking
stronger than anything
i can create myself
blind me — enflame my entire sky
i want to look at the world anew
and that starts
with my own vision
i’m ready
for a new version
my being has become torrential
yet minimal — nearly imperceptible
not yet in a crisis, still
i’m bordering one, circling it
crying out for that flash point
beckoning it, to break —
to shatter my former self
and my current nothingness
into a mended calm
risen from the storm
rain, gales, hail —
i don’t care
just let it come
i need to be reborn
from the wild remains
of my inner tempests —
no, i do not want to die
but only to live again
—Terri Guillemets
Watering the hibiscus
this afternoon —
its weary
parched-green leaves
wilting
in this too-early April heat —
I saw a gecko
who
climbed up the side
of the splintering planter box.
My first split-second
thought —
Alice Walker’s garden gecko.
Crouching,
perfectly still —
the both of us —
I stared at it
and took in
the wonder
of it all.
It didn’t move —
was it asking
for some water?
This bliss,
it was my Paradise.
Gray, rough-coated
nature —
staring right back at me
a foot from my face.
Slowly I moved the hose
just an inch in its direction.
Walker — I’d already
named it Walker —
disappeared so fast
I didn’t even see
it go.
I wish it would’ve stayed.
I had water to give
and troubles
to wash clean.
—Terri Guillemets
referencing my favorite Alice Walker poem — her 2011 “Going Out to the Garden,” in The World Will Follow Joy: Turning Madness Into Flowers, 2013 — alicewalkersgarden.com/2013/05/poem-going-out-to-the-garden