10 Feb, 2019


10 Feb, 2019


Dark clouds kiss

the sky,

lay themselves down like a vixen waiting

to be ravaged.

Winds aloft are warm

like breath, but here

where I stand, it’s frozen.

Tiny, iced ball-bearings pelt

the earth and leave

striations of white

against my window.

Who gives a storm

a name as if it’s been invited

to tea?

For this unwelcome

guest I have infantries

of resistance and snipers

in the trees.

Behind the wild sky our cheeky

planet eclipses a full wolf

moon, and in the blackness

cosmic forces howl.

I feel, rather than hear,

their impact. I know

their intent.

My soldiers

are weary; urge me to stop

the war. I lay down

my arms.

N’oreaster winds blow

like a bellows on

the embers of

my heart.

                                                  — Jennifer Comeau



  • Rozanne February 10, 2019

    Really beautiful, Jen! I can feel the storm through your words. Love the photo, too.


    • Jen Comeau February 10, 2019

      Thank you, Rozanne. Next time I’ll use one of your beautiful photos.


  • Cheryl March 09, 2019

    I will look at dark clouds now and think of your words said so beautiful and how we name our storms as bringing them to tea beautiful


    • Jen Comeau March 09, 2019

      Thank you, Cheryl. And isn’t it grand to be alive, despite the struggles and storms?


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