by Brian Francis
They gathered around the mountain;
the skies, roiling, stirred by the gods.
Cold the wind descended and blew,
the medicine teachers, studied the skies.
Drums chanted their rhythmic beat.
Cries from dancers embracing the might,
called out to the skies to reach down
to touch with the hand of god light;
To bless them in their seasons to come.
Darkness fell upon the valley with rumbles.
Unabated, the call to the gods continued.
Glowing reflections dancing in the storm,
drops came in waves riding the winds,
touching upon those gathered in worship.
The light broke through the clouds streaking –
fingers reaching out, the power rising, sizzling.
The storm gathered its muster, and roared.
Wind, racing, leaned into the crowds – blustering.
The drums held their rhythm, each beat sharp
as the dancers stuttered their steps and leaps.
Their souls revealed in the trance of their eyes.
Flashes strobe the night, stopping all motion.
It came in a sizzling crash onto mountain’s dome.
Light, blindingly bright, lit the valley like day.
Everything changed in that moment, cheers rose
unheard beneath the clamor of the strike.
The blessing granted the celebration a success.
The season will be bright, with harvest and hunt.
Author's Note: This was inspired by a Photo by, Stacey Le Clair. https://fineartamerica.com/featured/the-strike-on-thunder-mountain-stacy-leclair.html
Posted on 10/30/2018
Copyright © 2018 Brian Francis
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/04/18 at 02:26 PM|
You bring this photo to life vividly. You got such a gift for rich words that touch all the senses, an ability to build tension. The photo of the lightning strike is stunning, but you give it the added human involvement that elevates it way beyond that split second.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/06/18 at 03:57 PM|
Hi Brian. A worthy adaptation/extension of the photo; imagination put to good use. I've always marveled at how one kind of art can inspire another. Kudos!