Tempest Revisited

Tempest Revisited

I refuse to crouch and cower

Beneath a dark, shrouded truth

Beneath a bad, harrowing moon

Before a cloaked, sinister sun.

I will tear, furiously,

Those delusory robes

From her deceitful modesty,

And bathe

In the nudity of her rain.

I will dance

In the faithfull blows of veracity.

I will not be crippled

While there is all this infinite,

Fathomless highway

Pandering so eagerly underfoot;

I will crawl.

While these mountains do stand

In the starkness of their dignity,

I will climb.

While the sea,

In its immeasurable depths

Of silent servitude

Does curtesy to the moon,

Plummeting her frustrations

Gloriously, unto the shore,

I will canter.

No I will not

Seek shelter.

For I am Demeter’s child,

And I belong to this earth.

I am the caller of thunder,

Carrier of water.

I am the channel of wind

Into the belly of vital fire.

I will wait for the sun to rise,

And race her

To where she sleeps again.

I am the nurturer,

And I will make yield.

For I am the child

Of Dionysus,

That ecstatic conductor

In the tragic, ominous orchestra

Of these unruly elements.

Static sending tremors

From each astute hair on my skin

Into deep waves,

Riveting their geometry

Into the desert floor;

Who sends up bolts

In a desperate, wanton scream

To be wetted

By the tongue of the divine,

To be enveloped in frost or flames.

These waves echo;

Deep into canyons and winding valleys,

Who dare all valiant forces of nature

To enter with compass and certainty.

Waves, that bellow in octaves

Too loud and low to be perceived

By the feeble ear

Of man,

Reaching all the way down

To the ocean floor.

Yes, I am the conjurer

Of primordial words

Of primitive winds.

I will caper

To the tantric song of thunder

Drunken, by the dreaming delirium

Of cavernous evening.

I will not be dizzied

By the unforgiving density

Of a looming fog.

For I am soothed

By its multifaceted

Diamonds of moisture

Against taut skin.

Extra dimensional lenses

Boasting kaleidoscopic clarity.

Yes, I am the riddle of nature

Owning all of my irony.

I am my own meteor master,

Tethered intimately

To the cycles of being

But never fixed

To one man’s temporal harbor.

I will not vacillate, irresolute

In the intensity of now.

Rather, shall you

Beware of me:

I am the tempest.

-mmd, 2017.

Photos by Photosensualis, 2016