The exercise:
Inspired by my view from work, today's starter is: storm clouds.
Mine:
The clouds overhead were thick with rain, causing the sun to darken their underbellies to a menacing grey that was so dark it was nearly black. In turn, the clouds cast down their shadows onto the land, sending the poor folk of Dawndale scurrying for cover between fearful skyward glances.
They knew the price of being caught in the coming downpour and none were willing to pay it.
As the first poisonous drops broke free from the gathered masses and hurtled downward, all of the citizens of Dawndale were safely under shelter. All but Simon Toll, who stood defiantly in the middle of his waving field of corn, staring stubbornly at the drops which approached him at suicidal speeds. He glared as though he would stop their progress with the force of his hatred.
But the rain spared no thought for Simon Toll and he suffered the fate of all the obstinate fools before him who thought to stand against the rain.
2 comments:
Beautifully evoked, Marc! I do pity the poor folk of benighted Dawndale though, I wouldn't care to live there.
Storm clouds
Her fingers drum like rain on the table,
And her face is grey with rage,
Storm clouds are building on the horizon,
For anger is the devil's wage.
Violence unleashed like untamed lightning,
My name is oathed and cursed,
Punches fall like vicious hail,
And I succumb to her cloudburst.
Cheers Greg... have to say, neither would I :)
I particularly like your second stanza. Something about rhyming cursed with cloudburst that I really enjoy.
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