By Michael Montague
Image via howstuffworks.
The bedroom windows shake like rattlesnakes.
I taste the salty hiss of the wind’s breath
and feel the country quail as the land quakes.
The trees uproot, beech and birch weave a wreath
that writhes in a waltz – a swirling moon dance
down and around our streets with rubbish and dust.
The cars are whirling dervishes in a trance
that worship an idol that’s turned to rust.
The foam of sea is dragon’s fell armour;
thunder rolls the sky as giants arise.
A man’s body is smote with a fiery finger;
his lizard tongue is squirming with surprise.
I, Stormy Petrel, a shaman of storm,
am seer of humans’ exit from earth, our home.
Michael Montague read English at Sussex University (Brighton, UK) after which he took his MA in Creative Writing. He lives and works in that City State called London, teaching English as a foreign language to Poles, Russians, Ukrainians, Brazilians, Italians….. His passion is poetry, though he writes longer fiction, and shorter fiction. He seeks to unite the immediacy and accessibility of ‘performance poetry’ with the depth of ‘page poetry’. Believing that a poem that doesn’t sound good probably isn’t very good.