29 Oct 2015 – Sonnet
Sometimes you see them coming from a long ways off.
These ancient spectral dreadnoughts drift across the sky,
return for vengeance sake. A rumble, then the cough
of cannons, and the city echoes in reply.
At other times they simply catch you unawares.
A bright blue sky that gives birth to a sudden storm.
A short-sleeve afternoon, no hat or coat you wear,
a nearby awning leaves you dry at least – not warm.
Today, prognosticators at our finger-tips
can conjure magic eyes which see tomorrows skies
and all our mothers knowledge slides into eclipse,
and superstition governs, though we once were wise.
Some look for silver linings. Others, black and blue.
But maybe they’re just clouds that wait to be stepped through?