Dark fury slaps Heaven’s slack palms,
bringing focus to lazy eyes.
She wipes away her dreaming drool.
Silently singing daily psalms,
pulling skirts down over her thighs,
sitting straighter upon her stool.
In Heaven’s corner where she sits,
incoherent rumblings of shame,
cowering then, as ruler whacks.
Letters blur, she tearfully squints,
rolling thunder spells out her name,
as lessons slip between loud cracks.
Weak roots exposed, as toppled trees,
not proud, she lets raining tears flow,
washing slate chalk with colors gray.
Merciless now, classmates will tease,
as the storm moves on down the row.
There’ll be no star for her this day.
A contest entry
- Thunder & Lightning by RedAquarius.
1000 points, ended April 30, 19 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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My Picture was
Catholic school in the 60's. The nuns had their way with rulers and whacking. This writ brought all those pictures back....hard. Excellent write poet.
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I find it intriguing the storm is the one holding the girl back, usually people associate storms with wildness - an inventive spin. I love the feelings here; youth straining to break free, frolic and be herself. Very nice.
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What an impacting portrayal of broken youth...
Of spirit denied its natural growth and exploration.
Such an amazing spin on the prompt.
You have given me a glorious gift today with the
read and all the meaning implied. Blue
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Oh without reading any of the other comments, I'm going to guess this has got to be Catechism or Catholic school from the stories I've heard. You have done it again Pat. Beautiful metaphor and flow.
Paul
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Oh my this is a sad piece. It is so full of imagery, I felt myself as that girl.
Excellent writing.
Best wishes in the contest
Gaylene
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This piece has a lot of depth to it...
It seems to be a rather personal piece. Whether that be the case or not it projects you to the mental setting of the occurances. Who doesn't remember being made the "dunce" in gradeschool. The teacher catches you daydreaming and then calls you out. Disoriented you respond in an embarassed tone as you give some random answer.
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Oh yes! I was often the dreamer who didn't hear the question at times, my mind on playing in the creek or the little boy two seats away. Shy too, even if I knew those answers, my hand never flew up at first response. How this poem came to be with a prompt like thunder and lightning and turned into a schoolroom situation, I'll never know.
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You were a dreamer too? Many a note was sent home with me about my staring out the window. Poets are dreamers that's for sure. lol
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A terrific poem, with echoes of William Blake meets Pink Floyd in your imagery suggesting the destructiveness of strict religious discipline. The rhyme scheme and presentation and over-all mood created are all extremely effective. A highly original and unexpected take on the prompt as well. Best of luck in the contest.
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I am so honored that one of the greatest poets on this site comes by to read.
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a good poem, whack! please may i have another, of course you may, whack! ah the storm of sound slaps bare skinned earth. heaven just smiles.
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Delighted that you read my work, elementary as this one is.
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