Marlene McCarty                                             The Storm  Today, I watched the storm clouds gather overhead, rushing across a pale gray sky. rushing faster and faster, chasing the vanishing sun. Today I know when a storm is coming; I simply read the clouds. Back then, I hadn't learned to read the clouds; couldn't see the approaching storm. Didn't look. Didn't want to see the clouds always hidden beyond the shadow of your smile. Your face revealing nothing, placid as a shallow lake on a perfect summer day. Eyes--shimmering blue and deep, shining and clear; not a ripple to mar the surface calm. But, there, way down deep and far beyond your crinkling smile it lurked--the shadow, the cloud, the first inkling of the storm brewing in the cauldron of your discontent. Yet, not a word nor sign was present. Then, without  warning--like a whirlwind, a tornado, a sudden hurricane--the storm erupted, full blown and devastating. Destroying, with absolute Ferocity and Finality, everything we had; everything I thought we had. If I had looked closer, seen what must surely have been there all along, I could have avoided the storm. Headed it off in some way. Built a barrier, battened down, been prepared. If only; if only. Should have known--even then--to watch the clouds; to read the signs. But being happy, I refused to think that anything as ominous as a shadow, certainly no cloud, could ever fall across our love. How silly to be so complacent. How stupid to be so secure. Next time I'll remember. I'll watch for shadows. Clouds. I'll be prepared. Or           will                     I?  Keepsakes Keepsakes in the tin box decorated with cameos of a Victorian lady, mysterious smile caressing her lips. Faded letters tied with palest blue ribbon Dusty rose decaying between transparent paper Sepia snapshots piercing the edges of memory Who is he, Grandma? That handsome young solider Smiling from some forgotten country. Your eyes connect momentarily, shining in instant recognition. A sound gurgles from your throat, struggles to escape, then fades away, your smile slips behind a blank wall. The Victorian lady guards your keepsakes well. Yarns Yarns passed on, spilling out into the Long winter night, Flowing freely while the embers crackle And old men's pipes grow cold. Crouched in shadowy corners Childish imaginations absorb the tales, tucking them away in a safe place to relate on another night In another place, While the embers glow And the yarns grow. Windows Vacant windows, stripped of their calico curtains Sadness dripping down their shattered panes, Remembering peals of gusty laughter Before the mines and the men and the gold vanished. Marlene McCartey		lilip Member Directory Newest Members OnSite Poets Become a member Philosophy Message Board Lingerings Resources,Links and Webrings Search WOAW! Legalities Contact All material submitted by poets and authors remain in their copyright and is not available to be added to any anthology, collection, website, or any other use;personal or otherwise, without the author's permission. Issue Seven BasicFred Nadia Brown Janet Buck Anne Fraser Rosemarie Koch Kelly Ann Malone Marlene McCarty RL Mobley Dianna Morton PJ Nights PBURROUGHS Elena Ray Summer Rogers tanya-cherie
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