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Storms
Jun 18, 2004 0:38:36 GMT -5
Post by Burnttonothing on Jun 18, 2004 0:38:36 GMT -5
My challenge is to use the following description of a storm to create a poem as long as you like with an "AA BB CC DD so on and so forth" rhyme scheme. "The smell of rain enters my nostrils. Lightning flashes a line across the darkened sky. Seconds later the thunder explodes shaking mind, body, and soul. The street lights flicker with the impact of the sound. The storm is left to creating its own light as the street light gives up. The rain pounds against the ground. Determined droplets leave their mark on the steaming street. Another flash followed by an emission of sound. Looking down the darkened street, eerie green lights slowly rise from the fog ridden ground. Fireflies are playing in the storm as the rain batters the earth. Another flash, another line of light across the sky, it reaches down. Explosion after explosion, as the rain batters the roof tops and the street. Thunder booms, the street lights flicker, they're back again." Have fun!
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Storms
Jul 20, 2004 23:36:38 GMT -5
Post by MissUnderstood on Jul 20, 2004 23:36:38 GMT -5
rough skies of drunken thunder raises the hell of lost comfort into the unkown realm of confusion distorts the image of sin within still of emotion and flickering light comes the rain of flooding fright holding onto lost hope sure that nothing will cope confiding this flesh of mine unwhole dreams lost and tears to console through the heart of lonlieness bruised smiles of dead bliss thoughtless whims killed by breath fate stills the thunder of death
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Storms
Sept 3, 2004 11:16:53 GMT -5
Post by littleskinny on Sept 3, 2004 11:16:53 GMT -5
Your features were sculpted marble white in that momentary flash of bright. We wait, no breath, our eyes embrace, I see apprehension cross your face, when the storm pauses: one-two-three..., it's creeping closer as you count with me.
Then - CRACK - the sky is torn assunder your laughter's lost beneath the thunder.
Outside, in the car park, the street light quakes the fence-post by the road violently shakes, and then the window pane begins to cry, battered by wind's frustrated sigh.
You grin. We're warm and dry - we ran aground. Finish up, then, I think it's my round.
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