On the Weather

I write a lot of poetry. Some of it is not that good, and some of it may not even really count as poetry for some people. However, every now and then in the aimless wanderings of my pen, I come up with something special, something of which I am truly proud. I do not know if the following poem is all that special, but I am as proud of it as I have been of anything I've written in a long while. We have been getting a lot of rain lately (which I have enjoyed immensely) and I thought it ought to be commemorated with some poetry. Sorry if it is too long.

The Raincatcher

I can hear a distant, quivering thunder
And the patter of drops ascending the roof;
It is raining again:
The music of a dying sob.
I look out the window to share the melancholy,
But the storm looks too perfect,
Like something out of a movie,
Somehow strange:
Diluted splendour.
Perhaps it is the parking lot backdrop--
The manmade manicure.
At least the smell is authentic--
The perfume of life in song,
And it takes me back to rainy days long past--
Long passed away...
When I was young,
And I lay in bed at night
While nature's frenzy threatened at my window,
Or when I was older,
And I stood in the downpour
Begging to witness the heavens wrent open,
Begging to take it all in,
Begging to feel.
Storms have a terrible beauty.

How I wish I had a raincatcher!
Like the meteorologists have,
That I might gather up a storm,
Measure up magnificence,
And pour it in my inkwell:
The potent product of my effort
To use with care upon the page.
Think of it:
The might of a thundercloud--
Those mountains doing battle in the air--
Focused into every delicate stroke;
The roar of thunder,
Like the mustering of heroes,
Shouting in the briefest utterance;
The sizzle and crackle of lightning,
The bolts of Zeus himself,
Giving furious awe to my most crude speech;
And remaining long after the words have all been read:
A sweet sentimentality would linger,
Like the scent of rain,
Like a parting kiss.
Such words I would write then--
Such words!
Such poetry as would split the heavens
And stir the soul to tremble.
If only I could harness a storm,
Then I would be a true artist--
Yes, then I would be a poet indeed.