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02 November 2023

Posted by Susmita Bhattacharya

Weather Poems

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

With Storm Ciaran making a mark over this week, we looked at poems about nature, particularly related to weather, and we also read some flash fiction examples on the same topic. 

Rebecca Green shared these two pieces with us.

Flash Fiction:


I walk to the door and brace myself. My shoes aren’t appropriate for this rain and my coat
won’t keep me warm, the hood is a sponge and my jumper is a v-neck. I go out anyway. A
slug on the path has me crouching to inspect it, I’ve never seen one so large and it’s rust
coloured not black, as though filled with iron, rich with minerals from the soil. The thought of
touching it makes me feel a little sick, but in the same way I like to look at roadkill,I want to
see the slug up close.
I stick to pavements instead of moorland, take shortcuts down muddied lanes, fallen leaves
thick and slippy, so much so that I lunge and skid, my pace increasing until I wonder if
running would feel good. Not the speed but the risk of breaking my neck increasing tenfold.
My brain always goes there. I don’t know why. I’m letting go of the wheel when I’m driving,
I’m stepping out in front of trucks, I’m walking into the sea. I don’t think it’s even about death
or pain, I think it’s the opposite, it’s feeling something, it’s an event unfolding that changes
the course of my life. Maybe I let go of the wheel and an angel comes. Maybe I walk into the
sea and become a creature, discovering Atlantis, telling no one.
My coat is filling with water, it weighs me down as I walk past the pub, past the travel agents
that I don’t think anyone visits, the shop with the rich upholstery and silver tat. Everyone else
is taking shelter, keeping dry, watching me stagger along the street, weighed down by my
choices, and I’m a creature of the sea, seeing what I find.


Poem:

Was she howling?
As i sat beside the window
leaves broke against the bones of each other,
mouths blowing in a collective breath
to shake the days of Autumn.
Howling. So loudly I didn’t truly hear it
until I closed the window again.
Felt still and empty.
Felt still and lonely.
The day cast me in light,
in dark, me just sat beside the window,
opening it, closing it again, opening
until all that noise had embraced me,
had filled me with my own howl,
had my mouth formed in a constant roar,
the books falling from their shelves,
the candles snuffed out -
me, feeling still and open,
me, feeling still and holy.

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