Appreciation Poem by Bob Blackwell

Row upon row of thin flat clouds,
sliced smooth, their bottoms gone,
stretch, far as eye can see, moisture
there, no promise rain is guaranteed.
The filtered sun, beats down relentlessly
dries this thirsty dehydrated land. A
scrub land now, tufts of burnt dry grass, .
small straggly acacia trees sparsely leafed,
thorns bent, fight vainly, for height and width.
No water here, ground is parched, earth dry,
powdered soil, dust clouds fly.
Life is hard, few creatures here, more
death than life, vultures circle overhead.

Lone large presence in this stark dry land,
a large dead tree shows better days have
come and gone, Trunk smooth, shaded
grey by sun and wind, no bark to spoil
its sheen. Dead; dried out, breaking down,
its twisted upright arms, cry out, implore,
please, please see the beauty, that I was.

Sun still beats down, in distance heat waves rise,
a lone jackal walks head down in search of prey,
black back appears bent in shimmering light.
Alongside a rutted dusty road of dirt, a long line
of tall straight poles dissect this barren land. They
carry light, cool air, give life to distant town.
Lets hope, give a wish, a prayer for better things.

Gazing up clouds have darkened, a distant rumble,
wind blows, its cooler now. Sky blackens, noise is
closer, a flash of light, it grumbles now. Look to the
horizon, hope appears, a swirl of black, moves up and
down, a dancing dervish shape, that twists and shouts its
raining now. Great big life giving drops of water fall,
the parched earth sighs, and gladly opens up to accept
the heavenly tears, land happy, moisture falls, ground wet.
Storm overhead now, everywhere lightning bolts display,
a thanksgiving festival of light, a gala celebration with
thunder rolls of gratitude, for pouring rain, moistened
earth, and the lake that forms the dam that’s full of joy.