Forecast Poem by Kevin Moore

Spring thunderheads are giant ships of war -
a vast armada set upon the heavens' sea -
with billowed sails filled well of wind; before
them scudding skiffs in warlike ecstasy

spread out in far advance of coming storm.
Rolling cannonades of violent power
race flares across the sky in searching swarm
as wave follows wave approaching darkest hour

and a howling wind piles up behind the fleet
as ships collide above, breachedupon the sky.
Each pitching keel adds weight to day's complete
and utter dark - a roiling mass alive on high -
until the seas crash down on land and power
once feared is now become one more Spring shower.