The Weather Warrior
Joe Pickles
He stands majestic, towers above all
The warrior of weather
Relentless and cruel
His stormy eye
The only centre of peace
A figure of grey
As destructive as a tank
Leaving chaos in his wake
His malice is unbearable
A hammer of rain
Pounding the land
The sword of a flood
Slashing a path through the ground
Arrows of hail
Stinging those below
Spears of lightning, smiting
He tears away sails,
Boats become wrecks
His rage is a hurricane
Scooping up objects
Then casting them aside
In a blizzard of fury
A path of destruction
Storming across the land
Onward he marches
Stamping trees flat
Then hauling them up
And hurling them on
Stalking his prey
Wild as a rabid dog
Small town in view
He marches undeterred towards it
They board up windows
They wield umbrellas
Which are snatched from their hands
They dash for shelter
Scurry away
The wind tugs at their coats
Howling a warning –
Fight or flee
With a mighty roar
The warrior unleashes his fury
Whips at buildings
Rips doors open
Flips cars over
Forcing them down
Like helpless beetles
To feel the worst of his wrath
Then bright cracks splinter his armour
They gather strength and grow
He emits a moan of defeat
Before the sun’s sword tears through him
And a wave of white clouds rolls across a blue canvas
The sun smiles,
Grateful his obscuring enemy is banished
…for a while at least