Pause For Poetry: Michael Hawkes /60

A Weather Report (mid-November)

A poem by Michael Hawkes

October 30,  2023

We had a few unseasonable days
Of basking in a declining sun;
Only a few of us thought to raise
The idea of damage being done.

Most rejoiced in a happy haze,
Tanning up and having fun.
But it doesn’t matter anyway,
The darkening clouds were bound to come
Assuring grey skies from now on.

The grey today does not bode well,
It’s tainted with a sickly hue,
A sulphuric yellow, straight from hell
That makes us pine for heavenly blue.

The brown and pink of many faiths
Prowl the murky city streets
Avoiding other suspect wraiths…
Potential clansmen without sheets
Or dark men selling tricks and treats.

The atmosphere is one of doom
As greyness fills dilated eyes
That strain to find in daunting gloom
A colour they might recognize.

It’s not too late, we must assume,
Or so we’re told at any rate,
That brighter prospects will resume
At some far distant future date,
But there are elephants in the room
We need to dis-incorporate.

Turn back the clocks, but not so far
As to forget just where we are;
Relive one hour of history
Fasten it in memory,
Then search ahead for what will be
In the furnace of a far-off star
That brought about such travesty,
That staged this tragic/comedy.

6/11/22 – Hawkes

Feature image: Anton Ivanov – Pexels

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