Alive in the Storm
Image Credit: pixabay.com It starts with a whisper a rustle of leaves breathed on by wind, Scudding clouds arrive gusts slam branches protest, bending pain to grey black clouds. Tree fingers are broken falling pain to sodden grass. Rain knives slash from overloaded buckets driving deep into my clothes. I stand waiting for a bus, Cold, excited loving the whipped movements, the power, the storm. WALT: Learning how to write free form poetry to capture in words an experience. Criteria: One idea per line Strong vocabulary Cut small words Use commas to set the rhythm of the poem Credit pictures