After the Sudden Storm. (Revised).

Beethoven could not hear thunder,
But could describe it with music.
I listen to him sometimes on the radio,
But only when I`m too tired to write.



After the storm the silence
Transfigures the drenched landscape,
Stuns my mind and senses
With a new tranquility.

This silence is far more perfect,
More potent, more deeply powerful
Than any song or symphony,
The consolations of Chuang Tzu or Buddha,
The last thoughts of Wittgenstein.

After the rain has ceased
My plants grow straight and green
Almost at the instant,
The drenched soil black and beautiful.



In the stillness after the storm
I sit and write this poem,
My fingers tapping the keyboard
Mark a gentler rhythm than raindrops,
The radio now just noise bereft of meaning,

And suddenly all the birds in the neighbourhood
Thrill the air with singing.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 6th. - 8th.2020.
As well as intently listening to the news with a growing sense of horror I have this week been reading the poems of both Emily Dickinson and Edward Thomas. We had a very fierce short storm this evening.