Brainstorm

Do we have a community of poets in Prague?  I doubt it, certainly not in the sense that there is a “Prague School” or anything like that.  We just have a lot of expats who think of themselves as poets and artists, and we’re all doing our own stuff, and we happen to be in the same place at the same time, and that’s cool.

But geography doesn’t matter anymore, in the age of the internet.  Whether or not there is a community of poets arising there, and whether I’m part of it or not, remains to be seen, but here is this evenings contribution to the never ending on-line open mike (yes, that’s how I choose to spell it).

Brainstorm

I want to stand outside in a brainstorm, and hear the deep, bass rumblings of the thunder, the ominous threat, the promise  of power, the visceral expression of hunger from deep in the belly of the beast -the purr of a kitten and the growl of a lion are soulmates, harmonious, differentiated only by decibels

Something's coming, something big

I want to stand outside in a brainstorm and feel the sudden drop in barometric pressure like when you suddenly crest the top of a hill in a car and you’re flying, flying, when I read that line in a book by John Irving I said to myself “Hey, I remember that.”

I want to stand outside in a brainstorm and see the flash of lightning piercing the sky and know that I and Ben Franklin share the same universe, the same set of planet touching under the sky experiences, albeit not simultaneously unless, of course, all is one, history is fixed, the course of human evolution is inevitable and there is no free will or random chance

I want to stand outside in a rainstorm and feel the wind slapping my trousers against my legs, and sweeping plastic bags and old newspapers and leaves and maybe a garbage can or two in front of it, saying “Fuck you, World! It’s time for a change!”

I want to stand outside in a brainstorm, in a rainstorm, and feel the drops, each one a source of inspiration, each one a quencher of thirst for the brown lawns and the shriveled flowers, coming down slow at first and then faster, accelerating in quantum leaps at points of critical mass, forming rivulets on the ground which flow until they merge into streams and then rivers and the world is recharged, renewed, refreshed, reformed and, like mighty rivers, new ideas are born.