March 6, 2016

Lanes of Thunder


The following is a description of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania at night, in the Springtime,
near the Three Rivers Confluence.  The lightning bolt imagery in the poem is what it
actually looked like, when seeing barge lights on the Ohio River.  The ripples on the
river made the beams of light which touched them look like lightning bolts. 

Incidentally, the budding clouds of a new season, mentioned in the poem, were the
apple blossoms that lined the eastern banks of the Ohio River in late April or so. 
They did look like a skyline of clouds when fully budded.
The lanes of thunder roaring under the leaves came from the experience of being in
a Pittsburgh apartment basement during a thunder storm, while looking out the win-
dow at a parking lot of autumn leaves which never blew away, despite three months
of winter.  The thunder sounded extremely close to the basement.  In addition, when-
ever any tall swaying shrub sways in front of a stationary light, it creates the strobe
light effect.  Therefore, that image in the poem was neither symbolic or psychedelic. 
In was a description of an entrance way.

It's a very simple poem.   One night in Pittsburgh, while leaving my vehicle, the wind 
was so strong that my keys literally blew out of my hands.   All in all, the poem is not
based on any type of psychedelic symbolism or fantasia.  It's realism, conveying what
life is occasionally like, throughout the inclines of Pittsburgh.  Pennsylvania had far
more beautiful skylines that did the Atlantic coastline.  The Gulf of Mexico, however,
had more beautiful sunsets than PA.  None the less, the Pennsylvania landscape seems
so mystical at times. 

                                            Lanes of Thunder

On this stormy night,
there were no cracks of sound coming from that part of the night sky,
where Thor, Odin, and Zeus used to keep mankind in line, by taking
turns conducting the percussion section of the gods.

Throughout the night,
there were no flashes over the hilltop laboratory of any mad scientist.
Nor were there any goddesses bowling strikes on the clouds which
hovered over the vineyards.

Neither were there any angels bowling spares before Vespers.
In fact, there were neither boulders crashing into cliffs
nor sheet metal waving profusely in the wind.

You know, you have nothing to fear, but your own lies,
whenever they are believed by someone else.
This includes this evening's thunder.

This evening, 
while moonlight sat in the passenger seat of a row of parked cars,
currents of thunder roared under the leaves that remained in tact
throughout the winter.

A car door opened to a new life and
a set of keys flew out of the driver's hands,
landing on smooth, clear asphalt.

A tall swaying shrub transformed a doorway bulb into a strobe light,
while a streetlight found its way into a closed third floor window,
marking upon a calendar the date when trees along the river
would once again bud forth the clouds of a new season.

Until the marked time had arrived,
we were able to see soft lightning bolts
which emitted from the ledges of river barges
and which did quiver throughout windy nights,
as the beams of light penetrated the river.
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