Poems from Amanda McLeod in Fevers of the Mind Issue 1 (2019) “Inclimental Anger” “Day With Perfect Storm” “Anchor” “You Are My Sun, Except When I Am Storm”

Flash, Thunderstorm, A Thunderstorm Cell

Inclimental Anger

The storm comes in hard and fast and angry, just like you did so many times.
I can still see the rainclouds in your face
and I knew back then to make myself scarce
when you blew in thunderheaded and fierce fisted.
Most nights I let you blow yourself out over whiskey and television.
I learned to avoid the violent soaking.
I duck and shy from the windows when the weather turns quarrelsome.
Thunderclaps still make me jump, even when I know its just nature,
with a sweeter temper than yours ever was.
I slide the deadbolts across the door, just in case,
and watch the towels I left on the clothesline flap thickly as sheets of rain
slap them into submission.

Day With Perfect Storm

The tornado swirls turgid
with terror and I can't run
fast enough to prevent
your escape and secure my own

The door shakes
thunderous, bowed
beneath violence;
Thor's hammer, a weapon
of anger, wielded fiercely

Until the storm drops---
blown out, a candle
extinguished
as quickly as was lit

The breath of prevailing
wind becomes a sea breeze---

It cools anger's heat
I turn from leeward,
eyes closed, to feel
the sweet lift of my hair---

Anchor

Acid burn
salt licks, my cheeks
dry sticky with downward
pressure. The Vacuum
ebbs and flows
the rush a tidal wave
of stripped oxygen.
I drown in the air
as my heartbeat thrums
in my ears, a rhythm
tapping out my
self-destruction

I'm frozen in the roar; the
searing deprivation takes
all reason from me, leaving me
lost... until steady hands
anchor me by my shoulders,
make me feel
my feet - heavy on the
earth again,
remind me ---
there are reasons
not to
get washed away.

You Are My Sun, Except When I Am Storm

When you come out,
           all saccharine and sun

I rest against the moment of relief.

Today  might be one filled with goodness,
             as long as everyone's on their toes---

I am not a ballerina;  I stumble along,
          unsteady - the spinning, the wobble:

A tornado of unbridled terror.
Yet no witch am I;

I can't convince the weather
             which fills your mind
             with all this thunder

Nor do I know how
             to steady the ballerina toe ---

My only chance is to batten down buttons
            until the tempest does exhaust;
             sky clears at last

The wind drops
          the clouds wisp
                        and finally

           The light behind your eyes comes
                             into focus


Bio from 2019 in Fevers of the Mind Issue 1 & from twitter info:
Amanda McLeod is an Australian creative. Her fiction and poetry can be found in Elephants Never, Ghost Parachute, and other places.  She is also the  managing editor at Animal Heart Press. When she's not playing with words, she's usually looking for wild quiet places or good coffee. Find her on twitter @AmandaMwrites
amandamcleodwrites.com
link to her book "Animal Behaviour" on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Animal-Behaviour-Amanda-McLeod/dp/1838104127/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=amanda+mcleod&qid=1621520925&sr=8-1

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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