Driven inside, the cats hunker down
And sleep their peaceful dreams
In baskets by the stove
Unconcerned by noises in the chimney
And gentle soot-falls gathered in the grate
Blow-battered, gust-clattered
Every door and window rattled
Buffeted and blown by the gale outside
Blasting the hedges sideways in its fury
Tattoo-beating spurts of rain
Like gravel against the panes
Heavy water droplets driven every which way
Casements banging in the frames
And, above all else,
The moaning and groaning
Howling and whistling
Of the storm venting its fury
Against the brick-work of the house
I think I feel the chimneys shaking
The prominent stacks exposed
At the highest levels of the air
And then the roof-tiles singing
In nailed and slated resistance
To this unwarranted onslaught
Upon their serried ranks
By staying fast to hold the line
And keep the house together
Unsheltered, the flowers forced flat
Leaning down against the soaking ground
Bushes and trees bending backwards
Revealing the paler underside of leaves
Pressed hard against the creaking fences
And down the lane, new rivers run their courses
Silt and sand driven from out the fields
Beneath the air-borne fusillade
Of twigs and leaves, and scraps of paper
Swept far into the distance
Beneath the blackened skies
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012
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