Prayer to the Thunder God

For my Grandfather 


Thunder in the morning I complain
 Summer's even 

Hoeing in the rain
 I soon quit the field
 Under a barn roof I gulp ice water From a Mason Jar
 And minding the lightning's power 
(Grandma always said to stay away from Dogs and cats
(They draw the lightning down, she said)

I edge away a little from Fuzzy and Blackie, 
Curled up on some dusty sacks...
I'd just as soon not hoe tobacco
Or pluck those great horned green worms either,

 But I am an ancient relative of the land 
Soaked in the blood of my forebears, 
My Grandfather Martin Runs through me 
Into the deer and hawk,
 Into the lands he loved so fiercely,
 He never knew his own Sullen, lonely children; 
Still, the land's own Freedom, 

The spring at the one tree From which we drank 
Sweat pouring off us
 Where the Light Falls 
In the grasshopper blur of Midsummer

 The lightning dances in my eyes
 The thunder rattles in my ears,

O Great Spirit, 
I stand in your heart 
Speaking with thunder, 
Strong with lightning, How do I live apart?

 O Great Spirit, I stand in your heart 
To be, to be,
 Thunderous, Freefalling and free,

 O My Grandfather,
 O Great Spirit.

--Sketchbook

Nessie

Alltsaigh, Loch Ness - the Scotch Highlands

I made a pact with you near water's edge:
 Before the campers came, I would remove
 The drawings on the hostel's kitchen walls
 In which you are a few sad and patient tires
Half in some blued-out lake with dragon face
So patently fading to public white

. You said you would never come back up
 To startle us again or find disgrace…
 So you said going black under blue;

 I knew you would be back
 Sailing these spindrift waters
 Diving the bone-deep depths and taunting us
 Across the waves with your rippling spines,
 And flair for bumbling melodrama.
 Therefore, I have kept my watch
 And evenings, a blue sword in darkness,
 I look downward and slip off into the night

Copyright Thomas Martin,2006-2015

Published Sketch book--Spring 2010