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Guest Poet R. C. Grogg


I never saw him
sitting on his porch,
naked to the waist,
staring out into the darkness
with angry, cheated, frightened eyes
as lightning lit up the horizon
and thunder rippled around the mountains
in a raping embrace.

Instead, I heard the trembling
of my windows
as the wind thrust
shards of raindrops
against them.

January, 2001

R. C. Grogg 's Questions:

Can anything be added to increase the poem's effectiveness?

Could it be better served if done in another style?

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