STORM OVER FEWSTON
The sky was dull beyond Timble.
Flickers of distant lightning
flared and danced along the vague horizons.
We had watched the far grey veils of rain
advance by inches until
first, the patter of a drop on a leaf,
then, drops on leaves,
the trees swayed, stirred and sighed
in the press of the sudden wind and it rained.
Rain, that assailed with its pelt,
shattered the mirror of the reservoir;
swept over the woods with a roar.
It rained all afternoon, long steely rods
that lashed mud back up from the earth
plucked crystal flowers from the lake.
Lightning shuddered over the sky
with deep rumbling coughs of thunder
that shook the air.
There was a hush that followed the storm,
the clouds moved on, but drops descending
through the tiers of leaves filtered down
with ten thousand liquid tongues licking
and a new light, dazzled and drenched,
sparked sunlight from every swung bead.
In one, pendulous at a leaf's tip,
the whole sun shone, captured in a tear;
light and water locked in one bright ball.
Below, the gurgling waters gathered,
freshets sprang, feeders gushed, flush with rain,
replenished, the Washburn
tumbled into the fretting blue waters
where deep beneath the surface
white clouds seemed to drift.
Our old friend and fellow Yorkshireman, Arthur Seeley from Keighley has been crowned Yorkshire Water's very first poet idol with his winning poem, STORM OVER FEWSTON.
A full report on this award can be found on the Yorkshire Water website.
You can also listen to a reading of the poem by Ian McMillan.
Ian has come a long way since his days at the tennis-ball factory in Darfield, but his voice is as unmistakable as ever.