Overture In The Rain.

Free Verse

by
Liz Fairley.

Index

Ballad

A ghostly army... every soldier who’d ever died...
inched its way across the skies, high above Arabia.
And skilfully, each soldier manned a bucket,
as battalion after battalion bravely battled
to bail out Heaven... Or so it seemed!
With robotic precision and ceaseless rhythm,
they toiled, tirelessly, wave upon wave-
filling... dropping, filling... dropping,
dousing the blazing heat of three hundred days,
in a raging inferno of torrential rain.

Something dramatic was called for,
something powerful, something thrilling!
But what would fill the lounge with sound
and suit the mood of this wild evening?
The 1812 Overture, maybe...
Ah, yes! Tchaikovsky, brilliant!
Perfect for a storm that was so intense;
so press the ‘Play’ button ...
Let battle commence!

And so, as the work of art unfolded,
music and nature vied to be heard.
The hi-fi’s volume, at full blast, was easily surpassed,
by the rain, which was thrashing and beating,
pounding and dripping...
while Russians rallied to challenge Napoleonic foes;
as cold came down to clash with hot...
Bumping, pushing, shoving, heaving...
Tempers were soon lost.

As, in the overture, the battle raged;
as contestants clashed sword against sword,
musket against musket;
as horn teased trumpet
and as percussion toyed with string...
from overhead came a distant rumble...
Three elements;
man, music, nature...
Each one gained momentum-
Faster... Louder,
Faster... Louder.
Crack!

And for the glorious finale,
as tired but triumphant troops trudged home;
walls trembled to the beat of their stomping feet...
to drumstick’s beat on skin
and rain’s incessant beat on pane.
Then in raucous celebration,
bells rang out as thunder peeled;
cymbals clashed as lightning flashed;
cannons roared as thunder raged...
in a delightful cacophony of total surround sound,
with strobe lighting!

In the listeners imagination,
the conductor took his bow...
to flickering flashlights
and thunderous clapping.
Encore, encore...
But in the repeat performance,
the soldier missed his day of glory-
by the untimely arrival
of the master of the house;
bringing with him his own thunder...
In masterly fashion,
he mercilessly murdered a masterpiece of music,
as, with a high pitched hiss, he insisted...
“Turn off that bloody racket!”

He’d stopped one battle in its tracks,
but even he couldn’t win the war!
No soothing adagio anointed ailing war-wounded...
For poor, patriotic peasants who perished, no pavane.
No time, no time!
Instead... these new recruits were ordered, swiftly...
“March on... March on. Form your battalions!”
Once more, Gods generators up above,
spluttered and rumbled, then roared into action;
giving power to natures searchlights,
as they highlighted their targets...

And that great army in the sky,
mustered in their multitudes, every last man;
as, manfully, each man manned his bucket,
as battalion after battalion bravely battled
to bail out Heaven...
Or so it seemed!

People who have read this one are inclined to ask, "What were you on?"
Actually, just to complicate matters, I was 'on' Dave Brubeck's classic Jazz piece, 'Take Five'. I had the tune in my head as I was writing it.

Haiku.