Poem: Thunderstorms

A poem about a young girl (my late Aunt) experiencing The Blitz, based on true stories told by my father who lived through the Blitz.

Before my Dad passed, there were some stories he shared with me. And I of course think now, why didn’t you ask more questions? He shared some memories he had living through the Blitz. I have attempted to recreate the scene he described. The watercolour is my own work and my visualisation of the story he told.

Thank you,

Emma

Thunderstorms

As she took my hand
my bedraggled coat
scurried and fanned
the land in which
would be nothing but dust dunes.
The real-life figurines
and their machines,
bowed past Mother
to only go
and shoot another.
A bare footed man
with a secret plan
led us astray
way under in decay.
Mum seemed thoughtful
contemplating a psalm,
waging its truth
tampering with its soul.
It’s biblical legs
erecting herself from her mind,
dwindling like old kneecaps.
Blinded in our
hide away,
our pricked up
ears encased
an opera of death.
What’s that earth shattering snapping?
Thunderstorms Reina,
just thunderstorms.
But I could not rest
as I felt a warm trickle
soaking and spreading over my tights.
Nestled in the cloth of my mother, we all hid from the soldiers
Listening to the rumble of London town
Falling down
Thundering in dizzy disarray.

Thank you for reading. I am Emma and I publish writing tips and prompts on my website. I am an IELTS tutor and tutor for conversational English.