Zeppelin Down

The ‘Old God’s Of War’ were on our side
that thunder-shaking evening.
Lightning cracked and splintered
the deep, navy blues
of the heavy-artillery skies.
Striking the left side
of the approaching Zeppelin
banking the furthest mountain
upon the horizon.
I’ve never heard a ‘Sonic Boom’ like it
and I am 97 year old this coming Spring.
Oranges, yellows and reds exploding
like the Devil’s own oil painting come to life.
The ashy, burning stench
tidal-waved atmospherically,
sweeping down the Valley
like a billion bonfires siphoned together
and spat back out in disgust.
Then the rains came down proper,
dropping and hammering
like a Heavenly referee blowing his liquid whistle
and demanding some cosmic ‘Half-Time’
We withdrew to the ancient cave system
above the bomb-battered Town,
bayonet-heavy, exhilarated and humbled
in the shadows of something infinitely bigger
than the usually crass recourse of Man.

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world. He yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books Scribblings Of A Madman (Lit Fest Press); Poetry From The Nearest Barstool; and a split poetry book The Raven And The Vagabond Heart with Bethany W Pope. You can also read his poems and stories here! Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.