In the last week Virginia has experienced an earthquake and a hurricane. It's hard for me to look at these events and NOT be amazed by the power of the natural world.
We were very lucky in both instances. I may be complaining about lack of power, but while others in our neighborhood lost trees and sustained damage to their homes and cars, we came out quite unscathed.
So, I'm thinking this is a good time to write about the power of nature, whether it be earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, or just a good old-fashioned rain storm. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
We really did have a storm just last night--high drama!
ReplyDeleteOpera on a Summer Night
Last night thunder
took the stage
with his bass profundo
and lightning flashed
her high notes.
Oh, how the night sang!
And rain came in
for the chorus.
--Kate Coombs, 2011, all rights reserved
Yarn Shop, Shelburne Falls, Ma.
ReplyDeleteAs they watched, the yarn shop
unraveled from its moorings,
floating swiftly downstream.
Wet wool cannot be used, except
by sheep who gave theirs up years ago.
The shop gave up its wool
to the insisting river,
while photographers took pictures, videos,
and safe on shore marveled
at the power of the un-knit.
©2011 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved
Flood
ReplyDeleteWhen levees break
And overflow
Like promises
Made long ago
And city stop
Signs disappear,
Black waters crest
At level: FEAR.
Old family photos
Float away
With furniture
And yesterday.
Then come the tears
Like rivulets:
A Mississippi
Of regrets.
2011 J. Patrick Lewis, all rights reserved
Wow, Jane and J. Patrick--wonderful! Esp. the slam-bang final lines.
ReplyDeleteIrene walloped Rhode Island. My neighbors lost several old trees, though we had only heavy branches down:
ReplyDeleteStorm’s Alarm
By Steven Withrow
Asleep, we do not hear it snap—
That splintered limb
Succumb—
Or heed it rap our roof
And strike
The downspout dumb.
Awake, we think a bird’s deranged
A windowpane—
Chill rain
Has changed to hail—a gull?—
A gale—
A hurricane!
©2011 Steven Withrow, all rights reserved
Impressive bunch of poems. I am honored to be here with all of you.
ReplyDeleteJane
Tricia--maybe you should talk to some of your editor friends about an anthology of disaster poems, or hurricane poems. Try Rebecca Davis at Word/Song or Yolanda Scott at Charlesbridge or Katie Cunningham at Candlewick or Tom Peterson at Creative Editions or any one else you can think of.
ReplyDeleteJane
Jane/Tricia--I noticed, thanks to Fuse #8, that Kate Messner has created links to poems about Irene: http://www.katemessner.com/created-in-the-path-of-irene-links/
ReplyDeleteThis one is from an abandoned ms. called Wild Winds & Whopping Waves: Poems of the Hurricane of 1938. Sadly, it is based on a real story.
ReplyDeleteIRONY
I never quite understood irony.
Miss McBride would say,
"What’s the role of irony in this story?"
And I wouldn’t have a clue.
But today, away from English class,
away from Miss McBride’s
explanations of "incongruity,"
I think I finally understand.
I read in the paper where
a woman in Connecticut was driving
in the storm when a fallen tree
caused traffic to stop.
She knew it would take awhile
to clear the road, so she picked up
a book to read while waiting
for the road to be cleared.
The winds continued to blow
and another tree fell.
This one landed on the woman’s car.
She was killed instantly.
Here’s the irony in the story:
the book she was reading
was Gone with the Wind.
Am I right, Miss McBride?
After the Hurricane
ReplyDeleteThere is
no wind at all.
The rain
is over too.
The sun
is out.
The world
is safe.
I still
feel scared.
Do you?
© Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
IRENE
ReplyDeleteWho would have guessed
from the old-fashioned
name you were given
one of Greek origin
meaning peace
that you would declare war
up and down the coast
then travel inward
dropping far too many
tears ravaging those
calm rivers and streams
filling them with your rage
Irene
I just need to know
what made you so mad?
© Carol Weis
AFTER THE STORM
ReplyDeleteTrees on pavements fast asleep
Power lines as blankets
A decapitated jeep
Churches are emaciated
Where do we go?
If that's not enough
Here comes the snow.
(c) Charles Waters 2011 all rights reserved