It’s that time of year again!
I woke up dreaming about a hurricane, escaping its wrath at the last possible moment. I remember realizing that others in our party were not so lucky.
The coastline in my dream was not smooth and sandy, like in Florida. It was cold and rocky, with high boulders and crashing waves, like something out of Poldark. I can only assume that some hurricane alert I received that mentioned Nantucket infiltrated my brain. Anyway, keep an eye on the weather for the next few months, if you live in a hurricane-prone area, and stay safe in that respect, too.
Hope you enjoy reading my narrative poem about one such hurricane. Much debt is owed to old poems like “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe (could not resist using the word “evermore”), or “Little Orphant Annie” by James Whitcomb Riley (despite its pretty solidly racist dialect.) These poems combine an ominous tone with musicality. Struwwelpeter is a collection of equally macabre (and frequently racist) tales in verse in German (the link is to the English translation.)
These latter two may not be especially politically correct, but they seem to have been created to put the fear of God into young children. And in my opinion, not just the young need this kind of poetry now, the kind that instills fear of real dangers. We all need them. And not just on the topic of hurricanes.
Thanks for coming by to read!
The beach house on that rocky shore
Was full of laughter, family lore.
Each summer would descend the clan,
And scour the beach with pail in hand.
With glasses raised, they’d toast the waves
And their good fortune, all their days.
The beach house on that rocky shore:
Perched high and dry, with sloping floors,
A great veranda, with a view,
And shutters, shutting out the blue,
This season, how it crashed below!
How late the crowds! How strong, the blow!
The beach house on that rocky shore:
Decked out for parties. Many more
Would soon arrive, to reunite.
The fabled family, left and right,
Had come, to wade in frothy foam,
Far from the safety of their home.
The beach house on that rocky shore
Knew naught, of what had come before:
Of ancient curses, suicides,
Of rocky shipwrecks, deadly dives,
Of sudden storms and blocked retreats.
(But there was lots and lots to eat.)
The beach house on that rocky shore:
That precipice, that promised more,
That frightful August, long and hot,
Inviting all, who spied the spot,
Rewarding, with delights marine.
They rushed like ants, to sugar’s scream.
The beach house on that rocky shore:
The waves, they crashed, and crashed some more.
That funny compass on the wall
Did not tell which was North, at all,
But dipped and dived to frightful lows,
As pressures dropped and waters rose.
The beach house on that rocky shore
Saw clouds roll in, but nothing more
Than usual, a summer shower.
It grew breezier by the hour.
Scampering on the rocks below,
A child, a pail, a tiny bow.
The beach house on that rocky shore
Sprang into action. “What a bore!”
The children moaned, as they were told
To pack their bags, and those more bold
Ran down the slope for one more dip.
The waves began to churn a bit.
The beach house on that rocky shore
Soon emptied out, with nothing more
Than stragglers left. A mom implored
The staff to help her search the shore,
One child, yet unaccounted for.
Meanwhile, the rain began to pour.
The beach house on that rocky shore:
Barometer sank ever lower.
The weather news was dire, foreboding.
Bags were carried. Cars were loading.
Traffic stalled, on crowded roads.
Rain came down by bucketloads.
The beach house on that rocky shore
Stands still and shuttered, evermore.
Pathetic mother, forced to flee,
Cried out for mercy to the sea.
Yet that fastidious hurricane
Looked on her blubbering with disdain,
And scouring rocks, left not a trace,
Save one small ribbon, one small face.
Copyright 2020 Andrea LeDew
For more hurricane writing check out my Hurricane Anthology
  and other posts under the tag “hurricane.”Â
The Enclosed Garden
I love this!! A modern cautionary tale in traditional verse. It reminds me of when I lived in Norfolk, Virginia. Every year during hurricane season there would be news stories of home owners in Sandbridge and the Outer Banks of North Carolina wailing and gnashing their teeth in utter bewilderment that the house they had built on sand had gone ker-plunk into the ocean when the hurricane hit it.
Yes Im glad you caught the double meaning of the line “This season, how it crashed below! /How late the crowds! How strong the blow!”
The waves crash down below the house, but so too could a home on a precipice crash to the rocks below. And the strong blow could either be the pain suffered by their loss, or the strength of the wind itself. Helps a bit with the sense that something bad is coming, I think.
And the vagaries let everyone experience a different image in their mind’s eye.
It definitely conveyed that sense of foreboding. I’m glad we no longer live in hurrricane country.