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On a Raging Storm
Storms raged in the eastern U.S. in Spring of 2019.
Is it a freak of summer or the norm?
A gale, a blast, a squall is roaring past.
In wrath that cuts and claws, the raging storm
Leaves in its wake select debris amassed
To tell its story in cuneiform,
Recounting its intractable lambast:
“I left you well enough alone until
Your marginal estate embraced my world.
I came to disarticulate at will.
With armaments of mockery, I hurled
Projectiles aimed to penetrate and kill,
Your flags of freedom not to be unfurled.”
So in the aftermath I count the cost
Of chaos coursing through my mean estate.
Its blustering portrait has been embossed
With raw debris. Now dazed and desolate,
I gaze upon my former fortune, lost,
And welcome my tempestuous magnate.
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Oceanic Flux
Reflections on Adrianna’s first visit
to the ocean (age 12, Summer 2019)
The trek was harsh; the trek was long.
As we meandered through the throng
Of thoroughfares both fast and slow,
Marooned in viscous traffic-flow.
But destination intervened
And we as kin at last convened
Upon a warm and pristine strand
And breathed the brine above the sand.
Then as your gaze beheld the deep
And endless oceanic heap
Of ceaseless billows keeping time
In wild and mystic Runic rhyme,
And as you sallied from the street
And trampled sand beneath your feet
While shouts of offing’s waves grew nearer
As you made your way yet clearer,
Without wit of tide or current,
Whether yet you were or weren’t,
“Is this dream,” you shouted, “real?”
Your shout erupted to a squeal,
And then again and yet again
When you leapt in the brine playpen.
You frolicked freely in the crux
Of steady, oceanic flux.
Then was it real or was it not?
For now it’s but an afterthought.
And when you visit once again
Will you be as ecstatic then?
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Jeff Kemper has been a biology teacher, biblical studies instructor, editor, and painting contractor. He lives in York County, Pennsylvania.
Then was it real or was it not?
For now it’s but an afterthought.
And when you visit once again
Will you be as ecstatic then?
That’s a good question. When we are young and everything is new, things seem wonderful, amazing.
William Wordsworth wrote these immortal lines:
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
I was 10-12 when I had an amazing experience watching birds feed their young. Now, after 35 years, it might seem commonplace. But it reminds me of part of C. S. Lewis’s book The Silver Chair. When the witch is trying to charm some of the main characters, she tries to get them to believe there is no sun, since they are underground and they cannot prove that the sun exists. This is probably an allegory for those who try to convince people there is no God, but it also makes me think of those who think there is no goodness in the world or in nature. When I feel less than happy, I remember my positive experiences, including those in nature, and I realize that there is reason for hope.
Thanks for your thoughts, Alan. Pleasant childhood memories can be a wellspring of happiness throughout one’s life. Thanks for the Silver Chair reference. It reminds me that it’s time for me to reread the Narnia series!
A thoughtful, melancholic last stanza brings reality back into the poem, but to be honest it’s those firsts and the innocent joys of our children laid out before this that prevail most in our memories.
Nicely done, Jeff.
Ooops! The previous comment is for Oceanic Flux. For some reason I only saw that poem! Anyhow, to the raging storm.
debris… ‘To tell its story in cuneiform’ – what a brilliant image.
Late in the day as it is, I’m curious about the middle stanza. Are we moving towards metaphorical reference towards a person (an ex-wife, perhaps) or a financial crisis?
And in the final stanza, another piece of A+ imagery: ‘(The house’s) blustering portrait has been embossed / With raw debris…’
Thanks for the reads.
Re: On a Raging Storm: It was a reference to the literal storm, but also generally for our having no control over what life’s (i.e., God’s) ultimate control of us. We cannot do anything we want.
Thanks, Paul. I wasn’t sure whether the final stanza should fit, but then going back to one’s routine is part of excitement that can be melancholy. Yet the excitement lives on nonetheless.
I love the way you’ve used stormy words: “wrath that cuts and claws”; “cuneiform”; “intractable lambast”; “disarticulate”; “armaments of mockery”; “wild and mystic Runic rhyme”. And your description of the girl reveling in the magic of the ocean is great. And I love that you rhyme “current” with “weren’t”.
I appreciate your comments, Cynthia. It is an episode etched in my memory, I love seeing children/young people having pure fun!
“Cuneiform” applies well to the “writing” of a raging storm. I’m sure Adrianna will remember the first visit to the ocean better because of your poem, Jeff. Still, the beach always presents its own fascinations, no matter how many times one goes. Good reason to write about it!
Thank you, Margaret. She is one of five beautiful girls unrelated to us who spent many a weekend with us in their younger years. I call them my “adopted” granddaughters.