Irene

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned from "The Mourning Bride" written in 1697 by William Congreve (Not Bill Shakespeare)

 

 

The thumping and darkness in the bowels of Irene

sit lugubriously on the edge of serenity

the pounding and the tears through all these years

languishing in turpitude and solace from her knowledge

unceremoniously, recklessly and without feeling

while listening to her tongue lashing and

harshness of her venomous and thoughtless words

cracking like a whip, “do you think I’m an idiot”

Not once but twice while searching through black clouds

of disappointment and destitution … no rhyme…no reason.

 

All due to confusing north from south and east from west

reality from fantasy as we all feel the sound of her thunder

Irene crashes on and above the banks of New Haven,

Guilford, Fairfield and the Housatonic

lapping and licking at the shores while throwing

her magnificent weight in her favor, and the swells explode

the question, “how can she possibly know the children”

Even though downgraded and ebbing

the uneven strength and fortitude asks the question

and all my determination fades in the wind.

 

Trees weakened as we begin to dig out and explore

power lines and internet down, hampering communication

flooded streets and nervous bridges impeached

yet Irene serves notice with an ace of her own

dressed in her sheer-like vest and turquoise ring

her hazel eye filled with scorn and distain

while brightness and candor follow her path

with her feline temperament scratched and clawed

the tears begin to taper amidst her howling breath.

Irene begins to move northward stoically away from me.

 

I’m not a victim so I pick what remains of my heart

and begin to reattach my churning stomach

with the threads of her words of disbelief

bringing the force she was most capable of exerting

as the storm continues her long, unforgiven journey

hatred and disdain replaced by disinterest and apathy

as the breath disappears, the light becomes brighter

and Hurricane Irene decides to leave Connecticut

impact in place, on the broken bows of the sturdy trees

perhaps she was right, after all was said and done.

 

 

 

Author's Note

Hurricane Irene
August 28, 2011
photo: Wilbur's Point, Fairhaven, Mass.

Reviews

[Jessi Leigh]

Sounds like a woman on PMS. Just kidding - well sorta ;). Absolutely stunning Allen, well written, I love your imagery, you can really feel the power of Irene and her destruction. I couldn't help think of Kali.... Might be night to write something about her in relation to Irene.. Combine real world and spiritual world maybe?

[Sunni Davis]

I was mildly effected by Irene. A few trees were knocked down and the power lines were down for almost a week. The wind howled and the rain pounded. You captured that perfectly with your poem. I felt like I was in the middle of the storm again. Very well written, Allen.

[Mark]

Vicious, capricious, arbitrary and unpredictable: Is there any wonder why they started out naming hurricanes after women?? Awfully glad to learn that your area was not terribly hardly hit. Have you read my VERY brief paean to Katrina yet? See "Five Minutes In Hell". Gonna try to write a longer one soon, as well as a 9/11 tribute...Enjoyed this effort very much, Allen.

[Marie Harrison]

I really liked this poem. You did a great job of describing this storm. She was cat-like from your description. I felt as if I should take shelter as I read. I'm terrified of tornados I can't imagine what a horror show it would be like, if I was in a hurricane. Great job!