PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Hurricane! - It’s category Five!

With catastrophic damage to some  State

Three States,- with people trying to survive,

Who can the consequences calculate?



The storm is just too big,- the residents

Of Louisiana, Mississippi flee,

And Alabama’s towns resilient

Are open preys now to calamity.



Stop penning poets pray of history,

And favored themes, or lovie -lovie‘s woe,

Or any other triviality,

Cleopatra, dear  Mickey Mouse, John Doe.



Path of destruction, everything wiped out,

New Orleans under water  many feet

Those fleeing may escape dread Kathryn’s knout,

But powerless will stay the power grid.



Who‘ll pen of wrinkles and excessive fat,

In  times of fellow man‘s calamity?

While countries, parishes are under threat

To be wiped out in a catastrophe.



Sing devastation,- sing of Hurricane!

Your fellow man must flee, evacuate,

Forbid to sing of  triviality,

And songs that now on nervous systems grate.



Lo! Human suffering will be incredible

Declare some county spokesmen on TV,

Destroyed transformers make help void and nil,

State after State declares emergency.



Oh New Orleans!- first time in history!

Your fate fair French town hangs now on a thread,

A victim of Kathryn’s ferocity

How many numbers will count lost or dead?.



Will the big bowl be filled, as levees break

And raging surges kick the dykes around?

While debris fly and structures sway and shake.

And pumps are failing, or are failure bound?.



And Tourists and the poor without a home

Nor means at all where with to flee  elsewhere

Go shelter seeking to the Super Dome,

Their misery with others more to share.



The water levies are inadequate,

Refineries submerged would then release

Supplies of waters that  contaminate,

And  compromise with foul and oozing grease.



Oh New Orleans!- first time in history!

Your fate fair French town hangs now on a thread,

Submerged in water, what calamity!

How many numbers will count lost or dead?.



Submerged will be the spots familiar,

The hapless throngs, the  pauper refugee,

And people all that have not got a car

Will bear the brunt of the calamity.



The wind is tropical, and dread and fear

Fills all the hapless victims of Kathryn,

Whose deadly breath and gusts keep drawing near

To bury all and swipe the sea strands clean.



It’s vain to sing  of strange theologies,

And speculations, -what  might be or not,

Much better t’is to face realities,

And pray for suffering fellow men to God!



©  Elizabeth Dandy