by E. Ducabe Wisler

“Pray for Texas.” —Ubs Reece Idwal

The tropical cyclone named Harvey plastered Houston’s plat,
ten trillion gallons of rainwater in a constant splat;
the size of Harvey, as immense as is Connecticut,
Rhode Island, Massachusetts, NYC and NJ’s jut;
a storm a bit like Galveston’s horrific hurricane,
America’s worst natural disaster e’er sustained;
and also like the flood of Noah, pounding Texas with
a huge deluge of biblical proportions passing myth;
once quiet streets becoming raging rivers overnight,
the widespread devastation blasting everything in sight.


Post your Hurricane Harvey poetry below in the comments section.

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3 Responses

  1. James

    Awesome poem! The rhyme rythym and cadence just right. Also the content is good.

  2. Leonard Dabydeen

    Rescue Me

    This Harvey flood rises like a ghost in the dark of night
    slowly water creeps around the houses dousing all light;
    Houston families scream and wade in their homes frightfully,
    crawling through windows and roofs crying aloud, “Rescue Me!”
    torrential rainfall and gusting, stormy wind reek havoc
    everyone is a flood victim, without race, creed to stock;
    as Chopper rescuers make their rounds to help trapped victims,
    many who are disabled are now shaking to their limbs;
    and the old and feeble and weak who wish to be in bed,
    watch the flood waters slowly rising to reach for their head;
    “What has man wrought in this world to anger God,” they do ask,
    trying to recollect sins committed to bare this task;
    Navy rescuers respond to 911 without pause
    Tired but dedicated to this humanitarian cause.

  3. L. W. Owen

    After the Storm

    Though warnings came,
    no imagination could create the portrait of this day.
    Cackling, howling wind-claws ripped and shredded
    every standing structure of my security.

    In my whirling celebration of contentment,
    the storm crept in,
    stealing in between the rhythms of my life. Oh, such a life!
    Laughing, singing, loving! …now sighing,…crying.

    Hideous storm, heartless storm, that rages and reeks,
    wrecking, chewing and spewing, seeking the living,
    leaving only waste, and disjointed, dismembered splinters of
    what once was. All is immersed.

    I wander, searching for home, straining to recognize a
    scrap, a horizon.
    The place where I belong is swept away.
    I am swept away.
    “Where is home?” the lost child of my soul cries.
    “Where is my safe haven?”
    I frantically grasp at silent splinters in ravaged earth.
    “Home…,” whimpers my orphan heart.
    “Lost…,” echoes the ghost breeze of destruction.
    All is lost.

    “Come Child, look up. There is more than earth.
    What you thought was home, though dear, can be rebirthed.
    Look up, Child. Take heart. A storm cannot destroy My gift of joy.”
    “Though weeping lasts a day, I will remain and help you find the way
    to home.

    Come, My Child, bring empty hands
    that you may hold to mine again.
    Come home.”

    “…Behold, I make all things new.” Revelations 21:5


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