.

Ian’s Ire

Forecasts:
Storm blasts.
Cars leave.
Clouds heave

Endless rain.
Flood’s domain.
Massive surge.
Nature’s scourge.

Toy boats heaped up.
Homes filled like cups.
Millions’ suspect
Their lives are wrecked.

Streets cleared of debris,
Dead cars and Palm Trees.
Owners return and gasp,
Can’t wrap around and grasp

Homes flattened in piles
For miles and miles.
Call the National Guard—
Leaves and twigs mess my yard.

.

.

Peter Venable has been writing poetry for 50 years. He has been published in Windhover, Third Wednesday, Time of Singing, The Merton Seasonal, American Vendantist, The Anglican Theological Review, and others. He is a member of the Winston Salem Writers. On the whimsical side, he has been published in Bluepepper, Parody, Laughing Dog, The Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online (e. g. # 48) and the Society of Classical Poets.

NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets.

The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.


Trending now:

2 Responses

  2. Joe Kidd

    I appreciate the irony of the final rhyme.
    It illuminates the the self importance of
    those numb to the suffering of others.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.