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