aftermath of hurricane Dorian in 2019 (Office of Diaz-Balart)‘On a Raging Storm’ and Other Poetry by Jeff Kemper The Society May 26, 2025 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 3 Comments . On a Raging Storm Storms raged in the eastern U.S. in Spring of 2019. Is it a freak of summer or the norm? A gale, a blast, a squall is roaring past. In wrath that cuts and claws, the raging storm Leaves in its wake select debris amassed To tell its story in cuneiform, Recounting its intractable lambast: “I left you well enough alone until Your marginal estate embraced my world. I came to disarticulate at will. With armaments of mockery, I hurled Projectiles aimed to penetrate and kill, Your flags of freedom not to be unfurled.” So in the aftermath I count the cost Of chaos coursing through my mean estate. Its blustering portrait has been embossed With raw debris. Now dazed and desolate, I gaze upon my former fortune, lost, And welcome my tempestuous magnate. . . Oceanic Flux Reflections on Adrianna’s first visit to the ocean (age 12, Summer 2019) The trek was harsh; the trek was long. As we meandered through the throng Of thoroughfares both fast and slow, Marooned in viscous traffic-flow. But destination intervened And we as kin at last convened Upon a warm and pristine strand And breathed the brine above the sand. Then as your gaze beheld the deep And endless oceanic heap Of ceaseless billows keeping time In wild and mystic Runic rhyme, And as you sallied from the street And trampled sand beneath your feet While shouts of offing’s waves grew nearer As you made your way yet clearer, Without wit of tide or current, Whether yet you were or weren’t, “Is this dream,” you shouted, “real?” Your shout erupted to a squeal, And then again and yet again When you leapt in the brine playpen. You frolicked freely in the crux Of steady, oceanic flux. Then was it real or was it not? For now it’s but an afterthought. And when you visit once again Will you be as ecstatic then? . . Jeff Kemper has been a biology teacher, biblical studies instructor, editor, and painting contractor. He lives in York County, Pennsylvania. 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. ***Read Our Comments Policy Here*** 3 Responses Alan Steinle May 26, 2025 Then was it real or was it not? For now it’s but an afterthought. And when you visit once again Will you be as ecstatic then? That’s a good question. When we are young and everything is new, things seem wonderful, amazing. William Wordsworth wrote these immortal lines: My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. I was 10-12 when I had an amazing experience watching birds feed their young. Now, after 35 years, it might seem commonplace. But it reminds me of part of C. S. Lewis’s book The Silver Chair. When the witch is trying to charm some of the main characters, she tries to get them to believe there is no sun, since they are underground and they cannot prove that the sun exists. This is probably an allegory for those who try to convince people there is no God, but it also makes me think of those who think there is no goodness in the world or in nature. When I feel less than happy, I remember my positive experiences, including those in nature, and I realize that there is reason for hope. Reply Paul A. Freeman May 27, 2025 A thoughtful, melancholic last stanza brings reality back into the poem, but to be honest it’s those firsts and the innocent joys of our children laid out before this that prevail most in our memories. Nicely done, Jeff. Reply Paul A. Freeman May 27, 2025 Ooops! The previous comment is for Oceanic Flux. For some reason I only saw that poem! Anyhow, to the raging storm. debris… ‘To tell its story in cuneiform’ – what a brilliant image. Late in the day as it is, I’m curious about the middle stanza. Are we moving towards metaphorical reference towards a person (an ex-wife, perhaps) or a financial crisis? And in the final stanza, another piece of A+ imagery: ‘(The house’s) blustering portrait has been embossed / With raw debris…’ Thanks for the reads. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
Alan Steinle May 26, 2025 Then was it real or was it not? For now it’s but an afterthought. And when you visit once again Will you be as ecstatic then? That’s a good question. When we are young and everything is new, things seem wonderful, amazing. William Wordsworth wrote these immortal lines: My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. I was 10-12 when I had an amazing experience watching birds feed their young. Now, after 35 years, it might seem commonplace. But it reminds me of part of C. S. Lewis’s book The Silver Chair. When the witch is trying to charm some of the main characters, she tries to get them to believe there is no sun, since they are underground and they cannot prove that the sun exists. This is probably an allegory for those who try to convince people there is no God, but it also makes me think of those who think there is no goodness in the world or in nature. When I feel less than happy, I remember my positive experiences, including those in nature, and I realize that there is reason for hope. Reply
Paul A. Freeman May 27, 2025 A thoughtful, melancholic last stanza brings reality back into the poem, but to be honest it’s those firsts and the innocent joys of our children laid out before this that prevail most in our memories. Nicely done, Jeff. Reply
Paul A. Freeman May 27, 2025 Ooops! The previous comment is for Oceanic Flux. For some reason I only saw that poem! Anyhow, to the raging storm. debris… ‘To tell its story in cuneiform’ – what a brilliant image. Late in the day as it is, I’m curious about the middle stanza. Are we moving towards metaphorical reference towards a person (an ex-wife, perhaps) or a financial crisis? And in the final stanza, another piece of A+ imagery: ‘(The house’s) blustering portrait has been embossed / With raw debris…’ Thanks for the reads. Reply