The Storm destroys tranquility
And knocks down lines of electricity.
A flickering candle the only light
With which to see on this blackened night.
Shadows dancing on the walls
Like ghosts called up from Hades halls
Seem to howl with the wind
And beg forgiveness for their sins.
A hundred hoofbeats fill our ears
When thunder rolls as it grows near.
Like Centaurs descending on the plain
The thunder mixes with the rain.
With the rumble comes the sound
Which fills the air all around.
The clap of thunder fills the sky
Like the Furies’ shrilling cry.
After a while the violence stops
And the sky yields its final drops.
But somewhere else clouds will form
To release the fury of The Storm.
Captain Andrews, what happened to you
When you sailed off on your honeymoon
With your new bride, Mary Southern
In your boat The Flying Dutchman
From Atlantic City bound for Spain?
You were never seen again.
Except for a single passing ship;
You said you were both fine—
Rough weather, that was it.
Your boat was found in early November.
What happened to up-end her?
Alas, my friend, we fear you’ve drowned
For no trace has ever been found.
Early Sunday morning
I was a man on a mission
Headed up to Lake Shirly
To do me some fishin’.
I had my tackle box
And plenty of bait.
Early Sunday morning
I got up to the lake.
I waited all day
Without even a nibble.
Where were the fish?
There lay the riddle.
A long day it was
Out on the lake.
A long time I waited
For some kind of break.
I was ready to quit
Late Sunday night
When all of a sudden
I got me a bite!
A huge fish it was;
A large-mouthed bass.
I couldn’t believe
The luck of the catch.
But, oh, what a fight
I got from that fish.
This way and that way
He just wouldn’t quit.
Yet I was winning the battle
And glory would be mine.
But the next thing I knew
He snapped my damned line!
So all that remains
Of our tremendous match
Is this little story
Of the bass that hauled ass.
A starlit sky overlooks the beach at night.
Sitting in soft sand, friends fraternize by firelight.
Low tide has pulled the sea out of reach
And the summer sun has abandoned the beach
But a full moon illuminates the sky
And bright flames from the bonfire fly.
As tales are told by relations of old
The summer nights never grow cold.
The Last Raindrop, traveling down
On its way to the ground
Encounters a flower
Upon whose face it alights
To rest a moment
Before falling like a tear
To a waiting stream
Which carries it off.
From my face falls a teardrop
Which lands on the flower
And follows the path
Of the Last Raindrop.
Left behind
By the receding tide
The shell lay on the beach
Abandoned by the sea
To slowly sink into the sand
Forever.
Looking around
The child sees on the ground
The seashell, half-buried in the sand.
She reaches with a tender hand
And saves it
Forever.
Sunday afternoon.
Here I am
Half-buried in the sand
Happy as a clam.
I am a clam.
Burrowed in the sand—
Hey!
Seagull, go away.
Don’t bother me today.
Don’t dig me out of the ground.
Leave me alone.
Put me down!
Uh-oh.
He’s flying up the coast.
I don’t want to go.
He’ll drop me on the rocks below.
I was so happy a moment ago.
Whoa!
I’m on my way down.
Here comes the ground.
It won’t be long now. But wait!
I might get a break.
If I can drop into that crack
I’ll be safe from this attack.
Ha! Alright!
Seagull loses this time.
I’ve got a place to hide
Until I’m rescued by the tide.
What a ride!
Off the New England coast near Minot’s Ledge
Many a passing ship was wrecked.
A lighthouse was erected there to warn
Of the deadly force of a Northeastern storm.
In April, 1851, up the coast there came
The tremendous fury of a hurricane.
The tiny lighthouse was battered and bashed
As huge waves all around it crashed.
Antoine and Wilson wrote to say
The lighthouse swayed two feet each way.
They feared they wouldn’t survive the night—
Still, the keepers kept the light.
Kept it burning so ships were warned
Of the deadly force of the Northeastern storm.
Suddenly iron pilings began to break.
The house itself the ocean would take.
Frantically the lighthouse bell rang
But the violent storm swallowed its clang.
That night two men stood alone
Against the awesome force of a New England storm.
Then the keepers and the light slipped into the sea
And disappeared for eternity.
The sandcastle was left
At the mercy of the sea
When the tide changed direction
And headed toward the beach.
Closer and closer the water came
To where the sandcastle stood
Threatening to wash it away
And swallow it for good.
Inch by inch the water gained
Hungry waves licking up the beach
But the stately sandcastle remained
Just out of reach.
I sat on the rock wall that my father had built
So many years ago when he was a young man
And I looked out over the little pond
That my grandfather had dug by hand.
Beyond the pond stood the house itself
Which my great-grandfather had raised
When the whole town had come out to help
So long ago on hot summer days.
Built by a man to last the ages
There it stood as proof.
Four generations of a family
Had lived and loved under its roof.
I walked past the post that I had put in
And went up to the house
Where my father had lived
And his father had lived
And his father before him.
I looked back once more before going in.
The “For Sale” sign swung in the wind.
Born way out in the sea
The Wave starts on its journey.
Moving forward toward the shore
It gains speed
And size
And strength
And more.
The Powerful Wave whipping along
Picks up a surfer, brave and strong
Lifting him high into the air
And holding him a moment there.
But the surfer, although brave
Is no match for The Mighty Wave.
Suddenly, with a thunderous sound
The Wave overtakes and hurls him down.
Rushing onward with the tide
The Wave leaves the surfer behind.
And with a tremendous roar
Crashes down over itself once more.
Now approaching the beach
The Wave rolls calmly with the sea.
And then upon the shore it goes
To gently tickle tiny toes
That run away.
Cut from the coast of Greenland
The ’Berg floats around Baffin Bay
A towering mass of ice and snow
Set loose one September day.
The ’Berg travels north around the bay
Turning at Lancaster Sound
Melting slowly as it moves
Through Davis Straight, to the ocean bound.
Run aground at Cape Haven
On its way to Labrador
The glacier waits to be freed by the tide
And travel south once more.
Aground again at Cape Harrison
The ’Berg stays quite a while
Until the Labrador Current catches it
And sends it toward Newfoundland Isle.
Around the edges of the Grand Banks
The ’Berg heads toward the Gulf
And a fateful night in the North Atlantic
On the fourteenth of April, 1912.
He waved to his wife
On her little boat of life
As she drifted, crying, into the night.
He stood on the deck
As it began to lift.
He waved to his wife
And went down with the ship.
Light Rain
Soft Summer Rain
Sprinkling Rain
Gentle Rain of a warm Sun Shower
Steady Rain
Heavy Rain
Driving Rain
Pounding Rain of a Hurricane
Cold Chilling Rain
Icy Sleeting Rain
Snow mixed with Freezing Rain
Frozen Rain of a Winter Blizzard
