Thread: Hurricane Bane

A trail of purple storm clouds
mars fair skies,
remnants of another
raging hurricane,
the third in two months.
Confined to no particular season,
they remain unpredictable.

Familiar coolness
as she cradles the glass bottle,
caressing the raised CG on the cap
with her thumb,
she makes a mental note to restock.
Number 520, Creamy Natural.
Refusing to meet the eyes
of her reflection,
she touches the sponge
to the first cloud,
wincing as she tries
to camouflage the entire trail.

On go the sunglasses
and her favorite faded Yankee cap,
the one her father gave her
so many years ago,
as broken in
as she is.

Time to pick up the kids.
She pulls her brim down low
and adjusts the long sleeves
of her ebony blouse.
She steps outside
and revels in the brilliant sunshine
and excessive warmth
of an Indian summer day.
Clemency,
even in the form of weather,
is unheard of
behind the great oak door.

Dread at being tardy
cruelly snaps her
from her momentary reverie.
There will be no chatting
with the other mothers today,
her head will be bowed
and her legs will tread quickly.

At home,
unbeknown to her,
a tropical storm is already brewing
and its upgrade to a hurricane
won't be long in coming.
If she were aware
that gales of fury
were once more fiercely blowing,
she'd stop at the pharmacy.

Cover Girl's on sale,
and as every obedient wife knows,
it's a sin to squander money.

Vary well made yet again ChestersDaughter! A said tale indeed but amazingly written, perfect imagery and use of metaphors(even though I usually cant decipher them vary well this one I understood ) Keep up the good work!

Clemency,
even in the form of weather,
is unheard of
behind the great oak door.

Very chilling, and sad at the same time. It must be dreadful to not even be able to appreciate a simple joy such as the warmth of the sun on your back. I thought the comparison of the storm and the home tensions was very clever, the second to last stanza was so atmospheric- after all a hurricaine can only end in devestation.


I loved it.

Agreed. The running through of the metaphor is masterfully done. Your rhyming as well, stressed in just the right places needed for emphasis, is spot on. Enjoyed this.

Ah, it seems we have been both contemplating stormy weather here lately, and seems you've been peeking into my head this time.

Enjoyed the images, the purple storm clouds were very effective and the metaphor worked well throughout the whole poem. I've seen this storm played out too many times in real life and once upon a time, long, long ago, I had a few storm clouds of my own. Never again. Good work, sweetie.

Such vivid imagery and chilling story line that I feel quite ill...and very unsettled...That you are talented-you don't need me to say and I love your Artistry..But this----This disturbs me.....................Thanks [ I think..] Jul

The way you weave words into a tapestry of volumes continues to impress me, I love the imagery but most of all the overall form of the piece is abstract and not conforming to a single ideal, this in itself represents the way storms are, abstract and unpredictable. Thanks for sharing.

A trail of purple storm clouds
mars fair skin,
remnants of another
raging hurricane,
the third in two months.
Confined to no particular season,
they remain unpredictable.

This is a solid start, although I'm not sure about the second line. I'd almost like to see it say, "mars fair skies" or something to that effect instead. Keeps the mystery going until you come to the second stanza. Because if the bruises are clouds, couldn't her face also be likened to the sky? Or, maybe she has blue eyes = blue skies? It opens up a whole new level of imagery.

Familiar coolness
as she cradles the glass bottle,
caressing the raised CG on the cap
with her thumb,
she makes a mental note to restock.
Number 520, Creamy Natural.
Refusing to meet the eyes
of her reflection,
she touches the sponge
to the first cloud,
wincing as she tries
to camouflage the entire trail.

This is very powerful, particularly the way you focus on the detail of the glass bottle and the CG lettering on top. This is when the reader goes: "Oh no... THAT'S what we're talking about.”

as broken in
as she is.

This is perhaps the most chilling bit of the whole piece, and frankly, I think the poem would be a lot stronger if you ended it with this. But back to that in a minute.

Dread at being tardy
cruelly snaps her
from her momentary reverie.
There will be no chatting
with the other mothers today,
her head will be bowed
and her legs will tread quickly.

I don't think this bit really adds anything to the poem. By now, if the reader is alert, he is aware that we are talking about an abused woman. I can't remember where I heard this, but I remember reading somewhere that poetry is about saying as much as possible with as few words as possible. It's not that this bit is bad, necessarily, it just doesn't add anything to what is already a powerful poem, and I think it slows the piece down when instead it should be building to a climax.

At home,
unbeknown to her,
a tropical storm is already brewing
and its upgrade to a hurricane
won't be long in coming.
If she were aware
that the gales of her husband's fury
were once more fiercely blowing,
she'd stop at the pharmacy.

This bit is well done, except that I don't like the way you explain to the reader that the "gales of... fury" are her husband. I mean, we pretty much know that already; you've shown the reader, quite powerfully, that this woman is abused, so you don't need to tell us that at the end.

In order to make the whole thing tighter, and give it more impact, I think it ought to run something more like this:

A trail of purple storm clouds
mars fair skies
remnants of another
raging hurricane,
the third in two months.
Confined to no particular season,
they remain unpredictable.

Familiar coolness
as she cradles the glass bottle,
caressing the raised CG on the cap
with her thumb,
she makes a mental note to restock.
Number 520, Creamy Natural.
Refusing to meet the eyes
of her reflection,
she touches the sponge
to the first cloud,
wincing as she tries
to camouflage the entire trail.

Time to pick up the kids.
She pulls her brim down low
and adjusts the long sleeves
of her ebony blouse.
She steps outside
and revels in the brilliant sunshine
and excessive warmth
of an Indian summer day.
Clemency,
even in the form of weather,
is unheard of
behind the great oak door.

A tropical storm is already brewing
and its upgrade to a hurricane
won't be long in coming.
If she were aware
that the gales of fury
were once more fiercely blowing,
she'd stop at the pharmacy.
Cover Girl's on sale,
and as every obedient wife knows,
it's a sin to squander money.

In the meantime,
on go the sunglasses
and her favorite faded Yankee cap,
the one her father gave her
so many years ago,
as broken in
as she is.

The reason I think this works better is because it gives maximum impact by saving the bit about being "broken" until the very end. The fact that she's "broken" shows that she is abused much more powerfully than simply telling us about her husband's fury.

Whether you agree with what I’ve said or not, I’d like to close by saying that I really enjoyed this quite a bit. I really felt something for this woman; you made it heartbreaking without being whiny or mawkish. That can be hard to do. Thanks for the opportunity to read it.

Okay, guys, for the sake of catching up, I really need to stagger my posts more effectively, I'll be briefer than the norm no matter how much it behooves me.

Dear Chief, I'm so happy you got the metaphor, and please don't fret, none of us are great at metaphors at the get go. Happy you enjoyed.


Dear Nenada, I love you for summing it up so perfectly, thank you so much.


Dear SG, Truly appreciate your kind words, masterfully means a great deal coming from you.


Dear Cin, Always a great pleasure to peek into your head, there are so many goodies in there. That you liked the metaphor means heaps, you always carry yours so gracefully. I'm so sorry you were ever a victim of foul weather, but I'm so happy you packed up and left for sunnier climes.


Dear Jul, I apologize for your feeling unsettled, but that you were means this is a marginal success. So sorry to have upset you so, really.


Dear Shawn, Gee, did I do all that? lol. You've such an eloquent way with words, love, thank you so much.


Dear Bachelorette, I'm glad I PMed you to say thanks, look how long it took me to finally get here. Thanks to your suggestions, I will be editing this as soon as I have some quality quiet time. You've made some very valid points. In S1, skies I'm stealing from you for sure. I'm so happy the CG worked, that bit was added in after I was told I was being too elusive. That "As broken in as she is" works so well elates me, that's the bottom line, it's too bad I have to bury it in so much other stuff, there's no hope for wordy me, lol. I am removing hubby as you suggested and when times permits, I will probably be moving the stanzas around. I will also consider removing S5, although it was meant to mimic the eye of the hurricane, the break between raging storms. I am so thrilled to learn it didn't come across as mawkish or whiny, I can't abide either. Truly appreciate your time, trouble and input, love.

Many thanks to all,

All the best,
Lisa

Again, late to the party. Lisa, I was most moved by this poem. I'm kind of desensitied to chilling, as you know, but that this piece left me feeling like ice water went through my veins says something great about this poem for me. But about the touching. The following grabed my heart fiercely.

On go the sunglasses
and her favorite faded Yankee cap,
the one her father gave her
so many years ago,
as broken in
as she is.

The stuff that tears are made of.

Dear Law, No such thing as late, we don't punch timecards here. I'd sooner be able to move a mountain than to move you, so I'm pretty pleased right about now. That stanza is the core of this piece, I choked after that was down on paper, yes paper, this one was written the old fashioned way. It's been over two years, and for the life of me, I can't remember what triggered me to write this, but I do remember scribbling furiously. And upon completion, I myself, felt violated by what I had written, and incredibly angry. I suppose it's because my lady is fictional yet she represents so many real women and no one should have to live with abuse of any kind. I have another which is far more violent, I'm thinking perhaps I should post that one, also. Ugh, I'm rambling, I know more about this particular subject than I should, and it tends to get me ranting. I'll shut up now and say thank you, I am always honored when someone of your abundant talent is touched, positively or negatively, by something I've written. If we are able to evoke any type of emotion it means we've achieved a modicum of success and that's always a blessing. Thanks again, Law.