Tight, captured – the eye
of silent wrapped fierce winds
moving over lands, hunt.
Crawling, coming, came
striking a deadly blow, yes.
Washing objects away.
Grief stricken people
lamenting of winds and rain,
yet treading afresh.
I choose the poetry form of Haiku for this poem about hurricane because of its structure. Haiku creates that tight, powerful imagery through words that I believe works well with events such as hurricanes. When a hurricane moves it is either slow and deadly or fast and deadly and I look at a Haiku almost the same. The movement in a Haiku always hit with a purposeful force (well at least it should, hope I hit someone with a purpose force :P). Haiku and hurricanes moves with little words but effective ways to leave you breathless. I am new to this poetry form, very hesitant at first but moved by capabilities.
The faint sound of the TV contrasted sharply with the eager loud chirping of the birds[blackbird, hummingbirds..]
Sometimes I feel like my home is smack in the middle of a bird sanctuary.
The birds are my second alarm, when they are not singing or screaming, they are digging their claws noisily on my roof.
How rude![say it with the same tone as Stephanie from Full House].
On their food delivery day, they drop their rations on the roof with a bam, sometimes scaring the daylights out of me.
They stink up the roof so bad that our rainwater is temporary poisoned.
Ah but most times I do not mind them, I love sitting outside watching the wind ride the branches whilst the birdies serenade the air.
Eyes perched to the not so distant hills, I feel your presence.
Quickly ,white thick clouds turn to dark grey menacing creatures.
I like the way you do that, the way you signal your approach.
Teasing, taunting sprays of your water lands gently on my miserable face.
Pushed by that enveloping breeze, I see you gather in fury.
I stand watching your movement, you are in no hurry to get here.
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It was a cold, dark and scary night, I was alone at home which overlooked Manchesterville. The mansion was quiet, so quiet that I could hear myself thinking aloud. The huge grandfather clock in the large sitting room was doing its usual jazz music but the jazz was quite monotonous at the moment. It was so quiet that every time a rat passed by, my heart skipped five beats. I sat on my favourite sofa in the living room and switched channel after channel to find something interesting to watch but there was none. Slowly and helplessly I dragged myself to the huge French window facing the north of the estate, littered with natural shrubbery. As I looked outside I realized that grey clouds were quickly covering the sky, casting scary shadows on the ground beneath. It seemed like it would rain soon.
Suddenly, I heard a muffle noise outside in the bushes beneath the window. Startled in fright, I turned to run upstairs to my room when I heard another muffle noise coming from the bushes. My heart quivered as horrifying scenes flowed through my mind.
“What made that disturbance?” I thought.
“Maybe it was my Baxter, my adorable dog who probably got stuck in the hedge after his rabbit chase,” I muttered.
Summoning courage, I took my huge black coat that Grandma Laurel Beerch gave me for my birthday, sliding outside to investigate the noise.
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