Monday, September 11, 2017

Beachfront Property/ Sunday's Whirligig -- The Sunday Whirl -- Poets United



Beachfront Property

we laughed                  one hundred year flood plane                now it is said

five hundred year flood plain             and flood it did               harvey knew his way around

sleep interrupted                      the ground saturated                 water way over the path

the old oak down                     lost power                                 the water kept rising



creeping toward the house        soon it seeped under the door           into the house                         

the floor boards buckled          the furniture floated                 settled into a new arrangement          

the water crept up the drapes    so much could not be saved               piled on the curb                     

our favorite things                    but things a life does not make             we will repair the house



good as new                             get new things                           we’ll get a map

find our way                            harvey was a kick in the pants     when a storm has been vicious

his name will be retired            we’ll call his name no more         he was a cad

and a bounder                          left devastation in his wake      for now we do not have to go far

beachfront property                 the waves rise                           and crash outside my front door



September 11, 2017

Note:  I used words from The Sunday Whirl and Sunday's Whirligig, but not all of the words.

Today I received an email, that my old home had been flooded, I wrote about Harvey as if I still lived there.

                                                                                   
                                                                                   




3 comments:

  1. A terrible storm, Annell, and sad to think of your old home flooded. Your poem really sets the scene.

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  2. Whew...it must be awful knowing what happened to your old home. Such tragedy. Your poem takes the reader right into the eye of the storm. Things a life does not make...but without things it is difficult to live.

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