Storm

By Geertje Jong

Wed, 19 Jan 2011

944 reads

4 comments

On the edge of the horizon
Twists the mighty storm
It curls its steel grey fingers
Around the egg blue sky
And comes like boiling water
To land its deafening roar
Trees are felled like matches
Rooftiles fly and soar
People in their houses
Cover their frightened ears
Then suddenly the quiet hush returns
And hands fall to repairs

Comments

A case of 'all hands on

Permalink Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on Wed, 2011-01-19 13:10

A case of 'all hands on deck' when something like this strikes, Geertje...A nightmarish situation brought to life by your more than pictorial poem. Well done;-) Tina

Thanks Tina I remember when

Permalink Submitted by Geertje Jong on Wed, 2011-01-19 13:45

Thanks Tina I remember when a massive storm came over my house in Holland and a tree crashed straight into the side of our house...brrrr..don't want to go through that again. Geertje

You have described a

Permalink Submitted by luigi_pagano on Wed, 2011-01-19 14:39

You have described a terrifying scenario in a nutshell, Geertje. Very nice. Just one tiny query: shouldn't "it be It curls its steel grey fingers" in the third line? I see from your answer to Tina that you are from Holland and that answers the question that I posed in one of my comments. Welcome to ABCtales.

Thanks for the lovely

Permalink Submitted by Geertje Jong on Wed, 2011-01-19 15:12

Thanks for the lovely comment and the correction, you are quite right it should be its..thanks for that! Geertje