Periodically, fellow writers will share their work. I'm certainly no poetry expert, but I thought this verse to be well written and likely of interest to those of you directly affected by Hurricane Katrina.

Thanks for agreeing to share this, Ron!

Voices within the Hurricane
by Ron Moses, Hattiesburg, MS

Birthed in the warm ocean waters between
Africa and the Americas, testing her baby strength
By skipping across Cuba, then, as a teenager
Storming over Florida, denied the old fountain
Of youth, ranting in the dark as a woman scorned,
Typhoon Katrina spun into the Gulf of Mexico
And attacked at daylight, taking out the lights
Of a coast line which once twinkled with life.
She swept the sandy cities from the sea shore,
Tossed gambling casinos across highways,
Howled around the windows of the poor and rich,
Peeked in with her black and stormy face
At the terrified trying to keep their doors from
Shaking apart, floated soup bowls up into attics,
Then made a run North, the popping pine trees
Sounding like Civil War cannons signaling a charge.
Toppling the towers of communication and
Tilting the smokestacks of factory production,
She raged for a day and a night, “Know that I am
The Queen of Utter Destruction.”

But other voices can still be heard within
This hurricane. One says, “Fear not,
For because of the twists of my tornadoes
Rare seeds were cracked open,
And vine-like cities will flourish,
Will reach with long fingers toward the sun,
And grace us with flowers
No one has ever seen or smelled before.
Other horns will wail the blues to the moon.
All that once was will be given a new skin.
Know it is the agony and the blessing
Of humans to create again.”

Another voice says, “Now you have a choice
Whether to show us the rose of your angel, or
The thorn of your devil.
Will you help or hinder your neighbor
Couched upon a rooftop, or
Buried in a maze of splintered timber, or
Wading through sewage looking for water, or
Honking at tail lights as you wait in a gas line,
The telephone poles wrapped in tin?”


“But what of our loved ones?” the grieving say
Within the center of their whirling mass of black.
“What of those dear ones twisted up
Into the clouds rushing through the heavens?”
“They are being touched now by a Love
That passes all understanding,” say the breezes
Which still have leaves left to spin.
“Let them continue their journey to that tower
Of light where no wind will ever touch them again.”