Hurricanes blowing livelihoods around
Like dandelions in a light summer breeze.
They seize houses seen ripping apart at the seams,
The wood lost in the sea of wind, you hear
No screams at sea, just the wind
Howling its next victims name.
Its picked him, a man you once met,
Set for a ride in the eye of the storm
With fright in his eyes, another to mourn.
Morning arrives, alive and roaring,
Drawing misery on faces, laced
With despair, nightmares to face.
The trees and the houses shaken like maracas.
Lousy with luck.
Lousy with luck.
People blown like dandelions in an autumnal gail,
Hail spreads like hands on the window pane,
Pain clawing at the door to wreak havoc.
Weak at the knees, it’s just news to us,
Just a headline, with their heads on the line.
Caught in nature’s fishing rod, flopping,
Flapping about like fish in a barrel,
Caught at the wrong end of the stick,
Hooked by the winds like dandelions in a strong winter wind
The waves throng like crowds to sales,
Yet the shops stay deserted, people herded,
Sheltering behind thin walls like the pillow forts
We once made, but the kids not there,
The fathers long gone, the mother lives with
The rubble, just the devil stays strong
Thronging like the waves, crashing over and over
Crushing over and over, over and over again.
A repeated call to those alive, wailing.
Through the streets, the storm subsides,
The aftermath lays strewn in the towns.
The dandelions fly over in the soft spring draught
Surveying what once was, nothing left.
The debris of houses lay like the carcasses
Of lives once lived, just yet another graveyard.
Poems 