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The Morning of the Hurricanes Part 2

Terry O'Leary Avatar Terry O'Leary - Premium MemberPremium Member Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled The Morning of the Hurricanes Part 2 which was written by poet Terry O'Leary. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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The Morning of the Hurricanes Part 2

 Continued from Part 1 

The Beggars, neath the balustrades,
stop chiding Children, Chambermaids, 
for darning socks with broken blades,
            as screams in dreams redouble.

Reweaving webs with endless threads,
crocheting hats to hide their heads,
they have no coats, they have no beds,
            their faces, full of rubble.

Yet something else will entertain
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
when goblets filled with pink champagnes
            dissolve in  purple bubbles.

The White-Robed Maiden empties trash,
and fumbles with an untied sash,
– her virgin urn’s awash in ash –
            she’s pacing in the Palace.

Her hopes converge in coffee spoons
(her memories adrift in dunes),
yet still she smiles with teeth like prunes,
            and lips of painted callus.

And long before the midnight drains
– the Saviour wakes, the Loser gains –
the waters of the Hurricanes
            will fill her empty chalice.

The storm (behind the clarinets,
the silver flutes, the castanets,
the foghorns belching in quartets,
            the bagpipes, puffed and swollen)

is keeping time to tambourines
while Tom Thumb and his Four-Inch Queens,
pick up the shards and smithereens
            of minutes lost or stolen.

They stumble through the old domains,
but cannot stop the Hurricanes –
the fountain weeps, the mountain wanes, 
            the waves just keep on rollin’.

The Crowds arrayed in jewels, in jails,
stoop, peering through a fence of nails –
the vacuum in their eyeballs pales
            with plastic flame that sputters.

They’re sleeping there because they must,
their eyelids cling like peeling rust,
their tears, palled pellets in the dust,
            behind the bolted shutters.

They’ll reawake without their pains
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
without their sores, without their stains,
their agonies will fill the drains
            and overflow the gutters.


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  1. Date: 11/16/2012 9:20:00 AM
    Enjoyed this one..It has such power, flow, and rhythm to it..I am glad that I chose this one to read this morn..Thanks for the kind review of my work..Sara

  1. Date: 10/25/2012 11:19:00 PM
    It's just awesome! Love it so much. Best wishes, Larisa

  1. Date: 10/23/2012 1:50:00 PM
    Digestion has taken on new meaning. Will read this many times and find amazing new messages every time. Wonderful rendering of hurricanes and surrounding action.

  1. Date: 10/22/2012 1:26:00 PM
    So many thoughts coelesce in your rhymes; it's just mind blowing.

  1. Date: 10/19/2012 9:19:00 AM
    Man Terry! I am folded over and over, again and again in your hurricane of frightening delight. One image outdoes the previous. How do you find the twist of words, the pictures of desperation, the futility of the status quo and make them sing without an acoustic guitar? Hurricane Terry has hit land. love, Kathy

  1. Date: 10/19/2012 8:47:00 AM
    Incredible poem here Terry. You always write such awesome poems. Bravo!

  1. Date: 10/18/2012 5:46:00 PM
    P.S. this is one of the best compositions I've read since joing PS about a week ago

  1. Date: 10/18/2012 5:45:00 PM
    I agree with Ilene. It has shades of a song by Dylan or the Police. Your descriptions are so deep. Excellent!

  1. Date: 10/18/2012 4:28:00 PM
    all i can say is one word - WOW!!!!! this is a masterpiece and deserves a few rereadings. you should feel very proud of yourself, my friend!