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About This Poem

The Morning of the Hurricanes Part 1

The Horsemen, holding broken reins
The Morning of the Hurricanes,
Sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
            The King will soon surrender”

The Bishops weep, the Rook’s long gone,
And Pieces, pacing, pale and wan,
Watch Queen be ravaged Pawn by Pawn,
            Her Knight dares not defend her

They wonder why they ever came,
They have No One that they can blame,
They have no face, they have no name,
            They’re black and white, transgender


The feeble minded Cleric clowns,
Mouths hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds,
While Fantom of the Opera frowns,
           And follows dazed dissenters

The empty handed Vagabond
Smokes stale cigars, strokes faded Blondes
While wailing at the walls beyond,
            And kneels before he enters

He’s gaping through stained window panes,
While waiting for the Hurricanes,
He’s spinning round and round in chains,
           	Attached to life’s tormentors 


The Savants serve the underfed
While Jackals jape at saws once said,
And Crows, collecting scattered bread,
            Adorn, with crumbs, the platter

The Pirate whets his wooden leg,
With pupils dull and visage vague,
And if instead he’s served the plague,
            It really doesn’t matter

His Princess, pale, no longer reigns,
She’s hiding from, the Dwarf explains,
The coming of the Hurricanes
            The Stones stare, pointing at her


The rustic clocks with spindled spokes
Remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
The time of day and other jokes,
            But No One looks to listen

The Jokers wild and One Eyed Janes,
Weep, winding up the rundown trains
Mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
            And Priests no longer christen

They’re running round in marathons,
With cuckoo birds and dying swans.
While pitching pennies into ponds
            Their eyes opaquely glisten


The Beggars, neath the balustrades,
With bitter Children, Chambermaids,
Are darning socks with broken spades
            As screams in dreams redouble

They’re spinning wool with endless threads,
Crocheting hats to hide their heads
They have no coats, they have no beds,
            Their faces, full of rubble

But many things will not remain
The Morning of the Hurricanes,
When goblets filled with cool champagnes
            Implode on purple bubbles

 Continued in Part 2 


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  1. Date: 12/5/2012 7:36:00 PM

    long rhyme,,, liked the way it read though ;}

  1. Date: 11/30/2012 9:56:00 PM

    I finally found a poem I hadn't yet commented on. And what a great poem it is. Not only do I love the rhyme and meter but the cadence of this is superb. I can hardly wait for part two so I can get a deeper insight into this awesome poem.

  1. Date: 11/4/2012 11:54:00 AM

    This is like a tail rhyme sort of...Enjoyed reading your very creative work..I am glad that I chose it to read today..Thanks for stopping by..Sara

  1. Date: 10/23/2012 1:45:00 PM

    Yes,we can't be done; on to part two!

  1. Date: 10/22/2012 11:05:00 AM

    great write Terry,loved the flow,smooth

  1. Date: 10/19/2012 12:10:00 PM

    ....well penned Terry......hugs

  1. Date: 10/18/2012 5:42:00 PM

    the first part leaves me wanting for more.

  1. Date: 10/18/2012 4:26:00 PM

    i'm not quite sure exactly what this is all about (i thought chess at first, but it's obviously much more than that!) but i so enjoyed reading it! your rhythm and rhyme are absolutely brilliant and it just flows so smoothly and sounds so great. i'm looking forward to reading part 2!