The Forecast

Poet's Notes

(Show)

Become a Premium Member and post notes and photos about your poem like Speaks Volumes.

Twenty kilometers out from shore. The day was magnificent, seagulls galore. To fill our pails, we were wishing, It was to be a leisurely day of fishing. The weather forecast was never right. It reported gale force winds in sight. It took some convincing to bother to look. Always wrong so the chance we took. The fishing proved to be unreal. Although gusty, no danger to feel. Though the sea became quite rough. We didn’t want to admit we had enough. Soon the wind’s billowing was immense. The wave’s lashing spray was intense. The boat was rocking, we felt the onslaught. The boat lifted as each wave was caught. Mercilessly our boat was thrown about. Continuously buried trying to tip us out. Undulating as if on a roller coaster ride. The sea most certainly wasn’t on our side. Holding on as waves crashed leaving foam. Praying we would once again see our home. Awaiting grim death, we knew was near. Desperate to have courage to dispel all fear. The wind felt like a hurricane wielding powers. Losing strength, we held on courageously for hours. Like an almighty cauldron, stirred by the sea. Pounded endlessly, the waves offered no mercy. All our equipment gone, and we had lost our catch. The evil wind eased, seemed we proved a match. It had ceased as fast as the dreadful gale appeared. Both miraculously alive, for home we steered. Dragging the boat up onto the beach. We were both too weak even for speech. Sitting, happy to see a very familiar sight. In our house’s window the lampshade light. We learned an expensive lesson today. Weather forecast warnings we will obey. That old hurricane nearly beat us. My grandchildren came running to greet us.