Tsunami Sketch

I watch them walk wonderingly,
Stupified across the strange expanding sand
And I, likewise bewitched, stare mute
Eight years and half a world distant:
It’s not right
It’s not right
It’s not right
And when it comes, it is perfect,
A brilliant curl rimmed in white
An embrace
And still they walk
And still I watch
Naseaous and bewildered
By this, this thing like god itself
Wrath and love and death
The scale of which is clear
Too late, too little
Against the cold,
clenching mountain.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004_Indian_Ocean_earthquake_and_tsunami

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About JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.
This entry was posted in My Poetry, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Tsunami Sketch

  1. sb2711 says:

    nice one!

    Like

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