Before the storm
We're enjoying the silence before the storm in issue #179 of your weekly poetry shot
I'm alone
in the park; late winter
spring weather makes beautiful evenings,
while park regulars still
hibernate.
I had to kill some time the other day. No, that doesn’t sound too nice. Wait. I had to bridge the time gap between two tasks the other day. Okay, a bit better. The gap was too narrow to fit something meaningful into, so I decided to do a little walk in the park. This park is very busy on late spring and summer evenings. People playing, running, walking, lounging. One of those parks. But that day I was there, I was practically alone. It’s late winter here, and the days are slowly lengthening. But not just yet enough to play in the park. It’s also cold in the evenings, apart from those days that suddenly and exceptionally are a bit warmer. That day in the park was such a day. So I was there, almost alone. The quiet before the storm.
And that reminded me of something different. Something different, but very important: a phrase I once saw written on a museum wall. It was from Anne Frank’s diary:
“I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness, I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too, I feel the suffering of millions.”
- Anne Frank
We can hear the approaching thunder again these days. And last Saturday was Holocaust Remembrance Day. Something we should never forget. Especially not in peaceful parks.
Poésie de la vie
Poetry elsewhere
When there’s a storm brewing, don’t pretend you don’t hear it coming. And if you can, act. To me, that’s what these 4 Haikus by
are about:Before or after the storm, the storm this year, or last. The moon has seen it all, and will see even more. And if she zooms in, she might find these lovely haiku by
in this post The Moon and the Road:In this masterly crafted poem,
shows how tragedy can hide in beauty, but more so how even in tragedy, beauty can be found. This is a brilliant piece of writing. Enjoy A Fever Dream: