Storm Over Tuscaloosa

(Or "Storm over Alabama")

The close Alabama night rumbles in -
Storm clouds bickering and heavy.

Sitting on the porch I watch folk scatter
From the first drops of rain.
 
A young kid splashes in shiny puddles
His mother laughs, scoops him like a bundle of cotton -
Wrapping him around her waist
They hopscotch away at the double.

One guy, terrified, fumbles -
Frantic for his car keys
As if the rainwater’s gonna melt him.
An ecstatic breakthrough!
He drives into the sunset remnants,
To home, or wherever.

Southern Magnolia bends to the orchestra,
Frenzied, wailing for the dying of the day.

Nut-painted squirrels scurry the bark,
Their entire life from the bough to the burrow.
 
The Tallapoosa River makes fists of the waves,
Troubled, it lashes the heart of Dixie -
A slave of the tempest, drowning the Red Stick Creeks.
The final stand. The ghosts of Horseshoe Bend
Thundering on the banks for eternity.

Back on the street a hurtle of cars
And a whip of lightning collide.

Two cops shelter in a drugstore doorway
Eyeing the sky with firework fascination.

The homeless swab their carts,
Rush with mockingbird stares - to the viaduct.

Man and nature's tumult is beset by a voice -
These natures’ bow, calm now, blushing.

Her voice turns my head, as it had the first day,
And all days since.

We sit together and eye a red fox, his fur soaked,
Craft keenly his escape from the storm.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Great description of the storm.
"an and nature's tumult is beset by a voice -
These natures’ bow, calm now, blushing."
I felt the waves and the struggle in your words. Thank you dear Poet for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Emily B]

nothing much better than front porch sitting and people watching and sweet tea

enjoyed this very much

[Rosalind Gale]

Thanks so much Emily -
-x-

[Frieda P]

What a charming read, so many great images come to mind...and some daunting.

Southern Magnolia bends to the orchestra,
Frenzied, wailing for the dying of the day.

Love that stanza, a most enjoyable read. Always love a good storm myself...

[Rosalind Gale]

Cheers Frieda!
-x-

[rutherford]

I like the different sounds of this one...puddle, bundle ... bough, burrow...drugstore doorway.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thanks so much -
-x-

[Baby Ricochet]

I'm a southerner and this reads like a southern summer storm if ever I read one

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you Ric
-x-

[Leslie Philibert]

This is a very, very good poem. You write about what you know and understand, with poetic style and talent...great !

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you Leslie
-x-

[h d e rushin]

my dad, after coming north during the great black diaspora during the 1940's, would explain to me later
that "he just didn't like the way black folk were treated there". So Alabama holds this diapausis
period of physiologically enforced dormancy between times of what is real (taught) and
what is excessive make believe. It takes a poet with extreme skill to flush out truth, as it
happens, mockingbird stares if you will, as natures tumult has them rushing by.

unashamedly, I consider you one of the finest poets in the world. Those who can bridge the gap
between the temporal old brittle soul that I am, and the beauty of time that keeps such
an exact diary.

Your biggest fan,
dana

[Rosalind Gale]

Oh thank you Dana, you really are a gem -
-x-

[Sami Khalil]

A most fascinating Southern poem with its unique elements and culture. Storms over Tuscaloosa( I love the town and people and Alabamians in general are kind and warm-hearted people although the few in the past did not act that way toward certain groups) are eventually storms of love and kind people looking after each other within any danger. Excellent...:)............
By the way: Roll tide for we have to say it...lol

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you Sami -
-x-

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome....:).......