Storms seem to pop up out of nowhere these days. This week we had one blow through that knocked out an outdoor light in a literal flash, Crash! What does this photo conjure for you? Fear? Curiosity? Memory? Please leave a small poem in the comments.
I haven’t written a skinny poem in a while. The rules are 11 lines, the first and last uses the same words and can be any length. The other lines are one word with a repeated word in lines 2, 6, and 10.
Storms come suddenly in the night
Margaret Simon, draft
bearing
violent
windswept
voice
bearing
climate
change
stress
Suddenly, in the night, storms come.
Reflections on the Teche 
We’re on the road so I’ll try the “skinny” another time, but my off the cuff quickie is here:
“IT’S A TWISTER!”
It was a long-ago
story, a long ago
film we watched
each year with joy.
It was a story. Pretend.
And now
it is our way
of life.
Agree – the storms we thought we were spared are everywhere now.
Yes to seeing movies or newreels about storms and so many it seems. Even violent thunderstorms that don’t go to the tornadic level can topple trees onto cars, homes and people are killed…..so scary and powerful. Yet so much beauty in nature.
Now our way of life… so true this spring as we see storm after storm leaving paths of destruction. It is heartbreaking to see people interviewed and their voices full of shock at their losses, and hopeful to hear they still are full of gratitude to be alive.
Yes! When scary fiction becomes reality. Thanks, Carol, and be safe on the road!
Carol, I can see how that picture evoked this image. I like the sound of “…each year with joy. / It was a story.”
That hits where it hurts!
So much that seems like pretend is “now our way of life.”
I live in the Northeast I have only seen the results of a very narrow path of a tornado that whipped across the Berkshires and cleared the mountain of trees, etc. They looked like toothpicks. I drove into Great Barrington, Mass from the south and was not thinking at all about the twister they had had a month or two before. We lived near there in summers. I was stunned. Speechless really. It was many years ago. Hard to imagine what it must be like to have to live with the possibility of these. So sad for all who lose so much.
Sky in Black and White
By Janet Clare F.
The wind
powerful,
visible
finally,
can you see it?
Clouds dance like demons
their swift and ferocious energy
swirl like devils
before our eyes,
now a tornado twirling,
its gyrations
carving its path,
no one near is safe.
Lightning crashes
spotlighting destruction,
fear,
thundering on like drums
pounding
pounding
pounding.
I honestly have no idea why this formats so differently now for me, but it is supposed to be single spaced. Anyhow, this poem came to me quickly today. A simple free verse format but I like the aspect of tall skinny poems, though I have not tried the specifics that Margaret mentioned.
“pounding, pounding, pounding” – the repetition is very effective.
Janet, your poem captures the drama of the storm. I especially like “Clouds dance like demons,” “spotlighting destruction,” and the final 3 lines, hammering the point.
Janet, such a powerful image has brought out this powerful poem. “Clouds dance like demons” and the ending with the poundings is very powerful.
Some advice on spacing: if you hit shift enter, it will single space. But you pounded this poem without single spaces. A visceral experience.
I like how the question brings the reader into the poem. And by the way, I grew up not too far from Great Barrington/the berkshires.
Thank you, Buffy. What town were you from? I know that area pretty well. We were in Lakeville, CT at a YMCA camp for many years. My husband many more than I. The question came from the Christina Rossetti poem, Who Has Seen the Wind. It popped in my head because we can’t see it but we can in situations like the leaves dancing or trees hanging low and of course swirling clouds and twirling tornadoes. And then who wants to see the wind, right?
“Spotlighting destruction”…so powerful, Janet.
For Margaret:
Your first and last lines grip me. Before the modern age, I remember without TV we had the news and news papers in the ’50s and radio. I remember a bad hurricane where I lived on Long Island and my grandpa took us onto the front porch (covered) to look at the sky. I don’t know if it was before or after, but it was ominous and I can remember that. I was rather young. Yet so many storms do come in the night and must be such a shock. I also recall the Wizard of Oz movie, maybe one of the first time I truly had a glimpse of tornados.
Love your choice of “bearing” as the repeated word, Margaret. Several years ago, a storm sent a tree crashing through the skylight into our sunroom. Just seconds before I had been in its path.
nature’s power
revealed in a split second
we are at its mercy
Oh Rose, I didn’t see this before I wrote to Carol. Yes, definitely at its mercy. And we cannot predict our own future. Glad you were safe. “…..split second” that line gives me the chills and captures so much.
What a close call! It sure makes us believe in the power of nature when it comes so close! We truly are at its mercy. And a split second can be our only warning.
Nature’s power must be respected! Thankful that you were out of harm’s way!
“revealed in a split second” is so true about so many acts of nature, like earthquakes. I thought of that idea of our being “at its mercy” too as I wrote my poem.
Every day we live in the “revealed in a split second.” How many decisions do we not get to make? That tree crash sounds horrible and scary.
The photo is stunning. Living in Indiana, I have memories of tornadoes. We always had storm drills at school. Once we saw a tornado pass over high above our house. Once during a storm, the wind blew the back door open and the kitchen floor was covered in water before we got it closed. One year we had an unusual fall tornado outbreak. I was teaching. We started out with a tornado drill in the hallways… but we stayed in the hall for hours. Tornadoes touched down around the city.
Roofs were torn off, trees down, cars crushed (some in school parking lots)… and houses destroyed- three in my neighborhood across town. My neighbor called (she had huddled in the bathtub with her preschoolers) and said she could see some damage on my garage. I drove to pick my daughter up from her school and we headed home, not sure what we would find- she had heard (overheard teachers talking in the halls at her school) that houses were down in our neighborhood. I could assure her our house was still standing, at least. The garage door had been sucked in but that was the only damage we had. We found a rosebud, still perfect, on the grass in the yard.
When I was young, I would “storm watch” with my dad- just not during tornado warnings! Here’s my skinny poem:
Sitting on the porch with dad
Together
Watching
Stormy
Sky
Together
Quietly
Gazing
Upward
Together
Sitting on the porch with dad
What an ordeal, Diane! Glad you were OK. Love your skinny poem – the “together” gives me a sense of safety.
I live in tornado country and remember tornado drills at school, as well as many tornado sightings, and post-storm damage in our area. I like your skinny. Your first & last lines, along with the repeated word, “Together,” give a sense of protection and security amid the storm.
Wow, Diane, you have had quite the experience with a tornado–up close and personal. I like where you went with your poem today, though. It sounds like a beautiful memory actually, in spite of the possibility of disaster while you watched. I like the word you chose “together”
After your horrific tornado story, I thought the poem would be as well, but it is so very sweet with you and your dad. And you remembered line10! Good job. One of my students pointed out that I missed repeating in line 10.
I like the feeling of calm that the repeated word together brings–nice contrast to the stormy sky.
To drive through and see the aftermath can be shocking… especially to see how long it takes to recover.
My comment was in reply to Janet F.
Diane,
Thanks for your backstory and wow, so glad your home was spared. It is a heartbreaking thing. Hard to imagine, but we should. Somehow complacency seems so easy. Your skinny poem and I especially love /together/ as your repeated word and your first and last line: /sitting on the porch with dad/. Says so much in so little. And the safety of being with dad is woven throughout.
Wow, what a dramatic photo! Margaret, your skinny is a perfect word picture. I decided to go more metaphorical. WordPress formatting baffles me, so I hope for the best.
In an instant,
ZAP!
Insight strikes.
Whirl!
Life changes,
Takes new direction.
~Jane Heitman Healy, draft, 2024
Jane,
I like how you took that ZAP! and the energy to be like a wake up call. A new direction. I can feel it and I like that the storm has a silver lining. Nice!!!
Jane, occasionally those ZAPs do occur and set us off on a new direction. Well done, your metaphorical interpretation of the photo. “Insight strikes” is powerful.
Words like Zap and Whirl are just right for this tornado photo!
Jane, you really capture the “new direction” life takes “in an instant”—and how, prepared or not, we must turn with the changes.
Margaret, thanks for the reminder about the skinny poem. I have lived in this area of the world, and the first word I thought of was humbling. I like your repeated word bearing. Yes, these storms do truly come bearing down, bearing effects of climate change.
Power on high dancing with earth
humbling
destructive
frightening
deference
humbling
cumulonimbus
ignition
tempest
humbling
Earth dances with higher power
What a great use of the skinny form. I love how you twisted (figuratively) the last line.
Yes, those storms can be “humbling.” I’m thinking the key to a skinny poem is having a good repeating word.
Humbling is a terrific word to repeat in the face of this dance!
Thank you for your comment above. Your skinny poem captures the tornado, the sky and clouds. I agree that humbling is powerful. Nature does make us sit up and take notice, but lulls us into complacency too often. I like your opening and ending lines. A brilliant twist on what as mentioned. Nicely done, Denise. They are surely frightening and destructive.
You have captured the dangerous dance, for certain, and the lack of human control over it.
your choice to repeat the word bearing brings so much depth to this little poem!
You inspired me to try a skinny too, Margaret. We had destructive tornadoes less than 20 miles from where I live in Michigan last week–lots of basement time, but fortunately no damage here. I have only seen photos of where the tornadoes hit–scary stuff.TwisterCloud’s finger swept the earthripping treestrunkslimbs,rippingstoreshomeslives,rippingfinger, earth swept by clouds.
Not sure why word press played with line breaks–trying again:
Twister
Cloud’s finger swept the earth
ripping
trees
trunks
limbs,
ripping
stores
homes
lives,
ripping
finger, earth swept by clouds.
The repetition of ripping is effective.
Oh the ripping the twister achieves, lives ripping and that ripping finger is more powerful than any of us. I need to work on a skinny poem version. I might use pounding. I enjoy writing here, loved Laura’s version, too, where I cut my teeth. And the chance to cut loose and offer up a draft among friends and fellow poets. My heart always aches for those who have lost it all. Heartbreaking over and over again.
Painfully wonderful, Buffy. “Cloud’s finger….” So powerful!