[NicknamedBob]

The sky looked weird here tonight, all pink and strangely cheerful.

Hurricane Sky

Cloud bellies, looking muscular,
Big knots of corded strength,
Like rippled abs up in the sky,
I studied them at length.

A hurricane sky came strolling,
Along my stretch of beach,
A muscled bit of cumulus,
Just slightly out of reach.

I stared into the cauldron,
The writhing mass at play.
It roiled and folded constantly.
Things could go wrong this day.

The surf was pounding out the steps,
As clouds walked over land.
Somehow I knew that they were not,
Here to just pound sand.

The portents of a message,
Were all quite abundantly clear,
When Mother Nature speaks her piece,
It’s wise to lend an ear.

NicknamedBob . . . . . September 9, 2004

[Tax-chick]

We had a really nice shade of purple for about five minutes around 7:15 p.m. I stopped choir practice so I could take a picture.

[Monkey Face]

I “saw” that as I was reading, Bob, which is why I like your poetry so much. You are so GOOD at it!

I could never find the right words to rhyme. The one really good poem I wrote was destroyed by the late Igor, and it was long enough that I can’t even begin to try and reconstruct it.

[HKMk23]

Truly glad to see you check in, I’d begun to fear you were among the many who’ve fallen out of our orbit, and drifted of to other shores.

Your poetry is as poignant against the present as on the day it was penned. I’d watched live video from a couple storm chasers hunkering down in Punta Gorda. I can’t imagine riding out that fury in a stick-framed house.

Hope you are well.