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Maybe some of you heard, we (Dallas) got clobbered last night (surprise) by a massive wall of thunderstorms. Internal winds reached 70 mph, and the outflow boundries exceeded that.
The line pounced on us from the northwest, moving at over 50 mph.
Not sure if what follows meets the technical defination for a poem, or what . . . but it is what came out . . .
Comments?
Into the Maelstrom
Swiftly I ride.
Frequently looking back into the night.
There is beauty, and splendor, and terrifying power behind.
This kind has hunted me before.
But I am “The Dragon”.
A complicated, intimate union between powerful man and intricate machine.
And power I possess in my own right.
I laugh and twist the throttle more.
But this hunter is swift and decisive.
Very big and very violent.
Following, gaining, sure and focused.
Relentlessly it hunts me.
I can fly, but not in the fashion of my hunter.
So my route is indirect.
I can hear him now, feel his breath.
My hunter gains.
Closer he comes, so sure of his catch.
I can see others fleeing his path.
Some trying to warn me of what is behind.
Another turn and I am sure, we will meet.
A conflict now is imminent.
I sigh and prepare myself.
And I smile.
My reaction is not the one expected.
He pounces, violence unleashed.
Rarely have I felt the like.
And I have been hunted by many of his kind.
Lightning bolts fly.
I scream defiance into the storm.
The Dragon plows on, our course unaltered.
I laugh out loud in sheer joy, or maybe madness.
The storm screams in frustration and redoubles his efforts.
Others huddle in the shelter of a bridge, while works of man and nature fall.
The Dragon and I fly by.
Whooping, laughing, reveling.
Maybe crying.
My mind is clear, my tension released.
My life is mine.
And I like that it is in my hands.
I am the only one qualified to guard it
Speeding ever onward.
I think of those huddled.
The difference between us is clear.
They are victims, reacting to attack.
I am a participant, reveling in the experience.
Never passive, never fearing, always seeking.
To the storm my message is clear.
But not eloquent.
“HA! You’ll have to do better than that!”
© Daniel Meyer August 27, 2002
The line pounced on us from the northwest, moving at over 50 mph.
Not sure if what follows meets the technical defination for a poem, or what . . . but it is what came out . . .
Comments?
Into the Maelstrom
Swiftly I ride.
Frequently looking back into the night.
There is beauty, and splendor, and terrifying power behind.
This kind has hunted me before.
But I am “The Dragon”.
A complicated, intimate union between powerful man and intricate machine.
And power I possess in my own right.
I laugh and twist the throttle more.
But this hunter is swift and decisive.
Very big and very violent.
Following, gaining, sure and focused.
Relentlessly it hunts me.
I can fly, but not in the fashion of my hunter.
So my route is indirect.
I can hear him now, feel his breath.
My hunter gains.
Closer he comes, so sure of his catch.
I can see others fleeing his path.
Some trying to warn me of what is behind.
Another turn and I am sure, we will meet.
A conflict now is imminent.
I sigh and prepare myself.
And I smile.
My reaction is not the one expected.
He pounces, violence unleashed.
Rarely have I felt the like.
And I have been hunted by many of his kind.
Lightning bolts fly.
I scream defiance into the storm.
The Dragon plows on, our course unaltered.
I laugh out loud in sheer joy, or maybe madness.
The storm screams in frustration and redoubles his efforts.
Others huddle in the shelter of a bridge, while works of man and nature fall.
The Dragon and I fly by.
Whooping, laughing, reveling.
Maybe crying.
My mind is clear, my tension released.
My life is mine.
And I like that it is in my hands.
I am the only one qualified to guard it
Speeding ever onward.
I think of those huddled.
The difference between us is clear.
They are victims, reacting to attack.
I am a participant, reveling in the experience.
Never passive, never fearing, always seeking.
To the storm my message is clear.
But not eloquent.
“HA! You’ll have to do better than that!”
© Daniel Meyer August 27, 2002
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