Poem: The Approaching Storm

On the eve of my 70th birthday, it seems I have turned into an old man shouting at the clouds... Here is the poem I read last night (before the Nor'easter hit) at The Space in Montclair, during an open mic sponsored by the New Jersey Poetry Circle. Photo courtesy of my friend, the wonderful poet Renee Dwyer.

(Yes, I wore a Notre Dame cap... #GoIrish🍀)

The Approaching Storm

I stand here, before the storm,

Wondering what our lives will be like

in the aftermath.

My parents are dead.

As I... with hair thinning, shoulders bowed... grow old.

Knowing my children will be responsible for the cleanup.

We know the storm is coming.

It is unstoppable.

We are already canceling plans.

The stars are aligned:

The trees prepared to fall,

the rising tides, the senseless violence.

Birds flock for safety.

Displaced deer are frightened.

Dogs are unleashed.

We can’t trust our leaders.

Liars, fools and bullies,

filled with false pride.

We can’t trust what might be true.

Even our churches are profit centers,

not a refuge for prophets.

I pray for our children,

but there’s little I still believe.

I still believe in the magic of threes.

It’s always darkest before the dawn.

It’s always darkest before the dawn.

It’s always darkest before the dawn.

And today is the dawn, the dawn, the dawn…

Today is the dawn of the approaching storm.