Batten down

It is fitting
that a week away
of turbulent and uplifting thought,
of hugs and hunger
of love reaching out

Should be met by a return to those
most loved
and a storm of epic proportions

I wanted to believe
when I rose this morning
that all that wind
and rain
would have washed the world clean

And while it did,
it also left behind
big and little bits.
Flotsam, jetsam,
  detritus …
  sticks, leaves and limbs
     blown akimbo

The world blown untidy
by forces that seem


to remind me how little
if anything
I control

I wondered this week
why I work so hard to keep
myself so tightly packaged

And last night I stood
looking out
at the wind powering down and bending
large, awesome trees

And the trees stood up again
and the wind moved on

And, and, and, and

There is no end to and
there is also no start
(at least that’s what the grammarians say)

But I wondered why I
work so hard
at staying contained

When what is wild holds so much

Which is not to say
that too much of anything is,
well, too much

Forgive me as I argue
with myself out loud
but I realize that my right side is yelling out
for the left side to loosen its grip
and let some energy fly
out to the stars
by way of the trees
that may
or may not
under that power

The world is always different
after a storm.

Lives are changed.
People weep.

Batten down, my friends.

Batten down.


About TinaLBPorter

I write poetry and blog at And I'm thrilled to be writing with you.
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