Poems

Hurricane Beryl

News came that tropical storms were developing in the Caribbean Sea.

Then out of the blue came forth a hurricane named Beryl.

Devastating several Caribbean islands and bringing with her much peril.

Hurricane Beryl was forecasted to move from a category 3 to 4,

Unloading destructive winds, torrential rainfalls and so much more.

They said that Gilbert was her cousin and that they had the same personality.

They love to blow down trees, flood the roads, blow off roof tops and make many stops.

Beryl was a serious woman, she was aggressive and explosive.

When we first met her she was calm and unassuming.

Beryl is now famous, if you google her you will find so much information.

She has definitely made her mark in the Caribbean,

And her name has travelled to all seven continents.

News of her can be seen all over TV and heard over radio stations.

She has even taken over social media and ChatGPT knows everything about her.

Jamaica can share their stories about how Beryl brought much peril.

She brought so much water and wind that could drown you and make you dizzy.

Electricity, internet and water supplies were down,

Even the banks had to minimise some of their services.

Beryl was so powerful that she caused Jamaica to have an all island curfew.

Many events were postponed and the government ramped up their security measures.

All workplaces and schools had to close early.

Rice and bread finished in no time in the supermarkets.

Flashlights and all hurricane supplies that you could think of were all scarce.

Water tanks, food cupboards and gas tanks were filled.

People prepared for the worse without any force.

Some children were scared and some were excited to experience their first hurricane.

Windows were battened down and cars were covered up.

Anything that was valuable was carefully hidden away.

Some people became weather experts and meteorologists; they were so up to date.

Others were simply praying for Beryl to go away.

Thanks be to God, the hands of Beryl were held back and Hurricane Beryl was swept away.

– Erika Heslop Martin

Where do butterflies go when there is a storm?

Where do the butterflies go when there is a storm?

Do they find a haven, where it’s dry and warm?

Do they flutter to the woods, seek shelter in the trees,

Tucked beneath the leaves, swaying in the breeze?

Do they dive into the earth, among the roots so deep,

Where the raindrops are but whispers, a gentle weep?

Or find a flower’s heart, with petals folded tight,

A cosy, quiet nook, hidden from the night?

Do they find the fowl coop, with its rustic, wooden beams,

Where the sawdust is piled high, and sunlight softly gleams?

Or do they gather close, their wings a rainbow arc,

Sharing warmth and comfort, lighting up the dark?

Do they follow streams, gliding low and fast,

Looking for the caves, where echoes of storm pass?

Or do they rise above, to the sky grand and vast,

Riding out the winds, waiting for it to last?

Do they wander in our dreams, in lands so bright and fair,

Touching our hearts gently, with their fragile, magical flair?

Or do they simply pause, a momentary retreat,

Waiting for the calm, when the sun and they will meet?

Where do the butterflies go when there is a storm?

They remind us to seek shelter, and that we can transform.

– Dudley McLean II

Interruptus

I have often wondered

In the stillness of thought

How the conversation

Ended between us

Is it that we were interrupted

By Interruptus- a sort of

Misunderstanding?

I can’t tell when our signals

Got crossed

The confusion of body languages

Leading to misunderstanding

Maybe because of the way

You and I had grown up

I can’t tell when the confusion

Started

By Interruptus’ way of always

Discontinuing continuity

But I feel the conversation

Never ended

It just got side-tracked

By Interruptus’ way

Of always breaking in

On what someone else

Was saying

By inserting a remark

Or its way of preventing

The continuity of a process

Or obstructing a view

If we weren’t interrupted

By Interruptus

I mean—

I have often wondered

In the stillness of thought

If sans mis-understanding

A sort of Interruptus

If we could continue

Our conversation

If Interruptus hadn’t

Interrupted us

And this conversation of Body

Languages

That confused both of us

And you called it a Misunderstanding

Then

But the conversation

Never ended

It was only interrupted

Only confused us

I took your action as one

Thing

And you took mine

As another

But the conversation

Never ended

It just got Interrupted

By Interruption

Interrupting you

Interrupting me

Interrupting us.

`

– Lisa Gaye Taylor