A young man entered a gilded elevator, and pushed the button for the top floor. In his hand, he held a small package. To be honest, he was surprised he had made it so far. “What could have induced Robert … Continue reading
On a cool December morning, Dustin Tanglewood awoke to find bright whiteness outside his window. Overnight, his quiet suburban neighborhood had transformed into a snowy paradise. As he took a closer look, there was only one thing out of place, … Continue reading
Bertram Mead drew his first building at the age of five. To be honest, the “building” was little more than a few scribbled lines in a silver-blue crayon, but his parents were impressed by his imagination. They encouraged Bertram to … Continue reading
*I’m sorry I took so long between posts. I’ve been without power for a week. This poem might give you a glimpse into how I feel about this.
At night she attacks
Spilling water over the city’s shore
The water rises over cars, paths,
And everything more.
Over the Atlantic—near the equator
She was born like anyone else.
And bestowed the name Sandy–
With a choice of smooth or coarse.
She chose coarse.
And I can only imagine “Why?”
Merely to shout her name
Upon the infinite sky?
Or…does she express pain
With a perturbed mother’s call?
Has she lost El Nino?
Somewhere in the squall.
Why then does she terrify the kid down the hall,
Whose voice echoes powerless
Like the ambient light of “exit”
That paints us red and garish?
Sandy keeps us in the dark…
Outside my window
The clouds define
A tower not often ominous,
But now castle-like in profile line.
The structure stands solid
Against the lower climbs
And swaying trees–
Like a relic of our times.
If Sandy destroys us,
The tower will be the marker of our tomb.
If she takes that down,
There’s unending doom.
If Sandy takes me in her cold embrace
And out where debris is swarming,
I’ll blame those who came before me
Who didn’t believe in global warming.
And next year she’ll be back–
New name, worse temper.
The city better be prepared
For another natural disaster.
– Alex Schattner (11/1/12)
Tags: alex schattner, america, american folktales, art, storm, belief, confidence, folktale, inspiration, lesson, moral, poem, poetry, value, wisdom, hurricane sandy, sandy, frankenstorm
It’s a time-old marvel–
how gossip becomes legend.
How faults are masked,
and virtues expanded.
How facts are abandoned,
and mystery acquired.
It happens slowly…
or maybe not…
but it’s been destine from the start.
– Alex Schattner
Had Phillip Connors been born in Japan, he might have been a sumo wrestler. That’s how big he was. Instead, he was “lucky enough to hail from the great state of Hawaii.” Kauai, to be exact. His father was a … Continue reading