[Michael Cantor]

Weather Report Revision 1 (changes in blue)

This was once a broad and pleasant beach
with rows of dunes between the homes and sea.
But now it’s stripped: we look on hopelessly
as waters surge and congregate to breach
a neighbor’s tortured cottage – then a screech
of aging timber breaking, and it’s free,
and what was once a house is now debris.
This rolling sea has lessons yet to teach.
Something is wrong within our universe,
and something says that next year will be worse.

This season’s storms that roiled our sea with spears
of rain have scrubbed the beach; flayed back the skin
and sand that hide the things that lay within –
exposed the past - an ancient scow now rears
its head, and trapped between huge rocks appears
to struggle to repress a jagged grin.
The hull is rotted where a sail had been.
Cascades of waves expose our greatest fears.
We watch the neighbor, interviewed on Fox,
and add two meters to a wall of rocks.

This world has changed, and we must change as well,
before our problems start to multipy.
We’ll pile massive block on block as high
as gulls can fly, to stifle and repel
the crush of tides, the awful dead fish smell.
We’ll pray each night – what else is there to try?
And if the sea continues to defy,
and rallies for a final, fatal swell,
if walls and faith cannot withstand assault –
at least we’ll know that it was not our fault.

Revisions:
S1L3 was "but now it’s stripped, and we watch fearfully"
S2L6: was "grapple"
S3L4: added comma

Weather Report

This was once a broad and pleasant beach
with rows of dunes between the homes and sea,
but now it’s stripped, and we watch fearfully
as waters surge and gather to besiege
a neighbor’s tortured cottage – then a screech
of aging, breaking timber, and it’s free,
and what was once a house is now debris.
This rolling sea has lessons yet to teach.
We watch the neighbor, interviewed on Fox,
and add two meters to a wall of rocks.

This season’s storms that roiled our sea with spears
of rain have scrubbed the beach; flayed back the skin
and sand that hide the things that lay within –
exposed the past - an ancient scow now rears
its head, and trapped between huge rocks appears
to grapple to repress a jagged grin.
The hull is rotted where a sail had been.
Cascades of waves expose our greatest fears.
Something is wrong within our universe,
and something says that next year will be worse.

This world has changed, and we must change as well,
before our problems start to multiply.
We’ll pile massive brick on brick as high
as gulls can fly to block the tidal swell,
the rush of stone, the stench that hints of Hell.
We’ll pray each night – what else is there to try?
And if the sea continues to defy,
and rallies for a final, fatal swell,
if walls and faith cannot withstand assault –
at least we’ll know that it was not our fault.