Storms—Poets Issue

43

STORMS Poets Issue—#10 Oct 2022

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Table of Contents Letter from the Editor

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The Storm by Theodore Rothke

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Contributors Page

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Letter From Perception of reality changes dramatically as size and scale begins to shift. This magazine will explore the different emotional perceptions of a storm through the lens of a poem by Theodore Roethke.

How do you feel when looking out into the distance and see dark gray clouds begin to engulf the sky?

Does your hair stand up from the howling of the wind as the storm moves closer and closer? They say not to make mountains out of molehills, but scale is a relative perception, allow yourself to truly fathom the scale of mother nature and its raw power. The molehill may not seem like a mountain, but just remember we’re still only a tiny blue dot in space.

-Luis Ramirez

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the Editor

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The Storm

by Theodore Rothke

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Against the stone breakwater, Only an ominous lapping,

While the wind whines overhead, Coming down from the mountain,

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Whistling between the arbors, the winding terraces;

And the small street-lamp swinging and slamming against the lamp pole.

And the small street-lamp swinging and slamming against the lamp pole.

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Where have the people gone?

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There is one light on the mountain

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Coming closer and closer upon each other;

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Coming closer and closer upon each other

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A fine fume of rain driving in from the sea, Riddling the sand, like a wide spray of buckshot,

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the wind from the sea and the wind from the mountain contending, Flicking the foam from the whitecaps straight upward into the darkness

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A time to go home!—

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And a child’s dirty shift billows upward out of an alley,

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A cat runs from the wind as we do, Between the whiteneing trees, up Santa Lucia,

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Where the heavy door unlocks, And our breath comes more easy,—

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Then a crack of thunder, and the black rain runs over us, over The flat-roofed houses, coming down in gusts, beating

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The walls, the slatted windows, driving The last watcher indoors, moving the cardplayers closer To their cards, their anisette

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We creep to our bed, and its straw mattress.

We wait;

we listen.

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The storm lulls off,

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then redoubles,

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Bending the trees half-way down to the ground, Shaking loose the last wizened oranges in the orchard Flattening the limber carnations

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A spider eases himself down from the swaying light-bulb, Running over the coverlet, down under the iron bedstead.

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The bulb goes on and off, weakly.

Water roars into the cistern.

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We lie closer on the gritty pillow, Breathing heavily, hoping–

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For the great last leap of the wave over the breakwater,

The flat bottom on the beach of the towering sea-swell,

The sudden shudder as the jutting sea-cliff collapses,

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And the hurricane drives the dead straw in the living pine-tree.

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Contributors Page

Peter Jarver

Cover

Mark Garcia

2-3

Marko Korosec

4-5

Brian & Steve Koch

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Mitch Dobrowner

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Robert Stirret

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Kate Graham

10-11, 28

Chris Manchian

12-13

Brooke Mitchell

14-15

Nick Tomecek

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Christopher Furlong

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Finnbar Webster

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Mike Mezeul II

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Jim Richardson

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Keith Ladzinski

22-23, 26-27

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Jim Reed

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Mike Olbinski

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John Finney

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Mike Theiss

30-31

Bruce Dale

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Feng Xiaomin

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Dave Chapman

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Noah Berger

36-37

ESA/NASA

38-39

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