Today I ventured out of Brooklyn and ran to and through Manhattan. Though two days past, Hurricane Sandy can still be felt at every intersection, where darkened traffic signals yield to police officers directing the flow of cars.
I’m not sure if this is because I was new to the city, or because I was unaffected by the hurricane (never even lost power), but I felt almost voyeuristic looking as people put their lives back together or walked around looking dazed, with most shops still closed and an eerie quiet about the city.
I saw an elderly couple ventured from their building to fill up an empty two-liter bottle with water from a fire hydrant. Further down the 
road people were being lined up by the police to get clean water and food.
This was a departure from most Brooklyn, where Sandy has been for many (myself very included) a carnival, a week off of life to enjoy to its fullest. It’s hit home that we are the lucky ones. While I watched the storm from friend’s windows, people were out there being lost to the same storm or having their homes destroyed.
I got the reflective bug today, and as I toured Manhattan, I paused in parks to read poetry of storms from my iPhone (who still needs a name. Please comment if you have any ideas. I’m not even sure how to tell the gender of an iPhone). I also recalled as I crossed the Williamsburg bridge, that I was wearing the same shirt I was exactly a year before (remembered from photos), when I was at the Giant Kite Festival in Sumpango, Guatemala.
The poem I enjoyed the most Astra Channer ‘s Hurricanes. Given the Sandy fires on Rockaway Beach, this one line resonated with me for a good part of the day, “Flames of fire erupting from your madness. ”
I’ve posted the whole poem here. It’s apt.
Hurricanes
Bringing with you catastrophic, devastating songs to the earth beneath you.
Destroying lives and taking lives, away with you.
When will you stop, your furious winds from flowing this way?
Babies, children, men, and women crying,
Their sounds of lost, echoes around the globe.
With no comfort for the sick,
No clothing, food, water or shelter for the homeless to survive another day.People are dying, as help is on the way.
Will it get there on time to save the weary?
People are suffering.
Their faith, hope, and strength to survive your magnitude,
Has impacted each life great and small.
Flames of fire erupting from your madness.
Go your way and not return with your roots of destructive behavior.Life is a blessing.
Every essence of being is true appreciation for the simple needs within life.
Let the innocence of being be spared by your tumultuous waters.
Find your place in the universe.
As humility of the human nature has been found,
Giving and receiving love unconditionally.
That can’t be bought or sold as poverty strikes; evacuation could barely be found.
With, lost words leaving their marks to be placed in the archives of history books;
With pictures of your soaring wings showing your images.
Book of poetry by Astra Channer:
Source: Hurricanes, Rain Poems http://www.poetryinnature.com/nature/poetry.asp?poem=1876#ixzz2B2HXQvWg
www.PoetryInNature.com
