Dreaming of Tornadoes?

Hells Bells

Location: Heart of the Heart of the Country
Birthday: February 01

Bio: Book editor, parent, MFA in poetry from a land far, far, away--and a long, long time ago . . . I'm not a psychologist, but I play one on TV.

MY RECENT POSTS

Mom Always Liked You Best
September 19, 2011 04:53PM
First Blog, Fernsy OC
August 08, 2011 01:58PM
Dreaming of Tornadoes?
April 21, 2011 01:46PM
Not Dead Yet
March 07, 2011 04:06PM
Paint, or Fatal Flaws
January 25, 2011 02:05PM

MY RECENT COMMENTS

“The best thing about that movie was that HE CHASED HER.”
February 15, 2012 02:19PM
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“Hi, Ann! Thanks for this post. I've got one of those soft splits. Also a c-pap ma…”
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“My own mother took care of herself, with some inadequate and constantly shifting…”
October 12, 2011 03:16PM
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October 12, 2011 03:10PM

Hells Bells's Links

About teaching and learning: Why Haiku Suck and What You Should Do About It; But Isn't It All Just Subjective Anyway?
Oh, come on, it wouldn't kill you to read a poem: Short Fiction; The Passage (Sestina); My Mother Walks Ahead of Me; Self-Portrait with Fox, Crow, and Fish; Just What We Always Wanted; The Passion of Snow; On Adak Island; The Accidental Poetry of Alzheimers; The Vireo (Villanelle); Paint; My Hat; Loving the Unpoetical Midwest; Space Within (Bridge Poem); The River Goes; Filmstrip
Memoir, or something like it: The Amazing Plaid Bomber Jacket; Goodbye, Bipolar Brother; The Happiest Day of My Life; Murder for Hire: Working for the Hit Man Publisher; Civilly Disobedient and Proud of It on the Fourth of July; How I Became a Poet; Harry Harlow's Monkey Studies and Me; Scratch the Surface, Open a Vein; Lamborghini Murcielago vs. Honda Civic; Charles Manson Murderers Are After Us
The infamous bipolar child series: Living with a Bipolar Child; Why I Wrote the Bipolar Child Story; The End of the Bipolar Child Story

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APRIL 21, 2011 2:17PM

Rate: 12 Flag

nssl0062[1]

Outside my bedroom window, someone whispers, laughs.

The moon, slant-shadowed, skims across the floor.

Waking, I reach the telephone, before it is a dream.

Next morning, a man traces tracks on his open palm

to show the places that were leveled.

Here, across the heartline, all these buildings.

Next to his calloused thumb, a giant maple taken,

fence, joints of his fingers, severed.

His outstretched arm describes an arc,

tells the story of the storm:

The chasing rain,

a nervous sky,

electrified and green.

A moment's pulse,

a world gone numb,

then the thick ropes

breaking loose.

Photo: NOAA Photo Library

Author tags:

tornadoes, dreams, spring in the midwest, poetry

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Comments

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Every spring for several years, someone posted an ad in the college newspaper just reading "Dreaming of tornadoes?" and listing a phone number. I wish I'd called. All best, HB

Hells Bells

April 21, 2011 02:18 PM

"a nervous sky"
great description.

Chuck A. Stetson

April 21, 2011 02:50 PM

Dorothy! Dorothy!

I'm retired in Mississippi and it gets scary with some of these storms.

Good read!

Blinddream

April 21, 2011 03:27 PM

This is stunning, Ms. Bells...it's so good to see you...xox

Robin Sneed

April 21, 2011 03:44 PM

"A moment's pulse,
a world gone numb,
then the thick ropes
breaking loose."
That describes the concept quite vividly.
♥R

FusunA

April 21, 2011 03:53 PM

gorgeous poem, HB. good to see you.

femme forte aka candace

April 21, 2011 07:45 PM

A poem from Hells Bells - great to see you, you've been missed. Love the image of a "nervous sky".

trilogy

April 21, 2011 10:21 PM

The photo gives me shivers..

nice to see you here!

Z W

April 21, 2011 10:38 PM

nicely done, hb

caroline marie

April 22, 2011 01:47 AM

Gotta love the storms!! EEK!!

Rated!

Tinkerertink69

April 22, 2011 09:58 AM

Thanks for visiting all, 'specially after my absence. It's definitely the season . . . the weathercasters are getting all excited about the pink flashing spots on the Doppler radar. I should go in the basement like they say, but fool that I am, I can't tear myself away from these storms.

Hells Bells

April 22, 2011 10:31 AM

Proceed to the southwest corner of your basement.

Thankfully no one I know in MO has ever died or lost their home to a tornado, but . . . our country club was completely obliterated by one. Perhaps I'll write a faux tragic tribute to the pool where once I twirled my whistle round my finger.

nicely done