On Sunday took my grandson to the driving range
To hit a bucket full of tiny balls.
A lovely day to be outside
Enjoying time together, I recall.
But then the weather outlook started getting strange.
When clouds had gathered dark on angry weekend sky,
I clearly saw some ribbons of the rain,
And they were coming right at us,
Cascades of water were crossing the plain.
The look of cloudbanks that were hanging caught my eye.
Demarking where an angry stormfront line begins,
are clouds that hung down forming to a Vee,
And looking pretty nasty too,
They filled the sky as far as I could see.
It’s time to seek safe shelter from the rain and winds.
I grabed my golf bag, tried to stay both high and dry,
We ran to clubhouse dodging drops of rain.
Sat under canopy valance
And watched as water washed down building drain
While torrents sheeted things exposed still under sky.
On patio, we sat and sipped sweet ginger ale.
Protected by the building’s stout stone walls,
We watched as cloudbursts soaked the lawn.
Amazed, I gazed at some approaching squalls,
When suddenly the winds became a forceful gale.
The trees were being blown so badly, back and forth,
I thought that they may tumble to the ground.
A gust of wind then hit the tables –
Wrought iron, with umbrellas folded down.
Knocked several over, each one lined up facing north.
The parking lot contained those several stranded cars
Abandoned as the storm came racing in.
Right there among them was my own
Beneath a swaying lamppost, tall and thin.
I prayed the wind would never push that pole too far.
Then tarps attached to course equipment blew away.
And it occurred that structure strength might fail.
We thought it couldn’t get much worse,
But that was when the storm began to hail,
And pound the ground with sound that snare-drum drummers play.
“Oh heaven, please protect me, and my grandson too!”
I prayed with all my fervent hope’s appeal.
God must have heard my urgent need.
Then storm subsided to that state ideal
For going home to thank the Lord for coming through.
On Sunday, May 3, 2015, I took my grandson over to the driving range with me to hit a bucket of balls. We got caught in a severe thunderstorm just after we had finished. This poem recalls that event.
This poem is a Symmetrina.
The Symmetrina was created by Fanstorian Pantygynt. I discovered it while reviewing his poem, Polhena Beach, Sri Lanka, 0600.
It is called it a Symmetrina because it presents a symmetrical shape and rhyme scheme over each stanza: The rhyme scheme for each is:
The rhythm is iambic throughout. It is structured in Quintets, which are stanzas with 5 lines. The first and last lines are Alexandrine Hexameters (12 syllables), the second and fourth pentameters (10 syllables) and the third is a tetrameter (8 syllables). So the meter becomes: 12,10,8,10,12.
No limit to the number of stanzas.
This photograph is of some storm clouds the author took himself in March of 2012.