Call of the Storm is a small collection of poems that asks one to look at storms in a divine context. See how faith can move mountains in these visual, narrative works. "This collection of poems by Luke Aditsan is truly inspirational. The inspiration in no way reflects the usual interpretation of that term, but comes from a universal spirit in nature righting the ways of mankind. They capture your imagination with vivid images and intense feelings while leaving the reader with man's greatest gift: Hope. Hear the Call of the Storm" -Stephen M. Dorman, author (paper), "Death as a Leitmotiv in the Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke"

Call of the Storm

By Luke Aditsan

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2012 Luke Aditsan
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-6537-8

Chapter One

minnow

    darting within a puny puddle
    oh mighty minnow lost at sea
    with memories
    of yonder pond
    pulled apart by the heat of the day.

    why, silvery one,
    did you linger
    at the edge of your universe
    where shallow temptations
    whisper?

    fear of the deep
    I suppose
    where large-jawed demons
    lurk
    beyond waving fronds.

    but now alone
    in a cringing pocket
    of fiery water
    stranded
    as an abandoned child.

    are bitty minnows heard
    when they cry to the skies
    hoping
    fearing
    as they lap with pulsing gills?

    heavy clouds
    array for battle
    steaming across the heavens
    as if the tiniest prayer
    summoned.

    across the earth
    rainfall spatters here and there
    like the dancing shadow
    of a butterfly
    free.

    rivulets link
    as worlds grow
    and the cool oceans full of demons
    seem not so
    ominous.

The Forest Man

The hugeness of land surrounded by seas,
a drafty kingdom amidst oceans of trees,
rushing citizens replete with thought,
gabs and gibits rigorously wrought,

from bare spot thatches some doing flows,
wrangling plants from neat little rows,
cascading mews of a distant fiddle,
near fortress throne in the middle in the middle,

castle dotted with droves of doors,
mazy paths with flattened stone floors,
patterned cloth shimmies in the breeze,
a crowning banner amidst oceans of trees,

his liege now listens with chin in hand,
a crushing job to govern this land,
serious was he even now with blues,
his sole vocation, himself to amuse,

two geese high up shunning the stink,
of barns and shapers while they tink,
but yet unseen past the cows and the plows,
the uncivil heaven down past the boughs,

half eyed lions lying in the shade,
ducks and swans keeping watch in the glade,
scampering crits slide under a leaf,
a bear a-wading, paws at the reef,

a delicate deer with a flinching flag,
wolves look back when fuzzy pups lag,
this teeming forest lively with life,
this vastful kingdom shows no strife,

from a set vantage peak all would seem well,
but poor prospects hide a visualized hell,
sits blithesome town neath a hanging cloud,
blankets the bustlers neath a mindful shroud,

for once per year awakes a great gust,
unstoppable force dragging mountains of dust,
a vast hand wipes firm across the land,
a display of fury, so stark and so grand,

this disaster strikes at the end of each year,
this final month all would fear,
exact the day, none could bring light,
the cliche be called, a thief in the night,

a bored king would then repeat his norm,
as he sealed himself from this cyclic storm,
the winds would wail and for his trouble,
his castle entirely would be crushed into rubble,

the townsfolk's huts that speckled the ley,
boldly flattened by the close of the day,
homeless all in the kingdom become,
from the terror that thumped it's terrible drum,

all possessions owned inside and out,
batted to oblivion with a mighty clout,
even peeping crops in the ground get razed,
leaving hopeless shells stumbling a-dazed

tender forest life crashed through change,
as the squall the woods would rearrange,
burrows, nests and caves would disappear,
some timberlands tall, now were clear,

wolves, otter, deer, eagles and ducks,
skunks, squirrels, snakes, egrets and chucks,
no calendars had they to help soothsay,
their souls completely were in today,

natural hideouts strewn all a-strew,
what's an enlightened one to do?
no effort, new burrows to seek and find,
and live in the moment, pay storm no mind,

but citizens openly chronology kept,
some when storm's due openly wept,
no sleep to fall though gone to bed,
all in the village would anxiously dread,

storm's aftermath, oh all is lost,
unbearable undoing was the cost,
gathered supplies, gadgets, and gear,
to lose these things was the greatest fear,

some built stronger but all in vain,
others would worry themselves insane,
still more would gather as much as they could,
and deny storm's coming as it always would,

thinkers and reasoners hired by king,
a method to delay this savage sting,
mayhaps a dance would halt the torrent,
or stairs to the heavens to calm the abhorrent,

so time would pass as they checked off the date,
and rebuilt the kingdom with a pensive wait,
life would be perfect, joyous and warm,
if only it weren't for the terrible storm,

dayspring arose across hushed abodes,
a bundle inched slowly o'er misty roads,
farmers roused while the sky made shine,
as a baby crawls, lost to a tree-line,

hours waste, working their wares to tweak,
production's mumbling din, broken by a shriek,
a frantic mother whisks, wearing a blouson,
screaming loud above the babel, "My babies gone!!",

the town unites, all in a row,
through brush and trees, the search went slow,
two tedious days all looked for the child,
finally resigned he was eaten by the wild,

the town took a day for those needing to mourn,
as babe was playing 'neath stalks of corn,
then soon he found a hollow to keep,
with cushions of leaves on which to sleep,

days of tears when needs were not met,
giggling and smiles when needs he would get,
the universe cuddled this lilliputian elf,
granting the lessons he taught himself,

crawling to forage, never fell ill,
if sensing others, held very still,
drank from a stream very near by,
and lie on his back looking up at the sky,

agonized not about repaying a kings loan,
no need to worry bout seeds he had sown,
noone said, go milk morrow's cow,
for all his days, he endured in the now,

but then a day, last month of the year,
destructive wall of wind, destined to shear,
utter rendings, both sticks and rocks,
dwellings demolished less maybe the locks,

buried the valued, some folks did,
fortified places, things they hid,
but to no matter were made these moves,
a storm as this, all hidings removes,

so hushes a time when storms blow over,
much to the relief of the tinker and drover,
the...