Thursday, 5 December 2013

Storm surge

The howling wind the willows bend
their heads bow down  in unison
and as a wave they rise again
to straighten like a spring
without their leaves they feel the cold
their backs are turned toward the gale
and bend they must, or break they will
as winter batters in.
The threatening storm pervades the air
and whisks the clouds in frenzied flight
the temperature is falling
feeling colder than the frost
but still the fleeting air is dry
no snow or ice apparent yet
but come the darkness without moon
then - what will be the cost?
The wicked winter tide is rising 
"Spring-tide" only in her name
and joining forces with the North wind
Southward looks to play her game
She thunders up along the beaches
hurling gainst the seawall strong
seeking, searching for a weak spot
to concentrate her efforts on 
but man has worked to keep her out
since fearful night in '53
when terror struck and souls were lost
in acres under sea.
Precautions taken, with good fortune
stop her claiming back the land
and so she heads around the coast
to find the softer sand
of Happisburgh, Palling, Caister, Yarmouth
places all aware of flood 
and washed out beaches, fallen cliffs
and brackish river mud.
With any luck a few degrees 
of changed direction for the wind
will keep the very worst at bay
and let the tide rescind
But be aware! The power of nature
never ever will give way
and Norfolk's coastline will be changing
when Nature choose the day.

©Rob King


  1. Awe-inspiring, dramatic, and beautiful in it's way...I caught a chill just reading it...great work, Rob.

    1. Thanks Terry - I appreciate your kind comments!

  2. Atmospheric to the max, Rob. Great, I really enjoyed it.

    1. "the max" eh? Thank you very much Lynne :)

  3. Excellent poem Rob, excellent! Told the story beautifully.

    1. Thanks Inara. It sort of developed on its own. I didn't intend writing about the sea at all! ;)