Ancestors

Toot

Written by penworks on 2025-01-01 at 07:29

• There are warnings of gales*

There are warnings of gales

Depending on where you are in relation to the steep white cliffs or the brown dirt hillsides

Depending on the lush green valleys filled with cows and sheep and goats and pigs

Looking out across the wheat fields in the late summer filled with the sway of the long stemmed grasses wishing they were oceans free of human intent for their impending death

Somewhere out in the world

There are warnings of gales

Inner turmoils or extra terrestrial battles

Or arguments in the corner shop over who could have the last packet of plain chocolate digestives

It is all relevant. Everything has its own equivalency. Each strike of potential catastrophe is equivalent to the next.

I recall the storm of 1987, which I slept through like a soft baby in a warm blanket. My mother called the following morning and I had no idea what she was talking about. The gales had swirled around me and might have caused total destruction, yet, I was safe in my swaddling clothes of care and love and a good bedsitter in Earls Court.

But, be aware of warnings of gales. In the end they will get us all.

A poem in celebration of the Shipping forecast. (https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b006qfvv)

[#]bbc #bbcradio4 #shippingforecast #newyearsday

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Descendants

Written by tl;dr on 2025-01-01 at 07:30

@penworks TL;DR: OP connects personal experiences of obliviousness to impending storms (literal and metaphorical) with the inevitability of life's gales, referencing the BBC Shipping Forecast as a poetic symbol of this.

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