Call of the Storm

by Luke Aditsan

Overview

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”

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781452565385
Publisher:	Balboa Press
Publication date:	12/20/2012
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	64
File size:	149 KB

Read an Excerpt

Call of the Storm

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By Luke Aditsan

Balboa Press

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

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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 castle in pieces viewed by a hauler,
maybe, he reasoned, the king would think smaller,

the villager's builds to again rebuild,
proving that they were again strong-willed,
as all they owned had been broken and shred,
they secretly harbored the feeling of dread,

amidst the lightning and bursts of thunder,
the forest child's hollow was ripped a-sunder,
the child shortly found a nook to sleep,
and gathered some berries, a safe place to keep,

storm he forgot, no calendar to mark,
only today's songs need he hark,
songs of bright birds greeting the sun,
finding new twigs, having God's fun

that becomes new which loses the old,
that becomes pliable which loses the bold,
knowing of ends paints self full of fear,
knowing of nows brings Spirit so near,

year by year ever time's impact,
storm by storm, the unavoidable fact,
a babe grows up, a divinely timed plan,
dubbed by the puzzled, the Forest Man,

from a tree-line he crept, slowly crept into town,
the astounded gathered from all around,
disheveled, wild looking, and very shy,
yet obvious to all, a gleam to his eye,

thought they his manners a little crude,
the way he fed seemed very rude,
with patience they taught him over time,
to coarsely communicate through sounds and mime,

the townsfolk then asked him bout the storm that was due,
he shrugged and smiled and so silent too,
all is destroyed, to him they'd explain,
a day of great sorrow, misery and pain,

he finally spoke without a doubt,
"I know not what you talk about",
a gentle breeze, all was hushed,
he didn't know about the wind that crushed!!

he spoke again, his face they'd scour,
"Whatever worries you has no power",
a distant robin in the woods was heard,
but from the citizens, not a word,

people's minds spun at his words said coolly,
confusion and uproar, becoming unruly,
the king saw this man being held in odd awe,
time, thought the ruler, to lay down the law,

"For questions." The king said of the arrest,
"To find out who he's trying to best."
He sat Forest Man in a tiny chair,
and glared hard at him to sink in a scare,

the ruler then asked of this small bearded sir,
"Says you the storm never does stir?"
"that no power has this wind we dread?"
"that it is you who are all powerful instead?"

Forest Man then noticed a crow in the sky,
and answered blankly as he watched it fly,
"I know of no storm of which to cower"
"therefore any storm has no power"

beware of a monarch miffed and annoyed,
his kingdom depended on the winds to avoid,
this man he declared, he would not release,
instead he'd be charged with disturbing the peace,

then an example of Forest Man to be,
hung by his arms from a tree,
for all to see in the center of town,
dare not anyone cut him down,

by his majesty's word, Forest Man hung,
all who passed by, his eyes they'd shun,
days passed and his efforts became weak,
as he would glance to the tree-line o'er by the creek,

miracles are the path happenings take,
tis was the month the winds were to awake,
as fact of matter to all's dismay,
this was the unfortunate day,

the great storm lashed, panic raced forth and back,
smashing homes down with a howling whack,
belongings were propelled far thru the air,
landing in oceans in who knows where,

great cries screeched thru town at storm's end,
battered people start looking to fend,
off next year's great and terrible storm,
as they mark their calendars, true to form,

but as of the forest man, the winds blew,
loosening his ties, giving freedom anew,
from these winds he was given new birth,
to him all was given, all of his worth,

he loped thru the tree-line o'er by the creek,
into a depression with stealthy technique,
pulling branches over to form a nest,
getting him home for much needed rest.

A sunny morning, forage for food,
a very happy day, so was his mood,
now is the only day he has ever known,
and neither any calendars does he own,

The townsfolk now busy with work,
some consider the Forest Man a quirk,
some though regard with thoughts so warm,
known as the man who conquered the storm,

lodges, carts, swords and more,
all fall forever to the floor,
a luscious garden abundant to all,
given to us to conquer the squall.

Drumbeats of Heaven

    round the crackling
    the circle wound
    wide eyed young ones
    listened
    as an oldster stooping
    spoke

    of approaching clouds
    nearing puffs of dark grey blooms
    growling
    like thousands of horse-hooves
    on hollow ground
    calling out

    danger
    like colliding boulders
    throwing streaks of spark
    as to do harm
    as if a loudly earthquake roared
    in the skies.

    these my children
    are not the bodeful warnings
    of wind and water
    daring to carry away your possessions
    breaking false longings
    to gather

    but rather these bellowing chords
    are the drumbeats of heaven
    with a message of love
    for the tribe
    of all life
    below.

    for without precious water
    the rock could not flower
    and without precious wind
    the trees could not travel
    to bear their gifts
    of seed

    and of the twisting trails of light
    making shore on earth
    not to burn
    nor destroy
    like an angry general
    determined

    but as a gleaming bridge
    for the descent of angels
    to answer prayers
    of we
    who have built the fence
    of self

    and of the wind
    a final promise
    as it pushes
    and in time hushes
    that again it will touch the cheek
    with grace.

Savannah Son

A land that imaginings ne'er to touch
the make-believe wildlife seem as such
critters that bellow monstrous sounds
or springing delicates with leaps and bounds

skinny runners that chase striped horses
or laughing dogs with bone-breaking forces
tubby bathers with a cavernous yawn
or furry hunters that creep after dawn

raging rivers from mountains high
tree busy jungles that block the sky
lakes so huge they change the weather
brown mud banks that seem as leather

reed filled swamps of oozing mush
savannah that stretches from desert to bush
this of creation, Beauty's supplement
here and there, a human settlement

a Beautiful child to a village born
the name of Blessings given from Love
a mistful sunrise from a mild morn
a Beautiful child to a village born
so smile gentle a mother to adorn
throng of ovations throughout thereof
a Beautiful child to a village born
the name of Blessings given from Love

This living village of savannah and sun
to each a mission all working as one
children romp to try and feel
their mythical plays are near to real

the older of body bunch at the well
impressing witnesses with stories to tell
a group of men bricking a hut
amorous couples behind doors shut

the village healer collects his herbs
all are watchful that he's not disturbed
when outsiders motor the path as a street
everyone joins this stranger to greet

roles evolved as families changed,
romance is free, no loves are arranged
time passes kindly as it sometimes can
as Blessings grows into a young man

A mother teaches her son of prayer
of magical answers to soothe the Heart
for aiding all with guidance and care
a mother teaches her son of prayer
to portion Love's bounty for all to share
a Life of Hope for all to take part
a mother teaches her son of prayer
of magical answers to soothe the Heart

Deep in the jungle secret from light
slinks a general who lives to fight
each child kidnapped is his tool
love of violence is his school

creep upon homesteads with knives and guns
kills while taking daughters and sons
claims from God he was given a sign
this heartless rogue, this roving swine

for him to steal was the norm
the devil wears a uniform
wiping innocence from the eyes
a freedom fighter, his disguise

some say no evil exists in this world
but surely a fiendish flag has unfurled
to scare out signs of compassion mild
to steal away virtue from a very young child

When we pray for midday shade
rain may pour from newborn clouds
Love's answers not custom made
when we pray for midday shade
Heaven's plans are mysteriously laid
the answers can be mighty loud
when we pray for midday shade
rain may pour from newborn clouds

A raid this villain and his young
to steal the young by the end of a gun
of Blessing's village they would look
Blessing's sister, her they took

one could hear them as they boast
they slipped away like a ghost
but Blessings followed out of sight
as the young man trailed although afright

miles through grass and bush they walked,
the uniforms pushed as they laughed and talked
as came the watching sun to set,
Blessings still they hadn't met

finally they empty to a large base camp
a tattered green tent was lit by lamp
there where several grown soldiers be
children all about one could see

Spirit of Love, please hear my plea
guard my sister with your sword
so future moments her I'll see
Spirit of Love, please hear my plea
help her endure this turbulent sea
these rapids of danger let her ford
Spirit of Love, please hear my plea
guard my sister with your sword

Blessings lie blended on the edge
he spotted standing as if on a ledge
the army's leader, big and tall
near the tent watching all

the man was pointing and with a shout
as children all hurried about
yelling orders to those who're fair
it seemed he gave them quite the scare

a booming crack echoed around
as pattering raindrops touched the ground
beads of water off leaves would fall
roaring thunder issued a call

Blessings stood up and approached the king,
his face lit up in a flash of lightning
all looked at him with staggering wonder,
the general grinned, this seemed a blunder

courage bestowed afore a fight
to Love's champion given power
proof of light in the night
courage bestowed afore a fight
a standing flower shows it's might
the hidden strength in summer's shower
courage bestowed afore a fight
to Love's champion given power

Raindrops now stomped like lead
running streams 'cross Blessing's head
as the driving torrent sounded as one
David and Goliath had now begun

"All these children now will leave!"
Blessings shouted while heavens heaved
"Kill him!" laughed the leader loud
but no one moved in this youthful crowd

it had been many a year,
since this leader had this much fear,
he shoved misgivings to the side
and towards Blessings he started to stride

a dripping machete in his hand
to cut down a boy's final stand
he crossed the clearing between the two
and raised his arm, machete too

oh Purity's gate swings swift and wide,
when claiming her property back,
merciless, the angels push harm aside
oh Purity's gate swings swift and wide
place in the Heart the honor to abide,
and prepare a Divine attack,
oh Purity's gate swings swift and wide
when claiming her property back

Poised but a second the madman stood
holding the machete as high as he could
looking down with a booming laugh
like taking to slaughter an innocent calf

a blinding flash but a moment stayed,
lightning's precision striking the blade,
steady groans like a castle door
a giant collapses with thunder's roar

this final glimpse of the general's sight
was a young boy's face lit up by light
now the king, a smoking heap
dead as dead, no soul to keep,

the grown up soldiers gaped in awe
at what their eyes clearly saw
then in fear they turned and ran
from this unknown very young man

afore the innocent, forces would hew
unfalls the child forfended by Faith
unguided reapers are given their due
afore the innocent, forces would hew
Love's storms liberate as on cue
none the blessed will they scathe
afore the innocent, forces would hew
unfalls the child forfended by Faith

A land that imaginings ne'er to touch
the make-believe wildlife seem as such
critters that bellow monstrous sounds
or springing delicates with leaps and bounds

raging rivers from mountains high
tree busy jungles that block the sky
lakes so huge they change the weather
brown mud banks that seem as leather

in this place a village small
a circle of children 'round an old man tall
from the west approached a squall
troubled the children seated all

the old man then told them a story
about a freeing storm of glory
ignored then they, this stormy gale
listening intently to Blessing's tale.

children saved by one of they
who stood by the calling thunder
whose only weapon was to pray
children saved by one of they
thru certain death did he stay
as storms tossed the bad asunder
children saved by one of they
who stood by the calling thunder

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Call of the Storm by Luke Aditsan Copyright © 2012 by Luke Aditsan. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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