Nature's Allowance

In the Ocean Pacific, down Mexico way,
comes a hurricane bound and determined to say,
“I am gale of the century, so be aware
  of my well defined eye and my fast moving air.”

Ah, my name is Patricia--the storm of all storms;
I was born over water where low pressure forms.
A depression my genesis, tropical sea;
now a force, I’m well armed to be all I can be.

(All the armies of Earth cannot temper me so;
  I feed off of the sea and I go where I go.
  Seen from space, I’m imposing as cloud forms opaque;
  I’m as deadly as many a major earthquake.)

All the ones that have gone before me will now pale;
(call me hurricane, typhoon or simply big gale.)
Neither Andrew, Katrina nor Sandy will stand
as a match to my power on sea or on land.

I’m the engine of low pressure loosed to bestow
damage to the nth power as my fierce winds blow.
I was helped by El Niño--the warmth he did bring;
warmth empowers me so and it adds to my sting.

When I started my engine in Pacific calm,
I was not very far from the Island of Guam.
Like Kon-Tiki, I managed to sail as I grew
underneath a clear sky in the waters of blue.

Now as I approach land called America North,
men deemed hurricane hunters in planes venture forth.
They then radio in as they rub their eyes red;
“Winds of two hundred miles per hour!” is said.

I am targeting Mexico--coastal resorts;
maybe Puerto Vallarta, a slew of small ports.
I am child of climate with power extant;
If you want, I am climate scold, rare weather rant.

Yet I am who I am--be it so understood;
as I slam into towns I will shatter old wood.
I may bend rusted metal and snap trees in half,
but it’s not for mere kicks or a climate-based laugh.

Now I hear through the wind-vine that folks are upset
‘bout my oncoming surge, my fierce winds and my wet.
I am sorry that I give the human race fits,
because I’m only doing what nature permits.


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
10-23-15