Where is the eye of the hurricane? – a poem

I wrote this poem at the end of last year. The end of the work and school year is so packed with events and commitments, with the added pleasure of trying to finish off various work projects and get training done before the holidays, that I felt quite frenzied at the time.

This week I have felt like this again, albeit for different reasons. Mr Fox was in hospital on Tuesday for a procedure, my Aunt had a cataract operation on the same day and my Mother went down with a bad stomach bug. They say obstacles come in threes. Well, I had all three on the same day! Of course, work was also really busy; have you ever tried working all day in a hospital?

Tuesday’s events reminded me of this poem entitled Where is the eye of the hurricane?

 

The end of the year is approaching in a fast and frightening rush;

Bringing its plethora of social, work and school events in celebration;

It should be fun, but in the frenzy, I forgot one introductory tea;

The result, recriminations from my child and emotional devastation.

 

I feel like I am living in a hurricane;

Where is the eye of the storm with its mild winds and fairer weather?

 

This year-end heralds change as we move onto the next phase of our lives;

The air, in advance of the storm, syrupy and thick; breaths unsatisfying and shallow;

We push on unknowing and unprepared, desperate to get through to the end;

Looking forward to the aftermath, where thoughts can lie dormant and fallow;

 

I feel like I am living in a hurricane;

Where is the eye of the storm with its mild winds and fairer weather?

 

The strong winds of change are blowing at speeds of 200 miles per hour;

As I stand and face them head on, I feel battered and my breath is swept away;

The stalwarts’ of our lives, built up over the past few years, rip loose and disappear;

The swirling, whirling power of the storm’s movement is impossible to relay.

 

I feel like I am living in a hurricane;

Where is the eye of the storm with its mild winds and fairer weather?

 

Lunches, dinners, examinations, prize giving’s, year-end parties, like debris floating past;

Each unidentifiable on an individual basis through the torrential rains that pour down;

We hope to negotiate the storm and survive through until we reach the other side;

We plaster on a happy smile and trudge on without a backward glance or frown.

 

I feel like I am living in a hurricane;

Where is the eye of the storm with its mild winds and fairer weather?

 

By Robbie Cheadle

Robbie and Michael Cheadle are the co-authors of the Sir Chocolate Book series

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