Womanly Beast: A poem


So, what’s left of Hurricane Gonzalo has come over to the UK, and has left it’s mark known. And as I walked to college, I watched the leaves in the sky, and the trees rattling, and the pipes creaking on the houses. And I wrote this. The Poem is called ‘Womanly Beast’.

An autumn day.
on the tail end of October.
Tragedy strikes.
She arrives, with great emotion.

I open the door.
I step out of the house.
And she roars.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
And I walk on.

The trees tremble in fear.
As the beast makes her presence known.
they shake.
she cries.
and groans and whistles are heard.

Leaves run.
as her shrill voice shouts.
A distinct mix of confidence and emotion.
timid leaves run.

They are scattered.
running in all directions.
No escape from her.
For she is everywhere.

The houses stand erect.
Their faces show no fear in the face of her wrath.
Yet, you hear their voices.
The pipes creak.
almost as if they groan.

And as I walk, this mundane path.
puddles rock and move as she marches.
for as she walks, she leaves a mark.
On the world which she calls home.

The people of this earth, no caring for her woes.
Do their daily routines.
she gets louder, angrier.
as the regular ones go about their lives.

Her shouting louder.
The trees cannot stand.
Branches are thrown to quell a beast.
as tears run down its eyes. Her eyes.

‘ROAR’ It shouts.
‘BANG’ I hear.
and a flash goes off in the distance.
I feel the pain, all in vain.

The normals hide in their brick palaces.
as the violence in the streets escalates.
Tidy leaves strewn across the ground.
Dead in the fury of the beast.

Some of the trees fell to the ground.
exhausted by fear.
drained of emotion.
dead in their hearts.

And others injured.
Fingers were broken.
They were helpless as it was ripped from their bodies.
It will grow again.

The Birds were also victim to her anger.
Aimlessly flying in the sky.
while the fury continued.
The Beast flicked them away, like flies.

The Beast is all powerful.
The Beast is Smart.
The Beast is strong.
The Beast is emotional.

The Temper Calms.
The Beast, less ferocious.
She remains strong.
And her power remains.

Fits of anger and calmness continue.
As I watch her self destruction.
She decomposes.
Her Beauty in the morning, a Nightmare in the night.

The Beast.
Her last strength depleted.
She leaves me.

I wonder, as I watch her die.
I contemplate the height of her anger.
She was seen.
Was she heard?

Goodbye, sweet woman.
Let your tenderness be your legacy.
Your anger a memory.
Let your voice be heard.

An autumn day.
On the tail end of October.
Tragedy struck.
She leaves, with great emotion.

About the author


Since 2012, Benjamin Attwood has written for the If you Ask Ben blog.

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