Oh Helene, you evil bitch
Flying in like the wicked witch
With endless hunger for destruction
Billowing through without obstruction
Wind so strong trees snapped like twigs
And rain so hard the rivers grew big
The floods came fast without warning
Oh, what horrors when came morning
Thousands left stranded without power
Mountains of food now gone sour
For those still missing we feel such dread
Because many we know are already dead
Now here we are in a state of shock
Full of pain and grief around the clock
Though our healing won’t be rushed
We know our spirits won’t be crushed
Like the phoenix we will rise
You’ll see the fire back in our eyes
We might be down just for a while
But already you can see us smile!

​

_________________________________________________________________

Keith Acker lives in Western North Carolina near Asheville and witnessed first hand the devastation of Hurricane Helene. He wrote this poem in dedication to the people who have lost so much and seen so much.

​An old man stood on a tall grassy hill, staring 
into the distance. His blue jeans and knapsack 
implied he was not on business, just passing 
through. He was looking for something.

In his youth, His family had kept a small village 
going. He knew this, he had helped. They were 
the quiet folk behind the scenes, made
everything work.  

Wood collected, cut for fires, seeds gathered, 
sowed, crops weeded, watered — harvested; 
no one went hungry. Graves dug, prayers said, 
bodies buried. New generations took their place.

He had traveled alone, no signs to follow.
Sunflowers grew everywhere the eye could see 
randomly in fields along train tracks, 
no one watching over them.

Remnants of a few small structures, he looked
for something familiar, sure he was in the right
spot. Now open fields, dirt roads, setting sun. 
How could it all be gone?

He heard voices in his mind from old town’s folk, 
horses neighing in their barns, birds flying by
in flocks, swooping down, disappearing in 
the brush for supper, sleep.

How could anyone want this to disappear?
What purpose could it possible serve? 
Were there alternatives?  
Did anyone ask?

There are many attributes a person has who is given the call to help others in need
Within their heart, there is a different mind set
A different way of viewing people, their financial status, their backgrounds, abilities and disabilities
It is the core of this heart that drives their hands to do good works
This heart sees people just as they are, as fellow human beings deserving a second chance
And so it directs those hands to treat them with kindness, dignity and respect
It knows that money is just material and may come and go in the skip of that heartbeat
And so it directs these hands to start helping at the very foundation of a person’s basic needs and begins to build them up from there
When it comes to a person’s background and past, it is well versed in the concept of how life’s seasons can cause people to fall into times of challenge
Decisions can be made be it right, wrong or indifferent – often all in the name to survive the storm of life .Others may agree or disagree with these choices but in the end
The heart of these helping hands still chooses to offer comfort and a moment of safe space to those affected- simply because it feels it is the right thing to do despite popular opinion
The heart understands that all people are not made the same and this is ok
So it accepts people exactly how they are, embraces their differences, applauds even the tiniest of glow of good moral character and lifts them up for what they can do instead of simply noting their shortcomings
The heart of the helping hands feeds its own soul through the kind deeds done for others
This is the only payment it receives and often it leaves the owner of these hands feeling like they have received more from others than they feel they have even given
There are many people who possess these helping hands, you will hear about them showing up around the world to aid those in need stricken by disaster
For those of you who have not yet awakened the helping hands you may have
The advice I offer is quite clear: look deep inside the heart of your helping hands and ask yourself these questions ….
When was the last time I did something unselfish for others? What do I have to offer? When and how will I begin to make someone else’s day just a little brighter?
It is the morals hidden like a rare jewel found within the depths of the heart of the helping hands that will lead the way –
It is my wish that more people in the world will choose to activate the heart of their helping hands, join others in helping those in need, perhaps they will, someday.
 


​
_________________________________________________________________
This poet often writes about nature, self-care and social injustice and they can be found volunteering consistently throughout the year for various community events.  It is under the pen name MD David that they write to honor their family members who have since passed.

​I saw a lone
Blue butterfly
With a broken wing
But she could fly.

Her spirit fragile
As she found her way
Through life's struggles
For another day.

She reminded me
Of my former life,
Where I lived
As a battered wife

With bruises blue
And a tattered heart--
Now years later,
I've got a brand new start

With a man who sees me
For all I am.
I am not perfect
But he understands.

With this new chapter
I turn the page,
And life's blessings
Take center stage.

As the butterfly
With the broken wing
Moves along
To brighter things,

Her life she knew
Is not the same,
But she learned to fly
Through the rain.

Like that butterfly,
I feel so free.
I fly to new heights
And with my man I see,

My spirit soar
To beautiful things--
With a future bright

Colored glass panes of cerulean, saffron, chartreuse and tyrian purple, 
that once cast rainbow flickers across the worn, wooden floors. 
Sheets of bubbled, blown glass, foiled and leaded, 
formerly tasked with casting luminous jewel-tones across a tiny kitchen table.
Crystalline, elegant flutes tasked with holiday toasts.
Charming, vintage coffee mugs, worn from use,
accustomed to holding a warm, much needed morning shot of energy.
Remnants of a life well-lived, a life once free from hardship and rapt with peace of mind,
lay violently fractured, broken, and scattered in the ruins.
Destructive forces somehow created fragile, miniscule pieces 
now unable to be returned to their assigned purpose.
The collection and reassembling of the tiny fragments proceeds at 
what can only seem a mind-numbingly slow pace.
Yet, when collected, sorted and polished these broken memories will meld together; 
creating a mosaic of variegated brilliance - 
A vision of the future, fashioned from the tears of the past. 



​
 
_________________________________________________________________
Michelle Burgess-Morris spent her childhood between the mountains of Appalachia and the oceans of the Eastern Shore. After 30 years as an educator, she is now pursuing her lifelong dream of becoming a writer. Her poetry has been included in multiple anthologies including Harmonic Verse Poems for the Holidays, Gathering A Poetry Anthology, Poets of the Promise an Anthology of Poetry and The Maryland Bards Poetry Review 2024. The proud mother of three has also published a book of her poetry titled Write Yourself Out of the Nightmare.

There’s an eerie silence
that follows a hurricane
Unlike the cacophony
of songbirds singing
and screech owls bidding
good day to the dawn
There’s an eerie silence
 
Only dripping and tapping
and water everywhere
dripping and splashing
from thrashed trees
and tapping of puppy toes
on sidewalks and streets
Only dripping and tapping
 
Walking between the raindrops
I relieve the anxiety that hides
deep in my inner core
accepting that these storms
foreshadow a riotous
hurricane season to come
Walking between the raindrops
 
Today I embrace the silence
drip and splash with puppies
and simply and gratefully
walk between the raindrops

_________________________________________________________________
Sheila Nielsen writes poetry as a way to stay sane. She dabbles in all forms of poetry and finds inspiration in everyday life and in the natural world.