Gary's Musings

Vernet’s “Storm”

The seaside bluff shrouded under a murky veil

I awaken from thick damp slumber,

Irritated as hell

The debut of the day,

Mutating from groggy to an obscure coastal narcosis

The sky angry,

A charcoal collage of inland moving billows and swirls


Outside my window, the sea expresses its temper

Utterly pissed and possessed

Something is stewing

Vast black waters and whitecaps brewing



The familiar muted static roar is pervasive

I crack the pane to take-in the Sea’s rumblings

On the horizon,

Thunderous powder kegs of salt spray vault off of exiled Sea rocks

Stern waves slam the steep granolith shoreline

The oft still inlet beneath me rendered defenseless


Reverberating up through the ancient foot-worn oak Ardeche floors

Penetrating the soles of my morning slippers

Earthly tremors of deafening decibels forge their way inside my chambers

Shaking’s of subtle seismic proportions born of liquid mass and motion unfolding

Enjoining my every extremity with its nasty vibe, its frenetic dissipation


Swaying frantically in the foreground

My seaward gaze is interrupted by gnarled horizontal Cypress boughs

Twisted disfigurement,

A byproduct of the Sea’s ceaseless toil


Rushing offshore,

The sturdy Santa Ana’s strip and birth a Spindrift from the tips of marching waves

The reverse dispersion bucking the forward-folding-kinetics of the surf

Airborne spoils accumulating into a sunken smothering bog-like fog


Perched and clinging to overhanging appendages

Hitchcock’s infamous gawking Crow’s

Ravenous wicked black birds braving the bitter stiff salt spray

The entirety of the scene draped in a diffuse macabre fitting of Poe’s allegories 


And as the days gray becomes me,

Nature knows no pity

I am stricken

Transfused with an indulgent form of loneliness

A loathing self-reflection on life’s faded romance

The stormy sea reminiscent of a furious eighteenth-century Vernet

Broken and washed ashore

The paintings invisible hapless victim

My soul