Poem: The Being of Anger

The Being of Anger

Low tide and the waves are calmly at a distance.
The high tide has left both flotsam and beauty,
eternal art, ever changing.

This is where you come when the weather is too much,
and you are stirred by the fury of it all, knowing
you are not your best when filled with anger and fear.

You are tired of the flurry and bluster.
It has been a season of anger, too much
for one unaccustomed to vexation, one who fled

anger as much as people and place,
and you have found it here, in the very northern climes
your father warned you against. The thought makes you smile.

But no one escapes to peace in every moment
and you are no exception. Anger still seethes.
Each act reminds you of others, a habit of hate

that we have become far too comfortable with.

But not you. You will never find comfort in the anger,
even when it is a necessary thing. So you come here,
you listen to the distant waves, you savor the sand.

You remember. You are passing through, no more.
Anger is energy, a thing to use, not abuse.
Never, you remind yourself here at the edge of the sea,

never let it make you less than you were made to be,
only more, only to serve the things you treasure,
the best of you, not the worst.

Be courageously kind. Be gentle in justice.
Be firm as the grasses in the field,
hold together the soil and souls you love.

Be unrelenting in love. Even in anger, love.
Leave your mark. It matters, even if only
for the season of the tide, it matters.

You breath in the salt air. The respite has calmed you.
The anger is where it needs to be. A beast under control,
ready to wield, a righteous soul, ready finally, for battle.

About this poem.

I have problems processing anger. And the events of the past week stirred up a lot of it. It is still seething because it was not an event, but a culmination of events that diminished, divided, and were designed to destroy. Each of them added a new layer of anger. So what I am feeling is not just the storming of the Capital, but all that led to it over years.

There’s a way to deal with anger and make it work for us. I am trying to get to that place. I am not there, but I know the path. I’ll get there.

Be well. Travel wisely,



  1. Well spoken Tom, understand the sentiments in my own life also. The Road with Bobby has been very bumpy and I have dealt with my own anger. Peace Brother. Love you,

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