Tempest's Fury
Tempest's Fury
'Long the horizon, I watched it form.
Harbinger, of deeds foul.
Blue sky, smiling sun obscured.
By nimbus rack, rolling dark.
Trees of the brake, as if sensing squall.
Their leaves turned askew.
'Cross my body,
puffs of breeze caressed.
Not long at all,
zephyr's whisper grew to gale's howl.
Nature's warning issued, duly I noted.
In haste, stout shelter I sought.
From safe haven I watched,
and harkened to, gust's angry pant.
As if wild beast enraged,
tossed whatever loose awry.
My refuge, I felt tremble.
As if hostage soon it might be,
of Nature's furious rant.
Roiling, for whatever unknown temptation,
enticed its wrath.
Yet, one thought my mind entertained.
To what extent 'fore ceasing,
might this tempest rage?
To yield once again,
to blue sky, smiling sun.
19Jun11
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Related quotes
Wrath
Day, night, distinction obscured.
By flashes of Nature’s wrath, illuminated.
Naught but nimbus rack, agitated blackness.
All, including immortal Gods, seek shelter.
Is this illustration of elements?
Voicing contempt at ignorant disrespect,
of the sea’s, invincible might?
Indiscriminately, does the deep wreck havoc?
With mounting animosity, the sea seethes.
Displaying disregard, emits unbridled fury.
Demonstrating visibly, obvious fact.
Defense none, shall triumph o’er her ire.
To the sea’s might, the ship, minuscule speck.
Makes tedious way toward the nearest haven.
From angry tempest’s clutches, escape she attempts.
Escape, to the calm of safe harbor.
Visible stern reprisal, fuming sea dispatches.
Intimidated, a wise retreat, the crew mounts.
To the however brief shelter,
the pitching, rolling, craft provides.
Their craft’s Master, himself at the helm.
Coaxes forth all the power,
the straining engines can produce.
To maintain way, evading, devastation obvious.
Topping swell’s alpine crest, this ship,
hesitating but an instant’s span, to see.
A light fleeting, glimmers bright.
Could safe haven, be not far?
Wrestling mightily with the helm.
“Yes! I see the sign! ” he barked,
To only the spirits, inhabiting darkened bridge.
The Skipper’s voice apparent.
With visible, manifest of compassion.
The sea relents, wavers in its frenzy.
Seizing the opportunity presented.
Toward breach in white surf, the craft races.
From raging sea, and Death’s door,
to the calm of secure haven.
Escape, from tempest to solace.
Storm weary vessel makes her break.
09Mar09
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Hymn 42
Divine wrath and mercy.
Nah. 1:1-3; Heb. 12:29.
Adore and tremble, for our God
Is a consuming fire!
His jealous eyes his wrath inflame,
And raise his vengeance higher.
Almighty vengeance, how it burns!
How bright his fury glows!
Vast magazines of plagues and storms
Lie treasured for his foes.
Those heaps of wrath, by slow degrees,
Are forced into a flame;
But kindled, oh! how fierce they blaze!
And rend all nature's frame.
At his approach the mountains flee,
And seek a wat'ry grave;
The frighted sea makes haste away,
And shrinks up every wave.
Through the wide air the weighty rocks
Are swift as hailstones hurled;
Who dares engage his fiery rage
That shakes the solid world?
Yet, mighty God, thy sovereign grace
Sits regent on the throne;
The refuge of thy chosen race
When wrath comes rushing down.
Thy hand shall on rebellious kings
A fiery tempest pour,
While we beneath thy shelt'ring wings
Thy just revenge adore.
poem by Isaac Watts
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I am being watched..
Wherever I go, I am watched,
even to the loo, I am watched,
While driving the car,
crossing the signals,
Walking in the malls,
Talking in the halls,
I am watched.
When the smoking alarms go on,
I am watched.
When the traffic tickets issued,
I am watched.
When the bills are not paid,
I am watched.
When the bills are over due,
I am warned.
When my accounts are watched,
when my status is watched,
when my orientation is watched,
What freedom do I talk about?
When my finger prints are stored,
When my eyes are photographed,
When photographs are safe kept,
What freedom do I have?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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You've Been Watched
You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You've been watched a lot.
You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You've been watched a lot.
Whenever you misbehave,
You've been watched a lot.
Whatever it is you say,
You've been watched a lot.
It would behoove if you,
Turned it up a notched.
You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You've been watched a lot.
You've been watched.
No matter what you might have,
Or might have not.
You've been watched a lot.
There are snoopers dedicated.
You've been watched a lot.
No matter how careful you make it.
You've been watched a lot.
Even simple things you do...
They may say you do that too!
You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You've been watched a lot.
You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You are being watched nonstop.
There are snoopers dedicated.
You've been watched a lot.
No matter how careful you make it.
You've been watched a lot.
Even simple things you do...
They may say you do that too!
People are so fascinated,
They fantasize you being naked.
You've been watched,
Around the clock.
You are being watched...
Nonstop.
You've been watched,
Around the clock.
You are being watched...
Nonstop.
You've been watched,
Around the clock.
You are being watched...
Nonstop.
Nonstop.
You've been watched!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Reflections On A Storm
There was a calm felt before the storm
and also some uneasiness in every form
a hushed anticipation of what was soon to be
perhaps a fateful outcome of each one’s destiny.
During this time it became very dark and foreboding
that everything around lost all its charm and standing.
Suddenly there were flashes of lightning and clashes of thunder,
which rolled from the clouds, seen and heard by all there under.
Then a strong wind blew and a heavy rain began to fall
lashing onto everything around as it turned into a squall.
As the tempest raged on in a crescendo and reached its peak;
turning day into night and night into day, all seemed so bleak.
There many creatures all scampered and sought the safety of shelter,
out of the maelstrom unleashed by nature, in a state of helter-skelter.
They all knew their places when it came to that threat of danger;
out of harms reach they tried to flee even if it was with a stranger.
After the storm had spent all its fury and slowly subsided
a calm settled in again which had lately just been divided.
And all appeared to have been molested and somewhat shaken
as light broke through the clouds to make that day re-awaken.
While the storm in its wake seemed to have wreaked much devastation
the forces which had come into play reminded one of the act of creation,
when those seeds of life were implanted ages ago at the very beginning,
causing all things to gradually spring into existence with some meaning.
poem by George Krokos
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The Yesterday
As days and months, and
twisted years,
Quickly found their way,
Suddenly, I returned to the
yesterday.
I sat, and watched a cloud
float by,
Slowly across the Azure sky.
Heard a whisper, in the trees,
Thought I felt you in a breeze.
Sought a flower for your hair,
When I reached, you were'nt
there.
poem by Heather Burns
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They Tremble
The winter wind is wonderfully warm today,
clouds, contrails mostly, criss-cross the sky,
white spaghetti in blue sauce, and spicy
The trees rock gently in the desert's breath
birds play games merrily in the sky,
wild squirrels dance psychotic summersaults
It is morning, the must of mondays is moribund
soothing shadows sing with simmering spirits,
dust and debris lies dead on the driveway,
In the car we huddle, and I tune to bluegrass
we drive, far up the canyons, smiling and laughing
here we are, finally; on this back country road
Here blue brush bows along the bumpy road,
hawks hang high above in hungry harmony
and gum trees gather in guarded groves
We watch the trees, listen to the subdued wind
a moment only, we see the leaves tremble
they tremble, and then one by one, they fall
poem by Poet Dragon
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Paradise Blessed
Rippling blue, sky's reflection,
Sea and river, winds direction.
Water lapping, briskly flowing,
Twinkling facets, motion growing.
Sunshine glinting, sparkling array,
Shining sunbeams, jewelled ballet.
Waves disturbing, turning grey,
Lightning flashes, sparks ricochet.
Gloom descending, thunder cracks,
Whipping twister, storm attacks.
Lashing downpour, terror felt,
Endless tumult, hailstones pelt.
Calmness gathers, squall complies,
Raindrops ceasing, uproar dies.
Gentle breezes, warming air,
Peaceful nature, silence rare.
Azure welkin, zephyr caressed,
Abundant freshness, paradise blessed.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Out Of The Depths
Lost! Lost! Lost!
The cry went up from a sea --
The waves were wild with an awful wrath,
Not a light shone down on the lone ship's path;
The clouds hung low:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Rose wild from the hearts of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
The cry floated over the waves --
Far over the pitiless waves;
It smote on the dark and it rended the clouds;
The billows below them were weaving white shrouds
Out of the foam of the surge,
And the wind-voices chanted a dirge:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Wailed wilder the lips of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Not the sign of a hope was nigh,
In the sea, in the air, or the sky;
And the lifted faces were wan and white,
There was nothing without them but storm and night
And nothing within but fear.
But far to a Father's ear:
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Floated the wail of the tempest-tossed.
Lost! Lost! Lost!
Out of the depths of the sea --
Out of the night and the sea;
And the waves and the winds of the storm were hushed,
And the sky with the gleams of the stars was flushed.
Saved! Saved! Saved!
And a calm and a joyous cry
Floated up through the starry sky,
In the dark -- in the storm -- 'Our Father' is nigh.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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On The Dark Height of Jura
I.
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,
When o’er the dark aether the tempest is swelling,
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal passed?
II.
For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura
Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath;
Oft have I braved the chill night-tempest's fury,
Whilst around me, I thought, echoed murmurs of death.
III.
And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling,
O father! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear;
In air whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling,
It breaks on the pause of the elements' jar.
IV.
On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o'er the mountain
Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead:
On the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the fountain,
Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Website, spider style
Do spiders think? or simply learn
without a thought (well, lucky them)
by observation, as great scientists?
Does Nature do it all without a 'thought',
the spider just some robot, programmed thus?
The spider which the other day
built daring, acrobatic, gossamer bridge
across the path a guy-lined full six feet
so that to reach the gate, I had to genuflect
as if in some most holy church's aisle,
That bridge of San Luis Rey, already doomed
to break - the postman, paper boy, the milk -
I watched while seated in the sun for hours;
and as I watched, grew humbler by the minute;
myself the smaller in respect, the spider greater;
my lunch was cooking; the spider awaited (hers?) :
and we grew closer, in some unknown place in mind.
Today, a small, great miracle
of nature - who may be
beyond miracles; or yet bound in a web of law:
Neatly - thoughtfully? -
the web was now aligned
along the hedge of neighbours and ourselves.
And I was humbled by knowing nothing
worth a spider's web.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Little Long Time
At breakfast tea & some toast are nice
the TV's on I'm lying in bed
My feed are cold and my cheeks are red
I pat my real fat cat
Nobody knows my secret dreams,
Nobody knows why I can't sleep
But if you ever felt before
like I feel now you know much more.
A little long time I watched TV
A little long time I drank my tea
A little long time I tapped my feet
But all the time I thought of you
The spinach tastes like raspberry jelly
The snow sounds like the buzzards bees
The rain is like the childrens laughter
And everything is like a dream.
A little long time I watched TV
A little long time I drank my tea
A little long time I tapped my feet
But all the time I thought of you
A little long time I watched TV
A little long time I drank my tea
A little long time I tapped my feet
But all the time I thought of you
song performed by by Wonderwall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tourist
'Twas in a village in Lorraine
Whose name I quite forget,
I found I needfully was fain
To buy a serviette.
I sought a shop wherein they sell
Such articles as these,
And told a smiling mademoiselle;
'I want a towel, please.'
'Of kinds,' said she, 'I've only two,'
And took the bundles down;
And one was coloured azure blue,
And one was khaki brown.
With doubt I scratched my hoary head;
The quality was right;
The size too, yet I gravely said:
'Too bad you haven't white.'
That pretty maid had sunny hair,
Her gaze was free from guile,
And while I hesitated there
She watched me with a smile.
Then as I went to take the blue
She said 'Non' meaning no.
'Ze khaki ones are best, M'sieu:
Ze dirts zey do not show.'
poem by Robert William Service
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Creation's Demise
'Cross empty ocean of feelings aimlessly, I drift.
Canvases of my mind, sails hang slack.
Floundering, in the yen to catch
any gust, of creation's tempest.
Which, might stretch taut my canvas,
deliver me to inspiration's haven.
On the swells of thought, rising 'n' falling, I drift.
My sentinel of creativity,
scans the horizon of opportunity.
To detect any token, of that elusive species.
Poetic conception.
Faithfully, I cast forth my net of imagination.
In attempt to snare such literary prey.
With intent, to enlarge my aquarium of verse.
Time and again, yield is scarce to nil.
Still, I must persist,
lest my lust for creation.
To extinction sadly fades.
Abducted, in the undertow of failure.
25Jun10
poem by Kurt Hearth
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The Life I Live
It has been said that blue is the color of the sky although others may say
Blue is an emotion when someone is close to tears-
Sad, melancholy and disheartened-
I look upwards toward the sky on a sunny day when
I don’t feel sad and blue.
Green is the color of the leaves upon the trees, although
I have heard others say they are jealous- green or envious-
I enjoy the trees, especially in the summertime,
Blown about in a gentle and cooling breeze-
The same leaves turn yellow, gold and orange in the autumn and
Fire blazes a bright red in color-
It is the fire of my spirit that burns
When anger plagues my troubled mind-
Rain falls and puts out the fires but
The rage inside of me is a shade of red that will not be tamed.
I look upward towards the sky on a sunny day,
As the leaves upon the trees rustle in the wind-
I pray for the rain to fall to quench the fury that burns my soul-
I don’t feel melancholy blue or jealous-green-
I have days when I enjoy the colors of the autumn foliage-
But the color red of rage defines the life I live.
Today I glance upward toward the blue sky and the leaves upon the trees-
Today I feel sad and blue and close to tears because
Of the pain that the fire inside of me that is always burning-
If the sun and the trees could laugh and send me good vibrations perhaps
They would cheer me and I could capture the colors blue, green, orange and yellow-
And perhaps even red as being bold and beautiful-
And with these colors I could paint a rainbow upon my horizon and
There would be no reason for anger to smolder my heart again-
I could laugh with the sun at the splendor of the rainbow against the sky of cobalt blue- And glad to say that raging fire of resentment
Is behind me now and I never feel sad and blue because
I have repainted my world with colors of joy, happiness and eagerness
To live my new life beneath that rainbow of contentment.-
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Market!
I remember taking you shopping,
Which is something I don’t like to do.
But the memory is a pleasant one
Because I was there with you.
I watched you as you filled your cart,
While following from behind.
The graceful way you moved about,
Is branded into my mind.
You fondled some bananas,
That nearly drove me wild.
I wished I was that piece of fruit,
That thought still brings a smile.
You turned toward me bending very low
To reach something that I do not know.
My eyes were pulled like a magnet then,
Looking down your blouse, till you stood again.
You leaned over again at the check out stand.
Your tight blue jeans, enticed this man.
Shopping has become a favorite thing.
As long as you, my girl, I bring.
Let’s shop till you dropp right into my arms.
For shopping now has a fresh new charm!
If it’s raining out and I need a parka,
I now suggest, we go to the Market! (Wink wink)
poem by Robert Edgar Burns
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O! Master
Like in a bird, on an island remote,
Is trapped, the wizards powers, his toll.
Two beings, two different worlds,
My life in a different soul,
Sought more persistent than-over the rocks,
How pounding, the cajoling waves extoll.
If the woods should go bare & birds forsake,
If the fiercest tempest should break,
If the blue sky & soft breeze should retreat,
Or the earth go all damp under my feet,
In wrath, let the heavens keep up their charade,
Yet, I shall rush to keep a promise made.
Nature's vile decree,
the affinity between the flower and the bee,
One to yearn, the other to seek,
To span the distance between the moon and the sea.
Nature's sad satire,
In all girths and measures to conspire,
Grieve not- your wish is my desire.
If you would give me a sign,
That you are mine,
And I am all of your universe,
Take my hand, the distances
we could traverse,
Turn the sun, moon and stars,
To rise at your beck and call.
And in his silence see sprawl
His wondrous plan -for the wild and the brave roll,
Like a star or a soul, part of his very whole.
THE DOGGIE***8
WEDNESDAY-9th March-2011
S.J
poem by Seema joglekar
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A Greed For All Golden Eggs!
Furious attacks by Nature as earthquakes and storms,
Heart breaking scenes, are horrible imprints in mind!
Why is Nature so harsh to mankind remaining calm long?
Many poets have appreciated its beauty, grandeur, mercy
Almost to the level of Supreme Creator of all everywhere!
But Nature shows its other face though Moon hides ever!
Materialist man has taken for granted Nature's love for all
Just us we all breathing air forget ourselves of its existence!
Perhaps that's the case Nature shows its wrath of its presence!
Nay, man's blunder in exploiting natural resources beyond limit
Without any sense of recycling them at all and selling farms
For urbanisation of villages Nature shows its wrath so harsh!
Instead of thanking Nature's generous gesture man destroys
All like the greedy man who killed goose to take all golden eggs!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Ceyx And Alcione V
'So, my husband, you are dead, ' she whispered before sleep finally came, 'then, so am I.'
The next day she told her family about the dream. She didn't look well. Her hair was uncharacteristically uncombed, her clothes in disarray. They listened respectfully but glanced at each other meaningfully. Mad, poor girl.
'Mad with grief, ' they nodded.'No surprise, after what she's been through.' They did nothing, but resolved to keep an eye on her.
The next day Alcione went for a long walk. She soon came to the port the boat bearing her husband to Delphi had left from. Staring numbly out to sea, she watched the waves rise and fall, beating a ceaseless path shoreward. Then she spotted a loggy form she first thought was a large fish, then a dolphin. It slid upside the crest of one wave then down into the trough of another, working its way slowly her way. After a bit she recognized the fish-nibbled, blue jello-clad form of Ceyx. Horrified but enchanted, she watched, shielding her eyes from the sun.
'My husband, ' she sobbed, leaping into the waves and covering the form with her form. 'You have kept your promise. You have come back.'
The people (who only saw a log) were mystified, and no less so by what happened next-which proved the existence of the Gods to even the most committed skeptic. Seen by all, the fingers of her hands became long feathers. Likewise, her arms became wings. As her body lightened, she felt it borne up by the breeze. The rolling form of her husband underwent a similar change, sprouting feathers and wings. It, too, livening, was lifted, and together they found themselves coasting over the waves toward the sun, which was still morning low, seabirds together. Forever.
Her voice became a mere, shrill cry, but not before she uttered these ultimate words:
'Winds, be still, and forever be still, these late summer days, in observance of our love.'
And they were. For seven whole days at summer's end. And they still are.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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You Hear Nature's Voice
You hear Nature's voice in the river that ever flows on towards the sea
A voice destined to live forever that has lived for untold centuries
From the foothills of the high country it babbles downhill night and day
By groves and by ditches and hedgerows to saltwater it winds it's way.
You hear Nature's voice in her birdsong their music carrying in the breeze
The sounds that the freshening winds make rustling in the leaves of the trees
Some of the happier sounds of Nature though to Nature there's another side
When Nature she shouts out her anger all others from her seek a safe place to hide.
When Nature she grows very angry the fear of the World is in her cry
She shakes the Earth flattens great buildings she roars and her lightning flashes in the sky
She crackles when her forests burn leaving blackness and smoke everywhere
With the power of Nature in a fury none other can hope to compare.
You hear Nature's voice in all Seasons Winter, Spring and Summer and Fall
And you hear Nature's voice in the night-time when her nocturnal creatures do call
Nature's voice will live on forever 'tis something not destined to die
As Nature herself does not have a time span as such are for mortals such as I.
poem by Francis Duggan
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