Thunder At Night
Restless and hot two children lay
Plagued with uneasy dreams,
Each wandered lonely through false day
A twilight torn with screams.
True to the bed-time story, Ben
Pursued his wounded bear,
Ann dreamed of chattering monkey men,
Of snakes twined in her hair...
Now high aloft above the town
The thick clouds gather and break,
A flash, a roar, and rain drives down:
Aghast the young things wake.
Trembling for what their terror was,
Surprised by instant doom,
With lightning in the looking glass,
Thunder that rocks the room.
The monkeys' paws patter again,
Snakes hiss and flash their eyes:
The bear roars out in hideous pain:
Ann prays: her brother cries.
They cannot guess, could not be told
How soon comes careless day,
With birds and dandelion gold,
Wet grass, cool scents of May.
poem by Robert Graves
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Snakes In The Grass
Snakes in the grass
sliding and slithering
furtively so slow,
can attack so quickly
but at least you know.
The real snakes in the grass
sidling and creeping
slowly so you won't see,
approach from out of nowhere
lest they be
noticed at all.
They watch the fall
then slither away
and take it all,
your peace, your harmony,
your way of existing
as they are co-existing
right in your sight.
These are the snakes
that speak with forked tongue
to our innocent ones, oh so young.
They coerce them like the
serpent in Eden.
So our youth
can't ever stop the bleedin'.
For snakes in the grass
are leading the way
with everything false
into moral decay.
How do we stop these
snakes in the grass?
They've been around
since time's begun.
We must turn a deaf ear
to every last one.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Wet Monkey ll
wearing not a stitch and peered over the palm trees
at the gray sky lit pink by the coming-up sun,
as the birds chattered indifferently. The green walls
of Casa Verde stood on the edge of a rain forest
dark at that hour but livened here and there,
sometime by a orange-yellow flash,
a jungle bird whose name escapes me now
capering the treetops.
The pool dreamed-an aquamarine in a tile bezel
azure water slapping its sides
turbulence with no clear source.
Something told me there was no time to waste;
Wrapping myself in the sheet, I raced downstairs
into the yard, over the wet grass
and through the picket gate to the pool's edge
where the cause of the noise became clear.
An intrepid monkey-foolish and young-hoping to cop a drink
had tumbled into the spill
Now monkeys can't swim-don't ask why, it's true:
that's why you've never seen one doing the crawl.
Arboreal, maybe they don't care to learn.
In any case, this one, true to type, couldn't.
As kids we were taught to be monkey-wary
they're not friendly and carry disease.
But here was a monkey....
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Snakes
Listen to them hiss and rattle!
Snakes in fear...
A way of life comes to a close.
And from under rocks...
They've been shakened and shocked,
From their comfort zones.
Listen to them hiss and rattle!
Snakes awakened,
Feeling threatened...
But certainly not mistaken.
For a diminished way of life,
Too many for too long have condoned!
A venom inflicted,
Now comes to afflict them.
No longer can they sting and bite.
In sight they are now for everyone to see...
Just how desperate,
Snakes can be.
When they are revealed...
To be the reason behind the poisoning done.
And snakes they are!
Doing their best,
To keep themselves from getting stung!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Storm
The clouds turned to gray
The air turned to cold
And I knew by that day
Some evil would unfold.
It arrived without a warning
Along with the pounding rain
And it was gone by the morning
As violently as it came.
But for that night I lived in terror
That night I lived in fright
With every sound I heard
With every flash of light.
Violently came the wind
Terrorizing with no form
Then came the thunder and lightning,
Arriving, was the storm.
Many trees I saw bent
Then God clapped his mighty hand
While many trees were refusing to fall,
But then, a tree didn't stand.
Rushing came the wind
Pounding came the rain
Crashing came the thunder
Quickly, came my pain.
Underneath my bed I hid
From the terror of the storm
And in pain and terror I cried
In horror and pain I moaned.
That night I lived in terror
That night I lived in fright
With every sound I heard
With every flash of light.
And the rain just kept falling
More tears I began to weep
For the wind just kept calling,
Then that night; I fell asleep.
Then morning she finally came
I awoke to the sound of peace and birds
The sound of thunder and rain was gone
Which had awoke my sleeping world.
Then outside towards the sky I stared,
To the clouds God he did call
I saw Gods hand moving the wind
Commanding the rain not to fall.
Then the sun began to shine
So on my knees I fell to pray
Then again, I began to cry
Thanking God; the storm had went away.
poem by Randy McClave
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Man and his Makers
1.
I am one of the wind's stories,
I am a fancy of the rain,-
A memory of the high noon's glories,
The hint the sunset had of pain.
2.
They dreamed me as they dreamed all other;
Hawthorn and I, I and the grass,
With sister shade and phantom brother
Across their slumber glide and pass.
3.
Twilight is in my blood, my being
Mingles with trees and ferns and stones;
Thunder and stars my lips are freeing,
And there is sea-rack in my bones.
4.
Those that have dreamed me shall out-wake me,
But I go hence with flowers and weeds;
I am no more to those who make me
Than other drifting fruit and seeds.
5.
And though I love them -mourn to leave them-
Sea, earth and sunset, stars and streams,
My tears, my passing do not grieve them . . .
Other dreams have they, other dreams.
poem by Muriel Stuart
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The Moutain Cloud
Clouds gather, the monkeys gawk over the trees
With fright, cover their babies on bellies
A lone bird flaps its wings away to nest
The dark clouds gather over the mountain
People point with glee, the drought be would over
Trees sway and dance, the storm so strong
Lightening spits fire with golden streaks
Patter patter, patter patter, heaven gates open
Rivers flow with gusto, farmers sing with passion
As monkeys curse, the birds sleep with glee.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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A Voice On The Wind
I
She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
II
Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
III
She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
IV
Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
V
'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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The Shag
"What is that great bird, sister, tell me,
Perched high on the top of the crag?"
"'T is the cormorant, dear little brother;
The fishermen call it the shag."
"But what does it there, sister, tell me,
Sitting lonely against the black sky?"
"It has settled to rest, little brother;
It hears the wild gale wailing high."
"But I am afraid of it, sister,
For over the sea and the land
It gazes, so black and so silent!"
"Little brother, hold fast to my hand."
"Oh, what was that, sister? The thunder?
Did the shag bring the storm and the cloud,
The wind and the rain and the lightning?"
"Little brother, the thunder roars loud.
"Run fast, for the rain sweeps the ocean;
Look! over the light-house it streams;
And the lightning leaps red, and above us
The gulls fill the air with their screams."
O'er the beach, o'er the rocks, running swiftly,
The little white cottage they gain;
And safely they watch from the window
The dance and the rush of the rain.
But the shag kept his place on the headland,
And when the brief storm had gone by,
He shook his loose plumes, and they saw him
Rise splendid and strong in the sky.
Clinging fast to the gown of his sister,
The little boy laughed as he flew;
"He is gone with the wind and the lightning!
And -- I am not frightened, -- are you?"
poem by Celia Thaxter
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Lingers
The rain is gone,
It's pitter patter silent,
It's accompaniment of thunder quiet,
It's ensemble of lightning dark,
but the smell still lingers.
The soft breeze carries the scent,
A cool night with damp grass,
The animals hide in dry brush,
The people tucked away at home,
The air thick with the weight of silence,
The thunder once so loud and startling,
Now distant and still moving further,
The lightening once so bright and threatening,
Now a distant glow that illuminates the horizon,
The storm has passed.
And like the rain,
you are gone for now,
Too far from my grasp,
For now my arms are empty,
But your smell still lingers.
The breeze from the open window carries your scent,
A cool night with warm sheets,
The restless hearts calmed,
The racing thoughts slowed,
The air thick with new memories and feelings.
The sounds once so crisp and real,
Now the silent rise and fall of chests,
The light in our eyes once so bright and alluring,
Now hidden behind closed lids,
The storm has passed.
The rain now as calm as our dreams,
And the storm as silent as our breathing,
Until once again the lightning will strike,
And our eyes light up again,
But for now, the smell still lingers.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Polly puts the kettle on
Polly puts the kettle on
Snakes rattle on insane
Round the kettle rattle on
All she puts is in vain
Polly bottles water deep
The taps mocks her ‘bravo’
But water steam stubborn peeps
The dishes clatter NO
‘The steam’s too high
Up on a ceiling
It winds too nigh
To a broken feeling’
‘What’ asks Polly
‘Hiss’ say snakes
‘What’s at stake
When kettles break? ’
‘What? ! ’ screams Polly
‘Hiss’ snakes curl
‘Ha ha ha ha ha ah
You bottle a whirl
My fair lady! ’
‘Why? ’ shouts Polly
‘Hiss’ snakes hide
Dragging down the water deep
‘Who? ’ asks Polly
The steam still glides
A broken feeling leaps
With heart in utter fear
‘Don’t ask for your daddy
He’s not ever here
My fair lady! ’
‘How? ’ stammers Polly
‘Has it happened?
Oh what a mistake to make!
To ever put the kettle on
When I’m not ready for the tea
My fingers are burnt
They swell in pain
I’ll just have to learn
Not to do that again! ’
See also Pollyteaparty by the same author
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Nature's Fury (The Deluge)
As the month of June draws near,
Summer loosens its fiery grip,
Cool blows the wind, sweeping the humid air,
And dark clouds gather in distant skies.
Sound of thunder falls in rumbling notes,
Flash of lightning sears the sky,
Soon comes the sound of falling rain,
Pitter - Patter, it falls on roofs and walls.
Rain has come after a scorching spell,
Bathing the Earth in splendid shower,
It washes the leaves in sparkling green,
And fills up every pond and well.
Fishes dance in winding streams,
Frogs croak in pools of green,
Children play with paper boats,
Puddle or pool, they hardly care.
Deep or shallow they never gauge,
In tire less cheer they splash and swim,
Elders scream at their yippee pranks,
The muddy water drives them mad!
II
As it rains for days on end,
Rivers swell and hollows fill,
Land mass slips and trees fall,
Hurricane comes and oceans rise,
Waves surf and waters roar,
Like mountains, they lash at receding shores,
Fisher men evicted from thatched huts,
Helter-skelter, they flee for life.
Lands inundate and folks marooned,
Epidemics break loose, livestock perish,
Crops fail and misery prevails,
Havoc wreaks and penury strikes.
As Nature plays her perfidious trick,
We stand aghast, unable to move or act,
Horror strikes us dazed and dead.
When the Deluge chants the dirge of dying souls!
poem by Valsa George
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Night Of The Wolf
Streets are full of rain
Lightning cracks the sky
Hear a lonely cry, eyes full of pain
Searchin in the darkness
Eyes pierce the night
Calling for her young one
As she walks towards the light
Its the night of the wolf
Hear the cry of the wolf
Streets paved with gold
Night gives out a warning
Theres thunder in her heart
And mother wolf is calling
Searchin in the shadows
For the one she must save
She cries out a prayer
Like a song from beyond the grave
The bells will toll
No one will sleep tonight
While she alone will
Walk the streets tonight
Sun begins to rise
All the streets washed with rain
Still hear her cries
Eyes burnt with pain
Returning to the twilight
Betrayed by the night
Screaming for her young one
As she walks towards the light
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Light - That Sound
'I've noticed that light before, ' she said,
'In the pale of the dawn
In a passing storm,
In the eyes of a child having fun;
In the stories I'm told
In the glitter of gold
In the habit of many a nun.'
'I've noticed that sound before, ' she said,
'In the tinkle of glass
In the whisper of grass
In the ring of an ambulance bell;
In the patter of rain
In a whimper of pain
In the secrets that children tell.'
18 May 1971
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 12
How many times have we been interrupted
Just as I was about to make up a story for you!
One time it was because we suddenly saw a firefly
Lighting his green lantern among the boughs of a fir-tree.
Marvellous! Marvellous! He is making for himself
A little tent of light in the darkness!
And one time it was because we saw a lilac lightning flash
Run wrinkling into the blue top of the mountain, —
We heard boulders of thunder rolling down upon us
And the plat-plat of drops on the window,
And we ran to watch the rain
Charging in wavering clouds across the long grass of the field!
Or at other times it was because we saw a star
Slipping easily out of the sky and falling, far off,
Among pine-dark hills;
Or because we found a crimson eft
Darting in the cold grass!
These things interrupted us and left us wondering;
And the stories, whatever they might have been,
Were never told.
A fairy, binding a daisy down and laughing?
A golden-haired princess caught in a cobweb?
A love-story of long ago?
Some day, just as we are beginning again,
Just as we blow the first sweet note,
Death itself will interrupt us.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Rush of Rain
little girl
sits all alone
daddy is gone
momma is never home
baby brother
don't be scared
let me comb
your tangled hair
wounded hands
wounded knees
God let it be over
please, please, please
brother's dad is drunk again
empty cage, lion's den
run brother run!
betrayal has begun
she picks him up
dries his eyes
running for their place to hide
fist hits flesh
skies of thunder
the rush of rain
a little girl wonders
little brother
kisses her broken lips
oh sissy momma
let me fix, let me fix
she wants to run, run away
she wants to tell
tell, what to say
so young, so lonely
dreaming to be free
hush little brother
you're safe with me
poem by Melissa Cambronero
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Johnny Thunder
Johnny thunder lives on water, feeds on lightning.
Johnny thunder dont need no one, dont want money.
And all the people of the town,
They cant get through to johnny, they will never, ever break him down.
Johnny thunder speaks for no one, goes on fighting.
And sweet helena in bed[? ] prays for johnny.
Ba ba-ba ba ba-ba ba,
Ba ba-ba ba ba-ba ba,
Thunder and lightning.
Ba ba-ba ba ba-ba ba,
Ba ba-ba ba ba-ba ba,
Thunder and lightning.
Though everybody tried their best,
Old johnny vowed that he would never, ever end up like the rest.
Johnny thunder rides the highway, moves like lightning.
But sweet helena just says, God bless johnny.
Ba ba-ba ba ba-ba ba,
Ba ba-ba ba ba-ba ba,
Thunder and lightning.
Ba ba-ba ba ba-ba ba,
Ba ba-ba ba ba-ba ba,
Thunder and lightning.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Face Up
Ever since Ive seen your face
This life of mine has gone to waste
I was young and you were old
And I always knew you were cold
At the start you had a heart
But in the end you lost your friend
Can you see your own dark face?
Its dieing in a lonely place
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
As we get old, we lose our place
Reflecting back the worlds disgrace
I feel so low, I feel so humble
Sometimes in life we take a tumble
Dont let anybody tell you that youre no good
Cause you know they would
Dont let anybody tell you what you should do
Cause its not that way and...
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
We were young and we were pure
And life was just an open door
I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
You were me and I was you
This world of ours it felt brand new
You took me a little further...
I heard it all before, Ive heard it all before
I cant hear it anymore
Your hair was long, your eyes was blue
Guess what Im gonna do to you
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
We were young and we were pure
And life was just an open door
I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought...
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
We were young and we were pure...
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers
Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers
Are lying in field and lane,
With dandelions to tell the hours
That never are told again.
Oh may I squire you round the meads
And pick you posies gay?
--'Twill do no harm to take my arm.
'You may, young man, you may.'
Ah, spring was sent for lass and lad,
'Tis now the blood runs gold,
And man and maid had best be glad
Before the world is old.
What flowers to-day may flower to-morrow,
But never as good as new.
--Suppose I wound my arm right round--
''Tis true, young man, 'tis true.'
Some lads there are, 'tis shame to say,
That only court to thieve,
And once they bear the bloom away
'Tis little enough they leave.
Then keep your heart for men like me
And safe from trustless chaps.
My love is true and all for you.
'Perhaps, young man, perhaps.'
Oh, look in my eyes then, can you doubt?
--Why, 'tis a mile from town.
How green the grass is all about!
We might as well sit down.
--Ah, life, what is it but a flower?
Why must true lovers sigh?
Be kind, have pity, my own, my pretty,--
'Good-bye, young man, good-bye.'
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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I am suffering from insomnia
I am suffering from insomnia
I spend sleepless nights.
The cry of a newborn baby,
abandoned in Ramna Park,
renders Sukantu’s declaration a lie.
Sitting on the sidewalk, under the shade of a banyan tree,
near the Ministry of Foreign Affairs
who is she, begging with pale sad eyes?
A tired hungry child cries,
his hands clutching her shoulders.
As I look at her why does the face
of an Afghan boy, his face torn
by cluster bomb, rise before my eyes?
Why do I see the faces of young people,
children and old women,
wildly running in every direction?
why do I see so many coffins
full of martyrs’ corpses?
why is these such a long procession of tears?
When I see such things,
tell me, please, how can I go to sleep?
The cries of my brother, the cries of my mother
break my heart.
I know, the frightened shriek
of a young maiden
will not stop their air raids.
We know, the tears of the gecko
did not stop the fire’s holocaust.
Yet it is true that these days
I do not sleep well.
A mighty migraine performs a sacred ritual
inside my head
and prays for sorrow and pain.
------
poem by Shafiqul Islam
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A visit to the Museum
On a sultry evening we took our son to the museum
To show him the wild animals that so far we have been showing him through the kid-land charts and posters and animal planet
There were three four varieties of macaque monkeys, peacocks and fowls, buffaloes, one lion, two tigers, some pale pelicans and strokes, a large number of amber colored deer, and three elephants, few buffaloes and bears, some other pale birds and snakes and other fowls
Each cage has got a description and a sign board
Himalayan bear
Bear enclosure inaugurated by Mr. /Mrs.(name of a minister)
Then the species description
So many such pits and pens were there, instated and commissioned by ministers and delegates
It is the time when ministers are minters.
We shut these innocent savages,
These creepy –crawly reptiles in the cages,
And label them wild animals,
They will roar, shout, bellow and eat raw flesh
disparity between the bipolarities,
black and white, animal and human
Black is a shade of brown and so is white –Updike said so
Animal is there in man, isn’t it?
Then, why we keep them in pit and pen?
To call them wild beasts.
Then who are we?
Don’t we shout, clamour, hoot and hiss.