Volcano
Deep beneath the world, it's mantle,
Covering a metallic core,
Hides what could become the shrapnel
Streams of molten, volcanic gore.
Underneath a salty, sea floor,
The wounded crust erupts from cuts
That have begun to seep somewhat
Into the blue above. There, it bleeds
A brazen rouge—bubbling and freed
From an abyss that's fissured shut.
The water boils as heat rises
To nurture nature's sunken seed.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Quaking Earth
The quaking earth
Trembles underneath me,
Cracking the sturdy ground
On which I stand.
I am shaken by this—
Roused completely—
To watch a tearing space
Lift from the land.
Below, a molten glow
Begins to burst
Forth, igniting
The deep, confined darkness
Into a frenzied blast.
I am immersed.
The jet-stream current
Of concealed, noxious
Fumes are purged
From the splitting, poisoned soil.
New minerals
Push outward from the core,
Up the mantle
To the sky and recoil
Like a heavy rain
Down upon the floor.
I fall into this volcanic fissure
To re-solidify my composure.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Happiness Can Not be Extracted.
under crust and mantle there is the core,
be not content with crust,
lustrous metals found in ore;
happiness cannot be extracted.
it is nature of our own core.
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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When The Soul Knows, It Will Go Till The Depths Of Tommorow
As the world turns
Love makes a full circle and returns
Curving the passage of a day
Like the bending of a bow
Bringing the light of wisdom your way
Appearing as the hero you know
When chaos erupts into life
With the volcanic explosion of emotion
Molten lava of love reaches for the skies
At the height of pure passion
As the world strives for tomorrow
A shooting molten arrow
Innocent and hot
Is easily dealt a passing blow
By all those low below who prey her sort
From the hollowness of sorrow
The sky becomes aglow with a molten hue
When the soul knows
It will go till the depths of tomorrow
For all spirits who are true
Whose lives are torn
Who reach dusk before dawn.
poem by Kamini Arichandran
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Come Along To The Place I Love
Come along to the place I love,
near the ocean and sparkling clear rivers
that is lovely as paradise
or a place in one’s dreams.
Let us float in the blue lagoon,
go beneath the waterfall,
feel all of the water’s kisses
while desire rises like the golden moon.
Then let us embrace each other,
while your naked skin clings onto mine
and I experience your gentle loveliness
as we continually get closer
to the very edge of the abyss,
let us be caring and totally careless
with every kind of tender caress
with water splattering over passionate hot flesh.
Let us intertwine
and meet in the centre core
of the body’s heat
while around us the waters hiss
let this be much more than just lust,
and a kind of bliss
when we kiss and kiss,
while stars sparkles above us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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On A Romantic Night
Come along to the place I love,
near the ocean and sparkling clear rivers
that is lovely as paradise
or a place in one’s dreams.
Let us float in the blue lagoon,
go beneath the waterfall,
feel all of the water’s kisses
while desire rises like the golden moon.
Then let us embrace each other,
while your naked skin clings onto mine
and I experience your gentle loveliness
as we continually get closer
to the very edge of the abyss,
let us be caring and totally careless
with every kind of tender caress
with water splattering over passionate hot flesh.
Let us intertwine
and meet in the centre core
of the body’s heat
while around us the waters hiss
let this be much more than just lust,
and a kind of bliss
when we kiss and kiss,
while stars sparkles above us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Water
There was a fountain
that flows out in the hillocks
where cold fresh water
sprayed up bubbling and pure.
No borehole water that tastes like mud
or that which streams metallic out of a pipe
and still less the city’s
purified liquid
in which the chemicals are still drifting white,
could smell and taste
like water which comes out of the heart
of the earth
and washed pure by thousands of rocks
splashing clean and clear into a glass.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fish with no tail
as i gaze out of nature... i have seen a fish without a tail
impossible but its true, first things came up to my mind
is, ask whether its worth to give time to remember all
the scene or perhaps, just a memories of a simple
goodbye
as the fish swim, deep beneath the crystal blue water, i
couldn't remember the minutes, the hours past, nay i felt
that i haven't taken my meal, it seems all are just a blink
of a second in my eyes
it keeps on bubbling, even in a thousands seconds it
stay in the water, until i notice that the fish fail to surface
beneath the running water, for the absence of the tail
the body is nothing
all is just a mirror of a fish that, every movement of the
body, the twist of the tail has to follow, its a paradox to
believe that we see the tail of other fish, nay never we
saw that we don't have tail of our own
like the fish it swim, with no direction, only an inspiration
that we can do, yet as it goes there we go, tail that swim
in the water stream with no affection of what to do
now i see, how to swim, in water, lou! where i may go...in
the world of stream when everybody is frame......
poem by Antonio Liao
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When Good Ol' Boys Go Bad
Old Clarence was a corn fed sunday school teacher
At the Cheephill Church of Christ
A God fearing fence clearing, hay slinging,
Hymm singing, back breaker all of his life
Came in early one night, find his pretty wife
In the arms of another man
There's hell to pay when a good ole boy goes bad.
In a smoke filled late night club by the river
Sat a stranger dealing five card stud
He was a big talkin', fast walkin' fly by nighter
There to take the money and run
They caught the fella cheatin'
So they set him up a meeting
With his maker in the promise land
Nobody see's a thing when a good ole boy goes bad.
The good book goes out the window
When the gloves go to the floor
His give a damn to be a rightous man
Don't give a damn no more
Under that blue collar
There's a big ole long red tail
It hides the truth
But it bleeds thru
When a good ole boy goes bad.
Now old man Taylor was a fourth generation
Crop growin' son of a gun
One dry summer Uncle Sam come a runnin'
Wantin' money but there wasn't none
He put a crop in the hollar
When night came he watered
By fall he had the cold hard cash
When times get hard
Sometimes a good ole boy goes bad.
The good book goes out the window
When the gloves go to the floor
His give a damn to be a rightous man
Don't give a damn no more
Under that blue collar
There's a big ole long red tail
It hides the truth
But it bleeds thru
When a good ole boy goes bad.
The good book goes out the window
When the gloves go to the floor
His give a damn to be a rightous man
Don't give a damn no more
Under that blue collar
There's a big ole long red tail
It hides the truth
But it bleeds thru
When a good ole boy goes bad.
It hides the truth
But it bleeds thru
When a good ole boy goes bad...
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crab Apple
We've all sunken teeth into a sour ball.
Aghast at its bitter depths of beauty,
Hidden too appal like human nature.
Loves no different than this tutti-frutti
These golden orbs halve rouge with pith
They're shrunken skulls a coffins core.
With a taste alike, a dead suns, zenith!
O tang of death it's rancorous, tariff…
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Mt Krakatoa
erupts spews volcanic ash
alters world’s weather
haiku by Nancy Chambers
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The Lobster
Here at the Super Duper, in a glass tank
Supplied by a rill of cold fresh water
Running down a glass washboard at one end
And siphoned off at the other, and so
Perpetually renewed, a herd of lobster
Is made available to the customer
Who may choose whichever one he wants
To carry home and drop into boiling water
And serve with a sauce of melted butter.
Meanwhile, the beauty of strangeness marks
These creatures, who move (when they do)
With a slow, vague wavering of claws,
The somnambulist¹s effortless clambering
As he crawls over the shell of a dream
Resembling himself. Their velvet colors,
Mud red, bruise purple, cadaver green
Speckled with black, their camouflage at home,
Make them conspicuous here in the strong
Day-imitating light, the incommensurable
Philosophers and at the same time victims
Herded together in the marketplace, asleep
Except for certain tentative gestures
Of their antennae, or their imperial claws
Pegged shut with a whittled stick at the wrist.
We inlanders, buying our needful food,
Pause over these slow, gigantic spiders
That spin not. We pause and are bemused,
And sometimes it happens that a mind sinks down
To the blind abyss in a swirl of sand, goes cold
And archaic in a carapace of horn,
Thinking: There's something underneath the world.
The flame beneath the pot that boils the water.
poem by Howard Nemerov
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Soul’s Silhouetting Gulf’s Bay
I enjoy going out at the crack of dawning day,
Watching new sunrise come to the gulf’s bay.
When darkness from the earth starts its leap,
A whip-o-will calls for its mate with it to sleep.
Night sky turns its star lit darkness as I watch,
Into one breathless panorama for eye to catch.
God blends the morning sky with many a hue,
As blue of the sky replaces the morning’s dew.
Beautifully dotted with puffs of snowy white,
Outlined with different hues from rising light.
Horizon silhouetting every tall pine and palm,
With cool breeze blowing across water’s calm.
A thick brine salty mist rises from water’s face,
As all nature welcomes the new day into place.
Hearing different birds as they sing their calls,
Surf giving sweet fragrance as it rises and falls.
This is one of nature’s beauties God does give,
One, which I will never forget as long as I live.
Penning poetic words on paper is all I may do,
In sharing a majestic beauty of nature with you.
(© Simply Joseph,8/26/03 11: 50: 03 AM)
poem by Joseph Blitch
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Dark Blue By Jack Mannequinn
I have, I have you breathing down my neck, breathing down my neck
I don't, don't know what you could possibly expect under this condition so
I'll wait, I'll wait for the ambulance to come, ambulance to come
Pick us up off the floor what did you possibily expect under this condition so
Slow down, this nights a perfect shade of
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue
Just dark blue
And this flood, this flood is slowly rising up, swallowing the ground
Beneath, my feet. Tell me how anybody thinks under this condition so
I'll swim, I'll swim as the water rises up sun is sinking down and now
All I can see are the planets in a row suggesting it's best that I
Slow down this nights a perfect shade of
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning dark blue
We were boxing, we were boxing the stars
We were boxing (we were boxing) you were swinging from Mars
And then the water reached the west coast
And took the power lines, the power lines
And it was me and you and the whole town underwater
There was nothing we could do
It was dark blue
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning now there's nothing but dark blue
If you've ever been alone you'll know dark blue
If you've ever been alone you'll know, you'll know
poem by Joshua Burckhard
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Down in the deep water..
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I ponder my life
Just how did I get to this
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where the waterfall of dreams
Sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where time stands still
just only forever.
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I buried all
That was ever my childhood
Where I let it go,
Where it bends and meanders,
Twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
Were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the deep water,
I left the edge of the river,
As I looked down
For my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the deep water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
......Sinking forever.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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The Abyss
To test the 'Stare into the Abyss' bit,
Toroweap Point is a perfect place-
Hang your legs over a volcanic 3,000-foot drop,
And stare anywhere you like.
If you are firm in your commitments,
The Abyss will free you;
If you have low imagination,
The Abyss will drive you away;
If you are a great philosopher, poet, scientist, or musician,
The Abyss will nestle in your heart;
If you have drunk far too much wine,
You will become one with the Abyss.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Visiting A Taoist On Tiatien Mountain
Amongst bubbling streams
a dog barks; peach blossom
is heavy with dew; here
and there a deer can
be seen in forest glades!
No sound of the mid-day
bell enters this fastness
where blue mist rises
from bamboo groves;
down from a high peak
hangs a waterfall;
non knows where he has gone, so sadly I rest,
with my back leaning
against a pine.
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —
No doubt you have heard the name before —
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!'
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don't you think to shut the door?'
They rigged up a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.
But he begged for mercy and said, 'No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!'
'You will?' said his parents; 'then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!'
poem by William Brighty Rands
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Sunset
Yellows and oranges drench the sky
Like a leak, a spill from the sun.
A molten flood scatters across
The sea's surface and I'm undone,
Unraveling beside the shore.
The past flashes before my eyes;
I'm buried beneath the gritty coast
While waiting for the tide to dry.
Cover me in the shade and surf
Of an island isolated:
Lost underneath the deep, blue sheets
That solitude has created.
I'm relaxing, but I'm restless.
I'm castaway. I can't see why.
The only thing I can see is
Yellow and orange drenching the sky.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Ocean, Emotions, Air, Love, Volcanos, You Erupt.
The ocean is a metaphor,
For emotions.
Not completely understood and drags you places without you even realizing you are moving.
So much is beneath the ocean surface, so much is beneath a smile.
No one really knows expect for those that live in it or live through it.
Ironically the ocean is salty; as are tears.
I know because throughout these years,
so many have fallen from my face.
I know how they taste.
Volcano’s are a simile.
For bubbling emotions kept inside.
There’s so much the eyes can never predict.
The lava boils, threatening to explode.
Anger, pain and hurt behind the harmless appearance of a smile.
Ash and soot, and burning lave behind the appearance of a mountain.
Signs are thrown here and there.
But you have to be looking, you have to know enough.
And when it all erupts, the town is devastated.
How could they be so blind?
I know because I’m running out of time.
Air is an imagery
Representing love.
Even though invisible it’s the best example.
To live you need it, you need that person.
No matter what you do you cant substitute it.
Oxygen masks and tanks, wont mean a thing.
If you fell in love with populated air.
Though imperfect, they couldn’t be better.
When the air is gone, the pain is great.
A pain you dug into you’re chest.
Though you cant really help it.
The lack of air, you blame yourself.
Maybe if we saved that tree,
Worked out that fight.
Everything would be normal, I’d be alright.
I know because ive loved, ive lost.
The universe is a hyperbole
Of the memories we’ll never forget.
Exaggerated because it lasts forever, like the relationship didn’t.
The memories stop somewhere.
You drag them on though, you replay them though.
Over and over again and come up with different combinations,
What went wrong, what could have went right.
It’s so dangerous to go into these suicidal memories, as is the universe.
Airless and so far away.
Memories loveless, and so unreachable.
I see them everyday.
I hear them everyday.
poem by Tiffani Williams
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The Tale of Drunken Fools
Ode to liquid fire:
That fills the chest with flames
Of courage to fuel the brave.
Tales flow in bards
By minstrels encircled by tankards,
“Oh, in the depths of the abyss
The Akujine dwells: the sorceress.
She spins her spells of wickedness
Over the lake; there below
The Mountain of Green,
Where the Sterling River flows
Deep into the depths: the lair of Akujine
The sorceress creates her brew
And sends it on the backs of her crew
To mouths of the drunken; unbeknownst to you.”
The cautionary tale is unheard from the minstrels.
The fire swirls in spiraling tendrils
Down the throat; bubbling as it fills.
And as the heat escapes in gusts
Out of mouth the flame erupts.
They laugh and stomp after they cough.
Will they ever have enough?
Another gulp of this elixir
And soon they hear her call.
Trudging along as their body’s quake
On the way to Akujine: the dead and awake.
poem by Mary Elise DiVita
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