Deluge Aftermath
Deluge aftermath
lies on a pyre of laughter -
sardonic laughter -
holocryptic in its litter of
charms and pangs of incence.
Deluge aftermath
swears oaths of allegiance to
waning day, refraining from
tales of calm and religious prescience;
it recalls the aftermath of the
Deluge of Noah.
Deluge aftermath
rests with inveterate slumber
earned in the cataract of
puissant vices upon lonesome,
green artifacts of a laconic culture.
Deluge aftermath
looms across the dark visage of
waste,
and atop glow-lines of garden lamps
and posts of decaying flames.
Deluge aftermath
crowns crabs monarchs of floods,
and frogs, adjutants of water regiment,
within breaths of rain.
Deluge aftermath
nubiferous - hanging old shrouds
of weeping clouds on the meek contours of
familiar skies to jeer downward.
Deluge aftermath,
bleaching the whited sepulchers
like elephants killed by lightning
in an unread plague of rain;
unearthing fossils of mosquitoes
about to become fuel,
and tickling the ribs of streams
to laugh and grow fat.
Deluge aftermath
dampens the hearth and the phalli -
two hot and intemperate organs
of warmth and man,
cringing in the event of the
breaking of the huge gourd
sitting on the earth-pillars.
Deluge aftermath -
one small flood for a community
and a giant inundation
for the aftermath of mankind.
poem by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
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Related quotes
Deluge
A deluge haunts a race unaware
It is larger than the one 'Noah' faced
It holds all in an embrace everywhere
It engulfs the already 'menaced'
Deluges have no hearts
They have ever been that cruel
A deluge is a nightmare of sorts
It has been on a mission dual
As you fail to see it come
The deluge laughs at you the blind
As I begin to warn you that it`s come
It tides over the realms of my mind.
A deluge leaves no hopes ahead
It is there to right a wrong yet
It will leave a silence of the dead
This deluge will leave HIM scot free you bet.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Dragons Teeth.
We know: We’ve seen it all before.
Devastation, desolation
the aftermath of modern war.
Although it shocks us to the core
It recalls to our attention.
We know: we’ve seen it all before.
We have chosen to ignore
Lack of valid information
The aftermath of modern war
To us it’s just another chore
needing little explanation.
We know: We’ve seen it all before
There is no way we can
restore any kind of cultivation.
The after math of modern war.
Still danger lies for evermore
unexploded ammunition.
The aftermath of modern war.
We know: We’ve seen it all before.
Sunday,28 November 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Beyond
Love's aftermath! I think the time is now
That we must gather in, alone, apart
The saddest crop of all the crops that grow,
Love's aftermath.
Ah, sweet,--sweet yesterday, the tears that start
Can not put back the dial; this is, I trow,
Our harvesting! Thy kisses chill my heart,
Our lips are cold; averted eyes avow
The twilight of poor love: we can but part,
Dumbly and sadly, reaping as we sow,
Love's aftermath.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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The Aftermath
Words and music by bob seger and craig frost
Dressed up to the nines
Dancin three-quarter time
The champagne is on ice
No ones gonna guess
In your brand new dress
Girl, you sure look nice
Have a good time
Honey, dont look back
Stone in the middle of the aftermath
Dont wink, dont blink
Dont let 'em think
His leavins got you down
Stand straight, hang tough
When they bring it up
Baby hold your ground
If they pry, dont sigh
Pass it off with a laugh
Its all part of living through the aftermath
You can do it honey
Keep that smile so sunny
You can show them what they want to see
Yes, you can
Its a cold, hard scene
The singles thing
Losers everywhere
And it hurts to the bone
Headin home alone
When someone used to be there
So you take a few falls
And you learn to bounce back
Its all part of living through the aftermath
Living through the aftermath
Baby, dont look back
Its the aftermath
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue
I didn't want to know
I just didn't want to know
Best to keep things in the shallow end
Cause I never quite learned how to swim
I just didn't want to know
Didn't want, didn't want,
Didn't want, didn't want
Close my eyes just to look at you
Taken by the seamless vision
I close my eyes,
Ignore the smoke,
Ignore the smoke
Call it aftermath, she's turning blue
Such a lovely color for you
Call it aftermath, she's turning blue
Why don't I just sit and stare at you
Because I don't want to know
I didn't want to know
I just didn't want to know
I just didn't want
Mistook the "nods" for an approval
Just ignore the smoke and smile
Call it aftermath, she's turning blue
Such a lovely color for you
Call it aftermath, she's turning blue
Such a perfect color for your eyes
Call it aftermath, she's turning blue
Such a lovely color for you,
Call it aftermath, she's turning blue
Why don't I just sit and stare at you
I don't want to know
song performed by by A Perfect Circle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Their Greatest Achievements
The tragedy is not in the aftermath,
When ruins are created to be experienced.
The tragedy experienced is admitting,
The aftermath had opportunities to be avoided.
And those addicted to ceremonies,
To praise themselves...
Are the most likely to find what they've done,
Historically considered to be their greatest achievements.
No need to seek to locate the evidence.
An awakening provides an abundance of proof.
Although sadly enough,
Many enjoy the parading of the pomp and circumstance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Aftermath
Although my blood I've shed
In war's red wrath,
Oh how I darkly dread
Its aftermath!
Oh how I fear the day
Of my release,
When I must face the fray
Of phoney peace!
When I must fend again
In labour strife;
And toil with sweat and strain
For kids and wife.
The world is so upset
I battled for,
That grimly I regret
The peace of war.
The wounds are hard to heal
Of shell and shard,
But O the way to weal
Is bitter hard!
Though looking back I see
A gory path,
How bloody black can be
War's Aftermath!
poem by Robert William Service
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It Is Never Too Late
The aftermath of your silence,
You are like the sea of traquil water tonight;
But when the right time comes,
The box will be opened for all to see its content!
The sea of storm and the love of storm,
The aftermath of your silence is like the love of tranquil waters;
From me to you and from yout ot me,
But what can i now make out of you?
You are really the woman of my heart,
And it is never too late in life to reives!
Because today is always here with us,
But tomorrow never comes.
Yesterday is dead and gone into the land of memories,
And the only thing left behind is your character;
But when all is said and done,
I will understand the silence of your love like tranquil waters.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Circle
Springing in the spring,
Flickering the wings
Jocund mood
Regale
Even they
Whose eyes
Skip the jocund bay.
Life
Lively
Of flicker
What derived?
There atop, from where thy flows
Heavens have mated
Rush, with a gush
Deluge!
Sweeps the boundaries of bay,
That jocund bay
Where wings flickered.
Flicker,
For another spring
Flicker,
For another deluge.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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The Deluge
Though giant rains put out the sun,
Here stand I for a sign.
Though earth be filled with waters dark,
My cup is filled with wine.
Tell to the trembling priests that here
Under the deluge rod,
One nameless, tattered, broken man
Stood up, and drank to God.
Sun has been where the rain is now,
Bees in the heat to hum,
Haply a humming maiden came,
Now let the deluge come:
Brown of aureole, green of garb,
Straight as a golden rod,
Drink to the throne of thunder now!
Drink to the wrath of God.
High in the wreck I held the cup,
I clutched my rusty sword,
I cocked my tattered feather
To the glory of the Lord.
Not undone were the heaven and earth,
This hollow world thrown up,
Before one man had stood up straight,
And drained it like a cup.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Deluge
Though giant rains put out the sun,
Here stand I for a sign.
Though earth be filled with waters dark,
My cup is filled with wine.
Tell to the trembling priests that here
Under the deluge rod,
One nameless, tattered, broken man
Stood up, and drank to God.
Sun has been where the rain is now,
Bees in the heat to hum,
Haply a humming maiden came,
Now let the deluge come:
Brown of aureole, green of garb,
Straight as a golden rod,
Drink to the throne of thunder now!
Drink to the wrath of God.
High in the wreck I held the cup,
I clutched my rusty sword,
I cocked my tattered feather
To the glory of the Lord.
Not undone were the heaven and earth,
This hollow world thrown up,
Before one man had stood up straight,
And drained it like a cup.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Rebound
And they dont come any closer. and they dont come
Anyway.
On the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the
Rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the rebound
On the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the
Rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on
The rebound on the rebound
The chronicle hasnt changed for fifteen years. the
Apathetic outnumber volunteers. the grime on buildings is
Just a memory. a shining face on the old academy.
Have a lovely day. aftermath okay. have a lovely day. wipe
Your tears away.
The gaze of laughter, an echo or a scream. the
Reinforcement of someone elses theme. turn and walk
Without ever saying no. light and dark in an even ratio.
Have a lovely day. aftermath okay. have a lovely day. wipe
Your tears away.
On the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the
Rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the rebound
On the rebound
And they dont come any closer. and they dont come
Anyway.
On the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the
Rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the rebound
On the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the
Rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on
The rebound on the rebound
On the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the
Rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the rebound
On the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the
Rebound on the rebound on the rebound on the rebound on
The rebound on the rebound
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night Wind
Darkness like midnight from the sobbing woods
Clamours with dismal tidings of the rain
Roaring as rivers breaking loose in floods
To spread and foam and deluge all the plain
The cotter listens at his door again
Half doubting whether it be floods or wind
And through the thickening darkness looks affraid
Thinking of roads that travel has to find
Through night's black depths in danger's garb arrayed
And the loud glabber round the flaze soon stops
When hushed to silence by a lifted hand
Of fearing dame who hears the noise in dread
And thinks a deluge comes to drown the land
Nor dares she go to bed untill the tempest drops
poem by John Clare
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On With the Dance!
Hi, Cockalorum! But - Misery me!
What is the aftermath going to be?
With joy at its zenith and sorrow its least,
I am the skeleton come to the feast.
Now the centenary swells over all,
I am the writing aglow on the wall:
Eat, drink and make merry. Eat, drink and make merry.
Hip, hip. Cockahoop! And alack-a-day derry!
I am the spoil-sport a-gnawing his nails,
Boding disaster when merriment fails.
Dance, little lady; oh, dance while you may,
Shout ye, good gentlemen. Merry's the day!
Sorrow is looming.
Hear the far booming.
The ghouls and the ghosts are a-groaning and glooming.
Today for the dancing, the love and the laughter,
But what of the morning after? Aye!
Happy-go-lucky! But - Misery me.
What is the aftermath going to be?
Away with the skeleton! Deep in his grave
Ram him and cram him and make him behave.
We are the merry men, born of the sun;
And this second century, fitly begun
Shall never mark back to follies of eld -
To ills and to errors past centuries held
This is our century, shining and splendid,
When spectres are banished and ill dreams are ended.
Never false fear, as of old, shall bedim it.
There isn't an ending, there isn't a limit
To joy in our gifts that are rained from above.
There isn't a finish to friendship and love -
Love of good laughter, good friends and good living.
There isn't an end to the gain from free giving.
A fig for the pessimist, moaning mumchance!
There isn't an aftermath. On with the dance!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Aftermath of youthful shenanigans
The Aftermath of youthful shenanigans
I taste the blood of my bodies vessels cans
From the aftermath of youthful shenanigans
My eyes are closing
My mind is wandering
My soul is flying
All over like a grasshopper hopping
From one place to another
If I am not careful my soul might distance
Itself from my body for ever
The aftermath of youthful shenanigans
First the rakus booing
Then the sheer physical moment
Of punching and kicking
Now I am lying on the floor unconscious
Considering giving up the ghost
Till I am awakened by the sounds of youthful boasts
Whispering of getting rid of the evidence
Along the coast
And drinking afterwards to a toast
My body is aching
Its pain is immense
I don’t even have time to ask
What have I done to deserve this
Suddenly the voices disappear
I can see everyone from the air
Having loads of fun
By sending out my images on their mobile phones
A sudden bright daylight
And below shows me dressed up as white
A voice is urging me to give up the fight
I close my eyes
This most be a dream
Like in the movie films
I open my eyes again
I see a young boy
Hanging from a tree
Kids are laughing
While he is struggling so hard to be free
What has become of us
What has become of we
The sounds of noises
Sets them on the road to flee
This is the epitome of youthful madness
A sheer pinnacle of human sadness
© Sylvia Chidi- 17 October 2005
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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aftermath...
an eagle circling
the stone Buddha
haiku by Chenou Liu
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The experience of testifying and the aftermath have changed my life.
quote by Anita Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't think we handled the aftermath of the fall of Baghdad as well as we might have. But that's now history.
quote by Colin Powell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is the youth who must inherit the tribulation, the sorrow... that are the aftermath of war.
quote by Herbert Hoover
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If It's Modern It's Right
By the Mediterranean shore,
In the days of the cohorts and legions,
When oodles of rain used to pour
O'er the old agricultural regions,
When a deluge came thundering down -
Tho' the vineyards of Rome did not need it -
Men cocked a shrewd eye
At the lowering sky
And agreed that the gods had decreed it.
And they said to themselves: 'There is not the least doubt
That's Jupiter Pluvius pouring it out.'
But the restless old world forged ahead,
And men waxed in wisdom and reason;
An in bluff, Merrie England, 'tis said,
When a deluge came down out of season,
And rotted their 'turmuts,' their 'spuds',
Mangelwursts and similar riches,
The wise of the land
Saw black magic at hand,
So they sizzled a couple of witches.
And they said to themselves, 'There be not the least doubt,
They hags can cast spells for a deluge or drought.'
But progress moved onward, and soon
Men derided the cult of witch-burning;
And, in times of great floods, 'twas the moon
Caused it all, said the men of deep learning.
And they proved, since she governs the tides,
She must govern all water and weather.
So men turned to this new view,
Since 'twas novel and new,
And they scrapped old beliefs altogether,
For they said to themselves, 'There is not the least doubt,
Lest the moon's on her back she must spill water out.'
But we moderns, of course, high of brow,
Are amused by these crude superstitions.
We are guided by scientist now
Astronomers, mathematicians.
'Tis sunspots, as now we know well,
Cause phenomenal floods and such troubles;
But there isn't much harm;
So still your alarm,
For it's only old Sol blowing bubbles.
But I say to myself, 'Can there be any doubt
That a brief hundred years sees this theory out?'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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