Best Climactic Poems
Rising on island,
Mountain, with peaks of possibility,
Valley lush and green.
When my knees collapse, lightning and thunder -
Call it butterflies.
The palms warmed and cooled us, warned us, fooled us.
Explosive, our love -
Once conjoined, often drifting in the sea,
Eyes leaping with fire.
Hot Lava, Lover,
Have we been here before? You’re smoking hot!
Hearts of stone, lifting upwards, tears running,
Drifting on riffraff.
Outbreak of chortling might redirect winds.
La la…ooh…la la.
Sips of berries and pineapple; we share
Icy tropical
Attempts to cool things down; steam underfoot.
Ebb and flow of raft,
Seeking to poke embers - attentive ears.
Hot Lava, Lover,
Have we been here before? You’re smoking hot!
Collapse of civilization, in grass
Skirt, paradise shirt,
Atomic timing sans wearing a watch.
Heads buried in sand -
Lips meeting in molten-red, not passive,
Dirty and tender.
Swimming in sweep of lava lake, suntan-
Baked, gliding upwards,
Climactic eruption, falling with love.
Hot Lava, Lover,
Have we been here before? You’re smoking hot!
We ride the flume of volcanic weather,
Can’t raise the tall man,
Seek the insane chance of sane survival -
Valiancy in strife.
Man and wife seeking each other’s island -
Pieces fit just right.
Synchronic habitation, breathing room.
Volcano’s, how old?
In the end it shuts its mouth… a whisper
Hot Lava, Lover,
Have we been here before? You’re smoking hot!
Playing With Fire
Afraid for your miscreant soul
While the Devils licking tongues of flame at your heel
With oh so dirty thoughts
Afraid for the flesh
As you are lead to the pits
All the torture there in of your imagination conceives
Be pleased, to afflict on someone else
Swallow your morals
Like a sanctity pill
A Eucharist aspirin swilled down on holy water
Fear the flesh you stalwart middle class
While the upper-class
Enjoy what you cannot
As you wallow in the resistance of sin
And narrow your life to acquiescence
Puerile in such judgements
Of fickle moralities pleasure
Live a life unlived
And all its pleasure turn to guilt and reprieve
Salvation will come
When it ends
Ascend then, the Jacobs Ladder to heaven
Never knowing what it meant
To kiss with abandon
But rather, suckle to demon lips
All those desires in their fetish of flesh
One last look at the skin you left
Untested
Resist my swarthy middle mass citizens
And ply the trade
Of your own oppression
Condemn me, I dare you, to some raging inferno
Where the appeasing of your righteousness
Knows no bounds
In another climactic prayer for torture
I will play with the bonfire
Rather than mess with poor dripping candles
I will stand proud and defiant
And declare that I
Am Human
for Christie
In a world where we are constantly told how we should do this and that,
we must learn to thank them for their opinions…but, to listen to our own
hearts and THINK for ourselves.
There is a difference between guidance & being told what to do; where
opinions are sometimes, sadly, just glorified pre-judgments in hiding. In this
world today, more than ever, we must stand our ground and water our seeds
with our own heartbeats.
Because in the time one could spend listening to loud/louder/loudest opinions
of why one should or shouldn’t do it someone else's way, one could have
already done it their own way. Always move in the direction of time:
Forward
...
Another herd of evaporated soliloquies
Flashing warning signs of good-will
Unto the lost
The deaf
The mute
The righteously blind
They simply ask for a sip of strenuous cognac
To lighten regurgitated burdens
Yet, throats become condensed with
Good intentions
Under a cratered moon, afflicted with two-faced vertigo
How can one stand in the face of adversity
When our legs are kicked from the same foundations
That opinion’s high court built
How can I be told to write with syllabic serenity
When a rambunctious rhyme
Would be the socialized death of me
“Guided” by educated parchments, recycled without signatures
…
If poetry is freedom,
Why do critics scream in beer-battered rings of opulent contradictions?
If poetry is freedom,
How is one frowned upon for speaking the word of Life, the word of God
The same God who told us to speak upon epiphanies’ climactic pain
Towards the same “heaven”,
They swear,
They’ll arrive at.
©Drake J. Eszes
Words were meant to be shared,
embraced, loathed at times,
feared, and met with trepidation.
Words release that power within us
we need to express in tactile whispers
or in loud climactic reverberations.
They are meant to charm, to soothe,
to pacify, to even stop that internal
clock ticking away elusive moments.
Words...
laid bare, exhuming the bleeding heart
with its rhythmic flow that exhilarates
to an innate beating of native drums.
When words enter the realm of poetry
they seek their own uncharted path
enlightening and illuminating the spirit.
They become their own reward,
caught between light and shadow,
imagination and creative exploration.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Allow me to confess how gratifying it is
To see the rainfall of lights permeate through your eyes,
Swirling lightening warmth into my own
To see your thoughtful lips curve into a summer's beam
We energize each other as our words fall like playful spring petals,
Expressing our hearts' joys without grievance or complaint
But with genuine feeling and mutual delight
Fastened tight with love's newfound might
Artistic minds mix, dispersing colors others barely fathom
Upon the surface of their distracted rights,
Their distant autumnal attentions
Instead we dream, diligent of and in each other
Reflective of a world that snows and blizzards
Aware of the audience - the stars - that cry with glee in every climactic scene
We rise
For the sake of simply touching them
Every heart that means to listen
To such precious overtones
The subtle and soft notes below and above the melody
That make magic real,
And the darkest souls hopeful
I love to just watch you smile,
To take in every glimmering feeling
As they pass like seasons from dawn to sunset
Our feelings change
Our tunes build upon the ever growing masterpiece
That is our very existence,
Our union and our uprising of all that is life
I love to trace the silhouette of your grace,
To paint sounds and syllables where your eyes will accept them
To embrace you with an assuring memory to hold forever
We need not worry,
For the melody of this beautiful life has long waited
For the sustaining and blooming accompaniment
That we master, savor, and make better
My friend, my life,
From dawn to dusk,
And every trying night
These overtones will resonate our legacy for all time
Our love eternal an enduring infernal
Thru galactic mist it shall always exist
Our love undying magically mystifying
How can I resist since you I’ve kissed
Our love forever an endless endeavor
Thru celestial skies our spirit never dies
Our love in hell a fragile empty eggshell
They will chastise within lamenting lies
Our love reborn I shall obediently adorn
Your ever presence a potent pleasance
Our love Galactic with clusters climactic
A floral fluorescence a lust luminescence.
Aug.4.2017
MID AUGUST STANDARD CONTEST
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
The Tiny Seed Opened
Deep the ponderous silent beginning
Rumbled its struggle to
And break open once upon its lilting
And thought
It lifted high some resounding
Gathered itself by pulse climactic
Loosening
The swollen burst of its making
And deeper driven the slow light emancipating
Rising glory
The exulted splendour
Forth rushing spreads encompassing
In the eternal reaches
The heart beats deliverance
Sings joyous cries
With life eyes
“I am here !
“I have arrived !
The impassioned apex of praise
Fortissimo to the pinnacle creation
The tiny seed
Opened
Inspired by
Also Sprach Zarathustra, Op. 30
( Eng Thus Spake Zarathustra) is a tone poem by, Richard Strauss composed in 1896 and
inspired by Friedrich Nietzsche philosophical treatise of the same name.
( Wikipedia )
As I lay me down to sleep, for the last and final time
I leave you, my daughter, with this testament's chime
No matter the temperature, no matter the weather, no matter the clime
Be it ever so nasty, be it fair-to-middling, or utterly sublime
Be grateful, my darling, for our sun's constancy, rising anew every day
For its steady course through the Heavens toward sunset, wending its way
Appreciate the warmth of a Spring morn and the Autumnal evening glow
Even bone-chilling Winter, huddled round the fire in a cozy chateaux
Thank your lucky stars for Summer's finery midst weather resplendent
View each drop of rain as a scion of its climactic rainbow ascendant
For when you fill your heart with gratitude for what in Nature's indelible
Sure you'll stir the soul of your betrothed with Love un-dispel-able
June 25, 2018
intoxicated by entwined souls,
breasts beating, breathing
in the amalgamation of us.
trust in lips, tongues, stress
of otherworldly communication.
neo-occasion of bare skin,
slightly shy, surrendering
to the shift and slide—
sensuality played portentously…
innocence irrigated…
blind.
intoxicated by the itch;
you scratch
my back like a kitten.
my feet and knees
find your warm precipices
of carnal knowledge.
together we learn
there’s an inner universe;
exploration
of mysterious habitation.
in practice, in habit
tingling of dendrites
over and over again.
intoxication’s jealous—
jumps for joy
at your touch…
knows where your headed
north or south…
intoxicated by extremes,
the shudder of sensuality,
shamelessness of dreaming
in your bed, calling only
your name, stamped
with approval— our’s,
story comes to
a climactic conclusion—
Your Welcome.
9/9/2021
“I'' Contest New or Old
Sponsor: Constance La France
Of the terrible and the wonderful, the lull then roaring sound,
The footprints of the heathen Gods stamped upon the ground,
The breath of Satan’s lungs and how the landscaped churned,
How this desolation bade the world both deluged and burned.
With the bodies and the buildings strewn around, around, around,
Such as grist beneath the elements that bluster, rage and pound,
Leaving in their wake of anarchy destruction far and wide,
A war declared by twists of fate, climactic genocide.
Of the horrible and the marvellous, somewhere amidst the hell,
Human hearts and souls rose up and stood against the swell,
Survivors yet against all odds, against such deficit,
Survived in spite of aid they got and not because of it.
Now this Third World in America should never ever be,
In this land of wealth and power, freedom’s flame, democracy,
There are men and women, children: broken, beaten, ravaged, shaken,
In the name of all that’s holy, do not add they be forsaken.
"AID IS NEEDED NOW!
TOMORROW, FOR SOME, WILL BE TOO LATE!"
How full is the earth’s beauty!
And how I implore the lengthening
Of just a day; that I may bask in
That days brief eruptive flowering.'
Oh how a blemish, throws my senses reeling,
As I pulsate to the Hidden altercation,
'That holds' the core of my habitations 'way'
Eternity is of how long a span?
I know not hereof! 'yet in this
World I crave that longer day.'
Long as the scent of roses reaching,
Climbing up to a too brief climax.
In this climactic world of too brief days,
How I long to know of immortal extemporal
A sign of eternal promise to existence
Once 'pon a swirling..'
Marred in the making, you clay of Creation!
How I compare of the fleeting beauties?
Held it the grasp of a miss-formed pulsating sway
Beauty exists because of imperfect
A balance of imbalance's one may say.'
So, no existence is invalid; ugly is..'
Yet I embrace it for doth not existence validate the unseemly
And does not indeed beauty court decay!
©Joe Maverick 6-12-2013
With a whispering sigh,
I feel your kiss caress my lips
My heart begins to race,
as I place my hands on your hips
Longingly my body craves,
the gentle touching of your fingertips
Touch me here, touch me there,
Moaning softly I feel your hands begin to slip
Across my neck and down my back,
Enjoying the frenzy as our clothes rip
Onto the bed we slowly lay,
You the ocean, and I the ship
Beads of passion begin to cascade,
As we are joined together on this climactic trip
Our quickened hearts both beat as one,
Infused together in loves most fierce grip
An arousingly poetic collab with the one and only Germaine Pasley ;)) 6/16/12
the foreplay and afterglow
isforgotten in the show
of virility and might
so she cries into the night
She's uncherished and unsought
All his tenderness forgot
In the rush of passion's need
Fantasies remain....unfreed
She remembers yesteryear
When he clasped her, held her dear
Now she's just a bedded form
Lost in her desire's storm
With a sigh her closes eyes
dreams her dreams of paradise
where her love she celebrates
and her wants she consummates
Where she smiles in wanton bliss
as she's bathed in lover's kiss
in a place where fertile mind
intercourse with body finds
where foreplay and afterglow
build up to climactic show
and love pounds with wondrous might
leaving joyous tears in sight
Eileen
This is the case for many in long term relationships. Relationships should be nurtured for the flame to burn bright.
To the people of the earth, we convey this greeting.
We are quite anxious for this long-awaited meeting.
Coming in peace, we are your cousins, as once before.
In a few hours, we’ll be reunited once more.
You will recognize us; our appearance you will know.
We see the sun we once shared ten million years ago.
The planet’s orbit remains between Venus and Mars.
History is forgotten, but we remember ours.
Our first arrival was with the great reptiles roaming.
Something happened, and we could not save them from dying.
Your entire world was completely warm and tropical.
This appeared to be the ideal place for our people.
Our interstellar travel made us masters of space.
However, we knew nothing of climate in this place,
or evolution and genetics within our race.
Your planet is in a section of isolation.
It takes many years to reach your civilization.
Our starships would be bringing news from the galaxy.
They would land three or four times in every century.
Your earth was once a constant tropical paradise.
However, climactic changes covered it with ice.
A strange phenomenon caused some harmless mutations.
Some of us were immune. There were no alterations.
This did not kill, or cause destructive physical harm.
It did start to arouse inevitable alarm.
Two separate groups arose over thousands of years.
Suspicion was perpetuated and caused great fears.
Those who did not leave earth sank into barbarism.
Envy, discord, and conflict were caused by the schism.
We had thought the end came for your civilization.
Your first radio signals gave us indication
that your culture has survived all these millennia.
This discovery has given us euphoria.
We see you have made your long ascent from savagery.
We are here to restore the long-lost fraternity.
We have uncovered much since we abandoned the earth.
Now that you are re-discovered, there will be much mirth.
Perpetual tropical climate, we will restore.
You won’t have to withstand freezing winters anymore.
With genetic mutation, there’s no need to endure.
For your offensive, yet harmless plague, we have a cure.
For what is now wrong, we have the power to make right.
Only let us know how many of you are still white.
Based on the short story "Reunion" by the late Arthur C. Clarke
He glides
his skates swishing
in a flurry of ice,
caressing with slow movements; mere
foreplay.
Silence
compels the crowd
disguises excitement
Great expectations fill the air.
All watch.
He stops
at center ring.
Ice gladiator all set
to make a kill gently, with grace.
Grandly.
Then flips.
Perfect landing!
He hears the crowd’s applause~
incense daring him show his skills.
Dazzling.
Teasing
with his body ~
a hypnotic magnet
becoming a blur of colors.
Blending.
Music
goes mad as he
circles with dizzy speed~
a human whirling, spinning top.
Gidddy.
Floating
as in a dream
one cannot get out of.
Now he’s a leaf falling in slow
motion.
Still more
he builds into
a climactic finish~
a tornado that goes in a
frenzy.
He drops,
slips on his foot;
loses balance and dives
his nose flat on the cold ice. All
are stunned.