Best Flood Poems
There may be a flood in the Isle of Man
From the bladder of poetry Jan
There is no denying
Inco pads I’ll be buying
I’ll judge the contest as fast as I can
27th April 2015
A Curtain of Rain
By Valerie D. Staton
A curtain of rain
Fell from graphite colored sky…
Cars are floating by
The beavers love rain.
They love water so much they
keep it where it fell.
Time and rhyme, from somewhere it will shine.
Time and rhyme, will sometimes, be mine,
and when it does, it makes me high.
I want you to feel my long lasting sigh.
Please lie with me and taste these letters.
Make it better. Drink, and utter sounds that
make my lips feel like butter.
I think of you and purposely I try to flutter.
Float ideas and kiss your mind so much it floods
my words with thoughts that matter.
Lend me ears, and lend me eyes to
dream your face, and dream your thoughts
seduce you wet, untidy, naughty,
even though we never met.
Water, water everywhere;
nothing here is stable,
but the moon sickle sinks
her tendrils into our hearts.
Roots reach
below the diluvian chaos,
anchor us
to the terra firma
that is down there,
somewhere –
we sense it
in our memories,
in our dreams.
after a painting by Greg Edmondson.
From my new collection The Eden of Perhaps (Spartan Press, 2020)
I open the door
and a flood gate of memories
enter through the heart
Dec. 26, 2018
As depression dominates your thoughts,
love morphs into the forbidden fruit.
And as your stomach twists into knots,
the weight of its absence grows acute.
You cringe inside, knowing life's unfair;
drowning in tears, you struggle to cope.
For suckling on the breasts of despair,
reality has drained you of hope.
When childhood memories include rape;
trust dissipates into nothingness.
And you find that you cannot escape
the shadow of utter emptiness.
Admonishing life, you curse your fate
as the blade's cold steel scratches a path.
And self-abuse morphs into self-hate;
although cutting starts to calm your wrath.
Purging the hurt from your tortured soul,
starts with a tiny trickle of blood.
And then, as these cuts exact their toll,
crimson drops become a scarlet flood.
I am told the poetry's fine by some,
enjoyed perused that was their sum
and yet this flow.. Through mind and soul
I cannot own; not it's depth nor its Whole
no more than call my last breath back
it’s beyond the pale of life; for this wearied hack'
No eye has seen the vista's all'
awaiting ears that listen; to the saviours call,
no mind conceives the splendour Grand;
under control of the Son of man,
so are the words that spring from me
That are fed by water that flows by the tree,
where a brightness dwells not of this Sun
where the Word and the Spirit and the Father; say come!
© Joe Maverick 5-5-2020
O' the case of Dorian
progressing through the sea,
battering the Bahamas
then shifting to a "three",
Have you seen the damage caused,
how islands lie in rubble?
Property and lives were lost
resulting from your trouble!
Now we wait so anxiously
to know the fullest measure
of this great calamity
ending in displeasure.
Soon will come the future day
when hurricanes desist.
Dorian, I'm pleased to say,
you will not be missed.
On a drowsy dusk in summer the air suddenly stops to flow,
the trees seemed stilled fossils, their boughs drooping low.
The horizon turns a slate draped in clouds rising in layers,
the thunder splinters the falling sky, rattling me unaware.
The swirling nimbus carries the storm in its rampant surge,
wild winds from all directions rush untamed and converge.
I stand beneath the swinging tree in an entranced state,
turn into a fallen leaf the torrent will carry to you, I wait.
On a dreamy dusk in summer you’re with flowers in garden,
the monsoon wind wafts on your shoulders all of a sudden,
your face is covered by the web of disheveled swirling hair,
like a peacock you dance on the bank of river called desire.
Your rhythmic feet creates waves in air, you become a storm,
along comes a flood of yearning in my life you then transform,
carry me in fervent flow like a drifting leaf resigned to its fate,
I long to float in your ardent current till the end of time, I wait.
______________________
February 3, 2022
Title Chosen : Along Comes A Flood
Contest : Pick-A-Title, Vol 28
Sponsored by : Edward Ibeh
A warning sounded on my phone -
An elongated beep -
So loud it must be meant to wake
Whoever is asleep…
Alerting me that there could be,
Within my current range,
A dangerous flash flood, which I
Found really kind of strange.
There is no river and no lake
For many miles around
And certainly no ocean
Barreling towards higher ground.
Yet I was warned, “Stay off the roads
And don’t attempt to drive
For if a flash flood strikes you would
Be lucky to survive.”
The warning did its job and scared me
Near out of my pants.
Although the sun’s come out, you think I’d drive?
No, not a chance!
Damaging winds whip and slash, whirling wild, drenching rain,
Roads decimated come to standstill, as gushing floods reign,
Inundating swollen terrains, roiling deluge of a tenebrous day,
As trees bowing to gusting storms; erratically waltz and sway.
Houses naked with roofs blown, now ache, mangled and worn,
Where loss of life, in makeshift shelter, neighbors sadly mourn;
Sharing stories of a sudden event, rushing through the town,
Disheartened life, since torn-down, anguishing in wistful frown.
Danger lurks, where flood waters submerge fallen power lines,
As rivers and tributaries of muddy-flows, float uprooted vines,
What once was a harmonic rhythm, now perturbs pulse of life,
Dawn that rose on a lambent arc, now shudders in sullen strife.
People stranded, anxious for rescue, assess the damage done,
Cars are destroyed, fires are burning, recovery has just begun;
Sirens blaring of dire emergencies, are chasing to plug gas-leaks,
Searching for victims of drowning, scouting the rivers and creeks.
Swindlers are hovering, ripping-off elderly, exacting heavy price,
Hit by the tragedy first, then by the cruelty of defrauding vice;
Some now blame callous humanity, some name it~ an act of fate,
Mired in untold challenges, as remnants-torrent start to abate.
Rivers In Flood
Sprung from headwaters, source hidden in the past or sometimes present,
Starting small,
To begin the journey downstream to where it may go.
Restless, searching, agitated.
As it sweeps along, building in force, and speed and fullness.
Multiple currents,
Deep, silent burdens brought up from the depths- old, ancient.
They carry old history as they gather strength and density
From the things that they carry –
Skeleton trees, rocks, detritus.
The upper current layers
Foam with explosive plume and mists,
Which sometimes obscure the river bed and its jagged rocks
With the wild cacophony of movement.
The force of history, past and present.
The face of rage which carries with it.
Things never changed, never resolved, never acknowledged,
The Rivers in Flood tonight carrying rage.
D Holmes 9/8/2020
aka
Terry's Rush Hour Tube Trauma
A voice rose from a burning bush,
"O feel the contours of my tush!
Ounce for ounce
Cheeks will bounce
With just an itty-bitty push!"
they slither down the long halls
coiling thoughts like vine-sharp calls
calm defies
walls lean in with breathing cracks
truth waits, but never walks back
you flicker—don’t ask why
their whispers rise like flood and tide
but roots hold beneath the lie
you break—and light slips quietly by