Best Furor Poems
The world's grey. Slowly, methodically,
Feathers from colorful birds have been burned.
Sheep in a fog on a snowy mountain.
One man thought uniformity equaled
Superiority, ugly furor.
Their ashes floated down all around us
There's no color left in this sooty world.
Beauty's palette swirled with color beckons.
Diversity screams for a slight foothold.
The heart just whithers in colorless worlds.
APRIL 23, 2016
Word count 62
Rampage rumbling water roars dig the shores
Heavy hard they grapple trees and humans
Tumbling turner tides glide no one adore
Frightened humans, they run! Run and run fast!
As they desire to survive ever more
From angry nimbus clouds darkening span
To merry-go-round waves muddy wet skirt
Gnawing so hungry to launch damage pert
Beeping screams a reigning train of terror
Rattling man's safety in viral bellow
The ground shut bullet rush without error
All will see an avalanche fresh fresco
the scathe and cries a full furor mirror
Waiting for hope - the sun's chrome of yellow
Abrupt sea assault bridge to sudden death
Taking all weak and anyone with breath
© O. E. Guillermo
9:48pm
September 28, 2009
*** FROM A DOCUMENTARY I watch about killer tsunami
Sponsor Giorgio A. V.
Contest Name Top Gun Poetry - Structured forms - Iambic verse II
placed 2nd
Tidal Waves
Brackish debris filled surf retreats
depositing into hard sand graves
pictures stolen from post cards
Shards of a city strewn disjointedly
still ticking clocks idled in the moment
streets awash in decorative disarray
liquid mud roiling through the streets
ravenous pain stalking its victims
cold shock of sunshine’s failure
hands clutching grabbing
carried on the crust of fear
waving in silent farewell
luxury and comfort crushed
wild furor of seismic waves
expending tectonic energy
John G. Lawless
5/12/2015
submitted to - Show but Don’t Tell – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Thomas Martin
Glorifying thrills of curious weeds
Wandering children with careless deeds
Broken leaves embracing the sun
Goblin heads for the better sure
On boundless grounds, allure
Vapours from the void so numb.
Release from heaven,the Godly tears
Silently succumb to the human fears
Thirsty flock of birds galore
Accosted branches reach out for help
The heartless Mother had never felt
The thrust of Wintry furor.
Rails of stillness,thunder past
Childlike happiness racing fast
Against the skyline,blue
The blazing lime,ever so greedy
Lazy cows and cranes dreamy
Raindrops and melancholy flew
Misty mornings of cobweb twists
Freezing feelings of stuffy fists
Prancing on a rainbow, over hot coffee
Golden veils spun from the fire
Over distant highness of desire
A magic, a mystery, it seems to be..
The times of love and the times just
Dozen reveries of scrumptious lust
Abduct the heart to the same
Humble nature with happy dreams
When nightmare comes, it screams
Even the mountains vehemently maim
The labyrinth of a decedent mind
Indulge in masquerade like a rind,
From the sublime beauty of a picturesque felony
In rivers, flows the ardent smiles
Between mountains, are hidden rhymes
Of craved love, left behind,peace and harmony.
Entry Landscape and Towns ...Thank you
If our love is a sin, then heaven must be full of such tender and selfless sinning as ours— Radclyffe Hall
Explore themes of love and identity
Of Stephen Gordon’s innate sense of masculinity
Since a child, her desire, ‘women’
The idea that if love is considered a sin
The unfolding of a female sexual invert
The act of loving must be a tender selfless act, revert?
Love itself is not inherently sinful or
complexities of love, we shan’t ignore
But rather the circumstances surrounding it
Misfits from Malvern to London and then to Paris!
Ira furor brevis, the frailty, taboo and strife
Fellow q***r characters, all walks of life
From the *sapphic salon hostess Valérie Seymour
To the 'miserable army' and more
of outcasts that frequents the 'merciless
Drug-dealing, death-dealing' bars of Montmartre
Written in another time, still support and solidarity to
generations of LGBTQ genre
*Sapphic is an umbrella term for same-gender loving women or woman-aligned people, including lesbians and bisexual+ women. It is used to describe topics, activities, and ideas related to same-sex attraction among women. The term can also refer to the Greek lyric poet Sappho.
In Memoriam Quietly Always Close
Are they whispers, then, settling
So gently upon that slightest breeze wending
Over the granite crosses and statues of cradling angels,
Which stand in their long cemetary rows?
Stating each name of the one passed on with
There-on etched, too, the noting of time alive
And telling of the beloved, who hum there their slow laments;
Who send up colorful balloons to celebrate their love and
Take far their silent greetings in the sky.
Are they lullaby heartsongs, which
Rise on sprigs of heaven-bound light,
So tunefully sweet for love’s addressed, aided
By a league of angellic composers
In their lyrical rounds from above our earthly sphere?
Are these the places of our hushed sympathies?
The places we lay over our dear ones
All the broken pieces of the grieving heart’s still longing
To stay in some way forever near, and, so, we linger thoughtfully
Criss-crossing the undulating final verdigris
Landscape, which embraces the last remains ~
Resting on in heaven’s wait for that further journey going on.
Are these faint mists surrounding
So many hours of our own remaining days —
Which are spent summoning back the stories, the touches,
The eyes that happily cast their glance into our own —
Not truly our tears
Being turned to magnifying memories,
Prayerfully appearing with each
Dusk’s close of day and placid rise of the radiant moon?
Do see that the soundless falling is our aching?
Is a furor — burst of pure, white snow:
A flash of a blizzard, looking nearly weightless,
Landing in silence, but
Incongruously, falling heavily down, into those forming crystalline layers
To dress a seeming lace-like çover over all the stone markers
With a luminous beauty, revealing a metaphor, ineffable
~ Blessed markers of life itself set here before us
Within reach of meeting the Divine.
—————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 6/5/2023
(Written for Jennifer Wilson & Maggie Hopkins in loving
Memory of James Hopkins, spouse, father, & friend) Also written with the inspiring power of images of the 9,000 marking gravestone crosses in Normandy, France, and sights of Arlington Cemetary, Washington, D.C.
Written to unaccompanied cello Suite 1 in G major, perfomer Yo Yo Ma
Thanks be to God…
How vast and pervasive is the Moon?
Hugeness hints there stand two
Orbs and a turbulent stream
Simply like the dawning sun
All over the half-moon horizon.
On the shore of credulity
The froth shed detritus and sea salt
Carving a path into level sand
Slicing the weft out of silk
By cutting across the fabric kernel
The waves were sealed on the scanty shore
The furor was in harmony with the dust
Pearl-like seaweed and scrubber.
Moonlight over the Sea at Dawn
It is ideal and so spectacularly tempting
The churning water bred white foam
I am enthusiastic to have the plunge
The tendons, sinews, and guts were all wary
A season invests these twilight hours
Fetch the ache and gentleness
Misleading magnetism
My inner mermaid is hopeless
The moon was merely out of the embrace.
It related me to a no-blue world
Spume was kicked by white ponies
As they did in our fourth year of dreams
Cantering toward the welling of time
In the utter stiffness at the two ends
Do not feel dire about shedding tears
The spectrum of the dull light
We never noticed.
Written: October 29, 2022
We cannot tame a raging storm, so with patience,
we must wait for the calm. ~ by poet
The balmy afternoon had been fulgent and warm
Until darkness foreshadowed an approaching storm
Wailing winds of the nor'easter would soon cause grief
damaging fragile coral growth upon the reef
Leaden clouds encroached and shrouded the gloomy day
The aura changed from gold to hue of graphite gray
It seemed as if an eclipse turned day into night
as feathered wings rose in unison to take flight
Thunder's billowed breath blew across the ocean's waves
as if the tempest was demanding what it craves
Atmosphere grew heavy with each powerful roar
White caps rushed with clangor against the sandy shore
With vengeance, the storm hurled jagged lightening strikes
Split second flashes that resembled silver spikes
* * *
Then, the deluge rained like arrows, sharp as metal
That would've wounded men like a stinging nettle
The monsoon swept overland, clear across the dunes
on zephyr winds that howled diabolical tunes
The storm seethed with a furor that was unsuppressed
leaving the seaside landscape despoiled and distressed
Battered by ferocious weather that was to blame
Nature's forces can be impossible to tame
Finally, squalls dwindled and waves no longer surged
Glowing rays of sunlight defiantly emerged
And so the storm came with raging temper to vent,
pillaged treasures from the sea. Yes, it came and went
It was quite a balmy evening, fulgent and warm
Upon the beach seashells lie, displaced by the storm
I remember his words, not that long ago
Telling of such times when crimson flowed
My Grandad, my hero, who's memories told
My bedroom window I look, it all unfolds
Neighbours fighting neighbours, why I cry
People talking yesterday now in furor
I'm young, I'm eleven, asking myself why
What's changed overnight, fueling this score
In panic surround Dubrovnik is now where I stay
Walled city, Grandads house, from Serbian tirade
Seven months endured, walls holding well
Wishing it's over ending our imprisoned hell
Again his stories unfold of countries in ruin
Fighting with Tito, heroes they one and all
Repelling the Germans, killing their doing
Repulsed he is, by their murdering thrall
Back to the present and a silence exists
Can it be that the fighting has now ceased
What I'm seeing aged eleven, people I know
Holding back tears of whom known deceased
It's now 2015, I'm a Lawyer of human rights
I've lived many nightmares, said killing sights
For my Grandfathers memories, he and all
There will be justification, when no one will thrall
.
A movie about horror
Characters playing with mirror
Reflecting images of furor
Dissecting with knives of terror
Villains of phantasm
Heels of sarcasm
Viewers of spasm
Breaking apart like chasm
Stories of apparition
Product of man's illusion
Overshadowing people's intuition
Instinct over perception
Curtains of cinema, wide open and free
Watchers of stigma, cold hands on knee
Lesson of the story, mind over body
Shadows of mystery, glimpse of artistry
Glasses of different shapes
Showing out various shapes
Glasses of distinct hues
Blowing out vague and clear-cut views
Mirrors of you in glasses
Like crystals molded in mashes
Furor, dolors, splendor in glasses
Like petals defoliating in sashes
Mirrors of you on hand
Reflections of you unveiled
With all mirrors of the world at hand
Imperfections of you unsealed
Tales of the pasts, stories unmasked
Events of time lapsed, memories basked
Mirrors of you from the past
Blowin' winds in cast
Mirrors of you everlasting
Tokens of you not flabbergasting
Mirrors of you on the rocks
Dusts of you sprinkled in blocks
You are what you are in mirrors
Fictional or not in errors
Mirrors of life are in you
Mirrors of you are all but one in you
(for M.T.)
Some days you wake up
You look in the mirror
You’re afraid of the fire
Afraid of the furor
Your heart skips gaily
Over each error
Like the bumps that curb your speed
You’re waiting for Friday
Waiting for June
That plan ‘round the corner
That golden moon
Cracks in the leather and grease on your spoon –
You’re the last of a dying breed
I used to know what
To say to my friends
Dusting off jokes
Or making amends
What do we care
which language offends?
The garden should welcome its weeds
But they’re retiring jerseys
And burning books
TV won’t age you
If you hold on to your looks
You’re a man called Horse
Swinging from their hooks
Yes, the last of a dying breed
Isn’t it strange?
We were here just a short while ago
The petals of sweet innocence
Immune to the wind
Isn’t it strange?
You forget everything that you know
And the altar of experience
Demands a list of your sins
Time’s a tilted table
Time’s a thrown fight
Time would have you go gentle
Off into the night
But time don’t bear in mind
Your deep appetite
And the force on which you feed
In the Army of Stagnancy,
It’s “don’t ask, don’t tell”
Just think of those ladies
at the poisoned well
And greet the humid weather
And bid fond farewell
To the last of a dying breed.
Take my hand Love,
to where the stars hide
above the upper blue of hot day,
burning on the fingertips of Eternity's forbidden skin
waiting within the thin melody of ivory savagery
for us to escape the boundaries of silent imagination,
we must go to where they struggle for our blessing
we must see the symbol that we survive for high in their souls
listen to the age of their light, taste the wisdom of their words,
I need you to come with me to the birthplace of my love for you
I need you to feel the movement of our young future in your honest ear,
let them witness the love catalyst, launch between our heart bound eyes
and in the finesse of our body fire they will know the faith and furor of stellar success
as comet accents furnish the secrets of ancient suns with crystal hymns
reflecting the atomic romance burgeoning blissfully in the volcanic skies of our combined minds -
J.A.B.
On the Edge of Darkness
Caught in the void’s magnetic grip, jagged
Thoughts hurtling abyss bound, like you I felt,
Hopelessly hanging above that enraged
Roaring fire where deepest despair dwells
But blunt anger is but a crazed voice
A screaming harpy careening fearless
Towards a senseless end, a fraught choice
That left unchecked your pained soul will possess
So when you have walked the solitary
Waters and reached that dark nebulous shore,
Tread with caution, beware incendiary
Words, instead search and fight with furor
For unshackled wisdom, to be stronger;
Strive to make your voice clearer, not louder.
Seven cities sat* silently in the sandstorm**
Waiting as the wind whipped around wickedly**
Dun walls draped with dirt and dust**
And the darkened sun desperately seeking a dim scenery*
But as the unsecured boards were battered and broken about
Clapping clappers clipping** the next scene
The humans huddle in the hovels hiding and hidden**
From the farce of the ferocious furor, full of fear**
But then, as suddenly as it started, it subsides**
As silence settles** and the sand sifts** down
Down to the ground and gravel
And carefully eyes peek out of slits and keyholes
Seeing the first rays slice through the haze
Defining from pastel to watercolor to crisp bristle brush
Even if the voice of the cities are still hush*
There is a stirring of life
Of hope
In the end of stormy strife***
*personification
**alliteration
***metaphor