Best Krakatoa Poems
Life is an uphill battle
No credit only blame
You play the cards they hand you
But there’s no meaning to the game
The rock rolls down upon you
And you try and you try again
As you justify existence
To live in the world of men
Oh, Krakatoa
Raining down on me
Oh, Krakatoa
You size up situations
Dig your trenches and hunker in
Wear your machine gun bullet halo
As if you had a chance to win
But in the country of your spirit,
You’re awaiting deportation
Still, your wet eyes greet the morning light
In stagnant celebration
The anvil of your calling
Keeps pressing for response
As the blacksmith strikes the molten mash
Amid your veil of sparks
And it seems like you’ve been bent this way
For a hundred-thousand years
With the peoples of antiquity
Who learned to explain their fears –
Oh, Krakatoa
Raining down on me
Oh, Krakatoa
After becoming confident
(das ernest frank gent) handled ignition
jerryrigged knobs, levers, motors,
nameless other parts quintessentially,
set registers to “understand” vital www xy zone.
----------------------------------------------------------
A blitzkrieg capstone detonated explosive forcees
generating horrendous instantaneous jolt,
Krakatoa lost mighty noise,
outrageous phenomena qualified regarding
tremendous unearthly violent
whiplashing xing yawping zeitgeist!
----------------------------------------------------------
Imagine; The giant from Jack and the beanstalk, deign
Paul Bun, or the Jolly Green Giant,
straddling an imaginary line
between fall and winter. Therein lied the rub
(a tub tub three men in a tub), a question of mine
if pecking peccadillos peculiar per pretend puppies
engaged in any...Snoop...doggy style spine
tingling homosexual behavior,
no who matter intimated naked playtime also flourished
amidst can dyed cornicopia of good 'n plenty eats
contrasted with paucity,
life and death, Halloween evolved
as a celebration and superstition with wine
woman and song. Such weaning of the hallow,
or hallow of the weaner originated
with ancient Celtic festival of Samhain,
when village people would light vanity of bonfires,
and wear politically incorrect costumes
to ward off roaming ghosts of inept leaders
if necessary rivaling Tarzan impressions
swinging on a vine.
The Mound of the Hostages car bon mot dated
(by this amateur sigh hint hussed)
at 4,500 to 5000 years old, or there about
suggesting Samhain celebrated long before
first Celts arrived in Ireland
about 2,500 years ago with no cleats boot riveting clout
Samhain (pronounced /'s??w?n/
SAH-win or /'sa?.?n/ SOW-in,
Irish pronunciation: without,
or possibly Greek to this doubt
ting Thomas – [s??u?n?]),
a Gaelic festival marking the end,
when pollination ceased to flout
ushered advent of harvest season,
and beginning cust tomb of caw king grout,
discussing the epic winter of Gilgamesh,
or the "darker half" of the year,
when one feasted on giblets and sauer kraut
Halloween rooted er beer reed in ancient biers
caravansari doggedly exhumed along route,
66 (the third beastly 6
COPLA 99 INVOCATION : This Bad Guy World
Look : how Great leaders smile at the sky
Proud of the kettle-drum thunder they ply :
Safe underground
Yet tectonic plates inch by inch shy
Away from the Gondwanian crunch nigh :
Earth molten bound
Zhen the Eldest Son shockwaves the gong
Drowns our thunder bound in moth balls :
Nature’s close call
See how Pompei’s pillars go for a song
Come the Krakatoa tsunami walls :
(Do) Great leaders fall
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
they drag there feet through the dust of charred land.
observing and writing all's that they found.
smoke bellowed high in an eruption of cloud.
all in it's way was incinerated down.
then came the calm compared to the storm.
the local's forgot and returned to the norm.
cutting off fruit from the tree's by the lawn.
almost forgetting what they saw in the storm.
then came the day that the world was shook still.
three crater's erupted and raced down the hill.
leaving the sea as nothing more than a stream.
krakatoa had spoken and was now to be seen.
the local's prayed to the god of the fire.
struck dumb in a trance they raced to ground higher.
ship's in the sea were smothered in ash.
the breath's of the crew choked as they gasped.
86 mile's away eruption's were heard.
survival was second,panic was first.
tropical city's were drowned in grey ash.
then in the morning cataclysmic sound's passed.
then came the water intruding the sea.
all in it's path became the deceased.
first came the heat now come's the wet.
dozen's of feet high with the force of all death's.
black and white photo's show familiar sight's.
once stood tall buildings gone over night.
then came the fiercest measure of all.
krakatoa had bounced from the earth like a ball.
light colored magma mixed with the dark.
causing directly the sea to embark.
off on it's journey to show all's who see.
that mother nature is here and al way's shall be.
then came the final eruption of all.
heard round the world like a universal call.
pushing on further the sea to the sky.
the tsunami came quicker as the tidal wave's climbed.
panic had gone as the world was to end.
no longer have family,no longer have friend.
do you think that the sea care's who's holier than thou.
no god shall ever hear the prayer's of the drowned.
only the calm of the few did survive.
the world now stood still,shocked and surprised.
who's god was it that sent down this plague.
pushing the night into all of our day's.
mother nature creates us and can take us at will.
so be kind to the lady and hope she is still.
respect her and understand she rule's us all.
don't be surprised by her power,when she stand's tall.
I'm channeled rhymes, perspectives of young poet late in life!
Evolving too, I hope to please, share reveries a wife
(Scheherazade) shows to her spouse (loved patrons, here confessed),
who fears both too, for wives do fail, find heads divorce their chest.
Attention found here couched in verse, two stanzas, four lines each,
all meant to praise, if questions raised, still purposed not to preach.
I hope to show some verse you share - reception won: song heard!
My warbled tweets tout gold I get
(signed)
brown, ear-catching bird.
Krakatoa Kritic #007
12/06/20
The Big Bang that changed the very face of the earth,
That to all forms of panoramas did give birth;
OM - the elemental sound of the universe,
Divinely, within mind and body does immerse;
Loudest Krakatoa volcanic eruption,
Softest chime of blossoming of buds with affection;
All these small and great sounds fill me with melodies,
Catharsis acts of life in times of tragedies...!
Buzzing of honey bees; roaring of the wild wind,
Threatening sounds of beast’s fury within designed;
Bubbling of water-falls, fountains, streams and rivers,
Hissing of tender leaf that in winter shivers;
Pitter-patter of rains that hit the cracked terrain,
Dried trunks of trees of hot forests, burning in chain;
Each evokes harmonious assonance within,
Fun, frolic, thrills and chills rhythmically spin...!
Barking of my dog outside; mewing of my cat;
Braying of the washer-man's donkey; with voice flat;
Mooing of a crow and chuckling of cock and hen,
Silent sound of ink that leaks from a poet's pen;
Banging of wooden door; squeaking the hot hair-dryer;
Tyre-Hum and bomb-like sound of truck's burst-Tyre;
Tick-tock of a clock; dynamite-exploded rock,
What sound of earth my soul's shrine doesn't gently knock...?
16 August 2022
Point of View or Truth?
What is your view of politics? I'm sad, but dream there's more,
though politics says rhythm's plague, rhyme's rotten to the core,
and hope seems lost that world's worth spit! Can Right say Left is wrong?
Though snowflakes have their differences, what's True sings Nature's song.
Weak fashions trend and folks mature, but Truth ignores demand!
Truth's face may blanch (cracked shells line beach), but history's the sand
whose grains on earth outnumber stars in Milky Way's facade,
and ocean waves (1) grind finer still (while politics claims God).
Yes, Truth exists beyond the pale of what we dream is true,
its harmonies acknowledge God in all we say and do.
Do fascist friendly risk Hell's Fire who label Truth fake news,
conspire to earn more pain on earth, in civil court venues?
Krakatoa Kritic #007
March 16, 2021
I have so many friends these days who want to believe that all Truth is simply one's point of view, especially political Truth, that what they want to think is as good as what anyone else thinks. So, to engage in debate is foolish! They also suggest that those who disagree with them are only attached to being right (and making them wrong)! That could be right, but what if their beliefs are flawed? How should one who hopes for Grace behave? Let me have the courage to confront a friend's perceived weakness with as much love as I can muster.
(1) "I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of Truth lay all undiscovered before me."
Isaac Newton (1642-1727)
Krakatoa Kritic #007
Let those comment who kill with soft words when they ‘get’ you!
Should we hold praise hostage, retreat when we can’t see
reciprocal giftings that laud what we write in return?
My take’s yours if you like it, still yours if you don’t, but
a gift I hope serves you! My joy’s to encourage,
not harm. This might be the sole poem I post here (1), that’s fine!
Let all praise what we glean, words hearts join with mind’s sinew
praise noticed or not as you pass, whistle ‘Dixie,’
fly all flags half-mast! Share your muse though I freeze, melt, or burn:
blow my top at poor rhymes, curse free verse! Friend, inhabit
your prose, don't let rhythm and rhyme be a bandage
that grafts a snake’s tail on a mouse! Sing! Canary in mine!
The “One and Only” Krakatoa Kritic #007
(1) By here, I mean on this ‘Krakatoa Kritic #007’ site. I will continue to post poems under my actual name. I will try to respond to all questions about any review. I will not review others' work on request but seek to reward those I see contributing to others' growth, whose poems and whose comments appeal to me.
PS: I have published quite a few poems on PoetrySoup now! And I’m grateful to all readers if they comment or not! I think, however, that numbered, anonymous comments that only PS could identify the author of would be a significant improvement to PoetrySoup’s much-appreciated site! Members can already delete any comment that offends them! In this spirit, look for comments from me, ‘Krakatoa Kritic #007,’ on this site, on your poem! All payments/bribes are acceptable but will not get you nothing though I am a gold-medal receiver. A more loving, healthy community is my primary goal. I will post my reviews of all poems on both PoemHunter and PoetrySoup. I hope this will increase your poem's readership, and draw new readers to poets on both sites.
Comments might be more efficacious if it was impossible to construe them to be solicitations to read the commenter’s poetry (on both PoemHunter and PS). There is enough false praise in the world.
I do not claim to have the ear of God! The poems and comments I offer on this site are my suggestions, hoping to help both sites to become even better servants of poetic expression. InshAllah!
Bri E. may be so smart, but his meter's opaque
with a density quotient, the Gods might forsake.
Tongue in cheek, web's undone, but with spasms of fun,
and he rhymes, so he wins! Hope no evil Bri twins'
in the closet, past-postal on poems that pose
in-depth pulchritude, content, punch syllable's nose!
Let's leave room - puns play part, for perverse forms of art,
time that melts, colored dots; watch Bri's muse tied in knots!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
Does a poem that promotes your humility suggest you're humble?
Hmm! Well, as a grateful immigrant, I try to give Americans a lot
of rope, but I've got my eye on you, Bri! An 8+ to 9- for a fun self-
effacement that sounds fair!
See "Bri's So Smart! !….[ The Truth Must Be Told! ]" a poem by
Bri Edwards on PoemHunter.com!
I find that friendship is a gift I want to give at times to strang-
ers though clear logic’s trace is missing (should the cat get out of bag!)
and it’s found motive’s ghost’s a glimmer that’s more tightly bound to muse
(this life’s what-ifs bent on a rampage where stampede of clouds crowd sky).
If rope hangs coiled and loose from saddle, long lost stirrups’ ground’s in flight
(boot’s toes can’t pin). Left hand grips horn, right one has reins, but muse is mount
that’s in control. My gift refused is still your gift though it’s remiss!
I’m still your friend if that’s my choice (as God’s my witness, you’ve no vote!)
No heart’s corralled by guns or fences where love’s found out on the range.
A gift worth giving, finds it’s given more than once! No one goes stag!
Who could desire a role constrained to what serves one, much less confuse
a romp (in hay?) with love for God who bids us love like Christ (or try?):
all men and women too, soul’s colors - gifts from birth! For ALL delight
the Lord our GOD, Christ’s Church intended Bride, whose talents stars can’t count!
Still, ALL must grow toward light of God if they’re to love, OR know Love’s Bliss.
God’s love’s “symphonic,” “rock and roll,” earth’s “om,” sustains life, our blessed note!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
May 1, 2022
Eat your heart out Cowboy Ron Williams!
Deep within Earthen bowels
immensely distant from sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm
precipitously crooked
rocky claws pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits
comprising soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked,
via weathered tomb stones)
hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber.
One among their number
included a misanthrope
who sported long straggly hair
bushy eyebrows shield
ding cold eyes of steel
straggly bearded clammy chin
in tandem with a hairy body
which when alive (long time ago)
upheld upon unshod feet, a severely
hunchbacked cretin
Within dense pitch-black terrain
(Mother Nature enlisting
a menagerie of life forms
accustomed to hellish environment)
awash with unrecognizable
alien sights and sounds
mollycoddling bewitching warlocks,
mailer daemons, trolling trojan horses
imps of the pervert chieftains, fiery
long and fostered Golems
who called underworld
their private demesne
also alluded to Marcy's playground
holding hostage Alice in Chains
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
The Beastie Boys, Culture Club
The Human League, and
Village People a Crowded House
Emitting wisps of ethereal matter
appearing a small medium at large
chat snap ping, flickr ring
indeed joyus minions
exalting piety good and plenti.
Prone ounce sing proud purgatory
promoting protean phantasmagoria
hideous hulu hoop dancing holograms
highly distorted grotesque
silent 10,000 maniacs screaming
sinister semblance to banshees
slithering across escarpment.
Echoing one end of universe to the other
putting to shame initial big bang
ranking as a mere whimper
that original primordial blast
which cosmological exploits
generated heavenly sphere instantaneously
comparison viz Krakatoa times Googleplex
essentially reduced to insignificance
albeit on the analogous tinker toy
premised conjectures of brilliant minds
could gander feeble educated guesses
asper extraordinary natural phenomena
mortal mankind could never approximate
as belligerent threats punctuated,
via nuclear warfare
merely rates as a flickr
amidst uber kindle snap chat ting
tinder blinks, extinguishes,
snuffs out one lowly
Beatle browed bipedal simian.
My boyfriend calls me 'potty mouth'
'cause I can go on so.
But loves me still, as hope you will
know 'bird' that fields no cage
for man or mouse.
An immigrant, I love the South
though hurricanes do blow.
I'd share your range if that's not strange,
and trust you'll act your age!
Sun maid, not spouse!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
A fun poem. I'd say most women appreciate a flexible man, I know I do! A personal ten from me! Who knows what's true! But you're my first 10 on PH! Ha!
See “I Love You Still” by Cowboy Ron Williams on PoemHunter.com!
Life’s Fading Rodeo?
While I’m glad of your retirement from less fruitful goals you’ve chased,
still, the big sky’s grown some smaller by concerns (and verse displaced?).
Hope your boots still kick up dust on trails, your eyes track Sun that sets
from cliff’s crow’s nest perch that welcomes sails blown home by dawn’s regrets.
The sharp humor missed in turns of phrase, the edge of light you shine,
a fun Valentine the postman lost, days’ questioned cork of Vine-
tage wine. Break your fast if possible, release brain’s stored up fat.
May new poetry’s loops lasso bum steers! Cheers! I ‘tip my hat!’
Krakatoa Kritic #007
I’ve got a thing for Cowboy Life frankly, and the men that lived this difficult life for so many years of American History. Dean’s last poem on Poetry Soup was in November of 2019 and I hope this collective ‘10’ for his work pulls him out of Poetry retirement at least! That would make this a poem worth its ink!
See “Retirement” by Dean Wood on PoetrySoup.com
Good titles make 'life' verse for me
(romantic, cliff notes, fantasy),
though they do dictate trails I take,
my vision’s mine (that’s no mistake!).
It’s rare a title’s afterthought,
though I’ve been there, don’t think I’ve not,
still, I grant freedom to my muse
to fly above more earth-bound views.
I’d more explore a title’s gist
than grant one to a poem kissed
that’s witch’s apple’s helpless prat.
(What’s named, full grown? How deep is that?) (1)
Snow Whites succumb to witches’ guile
(does beauty take one extra mile,
or lessons learned forge love more true?)
God bless! This answer’s up to you!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
November 25, 2022
I find it hard to believe that even God’s Love is perfect in
the present and does not get better with time. Is it beyond
the pale to think that God learns too from creation Itself,
including His/Her/Its children? I don’t think so!
(1) Aphrodite, a goddess of love (and of prostitution) is often
depicted as being born fully grown (and naked). She's a strange
symbol for beauty however, as her beauty is thus separate
from any other characteristic or individuation that is not purely
physical. She is defined by (trapped by) her physical appearance,
Snow White is not a whole lot different in many respects. She,
too, is trapped by her beauty, frozen in time, waiting for a kiss!
How sad is this! Is this why Greek men preferred sex with boys?
If John (or Jane), a spouse (or bike) can bring butt pain
and some fools in pursuit of mere bliss think both tools.
Most fighters win rounds (one or two). But do they fight to win (for you)?
Some might say I’m a blighter. Still, new bikes are lighter!
There are good wines that age, but the best wine IS vintage.
If courtesy’s a subtle art, integrity’s its dearest part!
Life (flat out) can mean bugs in your eye, though you fly!
Ride uphill grants a clearer view; this world’s not you!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
My poem is more a humorous comment on the human tendency toward
revisionism (I hope) than a criticism of John’s sly original poem with its twist.
This light-hearted free verse rates a ‘10!’ I enjoyed it, John, though I prefer rhymes!
See ‘Together for the Long Ride,’ a poem by John Watt on PoetrySoup.com.