Best Squalls Poems
In riming realms
of crystal contemplations -
frozen water-vapor meditations
and chilled flutes
filled with zodiacal-light musings
of ancient cosmic dust
dancing in the arms of Sol..
windswept operatic reveries
rise and fall
as her stirring soprano
tickled by the chanting of icicle chimes
gathers momentum
in strengthening sprays
of frosted musical notes adrift in broken chords
she bestrides
a clouded steed colored mother-of-pearl
flowing with fury
within which beats a blustery heart
surging at jet stream speeds
on the clattering beat of hailstorm hooves
from streamer-skies of the northern dancers
they fly aloft
on arctic gales of lyrical laughter
igniting the imagination
of her freezing fire
burning now with a blistering whip
and a frostbite nip
that sinks its tingling teeth deep
sailing
a supernatural stage
amplifying—
her aerated soprano soars
in polar vortex arias
as an avalanche of glazed trinkets
—descendants of her fertile femininity
skydive
in shivering sixfold symmetry
falling
in fierce flights of fancy
as she cyclones on consecrated currents
with wild abandon
escalating
in twirling trills
of glass beaded squalls
swirling her iced eiderdown skirts aflare
baring tempest thighs
storming with a Siberian sting!
..and as her electric eyes spark
luminous with lightning
she buries you in a blizzard
of opalescent mistletoe berries
and wanton whims.
I always answer
Without hesitation
To adventure’s calls
Through waves that toss
Winds that batter
I survive squalls
On a sea of emotion
Alone I swirl
Feeling blue
My rowboat has two oars
Two benches
Shouldn’t it carry two?
Sky and sea
Speak of eternity
But they have each other
I would give all
Just to know love
And sail with another
I hear the voices you once bequeathed to me
Enchanting concert music in symphony of love
But I left the theater before the show was over
Walking all alone in the missteps of contempt,
Endorsing the reticence of unspoken words.
Deep in my psyche these memories now reside
Where devoid of fond smiles, blossoms have dried.
As I refuse to accept that I’ve lost you forever
Echoes of outcry from the unsung emotions
Poignantly evoke the saddest lines of discourse
In conversations espousing laments of my soul,
Within backstreets of mind amid chaos of thoughts
Having lost directions to dreamlands of the past,
For I refused the promise in winter’s goodbye
And rejected fiery passions of autumnal vibes,
As I squashed the dreams in flights of monarchs—
Never kissing fragrant lips of doting ambrosia.
Though you guided me through twilight of romance
I struggled in ineptitude of lovesick night of dark—
Oh, how I missed my mark beneath the northern star!
As my storm keeps churning, hosting a cyclone,
The rivers, once calm, have flooded my crops
And gusty winds ravaged dismantling my farm
And tall weeds have now occupied my sidewalks,
As dissonance of our love remorsefully squalls
Within indecisive nomenclature of my timid heart.
September 25, 2019
Placed 1st: In the backstreets of my mind poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Placed 3rd: Strand select C contest by Brian Strand
I paint your beauty in my heart and mind
in swirling strokes of wind squalls and light;
the youthful lift of limbs of early spring,
with summer’s joyful red, with fall's surprise.
I paint you in wonder of winter’s white
through snow storm's chill and my loving eyes.
I paint you beyond the blue pain of the past
with the gray of fear the future hides.
Jealous of luring space and power of time,
yet, with all the hope, the joy, the ache
as seen in the strength of my trembling hand;
I’ll paint you again my child, mesmerized.
After: L'Enfant au Tablier Rouge, 1886 by Berthe Morisot
For Debbie Guzzi's Challenge: Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 8
Kim Patrice Nunez
17 January 2016
She speaks of trees in morning mist
A promise of leaves all color kissed.
Discourse in shades of russet tones
Her loss of emerald leaves bemoans
Her cadence heard in whispering leaves
With cooling winds she summer grieves
In mellow tones her course made known
She squalls till all her leaves have blown
And with her branches bare to sky
Bids to summer a fond goodbye.
And We Call It……
Sprinkles, drizzles,
Mists and downpours;
Torrents, cloudbursts
Liquid sunshine;
Showers, deluge,
Mists and squalls,
Gully washers -
Thunder showers.
Pelting, pounding,
Soaking, drenching;
Dancing, pouring
Cats and dogs;
Bursting, drifting
Floating, falling,
Coming down
In buckets.
Comes in summer
Rides on thunder,
Comes in autumn
Twirls on whirlwinds;
Comes in winter
Plays with blizzards;
Comes in springtime
Floats on breezes.
Puddles, pools
Of standing water;
Dripping eaves –
Filling gutters;
Celebration
For umbrellas
And we call it…..
RAIN!!!
The Tempest
Upon enchanted sands of shipbreached shores
Dethroned beggar of a borrowed callow mystery
Heaves a lightning staff into the waves -
Thunderous and raw clandestine secrecy
On luminous swirling ariels sheering the celestial –
Into the curfew of castaway souls as a hoary appeal
Where storm surges loot delirium in foreboding typhoons
As rioting angels brood in their search
For the orphaned heart in tattered rags of upheaval.
Hear the muted tempest of dark depths roar
As wintered tantrums rock the shores
Leasing waves with unseen spells and charms,
Harnessing the tidal astrals in purifying
Tsunamis of holy risk –
Storm watch night, for souls in cataclysmic squalls,
Reshape the shallow shoals infected by deceit
Refresh the tidal pools emptied by betrayal
Now calm the ruffled gales -the shattered glassy sea,
Return from shipwrecked isle to fury abandoned shores.
11/3/2020
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 6
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Inspired by Shakespeare’s The Tempest
T i m e stops for no one,
as searing seconds swerve
through seasonal squalls,
thawing frost that sleeps upon
the necks of onyx roses,
where pain is etched in skeletal sins~
across pruned plumes,
fleeting through amethyst air,
merged in changing frequencies
of wind and waves,
carrying ballads of a bruised bluebird.
But I have long known grief,
and I’ve tasted the bittersweet
cocktails of life and love.
I am s i l e n c e,
swirling amidst the wheels
of dusk and dawn,
like the unseen flares
of blazing boulevards,
for I am made from ashes of steel,
strong to the eyes
that see not beyond bleeding sighs.
I waltz faster than
my fears can grasp,
the obsidian t e a r s of petals,
leaving each abstract sunset
sketched in acrylics
on murky meadows,
thriving with grieving geraniums.
O beloved moon,
I see lakes of Elysium
through the chained windows
of my tortured tower.
I breathe against the
crystalline concoctions
composed from the ink
of curved constellations,
erasing kismet calligraphies,
cluttered with chaotic conclusions,
sailing toward an astrological sphere,
where colors of love
run free against
the gravity of diabolical dust,
designed on rings of rust.
So let me save the twilight sage,
before the last drop of wintry rage
is no longer tamed by the
treacherous tongue of fate,
for I am armored against
the demonic drumrolls,
luring the splitting sea-surge
to a bioluminescent shore
where Lucifer’s footsteps linger,
caressing the edges of snakeskin,
mimicking merciless mantras
of Medusa melodies,
orchestrated in seething strings,
oblivious to the t r u t h
that I am more than
a wounded warrior,
dressed in whimsical wisterias.
I’ve learned to let go
of every faltering feather,
that blinded me,
pushing my patience
into a labyrinth of tilted tulips,
tainted with twisted tones
and hues of hypocrisy.
Remember,
I am more than the splitting paranoia,
running through corridors of uncertainty,
I am flashlights in the monsoon sky~
emanating petrichor pastels
upon nocturnal nightingales,
singing without words,
dreaming amidst trickling chords.
~ and this is the truth of trembling t i m e
that halts not for the sleeping supernovas ~
For forty days and nights, a tempest strange
blew in; the lost unsaved by fortresses.
One shelter only from those winds of change:
an ark that sailed to rainbow's promises.
Elijah, fleeing from his enemies,
protected from an earthquake, fire, and storm,
was fed by angels heeding God's decrees.
The Rock of ages kept him safe and warm.
The fishermen knew raging squalls and throes;
one maelstrom caused their courage to be thinned -
when Jesus tells the storm, "be still!", he shows
himself to be the Master of the wind.
On stormy seas, when troubling winds arise,
sail for the harbor where true safety lies.
Written 23 Nov 2020
autumn stalls, a spent leaf falls
spirit yet graced by bliss squalls
rust red hues adorning earth
womb of life, wherefrom God calls
Come with me my Brother,
to a secret place where Light and Shadow line the face with fear and grace,
leave sophmoric style, wry smile and sly bile on the road of your forgotten mile,
sick sarcasm is the symptom of envy, a pet to your heart destroyer,
such artifice and malice have no language in this room of roasted dreams,
Enter through the damaged door, touch the destruction of vandals,
you have never been here before, where gold blood cuts the floor,
do you see how the walls move like squalls at our approach,
feel how they tell stories with the sensations of defeat, anxiety, impropriety,
in here we witness a collection of seperate yet synthesized segments of Self,
childhood torment, shallow manhood, virility limp as stolen victory,
underachievement, the underbelly of your arrogance, flacid like placid passion,
We journey further into this gallery of emotional gallows
smelt by the hurt of innumerable adavances
repelled by the demands of Quality,
you will writhe wildly
from the harrowing healing leeching into your concepts of self control,
graceful in absorbtion of Truth's attrition,
fruitless ambition shall now cling as cleaving contrition,
your face Brother, look long into the shimmer of sorrow become the old,
tattooed you are like a snake's skin checkered and beautiful
with scaled episodes of submission and aggression, dying to be Divine,
I want you to know that there is no exit of ease from this place Brother,
we trek within your very Soul,
this is the home and harbor of everything you've decided to be,
there are other rooms here, some of joy and some of strife,
but you leave not the Truth Room of your anger
until the Light finds no fault in your intention -
J.A.B.
Fly me to the moon
And let me play the stringed tunes,
The nod-nod head of a lover’s hoot
Let me dance among the stars
The tap-tap feet of a chivalrous heart...
When my gaze beheld you-my spouse
In our heart true passions doused
Draped like silk, a face with love soused
A new home in you I found.
I saw in you a beautiful wife
A flashy rectitude that brought new life,
That ravished me with sapphire eyes so fine
Fitted in your pearl socket, not of swine
You have triggered the jubilee of sunshine valentine
Now torch me with the kisses of your lip so bright
And swing me with the noontide delight I delight
Tangoing the tango of moonlight
I woo you with a honey tongue
Like silly doves we coo this carol song
In the sonority of your voice is compassion
Borne in a roomy heart for sacred fun.
… Fly us to the (honey) moon
Play us the bedroom tunes
In a solitary nook,
Let’s twirl this ballet as David in jolly mood
And wreathe in celestial honeymoon cocoon.
Prince Agba.
Dedicated to those who are facing diverse marital squalls in their homes, may God
mend your broken hearts and homes.
Upon these placid waters the wind blows fair,
bream chase waves tossed by boats here, and there,
Crimson vessels slice through crest,
giving channel cats time to rest,
Blue herons walk along picking through perch nest,
murmuring bull frogs make their best rain calls,
Some white owl makes nightly squalls,
using nothing more than stars to light his way,
Mystical mighty cypress trees sway big, and tall,
they too seem to have something to say to all...
For contest 179
Moonlight glistened like stars on the snowy mountain lane
Ascending to a mesa above the timberline
Horses from the valley ranch often grazed with free rein
More than once fillies had climbed up the steep incline
One morning after the mare Midnight had disappeared
Ranch hands formed a posse and set out to search the hills
The raven-black horse was loved; for her safety they feared
A winter storm set in; hands faced heavy snow and chills
As night approached, dejected posse members returned
The ranch owner consoled them and offered his deep thanks
All felt their rescue mission failed, hung their heads concerned
As snow piled high, blowing, drifting into heavy banks
Three days of frigid weather kept horses inside their stalls
Passing Midnight’s empty booth made rugged cowboys sad
It was on the fourth day they witnessed an end to snow squalls
A sight on the mountain trail turned many faces glad
Midnight slowly plodded down the hill, nudging her foal
A painted pony, black with vivid spots of white
The colt looked like her mother, covered with flakes of snow
Hoof prints down the mountainside shone in morning light
Midnight had taken shelter inside a tiny cave
Just large enough for a determined equine mother
To rest a few days after birthing a stunning babe
A miracle, ranch hands said, unlike any other
Theme: Horses and Snowflakes
For Constance, a Rambling Poet's "Horses or Snowflakes or Horses and Snowflakes" contest
by Carolyn Devonshire
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Hold a seashell to your ear...
Linger in it's tranquil tide,
breathe it's calming breezes here,
bring it's subtle strength inside
If you yearn for former times,
hold a seashell to your ear,
you'll return to warmer climes
and the ease of yesteryear
When you sense a tempest near,
if you would decrease the din,
hold a seashell to your ear,
find a bit of peace therein
Even now, as squalls move in,
you'll recall when skies were clear
if you, as rain falls again,
hold a seashell to your ear...
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