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Best Storm Poems

Below are the all-time best Storm poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of storm poems written by PoetrySoup members

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See Also:

Poems are below...


New Storm Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Storm poems are below this new poems list.

Brain Storm by Love, Violetta
The Cry In The Storm by Billheimer, Clarence
Go with storm, you are the dust of the earth by shi, ming
Beyond my storm door by Hopper, Anna
Her Storm Equates by Sivey, Russell
My Anchor in the Storm by McConnell, Gordon
A Thunder Storm by De Beaulieu, Darlene
Winter's Storm by Broadstock, Ellie May
Storm Warnings by Konos, Judy
A Perfect Storm by cornish, craig

View all new Storm Poems

The Best Storm Poems

 
Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Sea Gulls Came Home

The horizon was brewing ominous clouds,
Dark as if they came out of hell.
The once azure sky became hazy
As the north wind chilly breezes
Puffed up more stratocumulus,
Rain-heavy clouds that signified storms.

I rested against the balustrade
Of the promenade, looking down at the sea.
Waves upon waves dashed at the dark crags.
Sea spray washed my tired face.
Above the seagulls came to enjoy
The thunderstorm that would soon erupt
Above the small bay, now emptied of boats.

The sea gulls were indeed a sight to see.
Only a hundred or so circled the inlet.
They were truly a harbinger of storms.
They flew against the wind, or with it,
Or soared above it, much as they felt like it.
They plunged into the sea for food
Irrespective of where the chilly wind blew.
They were an elegant sight to see.

As the first drops of rain fell, I betook myself home.
My wife was waiting anxiously for me
Afraid I’ll get wet.  “Watching the birds?”
Clearly she was not very much amused.

She turned her back on me, as thunder boomed
And lightening flashed but I went with the wind,
And clasped her round her winsome waist.  
She did not resist, neither did I.

5 June 2017
POTD 6 June 2017


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A tribute to Leonora G

~ Yolanda was--her name ~    Featuring:) Leonora Galinta

From a hell storm,
A mighty she-devil took on its form
Like a woman scorn ascending from the sea
Haiyan whipped across the central Philippines,
A deadly typhoon, maximum winds of around 315 
Terrorizing the fragile mind before making landfall
Hitting with the center eye off from her hostility 
A merciless turbulence that came and changed everything

Like a Massive Storm  
She comes in as the wise thief of the day and night, 
In her notorious gust of rage roars in disguise of thunder, 
With the company of her own knight of darkness, 
Raze all in a blast of waves wherever her path crosses, 
Ruining one of the cities down to a devastation in the land
“Pearl of the Orient Seas.” 

A mighty tempest in a woman’s name…. Yet, 
A disgrace with more than an immortal man in strength, 
Nature devouring nature itself 
Including her stewards and stewardesses
An unmerciful encroachment, robbing, killing adults and children. 

Yolanda, so cruel in her evil walloping!
A guest left smiling,
Engraving echoes of tears, from every single mourn
Vain, wicked, and colorless -no other air’s compare 
The lives she stole, one heart at a time
Pouring down the most nauseating rain, 
The pain is dissenting with everyone-- everywhere.
The bully of wind, invading sands of serenity

Unknowingly, far beyond your back----------------------------
Everybody will be summoning up more than your strength- 


:)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013



Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Little Fire

I witness you fading away, The winds blow frantically They are against us, as all are Little fire, rise in my cupped hands Be it my life I shield from the elements so unfeeling? Little fire, brighten as I feed you This moisture receding from my pores must cease Before I drown this diminishing beauty I gasp, Surprised at the howls and retorts of this icy tempest Nature’s exhalations mean to end what must naturally end My hands shake Little fire—my life! —I must keep you alive! Grow against all odds Against the screaming whirlpools of bluster Against the torrential tears that mean to overcome you Against the ashes that can only watch the desolation around you, As you search for more fuel to masticate My flesh is no treasure to me, So lick me deep, my flame Devour these hands that shield you Rise hastily, as you burn Ascending up my arms, Lighting every goosebump, shriveling every hair Rise till I am all aflame in this wilderness Boil and evaporate every murderous tear— The fluids of sorrow that so pulverize purpose Eat through every sinew, and every tissue, Every muscle and every bone that has grown For this moment and this moment only I give you every piece of me, little fire! So that my spirit, finally free, shall rise to the heavens Past the shrieking winds, preceding through the jeers of thunder I give you my all, blessed fire! So that these eyes may witness every storm die And I may laugh at their futility!


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Christmas Charity

He watched her all day,
From behind his window,
fascinated by her persistence,
renouncing a wholesome dinner,
the warmth and comfort of a home.
She stood, instead, in the telephone box
calling no one, receiving no one.
Surely if she did not phone anyone
One could assume she was waiting for one.
But no one rang.  All Christmas Eve.
 
The wind blew icy cold and it was clear
she was not adequately clothed.
She must have been suffering a lot.
He wanted to shout to her:
Call it a truce, forget the caller,
come to my humble abode
and rest a while.  Here's plenty to eat,
turkey, vegetables, mince pies and cakes
and a warmed red sangria
to pump some blood into your face.
 
She stayed put until midnight
as winter's blizzard opened its doors,
to herald in the birth of Christ.
Her ghost cared not for this, 
and tired out she fell
crumbled dead on the floor
of  an abandoned telephone box.
 
Next day they took her away.
He remained at the window,
angry, wondering the why of it all.
It was days later that he remembered.
Then he felt the terrible shame. 
He had not prayed for her at all.
 
POTW  12/17/2016


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Heart Beseeches An Answer In Collaboration With Robert J Lindley

(Part One- She Asks)

I awakened slowly stretching my body, then into a yawn,
My sleep filled mind remembers you left before the dawn!

Reaching beside me feeling only coolness of my sheet,
Alone now the rain outside hits the ground in rhythmic beat.
The fresh cool breeze whispers through my open window,
Catching billowing curtains into a back and forth show.

Caressing like cold dead fingers upon my naked skin,
Traveling back in time which I know I had let you in.
Our words danced in tango style, each one held a line
Glasses raised to our lips, we sipped succulent red wine.

I awakened slowly stretching my body, then into a yawn,
My sleep filled mind remembers, you left before the dawn!

Soon after we laid together, right here on my bed,
Oh why didn't I stop us then, to turn you away instead?
Now I lay here thinking, as an ache overwhelms my chest,
Gave you what I swore no more, gave you my very best.

Wishing for an answer,on this cold, wet, cloudy day.
How much more my bleeding heart will have to pay?
For allowing this intrusion into my life again I did dare,
Yet I have no answer, of how much or even if you care.

I awakened slowly stretching my body, then into a yawn,
My sleep filled mind remembers you left before the dawn!
~~ ~~ ~~
(Part Two- He Answers)

How could I, truly be deserving of such an angel as you
When fear of that impossibility hit so hard, away I flew!

My darling, fear not, my racing away has a most just cause
I woke that morn, your angelic beauty gave me pause.
For my life had for decades fallen into the deepest dark
Then my finding you and our first night together left its mark.

As I looked in the mirror and saw me lying next to you
My heart almost burst, knowing it was too good to be true.
There you were, naked and your alluring beauty sublime
I thought of my past, how if it hurt you, would be a crime!

How could I, truly be deserving of such an angel as you
When fear of that impossibility hit so hard, away I flew!

That morn, I gave my sleeping beauty a sweet kiss
Trying to grab more of what I would soon so dearly miss.
For I could not bear to bring into your sweet life my pains
Or darkness of the dreams emerging from my past stains!

For you see, long ago, for another beauty I once shot a man
I was so crazy in love and thought that was a great plan.
Then our night, soft kisses restored, your gentle touch fired me up
I found my saving paradise, complete with its full golden cup!

How could I, truly be deserving of such an angel as you
When fear of that impossibility hit so hard, away I flew!
 
Brenda Chiri and Robert J. Lindley collaboration..
Date:10/26/17



Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Wood Stages

I Death Wood

My skeleton, the trembling tree,
hit by the axes of ambulances
due to the decay of disease.
My muscles languish as wilted leaves.
My organs are rotting red apples.
My soul is the searing wind, while
my thoughts tick like termites.

The ivy of MS illness wraps with
waste around my twisted trunk.
Suddenly, spiders of suicide 
descend onto my branches.
They crawl across my broken bark,
crackling my rustic eyesight.

The sun, a golden unicorn, gone
into the forest of healthy laughter.
My wilted wood wanes in a cloud coma
with no moon, stars or watercolor sky.
Where are my wildflowers? 
Where is my green gleam?
I wait and wish for black lighting.

II Birth Wood

My family, the fog where most
float in the underworld as veiled
ghosts along the grassy grounds.
My thirsty roots reach for them
like wild hands hungry in ebony soil.
Sometimes their memory perfumes
and pollinates my heart with prayers.

My friends are a flock of birds that
become singing bracelets upon my bark.
Their feathers grace me like silk hope.
Their beaks devour the suicide spiders
on my weak wood, and their cheerful 
songs encourage me to bloom once again. 

Full moon flashes as a white wizard,
wearing a cloak of competitive clouds,
while moody night smolders as his black hat.
Spirals of opal light make my bark bright.
Spirit moonbeams weave within my wood,
healing hollow shadows, and allowing me to 
taste the monthly midnight milk of magic.

III Rain Wood

Spring steams with saturating rainfall,
sealing my splinters, washing away webs,
and the dirt of daily depression. 
My sap slides like a slow moving sea.
My tree bends and bows in all
directions, sprouting with joy.
Jade fire erupts along my branches.

Raindrops beat like crystal hearts
upon my boughs and my blossoms.
These clear spheres of nature inspire 
rebirth and germination of all life.
My apples sing as flutes, my leaves
clap hands, and my trunk plays harp.

My lover, the lone eagle, appears and flaps
his feathered wings upon my wooden nest.
Our love is best lived in traveling weather.
My limbs taste the last drops of dissipating dew
as the crocheting clouds release final rivers.
Deer court in the fermenting forest,
while golden unicorn grazes upon me.

February 7th 2008

Sponsor: A Poet Destroyer
Contest: 100 in a ROW contest--3


Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2015

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Summer Rain

I wade into the surf and stand alone

Enfolding in my arms, the dust of You

I hear the raving wind lament and moan

As if the summer storm is mourning, too

I breathe your wispy ashes as they're thrown

And whisper your name softly while I do

I lost you once, and now I've lost again

As all my tears are lost ... in summer rain.




** Submitted October 12, 2017, for the "Rhyme Battle: IX" Poetry Contest, Juli-Michelle, Sponsor. **

** FIRST PLACE in the "Late September Standard" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. **


Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Words That flow Through My Pen

Sometimes, life has no reason unlike the seasons
It aimlessly drifts with the wind
We find ourselves in places of unfamiliar faces
Bathing in the shadows of sin
Our souls become lost up in the holocaust
That once was a beautiful life
Like a ship drifting upon the tide we bang and then we ride
The white horse straight into death
Into a giant black hole we dive in with our soul
Until we have nothing left
We then fall prey to our host who spreads butter on our toast
Our habits take over our lives
Everything we hold dear falls with one last tear
Into the darkness of night
Tired and defeated all our hope is depleted
Because we have nothing left to lose
Sometimes the storm passes as slow as molasses
Left frozen somewhere in the snow
Then our red eyes run dry with no tears left to cry
As we admit, I’d rather be dead
If you have a desire to live right, please take heed of my plight
And know that it’s never to late
Soon as you give it away find your knees and pray
You will find the comfort of home
And all of the disgrace will fall off of your face
Like the leaves that fall off the tree
And just like the bare tree soon you will see
Life is reborn in the spring
Like a warm days cool breeze, God fills us with his ease
And through him we find some peace
One day at time the trials all unwind
As the jigsaw falls into place
As everything gets better we become one with the weather
And the seasons suddenly become our friend
Our lives suddenly fly past, because we want to make them last
Like an ice-cream on a really hot day 
We are overcome with the obligation to tell of our salvation
Remembering all of those left behind
Some will find their way, others all we can say
Is Lord, we truly did our best
Dear Lord we write for your glory, telling our stories
That we would rather keep hid on the shelf
Our desire is to aspire so we can rise ever higher
With the words that flow though our pen
Giving of ourselves becomes our greatest wealth
As our souls become one with the Son
No high could be higher than faith and desire
Knowing we have been born again
One day we will stand before the gates that shall open to our fate
As heaven welcomes us in
We will look down on this earth, spirits of a new birth
Watching over the seeds that we spread
Knowing their lives were made better, because we were able to weather
The storm that raged through night 
Until the day I become shadows and dust I'll forever trust
The words that flow through my pen




Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010

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DaRK CloUds - A collaboration with Liam Mc Daid

Grey clouds the innocent sky ambushing light turns dark 
stumbling over a tombstone opening up cold graves

When eyes become frozen behind scenes in hidden truth  
as a weight deadens upon the shoulders without hope 

A ghost from past experience consumes the present 
and golden sands blacken beneath your feet fallen one
  
Deep undercurrents strains awaken in the ocean 
Invisible cloaked dagger pierces without mercy

I pray waters calming find peace in this mortal frame
as the whirlpool of desires casts an ominous spell

Upon the sea of life Satanic storms enter Hell
and exudes within the malevolent clouds failure
 
Forgiveness stands at the crossroads beholden no more 
within promise of a dream transparent through the rain 

As yellow moonlight draws one pathway clearly cutting  
brings you safely home to love under a fragile roof   

Under black currents of loss when the heart returns beat 
in the last teardrop sorrow remained faithfully loved 


In collaboration with The Irish Poet Liam Mc Daid 
2016


Copyright © Red Fiery | Year Posted 2016

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PEASANTS WITH PLEASANT RAGS

You see us everywhere you go
Every corner of your street house our offspring
Every bridge in your city has become our refugee camp
We are the people you call peasant
We are the peasants with pleasant rags

You see us at the entrance of your estates
You see us at the gate of your beautiful companies
In search of what our mouth will feed on next

 We are the peasants with pleasant rags

Our gradually fading skin
Now a sweet companion to the midnight moon and afternoon sun
We are the ones without homes
We are the peasants with pleasant rags

When bridges become forbidden by the law
We opt for uncompleted  buildings
A few of us get lucky when it rains
And shield themselves under cars

 We are the peasants with pleasant rags

We are the ones that beg for the remnant from your table
We are the ones life has just not been fair to
We are the peasants with pleasant rags

We are the ones that get poorer while you get richer
We are the ones that scramble for the leftover at your feast
We are the ones that fight for your used clothes
We are the peasants with pleasant rags


Copyright © Abosede Ogundare | Year Posted 2017

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Fight Against The Passing Rain



Fight Against The Passing Rain Darkness falls in the middle of the day Tears from heaven rage this way. The storm comes fast, the wind blows gray She’s come to take your love away. The sun was blinding not moments ago Smiles galore and hearts aglow. You’d quickly stretched your Babygro Now all is still, as time moves slow. Time becomes a barricade, Soon enough the rains will fade. We’re with you, son, don’t be afraid To rest if you cannot evade. Our pools of love will not refrain, My love for you, always remain. Whilst apparatuses sustain, Please fight against the passing rain. 20th August 2016


Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016

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Everything Froze

                   Everything Froze


a giant crystal wind chime spread its tone
teeth of icicles consumed a home
misted rain encased fence posts and rail
power lines succumb to winter’s weight and fail

vehicles in free style pirouettes
slide beneath the curtain call of white
taunted by the feigned applause of wind
stinging critic of a dance that will not end

children do the snow day dance of glee
parents know how long this day will be
until the child that lives within them all
makes and throws the season’s first snowball

streets await the toothbrush of the plow
snow men don old hats and carrot nose
angels in the snow cold trumpets blow
to celebrate the day everything froze


John G. Lawless
2/14/2014


Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Thunder Kings

The rains had come and washed away the old world,
the thunder had banged its drum
with a weary warning ---
' I do not come oft, but I return and weep
and growl a lion's roar ' ---
I will for a brief moment be as a child
and fear again...
the cracks and booms rouse my guilt,
Telemachus would say the gods were going mad...

There is something 'neath the earnest 
thunder-drums which bangs
something-wicked-this-way-comes ---
and fades,
gently rolling away like a sonic carpet

Its change I welcome,
and fear,
and wonder if I was afraid at all,
wonder what deathly grip may one day come ---
suddenly,
or love may guide me through its tumult,
and dark valleys,
with flowers blooming 'neath my faithful feet;
and though I was once afraid
like a boyhood fear ---
startled from my very boots,
I shall miss my old friend thunder,
who reminds I'm quite alive,
and survived I have,
his treacherous thunderclaps,
and his sneaky ways,
my great trickster
(Thunder!)



Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017

Details | Storm Poem | Create an image from this poem.

After The Storm

Lightning flashed, blinded my innocent, trusting eyes.
Thunder ravaged my soul, and forced out my cries.

Destructive winds threatened, ripped me all apart.
Raindrops, the tears that ever flooded my heart.

Dark clouds were ever-present, in turbulent air.
Yet, no winds could stir the flowers in my hair.

No longer waiting for that storm to pass the hill.
I left it behind, and walked away by my own will.

A rainbow shined beautifully, yet arched into a frown.
As every now and then, the rain still comes down.

I have stepped right over you, like scattered debris.
As the sun's rays now light down a new path for me.





For Shanity Rain's contest - "After The Storm"



Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013

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WHITE DEVIL

White Devil

Call it what you want!
I call it, his favorite season hunt...
Two hoofs imprinted near the riverfront.
Echoes calling my soul with a loud, ferocious grunt.

I smell it in the air, lost upon the white golden stair.
A deep frost dwelling all over his lair.
Tangled by the frozen grip of my hair.
A decision, I declare to give what he won't spare.

This man has no red suit..
Lurking in the white to recruit.
A midnight suicide clouding me with pollute.
I pause my tongue on mute, lost in a white castle chute.

Headed straight into a shivering blazing star path.
The land of snow covered like a bubble bath.
Breaking icicles like crystal glass, suck3d by the milky-way mass.
Multiplying bruises like a cascade, enjoying the aftermath. 

Finding a way to slit the pain in my domain.
I grab a coat and lace my name to Mary-Jane.
Inserting the finest line to ease the drain in my brain.
I drink the icy scotch, and drop a silver nickel into the devils cocaine.

Fallen in to his bait, its too late, I got 7 lines on my dinner plate.
I'm covered up in snow, enjoying the amazing way to suffocate.
Eight beats to every minute is my new heart rate.
I'm reaching for the white golden gate, where the white devil waits.

Drowning like liquor in a frappe mixing the winter's high tide.
Death to my soul is where I hide under this white blanket neutral side.
Too heavy to uplift this storm lost in the devil's cold custard suicide guide.
Waking up in a coma, in a world where white collides with the rage of suicide.

by;p.d.   
 (( Trapped in a snowy blizzard))


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010

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Midnight In The Library

Around midnight, in the library I found myself drawn,
to these shelves haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
as a rare, late October storm brews beyond the pane,
bringing life back to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker.

To these shelves, haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
my fingers grasp a book from under the dust and webs,
bringing life back, to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker,
it's well-worn, leather spine just waiting to chill my own.

My fingers grasp a book, from under the dust and webs,
while autumn winds rustle leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
it's well-worn leather spine, just waiting, to chill my own,
my head, sinking further back into the velvet-lined chair.

While autumn winds rustle, leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
candlelight flickers dimly across the tattered old pages,
my head sinking further, back into the velvet-lined chair,
where the ghosts of Irving and Dickens will not let me sleep.

Candlelight flickers dimly, across the tattered, old pages,
I, unable to recline, with the shadows thrown by the fire,
where the ghosts, of Irving and Dickens, will not let me sleep,
residents of the dark welcome, and wait to be revisited.

I, unable to recline with the shadows, thrown by the fire,
as a rare, late October storm brews, beyond the pane,
residents of the dark, welcome and wait, to be revisited,
around midnight, in the library, I found myself... drawn.






Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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THE STORM

I BUTTON THE SHUTTERS HIGH AND LOW,
AS HIGH STRONG WINDS BEGIN TO BLOW. 
A NIGHT OF TERROR BEFORE MY EYES,
AS DARK GRAY CLOUDS HAVE FILLED THE SKIES 

I MAKE READY THE FIREPLACE  TO PROVIDE SOME HEAT. 
TO WARM THE HOUSE AND MY FEET. 
I TAKE TO MY CHAIR WITH AN UNCORKED BRANDY. 
MY RAINCOAT AND BOOTS STAND BY HANDY. 

LIGHTNING STRIKES AS THE CLOCK STRIKES TEN. 
A NIGHT OF HORROR HAS YET TO END. 
I READ MY NOVEL TO PASS THE NIGHT. 
THIS STORM SHOULD SUBSIDE BY MORNING LIGHT. 

POURING RAIN KNOCKS AT THE DOOR. 
A DRAFT CREEPS IN AROUND THE FLOOR. 
FULL FIERCE WINDS NOW PREVAIL 
AND BRING WITH THEM BALLS OF HAIL. 

SWIRLING WINDS RIP THE SHUTTER FREE. 
A DEADLY STORM IN PURSUIT OF ME. 
THUNDEROUS ROARS COME AND GO. 
A FULL MOON LIT WITH A STRANGE DARK GLOW. 

HOWLING WINDS RATTLE THE GLASS. 
ICE COLD RAINS WATER THE GRASS. 
AT 4 AM I POUR A BRANDY. 
I GRAB MY FLASHLIGHT I KEEP HANDY. 

I CHECK THE HOUSE FOR SUDDEN LEAKS. 
THIS WICKED STORM HAS REACHED IT'S PEAK. 
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW A NICE SURPRISE. 
ON THE HORIZON A NEW SUNRISE.

LIGHTS ARE OUT, THROUGHOUT THE TOWN.
CLEARING SKIES SEEM INBOUND. 
THIS WICKED STORM LOOKS TO PASS. 
BUT NOT BEFORE LEAVING A TREE ON MY GRASS. 

ONE MORE BRANDY I SHALL POUR. 
BEFORE I OPEN MY FRONT DOOR.
NOW THAT THE STORM HAS GONE AWAY. 
I'LL ASSESS THE DAMAGE THROUGHOUT THE DAY.



Copyright © Michael E. Harris | Year Posted 2016

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The Reunion

In the beginning it is just a lovely cloud Collin comes across her in the coffee house One of his friends calls his attention Look, your mom is here, let’s go elsewhere A descent of birds pecking at his brain The cloud he keeps looking at for quite a while The face and the figure look like his He goes to the toilet to look into the mirror The semblance he sees is a puzzling wonder The birds dance and sing in tumultuous chorus His friend confounded when he is told Collin does not know who his mother is He had been adopted when he was just two The lady too looks at them off and on When a bridge comes up none can say The next few hours he passes in a daze Is the quest for four years going to succeed Is the cloud preordained for the sudden rain Or it is just a fortuitous resemblance But then isn’t it an exactly mirror image Returning home Collin scrutinizes himself again In the mirror he finds the same chiseled face The same desirous dreamy eyes, head full of hair He recites poems and talks to himself Same grace radiates from the daffodils The plant with the flowers hangs in the air The charm and the fragrance are irresistible He craves to rush forward and hug it tight And flood the flower with crimson kisses The scented air stays elusive nonetheless Collin says everything to his adopted parents They are very glad and cooperate to get to the truth There would be no problem in living all together Collin laughs and says very forcefully The twenty two years old son is no more an introvert When the magnet works in the very stem cells The eventual fusion is inevitable obviously She takes him to her apartment She lives alone her husband dead No shadow of children nowhere in the rooms Thousand wasps biting inside his head The pain is traumatic for the hidden truth Light and dark interchange day after day Poems of love keep churning the two hearts Drama outside and a flood within The day DNA test confirms the gene The two intermingle to a river serene ______________________________________________________________ August 8, 2016: For the Contest: Long Lost Family Sponsored by Silent One


Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

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My Perfect Storm

When brooding clouds conceal the sun, 
and drain the color from the trees
to spread it through the air, diffused,
like twilight coming early in the day, 

I remember with scents and sounds, 
when you and I would split the sky,
roll across rooftops with the thunder, 
and drench each other in the fury,

and in the midst of the deluge,
we held our breath and tried to hold time
cascading like waterfalls from our grasp, 
demanding to be released –

until everything just seemed to stop; 
our love died with the wind, 
my perfect storm had ceased. 

Now, when dark clouds move in, 
turbulent and unforgiving, 
lightning, flashing uncontrolled,
with rumbles reaching deep to stir – 
it’s then, that I remember. 


Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2017

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Thar Blows Maria: Collaboration with New Additions

Too many hurricanes are causing havoc this season.  We might as well have a limerick collaboration about them since they seem to be in the news.  Please join in by sending me your limerick in a soup mail or email.


Hurricane Maria is the latest ole windbag
She'll huff and puff till her eye walls sag
She's blowin' in the tropics
Catastrophic among topics
Heed the warning of that hoisted red flag
                                     by: Lin Lane


I’ve heard Maria’s cooking up a storm
Pack your bags and head where it’s warm
She’ll cause such destruction
Which will lead to disruption
These old wind bags, they never conform!

These hurricanes really don’t care
Tossing houses right into the air
They’re a bane in our life
Like an old nagging wife
It's no wonder that folks cus and swear!
                                   by: Jan Allison


Oh Maria I hope you just fizzle out 
You're so full of wind with a nagging spout
Hurry and disappear
Blow on out of here
We're tired of that same old raspy shout
                                   by: Tim Smith


Oh Maria, we have had enough
We don't want to see you puff
We don't want to stress
Or clean up your mess!
Just weaken, and stop acting tough!
                                  by: Heidi Sands


Oh bad Maria, you have gotten so volatile
Blow yourself out and make people smile
Or maybe there's a chance
Another name you'll enhance
Hurricane Madness sounds very erstwhile
                                 by: Seren Roberts


Cinder's sits on the toilet in fear
Of the ugly sisters to appear
Irma arrives there first
Maria next to burst
gave cinder's chronic diarrhea
                               by: Roy Pett


Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017

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Houston

Houston I wonder if the summer rain was warm that poured like Pharaoh’s plagues upon the town as people waded from their homes in swarms and small craft was the mode to move around. Memories lost by tempest's hurt and harm float pass as muddy waters flood the ground. The summer rain may be a hurricane, a wicked, wind song made in sad refrain. 9/3/17


Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2017

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For I have Weathered Storms

I think of storms I've weathered, and I smile
for those who've sought to break my heart and gain
the pleasure of defaming me with guile
now know the truth: their efforts were in vain

the thunder of their words died down in time
as did the insults hurled against my form
the self same wind of strife cleared all the grime
and pain to peace was able to transform

I withered for a while, that much is true
the pain was deep enough to make me cry
Truth made me strong and helped me to renew
my broken wings on poetry to fly

those who condemn are gone, and I remain
the storms of life have helped my worth to gain

Eileen Manassian







Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2017

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Rolling Thunder And A Gentle Rain

The gentle music flows
from every drop of rain,
as it just lightly taps
against my window pane.

The wind begins to whistle
it's own melodious song,
while the wind-chimes
dance and play along.

The soothing sounds cast open
the windows and doors.
I close my eyes and breathe.
The energy surrounds me as my spirit soars.

I hold out my hand and feel the raindrops
as if they were at play.
My breath now quickened with emotion.
I taste the rain on my lips as I embrace the glorious day.

The curtains blow inward
the breeze itself is warm,
my mind is so peaceful
in the calm before the storm.

The sky's voice trembles
from above a darkening cloud,
as the rolling thunder
speaks it's thoughts aloud.

The thunder awakens
the flash of light.
The part of nature
that sends some to flight.

I chose to embrace the power of nature
in the earth and sky.
And bask in the wonder
that fills my eyes.

The rain seems to be letting up
as it puddles on the green grass,
and the once powerful winds
are now calming down at last.

The gray clouds are parting
and a bright rainbow forms,
proving that something beautiful
can come from such dangerous storms.

My eyes close and I breathe
in the scent of the cleansing rain.
The brilliant hues of the rainbow
dance in my mind where I feel no pain.

The sun peaks from behind the clouds
just to say hi.
I feel the warmth against my face
as I view the beauty with a sigh.






Written by: Kelly Deschler & Nature Boy


For Jared Pickett's contest - "Collaboration"


Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

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Broken friendship

In a whirlwind two friends started to quarrel over nothing
By the end of a long day it became something.
Fists, kicks, bricks and insults were in the heat,
The two friends were reluctant to accept defeat.

In the storm the fight came from nowhere,
But it was surely heading somewhere.
The two couldn’t see eye to eye for a resolution
And failed to reach for a solution.

Like lightning the dispute came in a flash
Their ship called friend went into a crash
They encountered a hardship in a fume
 Saw no need to keep their friendship that was in a flame.

Within the flood the argument flowed to separate
Their much needed means to tolerate.
Their feelings were broken into shattered piece
That they could not assemble into one peace.


Copyright © Mpho Kgaswane | Year Posted 2016

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Haiku 16: Blood Pain

           lightning punching down,
                     fast, blinding, loud – blood pain
                                a prayer of tears 







to all who have suffered violence


David Meade


Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2014