Best Sunspot Poems
As winter brings shortened light,
as famine delivers harvest blight
So does violence yield premature burial gain,
scarlet tears of Noah’s premonition rain
Crimson tidal force,
deluge of cursed, wolf bane rage
Crescent moon dreadfully presage
a permanent lunar retrograde
On the dark side of the bosom,
sunspot thoughts flow terminally so, err bottomless
Feral feelings blindly comes from
malevolent eruptions,
igneous fears reflect opaque tears of hardened glass
Eclipse hearts
cast an angry downpour —
What does the ill-temper tempest send?
Underbelly hourglass
receives not
another vex overturn at trickling’s end
Rejoice, rejoice
ye peaceful pilgrims
of quantum hope certainty
The celestial sands of tranquility
will soon pour infinitely
As the last Revolution spins
identical change,
the mammon thirst for power
remains the same
Punctuated by perforated voices,
whose hateful noise
stains the grain
1-30-21
We have sunflowers and sunspots.
Both brilliant, yellow, and dazzling.
You can sniff one, but not the other.
Both delicate, and powerful.
Moonstones with rainbow power
can be iridescent and comforting.
Moon landings, not so easy.
Mooning – not as appealing.
Word play can be delightful.
Thinking on paper.
Ideas popping out, escaping into yellow sunflowers.
Or mooning your audience, taking you to another world.
Your ideas might simply find themselves
turning into a nice crisp clean cool harvest moon
or a sizzling hot sunspot, blurring your reader’s eyes.
Never know where words will take you, until they do.
I feel sorry for the non-readers, who are missing
Tens of thousands of words, seeing squiggles and dots.
Not recognizing words at all – not conjuring sunflowers or
Moonstones. Glad we have photography and nature for them.
She spurs me on
Like a violent wind.
She howls to me in the night
Like a siren.
Her light is red as blood.
My flesh is cold as steel.
Sweet dew is a nectar.
She gathers it with teacups,
Stirs it with a bent finger,
Tastes the life-blood of earth,
Singing silently in her mind.
There is no need for sound.
She reads to me patiently
As to a child.
I listen, and interrupt.
Her voice is as piercing
As a Bene Gesserit.
I tremble with violence.
Tomorrow we may dance together
In the steely dawn.
The shutters are down;
The gowns flow all red and black.
Surely some secret is at hand.
I make my bed by morning.
There is no sleeping there,
Only turning like a storm,
Kicking in the night,
Wanting to seize the force,
The everlasting.
The aperture is open
The glass is clear as day.
I revel in in it .
I soak and darken in my soul
Like a sunspot.
There is no need for singing.
Praise be to almighty Thor
Or whoever carries the club
And hangs a tooth about his neck.
They are one, those restless ones.
They are not meek, nor tidy.
Each day begins with them.
Secretly as a cloud,
Those forms appear,
They evaporate again.
Most useful is their image,
They do not irritate the skin
Or pulverize the mind.
Frankly, it is beyond the pale
What mortals fear and would revere.
Beating a drum might drive away
The awful dream
Or call in reinforcements,
Conjuring a pleading battle cry.
Melancholy water bug softly eating.
Linda rolling, endless, leaping.
Gentle passion lazily beating.
Salty apparition, silent, peeping.
Huge white horses gently blow,
Looming, ghostly white horses.
In summer breakers they surf and flow,
Beautiful, mostly complex courses.
Softly looming lazy Lin
Lifts her smooth, clog-clad fin.
Melancholy cricket clicks and hisses,
Waking, Tom, who hastily kisses.
Pungent passion water spout,
Crashing sexy lovers seeping.
Two little whatchamacallits twist and shout,
To summer Linda, swimming, reaping.
Skinny Linda gently ebbing.
Foamy spray sifts through her webbing.
Warm Tom lovingly stirring, laughing.
Fleet water beings jumping and splashing.
Eerie floating cytoplasmic forms
In pools of soupy water streams.
In pungent living sunspot storms
He cooks water bug love in the beams.
Apologies for the opprobrious actions that have been brought
For Thee, who descended from the exalted throne of Camelot
Patiently guiding and reminiscing of what has been forgot
My constituent tactics will forevermore be at naught
Ruminating and beholding rain for a garden's flowerpot
For introducing a valueless and unfruitful counter-plot
Being the barren soil, being the one who became a sunspot
Spoken before the unseen and plants encircled within earshot
The evoking morning rays of consciousness have caused some distraught
Occurred the substantial difficult admonition for one taught
Through time, traveling as a cosmonaut, change of heart, change of thought
Eons An Augenblick, please keep this seed inside the orchard’s plot
Updated 5/14/2019
Form:
Time crystallised into every golden grain
Fine as the flakes off my skin
For a thousand years void of rain
Rising to Rah with the slope of the dunes
Crocodile tears fill the Nile
For they flourish for a thousand miles
To nourish – with sacrifice - Pharaoh in his tomb
Then deposit the salt off your back into the desert storm
In the shade of a hundred degrees of sun
Chiselled into a hieroglyphic sign
Sahara dreams rose with the pyramids of Giza
Ensured to succeed under the Sphinx’s gaze
Carried on the back of camels
To churn their milk into caramel
The sands hide a bullion of molten gold
A haunted dynasty were souls are fossilised into a mould
Under the crack of the whiplash
The God’s sweat pores brimming a mirage
To align boulders with the sunspot in agonising screams
Pharaoh now rests for eternity in his Sahara dreams
31-07-2015
Thabang Jan Ngoma
Sponsor: John lawless
Contest Name: How Hot Was It!!!
moi
Moulded bred crusty
Summers vino severed tie
Auld Stinking Bishop
Ma
Shiny new sunspot
Shadowed by Misses Meaner
Clouded spineless imp
Pa
Longhaired lout cuddles
Pints fizzing ale gently pours
Tears orphan abandoned
Form:
Dry tangle of strands like leaves of a pine.
Neck-long sable yet lemon to close a beaming line.
Decked by two sharp wan visage processes.
Shut some-screened eyes and jaw- high and breadthless.
Dangling armor is woven garb of chains.
Bony hands impose his thin scrawny mien.
Spread them down to ignite an incipient
Of electric qeues like sunspot lightning
Toward a floating smooth stone before him.
Struck bouy makes a devious glow as his grin.
Growing fulgence throbbing to explosion
in lieu he is sucked like dusts by the stone.
Form:
You can feel the moon boil
As your rocket burns my soul
And scotches the sunspot
Of our love’s first footprint
I can feel the moon shine
Off your dust particles so fine
They are like a crashing wave
Deafening my mind like a bat cave
I’m hypnotised by your silver moon
For your heart’s treasure to mine
Only appreciated from distant stars
Pressurised under a trillion bars
I watch you split the atoms
And hold the aftermath in your arms
A se&y ‘Big Bang’ explosive
You emerge slightly radioactive
Time escaped the periodic table
Leaving electrons so unstable
To assemble your universal frame
And reenergise our elemental flame
The restricted heart
shrinks bitter and remote,
punishes the spinal watchtower
with ghosts of tunnel vision.
Keyhole surgery in a dreamy eye,
so acclimatised to nightmares,
dissects each cold memorial
of the lids that cannot shut.
From the slitted earthen throats
flows dew and morning steam,
blood rivers course the wheat
burned black from heat exhaustion.
It isolates the feelings
and prods them with white sticks
and in so rousing
justifies the clear-eyed vision.
Blue porcelain statues reflect
patinas of desperation,
diseased with sunspot black,
the souls of latent atrophy.
What a spiteful lonely view
when gleaned from an ivory basement,
broke love in a dark bone cage
until sorry is all I have.
Got a chance to look at the dark sun,
said to myself, "Oh, son-of-a-gun,"
while the glasses worked well
I heard shouts, "What the hell"...
a drunk woman threw-up on the fun!
Automated Daily Warning
Satellite Sentinel One-Niner-Three
Geo synchronous orbit
Pacific-Med-Atlantic contiguous sea
Sunspot activity forecast
Will deplete Ozone layer more
Than level originally forecast
On our bulletin before
Sunblocker max level needed
Forecast UVstrong clear skies
Max density protection recommended
For exposed human eyes
Contaminate Pollution level rising
From spontaneous vegetation blaze
Need for respirator mask is expected
Requirement for at least four more days
Tsunami warning
From expected Polar melt
All station warning
On designated high risk belt
Currently extending
Roughly Pole to shifting Pole
This is your automated daily warning
Global Health Service Control
Sponsored by the makers
Of Sommulus Happy Pills
Working relentlessly
To add perspective to your ills
This bulletin will repeat hourly
With regular up dates
Courtesy Sommulus Happy Pills
Your reliable Mood Help Mates
The Messiah you see painted on the ceilings of your churches and on the floors of the convenience stores on the corner are me--I know that you’ve wished for a better savior in the past but right now I’m all we’ve got. The abstractness of this entire situation has started to turn into some hopeless kind of evil, and I’m here to tell you that it’s okay. It will be this kind of evil that carries you safely through the hazel tempest and you will be grateful because I told you-you had to be grateful. It will be this kind of evil that holds you when God refuses too--it also happens to be this kind of evil that God despises, so let it embrace you just to spite him.
The angel you see wrapped around the hay barrels and around the weeds in the front yard is me--I know that you’ve always imagined us to be terrifying and otherworldly beings but right now I’m all we’ve got. If you decline to take shelter underneath the sunspot of my wing, then I will have no choice but to abandon you in this godforsaken town, it is not what I want but in the end, it will be what I have to do. The evil that is casting its silhouette over this suburbia is much, much stronger than me, and it will be up to the soloist who refused my offer of safety to defeat it--we will not stand a chance.
The god you see stumbling through the mountains with a broken leg is not your real god--he is an imposter and the fiery devotion he inspires within you will color the sky red instead of blue, it will not grant you forgiveness and allow you to repent for the things you didn’t even do. I have spoken to this god, and all I saw when he spoke was the vultures that flew too close to our heads and how yellow the storm clouds looked, this god will both be the beginning and end of us and it will not be me who allows this to happen. I am both the Messiah and the archangel of flesh and blood and love and everything that makes you human. If anything, I am more human than you.
Solar monsters from a planet we do not know.
They came in with loudness, their eyes aglow.
I said what are they? To a scientist, Joe.
Sunspot creatures, he said “as far as I know.”
What planet do they hail from? I asked Joe.
They are in a solar system in the very next row.
I want them to star in my Christmas Show.
But they have to learn the language said optimistic Joe.
A June evening’s serendipitous peek into my serene majesty of silence
An unhurried feeling penetrates my soul, I hear myself sigh.
Glorious iridescent bubble of imagination expands my consciousness
Magical desert mirage lit by meditative stars is a highlight of my imagination
Rainbow aura highlights illuminate my faerie muse’s growing sunspot.
I fall deeper and deeper into REM sleep, and my soul unleashes herself.
A mystical castle of Badlands glorifies the middle eastern desert in my soul.
A portal of dreamscape enjoyed by me as I transcend and begin my astral travel.