Best Thunderbolts Poems
Prometheus had erred and caused great ire
when stealing in stealth secrets of fire.
But Zeus could not forgive this deed.
The chieftain of gods punished his greed.
The lightning zigzagged across the sky,
in anger he let thunderbolts fly.
Instructions he gave to mould from earth
a woman endowed to prove her worth,
all humans to touch their lives and shift
the balance with her seductive gift.
Hephaestus was told what to create;
Pandora came forth through heaven’s gate.
Athena supplied her silver gown,
her head she adorned with ornate crown.
She hastened to guile the human race
her nature refined to tempt by grace
alluring deceit that knew no shame
her mission withstood distrust or blame.
Pandora’s torment flowed wide and far.
She carried with her an earthen jar.
Instructions were laid to be obeyed
to keep it enclosed and so it stayed
till yearning became hard to resist
temptation knew well how to insist.
Alone by herself beside a brook
she lifted the lid, a glancing look
that opened the flood to evil force
unhindered it spread and took its course.
She panicked and pushed with all her might;
the damage was done – eternal plight.
A trickle of hope was left inside
but hardly enough to turn the tide.
When laws are defied they cause much grief;
the pleasure derived is false and brief.
Temptation is what destroys the weak;
redemption is there for all to seek.
Forever in life it’s hard to cope.
Pandora we chase in search of hope.*
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* Pandora is chased for the only thing left in her jar – hope.
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Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Men Only #2
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placed 1st
At any time that rain comes pouring down
and thunderbolts invade the rumbling sky
I think of Bittner, Hoffman, Brahms or Strauss.
Their music comes to mind to satisfy
the strong emotions where my soul could drown.
Then when the storm recedes, losing its flair,
dark clouds disperse and sunshine flirts with blue.
Liszt, Grieg, Beethoven intense passion rouse,
combine to bid the vanquished foe adieu:
quiescence reigns as music fills the air.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This poem is written in (my) SUPLICA form.
It consists of 2 stanzas.
Both stanzas have 5 lines, each 10 syllables long.
(Iambic Pentameter is recommended)
The rhyme scheme is the following:
a - b - C - b - a
d - e - C - e - d
Spring Whimsy
winter packs his trunk
full of icy fleece and flakes ~
going south for spring
spring unpacks her bags
rolls out green hills with poppies ~
mustard carpets glens
vernal daylight sighs
sheds a winter overcoat ~
nature somersaults
sassy daffodils
troubadours of the season ~
in the midst of snow
snowdrops and tulips
mingle with playful raindrops ~
hummingbirds return
spring teases tree buds
tickles robins and the wrens ~
jokes in cheeky fun
loons and larks arrive
mistral songs fill flaxen fields ~
forests swing and sway
coy clouds gather in
flirt with flashing thunderbolts ~
birds watch from warm nests
rain tumbles through skies
plays hide and seek with thunder ~
feisty blue bells stand
waxing springtime moon
paints rose petals platinum ~
neon night aglow
impish morning sun
winks at fields of red clover ~
spring born of whimsy
3-30-22
Contest: A Brian Strand Premiere Choice
Sponsor: Brian Strand
The velvet sky was strangely quiet...
The Earth still and hushed beneath my feet.
No mountains groaned, no crumbling stone
Giving voice to my defeat.
The lake... calm and placid like mirrored glass...
Not a ripple to be seen.
Two loons at play had flown away
Leaving a tranquil pastoral scene.
Birds would sing to mark this day
As beasts roamed throughout the land.
I was not impressed and most distressed...
Nature's laws seemed well in hand.
The morning scented with a familiar air as
Meadow flowers made good their vivid fashion
But in my grief, there was a unyielding belief...
Nature should be gripped with far more passion.
I wanted Earthly reprisals and thunderbolts
To lash out their.. mournful roar.
I wanted winds to squall and towered trees to fall
And huge white capped waves to lap their shores.
I wanted the land to wither and blow away
Where wilted crops grow stunted for the year.
Where the force above... feels a desperate shove
And an unplumbed chasm then appears.
But then again... on further musing,
Such sights would not honor her at all.
We had oft discussed... there be no fuss
When she answered Heaven's call.
No trumpets roared or melodic lyres blurred
As a callous Nature missed that special day...
But Church bells rang and sweet Angelic voices sang...
When my dear Mother passed away.
The End
Archetypes flash straight from a pack of Tarot cards
anti-terror Jing Jang synthesis with neuro-spiritual precision
implants explosive animation from the deep unknown
like a taro rootstock growing wings to fly with found suspension
Stereotactic stereotypes archetypes semi-circling soothing storm clouds
thunderbolts and enlightening darkness are my enema of anxious anger critique
of the mono-morph collision of the scalpel shadow ‘Prozacian’ nemesis
neology of ‘animusity’ of ‘newfoundlandel’ comprehension
Dialectical complementation rises higher and higher culminates in
ethereal transcendence where collective personal unconscious
presents my animus in wishful thinking and projections as
soft and gentle revel rebel raising entropy in tender conservation to escape from
Dogma categorically demanding artificial classification replacing with dimension
flow and rivers stagnant pools of stream of consciousness evading
sexist fragmentation disenfranchising marginalisation assigning male
and female emasculated o-variation where seminal origin implantation
Precedes nurture socialised indoctrination assignment of celibate promiscuity
My animus refuses to accept in emotional rejection whether Jung and I read
symbols from the same page or not of masques façades and liberated self
where academic artistry split hairs and personality for the premise of debate
I am a rebel and claim no higher lower ground of superior distension
He or she who animates friendly animosity is right and incorrect whatever
common ground belies the provocation I propose but possibly my
presentation of what others mean in kindness is too neutral neuters psyche
While anima and animus illustrate conclude a symbiotic destination
the starting point of this and that left right up above and side by side
is far too circular an argument when we should start not end in union
Male and female are constructions of disparity of power and repression
Archetypes are not therefore I am
11th June 2016
Animus-Anima Part II—Animus – Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tom Quigley
A storm is brewing in the azure ether
Somber clouds loom with thunderbolts
Shadows enshrouded small seaside town
Tides crashes with ire against the rocks
Inner turmoil seethes in Lara's addled mind
Racing thoughts haunt through the years
Double personality was an escape from reality
Evincing the forbidden behavior by society
Cloudburst flooded the fishing coast by hours
Paralyzing a town when time seems stand still
Waterspout appeared in the fierce ocean waves
Desolating Cape Fishing Town without mercy
Shiny sun rays appeared in the sky after the storm
As a sign of hope between the desolated scene
Lara came out from the basement used as shelter
The inner and outer tempest concluded synchronously
For A Storm Is Brewing Contest
Sponsored by Kelly Deschler
Fifth Place
4-17-2016
Blasphemous mankind
Overstepping nature's laws.
Zeus's thunderbolts strike!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
17 February 2019
5-7-5
Our first date
to bridge a poker-face divide
conversation with a touch of fantasy
till thunderbolts compose themselves
in questions
"How do you define yourself?"
"What is your idea of beauty?"
"What pushes your boundaries?"
Questions to unearth the enigma
of not knowing
to map the labyrinth
to light the starkly lit palette
obscure
For what is safely hidden can be toxic
Secrets disclosed to set sparse love in motion
sometimes improbable
like catching a fly in flight
Our initial discovery
an excavation
that un-earths a new reality
to weave a narrative
fragmented
Poem composed July 15/21
her eyes are gray, foreboding
reflecting the wrath of Zeus
yet therein lies the charm of Hera
who silences Olympian thunderbolts
she is sharing a tenebrous introspect
the smile withdrawn, judgmental thought
an ego that must be fed, expense of others
aloofness brings happiness no more
i am lost in the beauty of an honest waltz
women addressing their problems
instead of undressing in front of them
we all suffer in being human
but with an honest waltz such as yours
we begin the inward path
realize the injustice we do others
its ultimate expense, our self
we are wisely told never to judge
yet every day we do
and to some extents we must
who shall i call friend
do i devitrify, or dignify humanity
sometimes i wonder why get honest
people love to be honest about faults
most of the time it is yours
truth can be an elusive beast
sheltered within, Medusa's avoiding mirrors
refusing to acknowledge the peccants within
the ones we tend to ignore
dismiss as peccadilloes
i was not fond of reflection myself
those mornings after, mirror of dipsomania
the abusive beast, a life of full moons
it was worth every battle back
sitting here sober, listening to you
Phoenix 94
- a solo nijuin renku -
English version by Liviu Martinescu
entrance to an underground
crowds in winter's clouds
and an atomic clock to boot
the first snowflakes on
the punching bag in the yard
the jazz poem
the town is creeping into
the golden scale
enormous through teardrops
the whitewashed houses
symphonic white
out of scores of thunderbolts
some leaves on the moon
"and thus she sleeps awake
long after she's got up"
the motorcycle
that's carrying them entwined
is curbing the hour
raceless race-course
the loneliness of no-horses
the streets sweat out
in the glove of speed
no time for tomorow
seven doves go clink
against the rosetta of the cathedral
the pollen at night
migrates into saints' bodies
as well as violins
the lark's feathers
made iridescent by the moonshine
circling the deserted
merry-go-rounds the glider
a whirl of silences
only balmy tree-branches
breeze here not whispers
each body
leaks out its own time
two abysses
dark rails
pulsating under streetcars
yellow saxophone
toward the super-yellow sky
it's me in there in the sound
the concert eroticized
new swallow nests
the raw soil blooming
among cherrytrees
beyond the wall
in the shadow of the piano
the spring bread
HARLEY DAVIDSON
The roar of the victorious twins that spark,
Enigma of the spotless glint in the dark,
The riders, symbolic of rare brood,
Tattooed with insignia and bandana as hood.
Third year of the twentieth century, there starts a stride,
Relentlessly over a century, stands stout in pride,
The post First War years, gave birth to the twins,
Sidecars mated, to the 18 horses’ wings.
“Milwaukee” heaven, created the stars,
In a big bang scatter, they traversed the universe,
The years of the big wars, saw seventeen-inch twins,
Immaculate with epaulettes and battle olive greens.
At the end of the war, God lent a hand,
To evolve a shiny steel armour for the generation, next clan,
The Knuckleheads, the Glides set the road on fire,
Protectors of human dignity, induce fear on felons’ desire,
The low riders of the seventies, launched with a zing,
The world of its class termed it “A mean machine”,
The XL’s the K’s, roll out with a whack,
Its looks and tyres, burnt all tracks.
Then there were the softails, those flew like a dove,
Elevated the pillion rider, for the embrace of Love,
The zing of the V2 and the double chrome exhausts,
Reflects the personality of a star, that rocks.
Out arrived the fat boy who could cruise an endless mile,
Traverse across the continent in elegant style,
The Dyna and the Low Riders with their fiery spokes,
Came in with accessories that included tattooed blokes.
The King of the road with flashers and sirens run,
Vigilant officer in uniform with a holstered gun,
The Buells, The Cyclones, The Lightning and Thunderbolts
Menacing street fighters, up on the roll.
Exotic long forked choppers, on a smooth ply,
The rattle sound merges, with a helicopter in the sky,
It is the character, that reflects, the heart alone,
The charisma, of falling in love with, ‘Harley Davidson’.
By Pradipta Roy Choudhury
From The Transient Soliloquy
published by Notionpress
https://notionpress.com/read/the-transient-soliloquy
This is the third in a trilogy of steeler poems and while it is good on its own.I really had fun with this one. All three need read for the full story to be told.
Oh they have won the Superbowl
It's what I said would be
The Seahawks wings were clipped
Now we can laugh, hee hee
I am so excited
I want to give a cry
The Steelers won the Superbowl
They did it on the fly
Now a wildcard was their fate
No chance to win at all
At least that's what the experts said
This trip came with a fall.
First off would be the Bengals
These cats would show their claws
They almost won the game
But we showed up their flaws
There quarterback would stumble
He'd have to leave the game
Without him they were lost
Without him they were lame
Next would be the colts
Which was the favorite team
They thundered with their hooves
Each game they played was lean
This did not faze these men
Who'd tame and brake these colts
No one would stop these guys
Will Ben through thunderbolts
Two games they played that day
As the refs played dirty pool
But they would not be stopped
Oh they would win this duel
It almost did not happen
As the bus would lose the ball
But Ben would make an awesome save
With that they'd win it all
Now Denver came up next
But they'd fall like all before
These broncos would be busted
Then wipped til they were sore
Now that's how they arrived
To play in the big game
They brought home number five
Now we're not quite the same
The Bus now has retired
To the hall of fame he's bound
Now Ward won MVP
He play this game quite sound
Big Ben was not his best
Still though he won the game
The youngest to do so
This year none will complain
With that I'll end this poem
It's been a great great ride
I hope to see it come again
So we can tan some hide.
THOUGHTS OF A JAMAICAN CHRISTMAS
I remember Christmas of yesteryear
Of John Canoe dancing with fife and drum
Horsehead would approach, it was scary but fun
And Scrippy scrappy looked like a real bum
Of Christmas breeze and Poinsettias red
Mixed with white Euphorbias in the flower bed
A visit to Nathans for cloth to make dresses
And drop curls all round my head for my tresses
I liked going downtown on Christmas Eve
Where the bustle of King Street was hard to believe
With balloons and horns, and pretty hats to choose
And noisy rattles to drive our parents to booze
Vendors lined the sidewalks their offerings laid bare
There were shouts for attention but nothing to fear
Next came a visit to Dixon’s Toy Shop
Where I didn’t want the choosing to stop.
Christmas Carols rang out through the air
Then at church the next morning with voices clear
Back home we were greeted with eggnog, and were free
To open our presents that were under the tree
At Christmas dinner our relatives we’d see
As the Miller clan gathered it was exiting for me
There was exchange of gifts and the joy of giving
It was really a great and wonderful feeling
The food was a spread of delectable flavors
Of turkey, rice and peas, sweet potato and lamb
Ackee and salt fish, roast beef, salad and ham
And I just can’t forget the Cranberry jam
The variety was great, too many to mention
And the carving of the turkey got everyone’s attention
But best of all was the sorrel, Christmas pudding or cake
Which gave us kids a chance to get tipsy or flake.
At night we brought out our starlights and clappers
The boys would light thunderbolts and we would run backwards
These memories are happy, in my mind they will stay
And I blend them with those we are experiencing today.
Winsome Miller-Rowe
Nothing can substitute death
for it is the final destination
and ere you last breath
crystal clear all your abberation.
Rest forever or birth to numb dizziness
at you part, you leave all harms and assaults
people most theist, called quick as bless
is perfused, to save them from life's thunderbolts
Long life of people swing as tombs
where none pay heed to temple and churches
who will pay heed to these pale living glooms
these clowns in whose core only money perches.
Flirt and dirt only thing hatching in heart
and society dwindles with values and morals
each thing lost as perfect human you never wert
lacking basic emphaty but adorned with quarrels.
AKASH SANGWAN
WITH MY FEET ON THE GROUND
With my feet on the ground,
I looked to the stars.
Darkness can steal away your soul.
Like a blood thirsty beast,
It sinks its teeth deep within your throat.
With my feet on the ground,
I looked to the stars.
There was an attempt, once again.
An attempt to steal my treasure chest of happiness
A happiness that I acquired and caressed.
With my feet on the ground
I looked to the stars.
There was a loud start of music.
As loud as thunderbolts, I could not hear.
Could not hear the unkind words of my kindred.
Darkness can steal away your soul.
But you see, my feet are on the ground.
A ground that keeps me from altering.
Unkindness from people, cannot alter my own.
I was taught compassion, I was taught forgiveness.
Thieves can rob you of your happiness.
But you see, with my feet on the ground.
A ground that keeps me from altering.
Thieves never succeed, an attempt cannot alter my happiness.
I was taught happiness from within, I was taught content.
Music can play, roar loud like thunderbolts.
But you see, with my feet soiled to the ground.
A ground that keeps me from altering.
Unkind words cannot trump a kind soul.
I was taught understanding, I was taught endurance.
My mum taught me to forgive, I have experienced a great deal of hurt in my life, by the people I care about the most. They seldom ask for forgiveness. I forgive anyway, it gets weary sometimes but I just forgive which always brings me more happiness. Happiness that I know I never want to compromise for anything in my life, nothing at all.
© Herzel Poshiwa :)