Best Thunderclaps Poems
Fool of Infiniti
A wanton bird pecks at the stars
A Jester peers through crystal bars
This prison of love with rainbow hue
Illusion parts to lets you through
On dragon wings forever free
You quest into your dreams to see
Smoke and mirrors and shadow haze
To guide you through an endless maze
Slow motion tear rolls down her cheek
Its only passion that you seek ?
Engulfed in strange duality.
She wonders her reality
Your eyes still mock her with desire
Your kisses light her inner fire
Your touch can melt her to your will
But you will never take your fill
Black widow spider guards your heart
She spun the web, she keeps it taut
It is your only fatal flaw.
A secret, silent metaphor.
And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand the strangest key
To fit the door of What Will Be ?
And when her eyes search yours again
You take her to the spider den
You spin the dreams she hopes to see
And lock your hearts in mystery.
So enter in to lick the flame
Eternal prisoner of the game
Illusion is false imagery
She whispers your Infinity
The Queen of Fate
The Queen of Fate by the outer Gate
Her carriage to Nowhere, will await
Her cloak is wrapped against the night
Her eyes are wide with peculiar fright
Gray horses eyes turn back in fear
With thunderclaps upon her ear
Blue jagged lightning points the way
Along the path to yesterday
Cold, sullen driver cracks his whip
His crooked smile curls round his lip
His horses leap the cruel abyss
Dark Queen of Fate sees none amiss
Above the mist a gate appears
Who will wipe the Gate-man's tears ?
Gray horses strike and paw the air
Fate Queen ascends the carriage stair
And all about her swirl the dreams
The nightmares all with voiceless screams
And in her hand a wondrous key
To lock Enigma's Mystery
Pass through the gate O Queen of Fate
Another carriage will await
Drawn by steeds of Promises
Illusion starts and finishes.
Categories:
thunderclaps, dark, fantasy, feelings, horse,
Form:
Lay
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!)
Categories:
thunderclaps, childhood, fear, storm,
Form:
Free verse
Love in Winter
A winterbed with ice cold feet is hot.
These snowy buds outshine the season’s gray.
Her shiver lasts - in travels she’s been caught.
The blanket’s frost - a wave on chilly days.
Her eyelashes, and icicles, so thick.
She’s tossed to and fro in the ice queen’s squall.
A glacial melt — he’s down — the sea moves...quick —
With thunderclaps his chest does rise and fall.
Relaxed, refreshed — like peppermint, this glove
that fits. Like soft new fallen snow - they glow.
Entangled legs in the leggings of love.
A wonderland of lips, their drift is slow.
This sleigh, a winterbed of midnight dates.
The iditarod sun of figure-eights.
7/6/2019
Best sonnet 2019 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
howmanysyllables.com used to check syllable count
miscounted winterbed as 2 syllables; should be 3
*buds - buddies, companions, friends
**winterbed - combo of two words
Categories:
thunderclaps, love, winter,
Form:
Sonnet
Written: December 05, 2023
__________________________________________
Earth's mysteries—swirling in the sky.
Heaven is comely with lemon meringue.
Vaporizing clouds are dulcet and colored.
Cinnamon light was shed on my shoulders.
Peering onto the horizon of a waning sun.
Beethoven and Mozart split into the ether.
Ruby tangos fuchsia in an outburst of ecstasy.
Fetching hues of elixir flash and flare.
Obsidian clouds yield a rumble of thunder.
Cumulus clouds coal-colored clusters.
In erratic black seas, akin to rogue boats.
Thunderclaps imbue a shiny sheen.
A cyan-blue sky casts her limbs outward.
Soaring saffron butterflies and kites.
A cloud of endorphins shrouds the world.
Amid raucous mirth and glamor lullabies.
The sky's evocative color palette.
sparked by the effervescent moonlight.
delightful days laced with zeal and zest
amid a kaleidoscope hallucination.
Categories:
thunderclaps, analogy, appreciation, color, sky,
Form:
Free verse
Dreams herein, our progeny, still birth sometimes inside,
blind and rigor twisted, formless foetuses upon
the terrace steps where innocence bled and occasionally died
screeching for salvation when every shred of hope was gone.
Yet also soared in glorious flight, monstrous span
of righteous flapping wings in the stadium sky,
drummed thunderclaps, exultant fear insurgently began
inflaming souls and lifting living spirits heaven high.
Externalised, the primal chants and streaming scarves,
the goading, cheering, praising adrenaline infusion,
the fluid rush of gameplay, of two dovetailed halves
painted on an emerald canvas with fleet of foot profusion.
In a cloud of air horn banshees and muddied leather vapour
where studded feet slap pigskin like a hated face
spins a salt and vinegar smudged result newspaper
telling tales of holy triumph or damnation and disgrace.
Abused patriotism, the easy asylum of the scoundrel cur
whose omnipresent wield of slick wet Stanley blade slashes
carves desired resurgence of the way that things once were,
for Nazi flags, stiff arm salutes and pencil black moustaches.
Yet overriding all, the team and the game, the beautiful game
and the chasm rift between each side as deep and wide as forever,
the team is all, all is the team and will always be the same
and whatever divides team from team let no man draw together.
Categories:
thunderclaps, passion, people, philosophy, sports,
Form:
Verse
"All night long the northern streamers
Shot across the trembling sky:
Fearful lights, that never beckon
Save when kings or heroes die." - William Edmondstoune Aytoun
It is rare to find heroes as an adult. Although I never had the honor of meeting her, the magnificent, empowering, and inspirational Ruth Bader Ginsburg has become one of mine. Her unceasing fight for equality, for genuine liberty, and for expecting that her intelligence and achievements be recognized has made her a woman I admire and respect.
Last night there was a terrific thunderstorm in my corner of the world, and combined with the sad news of RBG's passing today, I was reminded of the above quote, and was inspired to pen these lines ~
Last night rang drums of thunder
And the voice of lightning sang
In oratory plunder
Of salvation's storming rain
Unseen, cosmic purview's
Sacrificial overlap
Our price now drawn
To the stars you have gone
Leaving this earthy vacuum to
The memories of thunderclaps.
9/18/20
Categories:
thunderclaps, eulogy, farewell, hero,
Form:
Ode
outside, it was raining
as it was inside
drinks spilling onto the floor
from incessantly topped-up glasses held by
forgetting, gesticulating hands
spittle flying from mouths attached to people
in love with their own voices
their little huddled audiences salivating
over every word or the prospect
of taking their turn as court-holder
the room drooling with
go-to anecdotes and jokes
rehearsed at a hundred parties like this one
disgorged from speech bubbles like fat storm clouds
filling dead air with stories on life support
sudden thunderclaps of laughter
precipitating further precipitation
the floor must have been wet but thankfully
not gleaming like the pavement twelve floors down
the rain let up outside
I slipped out onto the balcony
and between sips of my stale beer
gulped the laundered air
Categories:
thunderclaps, people, rain, satire, social,
Form:
Free verse
Gods of mythology from long ago,
commanded humans act within their law
or else there might be punishment, and so
man worshiped, followed, never to withdraw.
These gods ruled over sun, moon, rain, and wind;
and humans prayed to them for harmony.
Now in our world, they would be quite chagrined
by skies so full of our technology.
Our airplanes, jets, and rockets would incite,
and put them in a frenzy of despair
with terror in their skies both day and night,
and techno signals bouncing everywhere.
Apollo, Zeus, Poseidon, Jupiter
you would go crazy in these modern days.
The sun and sky and sea do now concur
your power has been lost to nature's ways.
No more your lightning and loud thunderclaps.
No more your floods from storms that you set free.
No more a drought to make the crops collapse.
No more the sinking of great ships at sea.
We have since learned about our universe;
that earth is reigned by scientific means.
New rules for skies and land and sea traverse;
No gods of mystery behind the scenes.
We now can travel land and sea, and oh,
the sky and outer space, our playground too.
Gods of mythology from long ago
you must be crazy since we've dismissed you.
Your paintings and stone statues all remain
and written history still stirs the mind.
Gods of mythology, it's clearly plain
you served a purpose to ancient mankind.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: YGGDRASIL ME
Sponsor: White Wolf
Judged: 05/20/2017
~2nd Place~
Contest: The Gods Must Be Crazy
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 01/18/2016
Categories:
thunderclaps, anger, god, mythology, universe,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
The sound of the conch-shell coming from the sea,
then the beat of the drums imitating the reef.
Waves thundering when they hit the boulders,
hissing menacingly as they creep
through the channel shoulders.
As the sea awakens when the tide comes in,
the wind responses by fanning the harmony
of sounds towards the isle ancticipatingly.
The tall coconut trees are the first point of impact
breaking down the hissing wind
into melodius thunderclaps.
The silent thumbing of nuts
in union with sharp-sounding cracks.
Retaliating with the unceasing chatter
of the fluttering leaves in contact.
The sound filtering down the hut where she sleeps,
caressing her face and teasing her dreams.
Even in deep stupor she begins to move in rhythm,
to the call of the siren of the sea.
Moaning gently with hips swaying in their own way,
her hands gracefully carving routes on butterfly raids.
First the breeze then the fanning of sweet murmurings
in cascading flow, swift then controlled like drops of rain.
Sinews outstretched before the conductor in refrain,
the wand came down and the reef opened up,
to receive the crashing of the angry waves.
She awakens to find him at sea, blowing the conch-shell.
She hears his calls then the waves, the drums and the palm bells.
Moaning softly, beyond her control
swaying with the rhythm innate in her.
The music of the islands begins again.
Categories:
thunderclaps, environment, identity, image, paradise,
Form:
Free verse
HARMONY 69
The night of twelfth December `69
knotted together an icy storm wind
that whipped False bay`s waves
to white -frilled blankets.
Thunderclaps against primal rocks
resonated through a ghettoe of glowing tents
on a dark, rough ,bushy patch .
Rising plaintively above the din
of drums and flapping canvas,
creole strains solicited the capricious gods
for a clement Cape .
Love songs , sweet like wine
would even tittilated mermaid`s melons,
stranding them breathless, with tails scaled.
In my sixteenth tempestuous year,
I was sickened and sullied, spoiling for a fight
with that ever- prying, ever-lying police-state
denying us
dividing us
deriding us
ripping us
whipping us
in an all-pervasive racist propaganda storm
Harmony,was forced ethnic relocation right there
in a stamp-size sea-resort next to a stinking dump.
Our yearly anticipated salty baptism,
fouled for a full ten years,
dunked in fascist soil
of a false bay with a real bite….
rubbing coarse salt in our opened wounds
Rubbing it in the flayed
William, my sire, of the black turf belly
Rubbing it in the lashed
Maxie , my ma , of white-on-black graft
Rubbing it in the spurred
Dot Adams, my oracle , of the pearled-truth tongue
imprisoned to a silent ninety-day solitary confinement. .
Yes, a full two hundred scar-studded waxes
avidly saluting the wretched who rose in revolution
drowning exploiters in the oppressed`s precious blood
Algeria whilst raped,unveiling herself,
firing fear into bared French fascism
exploding the myth of a benevolent colonialism.
“Lumumba will guide the Kongo to freedom”
grandpa agitated hopefully as revolutionary Patrice,
our dark prince of peace
died on the bloodied butts
of neo-colonial carbines.
My seven-year heart burst
in anger and pain.
A companiable heart`s balance
tilted with unease at justice , unhinged.
the periodic uprisings of people in far-flung regions
against the arrogance of anglo-saxon imperialism
salted my youth with the tears of broken children,
their blood ever spattering my angry brow.
Categories:
thunderclaps, history, inspirational, love,
Form:
Epic
distant thunderclaps
herald the coming of rain
amid the light show
Categories:
thunderclaps, storm,
Form:
Haiku
I remember when my Aunt
wanted a divorce,
said, "at last my time is mine
I shall live on the Golf Course".
My Uncle never played
he gave the game a snub,
thought it pretty pointless
to hit a ball with club.
He only wanted offspring,
to fertilise her eggs,
but she was bloody adament
he would never part her legs!
She never wanted family,
He wanted Son and heir.
So they found that life
became too much to bear.
So it was they split,
my Uncle he played Bowls,
Auntie she liked golf
she loved those eighteen holes.
One day while she was playing.
A great Storm began to brew.
Thunderclaps were shouting
with Lightning Bolts that flew!
She had just teed off,
then was walking past a dyke
when Thunder blew a fuse
then lightning it did strike...
( When my Uncle heard
my Auntie had been zapped,
the only thing he said was...)
"Well aint that very apt!!! "
Oh my giddy Aunt!!!
It was the ultimate birth control!
Guess where she was hit?
Between the first and second hole!
Categories:
thunderclaps, funny
Form:
Rhyme
Thrashing like Medusa's locks,
water-whipped kelp lash, and flay.
And angry waves pummel rocks;
morphing into a salt spray.
The sky's a cauldron of clouds,
filled with a seething witch's brew.
And heaven's draped in dark shrouds;
not a single star shines through.
As lightning ignites the dark,
thunderclaps make the ground quake.
And gusty winds leave their mark
as debris swirls in their wake.
The moon, a shade of curie;
can't pierce the clouds with its beam.
And trees fearing its fury,
bow when the storm gets extreme.
The monster wails through the night;
filling rivers with its tears.
Yet exhausted by dawn's light;
it suddenly disappears.
Categories:
thunderclaps, imagery, rain, weather, wind,
Form:
Quatrain
Lightning flashes, followed by thunderclaps,
dominate the scene, dispersing the crowds.
And the night sky's twinkling stars stay hidden
behind prodigious banks of sullied clouds.
Brisk breezes tussle the tops of the trees;
branches bending as the wind increases.
And a mixture of rain, sleet, and hailstones
tears loose leaves into fragmented pieces.
Ebony shadows merge with the darkness
when Lightning's fiery gaze burns its way through.
And as raindrops dim Lightning's jagged eye,
Thor's magic hammer forges sparks anew.
A part of Nature's natural array:
thunderstorms feel like a surreal dream.
For when Lightning's hypnotic flash ignites:
amidst the charcoal clouds, wailing banshees scream.
Categories:
thunderclaps, hyperbole, imagery, imagination, storm,
Form:
Quatrain
Do you mind
If I share a dialogue?
My chalice of truth and reality
Is far too full to contain the depths of my soul
A chalice of roads trod, rivers crossed, and mountains climbed
Bearing a brew too overpowering and juxtaposed
To consume in solitude
Come share in my abundance
Lest I overflow.
Do you mind
If I share a smile
The sun in my face
Reflects the sun on a topaz sky
Reflects the gurgle of a newborn
Reflects the grace of the cotton-tailed hare
As does the sun
The joy of a friend
The harvest of effort
The awakening from a dream to a dream-filled reality
Creates a warming hearth within me
A hearth that comforts but never burns
Come bask in my warmth
Lest I grow cold.
Do you mind
If I share a tear?
My portmanteau is heavy-laden
With the tears of grief, fear, and shame
Tears of my own vulnerability
Tears of distrust
Tears of surveying the parlor of felicity
But an unidentified hand holding me back
Preventing me from entering
Tears from screaming for help at those in that parlor
Until my voice is bereft of speech
Yet no one even notices
Tears at believing that even God has turned a deaf ear
Tears at saying farewell to loved ones all too soon
And forever accosted by enemies and naysayers
Tears at the eternal thunderstorms
Thunderclaps that ascertain that misfortune is imminent
Crystal balls of hail that smash all goodness into oblivion
And floods that wash away all signs of its existence
My salt-caked, drenched burden
Has increasingly become overwhelmed
Come help to relieve it of this liquid sorrow
Before I explode.
Do you mind
If I share a hope?
For as long as there is
Air in my lungs
Ink in my pen
Paper on my desk
And a God in Heaven
There is hope.
Hope, like a new spring
With the budding of daffodils
The sprouting of leaves
And the melting of the remnants of a cruel season gratefully forgotten
Hope, like the comforting embrace of a friend
The respect of an opponent
And the support of ones with nothing material to gain
Hope, like a holy dove
Begs us to acknowledge it
And the leafy message it brings
That life can be beautiful
As beautiful as we make it
Come nurture hope with me
To keep it alive.
Categories:
thunderclaps, courage, hate, hope, racism,
Form:
Epigram