Best Tsunamis Poems
Now brown, the once-blue brook meanders down
To dams where sludge has chased beavers away
As species die, our Mother casts a frown
For Nature can’t control man or his way
From fracking, tapping minerals, she groans
She coughs, red lava spews from Mother’s pores
With waste-clogged arteries, she weeps and moans
The very sight of man she now abhors
As Nature inhales toxins, man’s forewarned
Her colors change from purity to rage
Depleting ozone, Earth has now been warmed
Tsunamis, hurricanes take center stage
We shed our tears, entrapped by urban sprawl
But Mother turns her head and lets them fall
*December 5, 2018
Written for John Hamilton’s “Colour of My Heart” Contest
Inspired by “Colors of the Wind” from the movie “Pocahontas”
a wisp offered him a small bunch of her soul
duet of florets dandelion with lavender
purr of petals and silent reminder
fragrance in whispers and love
a window of shelter rose from her words
tranquil tender and soft they reached out
tinge of seduction and glimmer of hope
voices sore from shouting and sorrow
‘I love you from the depth of my heart’
‘my mind needs a vessel of kindness’
‘mumbling essence will heal our pain’
‘together cacophony turns into music’
calmly bespoken a hush left her lips
offered a bouquet of serene kisses
blown from faith and surrender
and the earth started to move
inaudible at first a single sound blossomed
a volcano erupted in a show of hot lava
tsunamis weaved turbulent waves
as their union overcame hardship
no scripted audition no dress rehearsal
only embers and sparks of crackling heat
mumbled desire butterflies and nectar
revealing that all will be good in the end
the two lovers threw caution to the wind
far too loud was the chorus of truth
peace sung in harmony’s tunes
serenaded balanced emotion
they smelled the sweet melody
embraced visions of sound
touched dreams in abandon
tasted promises of caress
it had started with one whisper
but the message was booming
climax repeat and crescendo
a symphony of eternal bliss
14th June 2020
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
She is Pacific ocean
Tranquil from outside
tumultuous from with in
Shallow it seems from the surface
But deep, very deep it decends
And what things it carry inside
Lively Coral reefs
And Volcanoes
Ready to errupt...
A world that can never be uncovered...
She is a cloud
Floating on air waves
Struggling to find a place
Where it will shower all of its gems
And those won't go wasted
But will reborn the dead soil
And the sleepy seeds
So precious, so full of potentials...!
She is a butterfly
With the heart of an eagle
Standing like a mountain
Against the Tsunamis
That rise when stones are thrown in the sea
Fragile yet very strong...
Emotional but Taciturn...
She is a moon
Having different phases
Which come out to roam every night
To enlight the valleys
To listen to the untold stories
And go back in morning to burry them....
She is light, she is beauty
A food for thought, a key to imaginations
And yes she is a flower
Scared of taking her hands of her face
For she will be cut, put in vase and eventually thrown away
Fate has this in store for flowers
She is but she is not
She exists but she does not
Like stars on a full moon night
She is there, and she is not!
She exists yet she does not...!!
________________________________________
~Paghunda Zahid
Placed 01 in Brian's J. Select any form any theme poetry contest
Walk with me, my child, before you grow
Hear of the world I’d like you to know
A unified Earth without country divisions
One without governments to make decisions
A world where people are not judged by race
Color neutral, can you imagine this place?
Freedom to worship as each one pleases
No hate-based reproaches, just loving breezes
All would have food, shelter and joy
Care would be given to each girl and boy
Mother Nature would smile upon us all
No earthquakes, tsunamis or mudslide falls
Art would be revered and beauty bestowed
Never again would war sounds explode
Now tell me, dear child, do you share my dream
For you hold the power to build a new team
Our youth may set our tomorrow in motion
Precepts like these need not only be notions
where the seagull dies
stringless origami cries
loneliness of soul
koi fish suffocate
colors fade in Bonsai trees
island in distress
words not understood
shadows grin tricks on rice walls
tsunamis in eyes
geisha of the world
love is lost in illusions
freedom is her dream
men with cold fingers
whither blossom of her spring
harakiri end
in the seagull's grave
origami secrets kept
chicks learn how to fly
www.scripca.com
Where to? Just to walk?
Dressed in long garment like ghost?
A question mark in purse… gold!?
She preferred a walk!
Missed her crooked edgy boat!
Just went to walk down the road…
Looking at picture
In the hands of the painter
Van Gogh’s mystery nurtured
He drew her prayer…
In her purse she did question
Why!? Was just a tough question
Wondering how could
That happen in night’s second!
Hefty waters dashing… haunt!!
The chimney trembles!
An earthquake wakes up fixed days!
See a muddy unpaved ways?
Though all wide paved roads
Reach Britania’s bay… north?
Shown on left corner’s foot’s coy
Enlarge picture here…
Her garment is night-time sleep
See the shooting stars racing heap?
Umbrella is closed
Carried lest harsh rain is dropped
Fall signed surprises to roll…
The roof is breaking!
But picture of landscape’s tweak
Is seven degrees… earthquake’s squeeze!
What caused that earthquake?
Look close… hills’ dance! Wave!
Tsunamis launch big headache…
The sun’s round high rays
Amazing view! Beneath slate!
Above roof tops water stays!
Can’t take my eyes off
That white house’ name looks… hello!
Van Gogh meant… white house we know..!
The cleverest knew
Floods and blubbers can dash through
The Atlantic Ocean’s see through..!
Since past styles distort
But now all styles run the show
The broken boat… does not flow!
The ark as in boat..!!
Seems like Noah’s ark… didn’t row!
Got broken on hills… the road!
Looks like Broken Wa-
gon town fits show on sheer Van
Gogh’s print… water’s sketch grade’s class!
Under her smooth feet
Hilltops’ visage… very week...
Vast landscapes flattened… see here?
Till water recedes…
With hefty tears of few years
Trotting in Van Gogh’s tart dreams.
BY: Nadia F. Shahwan – September 2009. The portrait of “White House at night” by Vincent
Van Gogh was the inspiration of my poem-Seven Degrees.
Things you cannot sugar coat: LIST POEM
Child abuse
Sex trafficking
Killings
Murders
Rapes
STDs
Illegal drug use
Alcoholism
Cancer
9/11/01
Automobile wrecks
House fires
Natural catastrophes
Tsunamis
Earthquakes
Volcanic ash
Bullies
Pain
Anger
Rage
Unkindness
Disrespect
Ugly dogs
Dentists
Math
Stone did not give up on us,
we just made stone socially conscious.
Many hotels and banks are still stone clad,
the rich still use stone,
but most of us
are in the throw-away aisles of the future.
This is not a class warfare poem, that war is over –
we lost.
Soon the poor will have no stone history,
our less than epoch making lives
will not outlast the crumbling era’s.
Our trinkets and practical artifacts
will wash away in tsunamis of time.
We will leave no blue-collar archeology
that can be excavated, and raised above the
swallowing earth once more.
Plastic and aluminum,
composite drywalls, and pine struts, go
to the landfill at best.
In the end, rot, termites
and fire are our bequeathing.
In some distant past
I am looking through a camera
taking pictures of a far tomorrow.
“Look”, I hear someone say,
“there’s a nobody,
he who has no stone for his grave
or fame.”
I agree,
even this celluloid photo of me
in my prime,
strutting along a Jersey boardwalk,
a beautiful woman on my arm;
this image will also burst into flames;
no doubt within,
some impressive, abiding fireplace -
one built of stone.
Islands
Islands are – it seems – so many of us.
Worlds apart – alone – in the seas of life.
Joined at the hip – by an adversarial universe.
Amputated from a living solar system
by the master surgeons – insecurity, self doubt,
criticism, negativity, skewed points of view.
Tear tempests rage from within us.
Tsunamis, tearing up any traces of,
the mighty oaks we may have been.
Islands - are we ?, many lost in the sea of,
humanity all around, if, but we could see.
Drifting on crests of gigantic waves.
Cradled within the troughs of ocean’s anger,
being tossed towards the brink of humanity,
on a journey that is carrying us through eternity.
Deserted islands we have become – by choice ?
Ships that pass throughout our nights,
disembarking bodies – life boats to the shore,
these islands, secluded, to explore,
so many constipations lay within,
islands in the seas of humanity.
Islands of lost, empty souls,
islands floating – Sargasso Sea,
islands adrift – apart.
Brilliant, stands that joyous orb,
screaming down upon us all – happiness –
on beams of dancing – feet,
gliding, rhythmically, across us desolate islands,
trying to part lightness into our days,
some days ?, many ?,
it can not dissipate the haunting shadows,
shadows that shroud, darken our life’s experiences.
Good days – some – eclipsed by essence of our realities.
B. J. “A” 2
February 22nd 2008
greedily slaughtered
earth's trees cry out for vengeance . . .
we choke on their angst
water overflows
from earth's oceanic wounds . . .
she bleeds tsunamis
if you feel her shake
deep within her ancient bones. . .
you can know her pain
the beasts she cradles
are vanishing from our midst. . .
our own demise looms
she seethes at her core
with a volcanic passion. . .
feel her fury rise
November 21, 2019
N/A in All About The Environment. Poetry Contest judged 11/25/2019
Writing Challenge - December - Any poem NA'd in November 2019
Sponsor, Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
so, here's the thing.
when you kiss me, there are no tsunamis.
there is no hurricane behind my eyelids and there is
no earthquake underneath us.
but there is the buzzing.
like a million, swarming bees,
rattling around inside our veins.
the buzzing is you, all soft and safe and
the swarming, well, the swarming is me.
i am all chaos, all the time.
that unending rattling
inside of your skin.
but in reality, aren't we really just the bees?
all lost and never really found, but searching -
always searching.
so tell me, honeybee.
what comes first -
the buzzing or the bees?
Age has brought it nearer.
The more I acknowledge it
the closer it surfaces.
It does not care for the cosmos,
for bright flowers, or sunsets.
Its eats all that stuff -
chews them up into words.
I am done describing it.
It's not specific.
it glows with a perfect ignorance,
it’s as innocent as a rat
in a cheese factory.
It’s creaturely, a minor deity
goats feet and a penny whistle.
It breaks a mind ripple
then tsunamis’ my pond
with a fish hook.
As I age it occasionally
peeps out of my pores,
it’s puppy dog eyes
asking how it got to be
me?
She is a Pacific ocean
Tranquil from outside
tumultuous from with in
Shallow it seems from the surface
But deep, very deep it descends...
And what things it carry inside
Lively Coral reefs
And Volcanoes
Ready to errupt...
A world that can never be uncovered...
She is a cloud
Floating on air waves
Struggling to find a place
Where she shall shower all her gems
And those won't go wasted
But will reborn the dead soil
And the sleepy seeds
So precious, so full of potentials...!
And yet she is a butterfly
But with the heart of an Eagle
Standing like a mountain
Against the Tsunamis
That rise even with pebbles, when thrown in the sea
Fragile yet very strong...
Emotional but Taciturn...
She is a Moon
With different phases
That come out to roam every night
To enlight the valleys
To listen to the untold stories
And go back in the morning to burry them....
She is light, she is beauty
A food for thought, a key to imaginations
And there she is, a flower
Scared of taking hands of her face
For she will be cut, put in vase and eventually thrown away
Does fate has this in store for roses?
She exists but she does not
Like stars on a full moon night
She is there... Yet invisible..!
She lives, but mostly in silence...!!
*~°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°~*
Like the Pacific ocean she may look cool
But her heart and mind are like a bomb
Loaded with wild imaginations and deep emotions
Her heart finds solace in the stories of teleportation
Fragile and delicate like a butterfly
Yet strong like the mountains that stand high
She stays silent like the shy Moon in june
Though a 'Stream of consciousness' follows every tune
Afraid of people and the touch of time
But yearns to be worthy and bloom in her prime
She is beauty, only for the seeing eyes
And a food for thought but only if one realize
by Max Burchett
Black swans are a thing.
That thing never seen before,
Not known to exist,
What has never happened before.
If you can think of it,
Can expect or imagine it,
That swan is not black, or a swan
Just a strange possibility.
I discovered my own personal swans
Surprised by, not discovered
Personal tsunamis, personal lottery wins
Not the Vegas kind; rather, the lotteries of life.
Never imagined things I might do
Or would happen while racing into eternity
Is the incredible waiting to spring
What will it mean for me, or you?
Wonderfully good, or bad beyond belief?
Shocks of the universe or just for your life?
Intimate black swans while on your way,
The chance encounter changing life.
Unknown unknowns.
No need to worry.
Can’t do anything about
A new wrinkle in what in life can’t expect.
The unexpected we can never know
Until fate dishes it out.
Destiny that was there all along,
A high or low note of life’s song.