Best Turbine Poems
(Inveniam viam)
Far beyond these eerie things, where limits have no scales
Fish are replacing gills, with turbine aerated tails
Sea level’s losing all meaning, for the humpback whales
Ships piggyback them, harpoons syphon wind from their sails
Today I woke up early, lately I’ve let dreams flow
Into an abstract yonder, where visions often go
A wave came over me, up from my downy pillow
When tidal forces passed away, many moons ago
As the ocean waved goodbye, I called for an encore
Behaving like a poultice, the beach drew back old gore
You could’ve bowled me over, sent ripples to my core
Never again I’d sleep soundly, near this bloody shore
After a fretful lie-on, facing truths with each turn
My sundial running on empty, stars can’t always churn
Moribund in dimness, til an old spark can return
Reigniting glory days, (let supernovae burn)
Overhead the vacuum grows, just to make more space
Stretching my dysmorphia, to align with gods face
No one knows for certain, who enhanced his human race
Gave an artful hand, outsmarting evolution’s pace
As life spirals forward, in a world out of control
Entropy dismantles, stripping back our maker’s role
The poet in me keeps goofing, digging deeper holes
He’s a junkie rhymester, overdosing on this soul
So hail all billionaires, who never walk down my street
Flying above fake cripples, with power in their feet
Prodigies of bad and worse, scheming to make ends meet
Leaves an aftertaste of smugness, one that will repeat
As for those big questions, some take a straightforward twist
Two things I thought might go away, stubbornly exist
Not death or taxes, I’m already over that list
Each day I arise, how come lies and bullsh!t persist?
First there was oblivion, til I woke up and saw
Now fully awake, dead ahead looms a fatal flaw
But so long as I can dream, and able to guffaw
It only hurts when I laugh, Don’t you think? vents my jaw
By David Kavanagh
Hms
Categories:
turbine, dark, dream, life,
Form:
Rhyme
I've a growing b-tch
of a persistent itch
plaguing a part down under
in a well-hidden spot
sweaty and hot
tearing my sanity asunder
I long for a table
legs sturdy and stable
for a really quick rub up-and-down
even a toothpick
or any such gimmick
heaven help; it's now inside my crown
Tightly I'm tethered
I grin but nay bear it
for relief lift my legs a mere tad
the heat's volcanic
the swelling gigantic
as far as itch goes this is bad
Mouth starting to foam
I hobble on home
I've mere minutes 'fore madness takes hold
my head's on the spin
an orchestra within
one step from insanity's threshold
Once inside my abode
rev to fast turbine mode
my eyes and my fingers a-twitch
on the verge of cuckoo
I kick off my shoe
with relish scratch the dastardly itch
I curse, for this morning
I disregarded Ma's warning:
"Today sultry and hot is our weather
to avoid insanity
wear shoes that are comfy
not those ones of el cheapo leather."
Categories:
turbine, funny
Form:
Rhyme
Today, the sun shone brightly over our shores.
Peering over the forest and meeting the cores
We share fundamental truths across the waterways.
across the grasslands, then onto the Himalayas.
Past somatic feelings are cognitively preserved.
Spirit is the natural extension of cognition.
Spirit and mind foresee the body, the spirit swerved.
Together, the mind and body create resolution.
The universe's sound is centered around silence.
A quiet that gives rise to that sound—its essence
Silence increases, dilates, expands, and evolves.
It's able to watch the blooming of other carves.
It is as copernican as the light we pass through.
Pedagogical schools have the same faint glow.
Solving math, questioning the past, or visual atom.
"I have a dream," I was told, to be in a ruling stratum.
Our lives connect us to grains and corncobs.
warmed by miners and dry wind turbine jobs.
Sugarcane is used to acquire paper and rubber.
My father's hands were swollen from scrubber.
Our biggest mistake was playing the drama alone.
as if life were a subtle crime without atone.
Denying respect is feeling neglected in a cage.
Shouts were buried by choruses, width, and rage.
Let the beat off your loneliness and start talking.
Your warmth tends to compile the kettle singing.
The world's fauna and birds are plainly unique.
Your life is ready and waiting for its peak.
Written: December 29, 2022
Categories:
turbine, analogy, change, community, life,
Form:
Rhyme
The truth is, I'm afraid of most everything.
From the beautiful forests cloaking hungry beasts.
Every wave of the ocean din harbors a cold dorsal fin...
with my name engraved on it-
The mountains-and all the hidden fissures
every step a potential hellish frozen death.
I'm afraid of big cities with all its bag pipe faces.
Blitzing from noise to noise-
a million dirty children-a half a million broken toys.
I'm afraid of small towns-and all the earthy smiles.
Hiding in plain sight, their filthy six fingered lies.
I'm afraid of the finality of graveyards...
Rows of forgotten marble splashed with pigeon droppings.
I'm afraid of old age-as signs of frailty are starting to mount.
I'm afraid of the lost people of the I phone occult.
Blank faces shuffling along like short, circuited robots.
I'm afraid of the heartless turbine called change.
The lengthy lives of predators
The brief flash of beauty
Tristine waters turned murky.
The brevity of pollinators.
I'm afraid of love tossed casually aside.
Like a pair of sneakers wrapped around a telephone wire.
I'm afraid of that late night phone ring.
that chimes, your life will never be the same.
I'm afraid of the snotty ogre in the mirror-that they call a wasted life.
I'm afraid there is no god.
I'm afraid there is a god.
I'm afraid of boxcar graffiti
I'm afraid of dying but not death
I'm afraid of myself..
Categories:
turbine, angst,
Form:
Free verse
Act 1 Scene 1
Water: “ I am water and I create Energy without using coal.”
Air : “I am air, and I can now create Energy without using coal”
Water:” I flow through a pipe, then push against blades in a turbine that spin
to power a generator to produce clean green electricity.”
Air:“It's discovered that clean green electricity is generated from my humidity.”
Act 2 scene 1
Water : “I cover 71% of the earth’s surface”
Air: “I cover 100% of the earth’s surface”
Water: “I contain Hydrogen and Oxygen”
Air: “ So do I” “ I am needed to produce fire”
Water: “ I extinguish fire when its out of control or no longer needed.”
Act 3 Scene 1
Water : “I prevent dehydration in humans and animals and without me they
could not survive” “I have no calories”
Air: “I prevent suffocation in humans and animals and without me they
could not survive” “I have no calories either”
Air: “ Vegetation, birds and mammals need me to survive
Water:” Vegetation, birds , fish and mammals need me to survive
Water:” I am needed to swim."
Air : “ I am needed to swim and run and climb and walk."
Water and Air in unison: ” I guess we are a special pair”
"This earth is lucky we both are there." They take a bow- Exit stage right.
THE END
Categories:
turbine, water,
Form:
Personification
Energy’s Suffocating Gallop
by Odin Roark
Ancient blood soaked sand
Plumes its sticky residue
Beneath rapacious hooves
Dust storms of evil stampeding beside pipelines
Goad flow to tankers
Where ubiquitous black gold addiction
Steers toward pervasive profit-docks
Behind sweat lathered greed
Winds of historic baggage
Tether their historic words and song
Blessings and curses
Exciting swirling vortexes
Windmills of molten fire
Entitlement’s rape and pillage of breath
Of pores once absorbing purity
Evil’s global bubble
Appearing as mankind'
Robed in white zealotry
The blinded hawk-minds
Embrace the Middle East predatory contaminant
Wallowing in solipsistic riches forgotten
Awake only to pick tomorrow’s gluttonous prey
The world turns on turbine propulsion
With oceans bowing to its slavery
Delivering liquid smokestack suffocation
Silent killers preparing ghosts
Of time’s new-century-plague
Ignored
As oil gorged tankers find port
Release their pandemic sleight of hand
A destruction as innocent as rabbits from a hat
Charms the ignorant
Beguiles the wannabes
Wheeled transport
Delivers the demise of children’s hearts
Left to take a number
Unaware there is no lottery
Only loser-consciousness
Adult indulgence clinging desperately
To evil’s mane and tail
As it whips gullible eyes
Into cataract submission
Alien life hovers above
Grieving the minions destined
To find black energy’s ashen dust
Sprinkling its fool’s gold
Upon a barren planet
Categories:
turbine, political,
Form:
Free verse
Ancient and modern is this heartbeat
of a kingdom of four territories;
becoming the first biter to the endocarp of industrialization;
the first host to a global carnival of sports;
running the eldest of all notable department stores
and oldest without aging is one of its publishing houses.
A historic accumulator of colonies
with a spoken identity well pumped into different parts of the world
which has married diplomacy, economy and finance
to give global relevance to anyone who acquires it.
Even with this huge dominance,
Its initial lingua franca was
an adoption from its southern neighbor.
From Winchester to London, the route of its history is endless
Wwth the Lincoln cathedral the first overtaker
of the great pyramid of Gaza in an increasing participating race
and the first caster of the globe’s lifeless identity in Aluminium.
It’s a relentless consumer of Tea
having agents of law enforcement surprisingly not needing weapons
only but in situations of an adrenaline rush.
This defined region also has shoulders high above all others
in space and capacity showcased by Hay-on-Wye,
in dimensions and height, exhibited by Nature’s craft in Avebury,
in the size of a residence of royalty decorated in Windsor,
in numerical value of products traded in Harry ramsden
and a proud member of the starters’ club
in the creation of transportation mediums through rails.
The home of technology’s birth
and the courtyard where science is entertained
which is both less and greater than Thomas Harriot;
smiling when Christopher Merret and the Champagne
both got registered in history’s dairy.
The contribution of William Dockwra through stamps;
the excellence of Charles parsons shown in the stream turbine;
and the magic of Bletchley park
exhibited through the wonders of the colossus
are a fascinating fraction of a wing of its colourful feathers.
If these praises should spread online
The entire world of the internet has among others, Tim Berners to thank.
Categories:
turbine, earth, social, society,
Form:
Ode
Amidst the fine feetle of veggies in the garden of truth
Stands a monstrous scarecrow.
Of a fungoid parched face and a half baked gaze.
Of shrunken smoked sockets and drunken knocked eyeballs.
Bulged cheekbones force the halloween smile
While the amateurish wrought neck holds the somewhat ogrish skull.
A thin narrowing stream of a sparrow's yellowing cream
Tinges it's elvan nose to the apex.
Pepper red vitriol burns in the dunes of the coarse skin
And four daggerlike claws clinch at the gliding inches of the sisal woven arms.
Crickets and roaches cohabit in the meshes of the morbid hobbit charvet shirt.
The eroded black ribbons travelling along the sleets of the pirate jacket
Compliment the dotted woolen twines of hair flowing down the bald scalp
Then...
Beyond the spread of the evenly scaped acres of the khaki greens
Lives a dearth among apes
That's strips down their velvet raiment of fur
And pulls to skin their horrid skeleton.
Dry bones litter the vale and life faces the wink of hell.
Yet the flora of truth remains unturned, untouched, unchanged
A death from a dearth seems painless
Than the drilling wreath of the scarecrow's claws to the turbine of breath
Sandwiched in the succulent greens of the garden of truth
Stands a scarecrow ladened with less ruth, wrath full
A fabricated beast called STEREOTYPE
Categories:
turbine, introspection, life, perspective, prejudice,
Form:
Free verse
“Colour Codes”
sky blue
clouds hide
truth,
and you said,
I know you.
end story
remains open;
truth,
rain ends
sky blue
with,
or without you.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Cornfield Chase” / happy.wind.turbine
https://youtu.be/durLXZ2tFL4
"Writing Poems"/Ludovico Einaudi
https://youtu.be/ZBZtSwoBsng
"The Poet Acts" / Philip Glass
https://youtu.be/lgbuS8F2_gM
Categories:
turbine, muse,
Form:
Free verse
The Gaspe Peninsula dancing to music only she can hear,
She starts in the Appalachians of Northern Alabama;
Until she plunges into the sea at the end of the Gaspe,
The Mi'knaq Indians called it, the place where land ends.
She murmurs the music of the Scots and Irish settlers,
With fiddles and violins strumming and Gaelic lyrics;
On summer days, she is wildflowers and sun-drenched meadows,
That ripple in the fresh, sea breezes of the Saint Lawrence.
There are many wind turbine forests, a hundred miles high,
And the sound of the fiddles scream in her heart;
Along her shores she is rich wilderness, red cliffs, and forests,
And always the salt-tinged wind is caressing her soul.
Her peaks rise up to the azure blue sky in sweet solitude,
Birds swoop and glide her towering open rock forms;
And she hears accordian, gentle and soothing, weeping so softly,
And scattered are quaint villages and towns with bright roofs.
Many a shipwreck lay off her shores and the violin is sadness,
And the Blue Whales come surfacing and diving deeply;
Their blow-holes, blowing plumes thirty feet tall with a whoosh,
In the waters of the mighty Saint Lawrence that flows.
The fiddles are piercing and the piano cries as she nears her end,
Land plunges into the sea, and her journey has ended;
She is dancing to music only she can hear, of seascapes so beautiful,
Of boreal forests, pristine waters, wildlife, and high mountains.
_____________________________
October 5, 2015
Short Story/Music of the Gaspe
Copyright Protected, ID 15-714-669-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Categories:
turbine, dance, nature, travel,
Form:
Prose Poetry
THE EYE of I
What is life? What is love?
The eye of I took it in…
The material rolling sweeps highs and lows--valleys cuts, grooves, gullies and gorges eye engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit-- living matter,
infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
the sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under
What is the breathing open petal life… radiating respiring
One throttle to quell that respiration, bright lightening beauty gently fusing into glow?
Brightening as I faster
Turbine-whistle I your master
beating, spewing, thrusting, ignition transference… body grue and stifles?… Gone
She stiffens the radiance of the face pale, milky, alabaster, clammy pore-less beams the lips and cheeks rubescent now. Smoothes, and transition into deep hues of blues, violent violets, ebony black. Hardens, stiffens stone then softens? as alabaster
Deterioration, matter, entropy all so naturally
Squall has past--the quondam respiring takes long respite..
The eye of I took it in…The material rolling sweeps highs and lows, valleys, cuts, grooves, gully and gorge I engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines folded as petals from
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit
of living matter, infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
The sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under lies the breathing open petal life… radiating, respiring?
The fingers trace and fall in place the Etowah infused with breath
The sweat sinks in, absorption energy transfers electricity thoughts
Cabachon crescendos!
All the while the living, beating, breathing, entity flutters, shutters, smiles.
Categories:
turbine, allusion, senses, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
the good
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
happy memories and joyous events,
the loves, and lifelong friendships
A cul-de-sac, though a dead end,
has a circular finish, a merry-go-round
that accumulates happiness as it spins
into a cloud of beauty and nature,
compassion, gods, and faith.
The breathless moments in life,
birth, newness, novelty, exuberance
in being, living, experiencing
laughter, butterflies, and springtime
within my soul, my gratitude.
the bad
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
the pocks of the years that came
to leave their soured, sadistic truths.
So, like a cul-de-sac you may enter
but the exit is the same as you came.
A Ferris wheel, past the highs and lows
of lost hopes, of murky dreams that end
with more questions than I will answer…
A dead end with death as the prize
for endless dreary days and noxious nights
of sorrow, sadness, misery, and grief
with no hope, no desire, no ambition
faith gone and forgone, abortive.
the ugly
The doors to my mind and heart
circle as revolving doors.
A peek inside and you see
the sear of anger and revenge
spiraling apocalyptically.
The cul-de-sac where giant wind turbines
turn and churn and gnaw at my insides
generating incompressible turbulence
that amasses until it ruptures, spewing
rage and outrage that I will honor…
In and out, inescapable, dead
like my heart, my soul black as coal,
seeking retribution for perceived
wrongs against me, ill-timed and
sanguinary persecution.
Categories:
turbine, anger, dark, hate, life,
Form:
Free verse
now the sun made love to the moon
in a transgender afternoon
will be like you, will be like me
blame fimininty, blame under Y trinity
for the crescent got pregnant by a star
how Islamic them flags hailing Ishtar
sue blindness with no guts won't go any far
a lonely baby monkey riding an intellectual donkey
contstantine sat with christianity to dine
I'll give you the bibile don't take my kingdom we'll play it subtle
gods anagram is dog, eventually truth isn't to dodge
shylock laughed from the eye shaped window gotta love the attic, gotta love the lodge
there a twelve month old lonely boy, hovering holding a radioactive toy
oh red neck cowboy
in the east they're dancing eureka
gotta love rock, gotta love amerika
a middle eastern dream on a flying carpet
it's raining oil, it made them souls way murky than slimy soil
red china sat with north Korea gotta love the boogie cafeteria
iran humped israhell up her stars and stripes skirt in syria
but who knows that fake khomeni sealed the fate to bloody rainy
now the boy is a four dimensional old man
poor out of time you ran
the nomad looked at the stars, covered the jet turbine with his purple purple turban
ivy league ethopian NBA player, forgot his jewish core under the suburbs layer
Hitler never lost, his whores name written on paper without a clip
from the g string to the g thing, Hong Kong Singh ting
tsunami origami, that haarp is a reddish yammy
in the fourth earth there's an entity with a heartburn, send cern
heads up, it's the final u turn
Categories:
turbine, age, america, confusion, corruption,
Form:
Lyric
Humans say "Go Green"
How much greener can I get
A Wind Turbine, soon
Inspired by Raul's Contest " Caterpillar's Gait "
Categories:
turbine, funny, nature, science,
Form:
Haiku
Quote: Forget injuries, never forget kindnesses. Confucius
A Water Fall is an awesome example of a supernaturally engineered portrait, captured by time and space, and displayed in a living masterful frame. It's inhuman but embraces a sight of wonderment; a sound that's 'forever hoped for'; a taste of 'peace unbroken' with nothing missing; a feeling 'undeniably enduring and soothing', and a 'to-die-for fragrance' of 'once upon a time'.
There is a beauty, crafted and hand-painted by the same fingers that formed me. It's an ever-moving and massive flow of living waters. Falling water, not to break or disintegrate, but divinely programmed to continue its flow to places far and wide with no place to hide.
There is no moon-controlled wave after wave of high and low tides, and whoever decides can come along for the ride. It speaks to longing and searching questions from deep within. It utters shouts of inquisitions such as: "O soul of mine, from whence cometh thou?" "What and where is your source, O gentle soul?" "And if the Water Falls have a source of origin and a point of destiny, does not indeed my soul also have a source of beginning?" O indeed, the Water Falls answer 'Yes' to me, saying, "O yes, you like I, the Water Fall, are handmade by our Maker, and absolutely nothing can deny us of our final destiny.
And so, I observe all of God's creation; and if I, like nature, continue saying 'Yes" to Him, all shall be forever well. Though our courses may toss and turn, our flows proceed. I imagine a gentle creek bed evolving into a river,
twisting and turning down-stream where it confluences with another river
and immortalizes its true identity and increases the power of its flow until reaching the edge of a cliff, where an expanse of earth is broken apart with an awaiting trench below.
Below, a new assignment of creative genius begins as a turbine is turned by rushing waters providing fresh energy. And new lights dispel the darkness.
Categories:
turbine, freedom, nature, water,
Form:
Prose