When you do not know what to do - praise,
When the enemy’s breath draws near,
In the lion’s den - praise,
Is the furnace seven times hotter? - praise.
Do not give in to the enemy,
For His Bloodline surrounds you,
Help descends from heaven - so praise.
Let your atmosphere resound with songs,
Praise your way through to victory strong.
Lift the shield of faith, quench fiery darts,
Miracles rise in the fiercest parts.
You will walk on water - praise,
Let God arise, His enemies scatter.
Hold your head high, His covenant sure,
His promise of ‘watch’ shall ever endure.
It is as if the world is upside down.
The ground is too light,
in comparison
to the too dark sky.
The fiercest,
boldest,
shades in nature,
clash together.
They form the
brightest
streak of golden brilliance
ever imaginable.
In that sea of darkness
I can see vibrant,
energized,
light.
At my perch by the windowsill
I can watch the world around me
thrash in rage.
But… it passes by.
Leaving the world
new,
refreshed,
soothed.
I take one step
into the
world outside,
and then another.
The ground feels soft
beneath my feet.
The grass slicker than
the finest silk.
The air that seeps
into my lungs with each
heave and ho
of my chest.
Is cleaner than
any air I’ve breathed
In a long time.
So, I sit.
I tuck my feet beneath me,
Criss-crossed and Indian style,
taking more of
those cleansing breaths.
And I think
and remember...
If this is
what it is like
after every surge of rage,
every clash of nature’s emotions.
It should storm
more often.
Thunder found me in a waiting room,
the word surgery rumbling through my chest
like a sky deciding to split open.
Lightning flickered in the doctor’s eyes—not danger, but direction~
a sudden brightness showing me the path I didn’t want but needed.
Storms kept arriving after that: a six-month tempest of physical therapy,
each session a thunderclap shaking loose the ache I carried,
each stretch a bolt of lightning showing me strength I didn’t know
was still alive beneath the pain.
There was wonder in the surgery itself—a of skill gathering around me,
the surgeon’s hands bright as lightning, cutting not to harm
but to open a path back into my own body.
There was wonder in the long months after~
physical therapy rose like thunder, steady and rhythmic,
reshaping what pain had claimed.
Every medical hand that guided me became a spark in the dark~
proof that even the fiercest storms carry their own quiet brilliance.
I used to think thunder meant run, meant hide, meant brace for the worst.
But lightning taught me that fear is only the first flash,
and wonder is the echo that follows.
thought brew stale is familiar tale
but if the void of silence be our home
our heart will not pale in the fiercest gale
with consciousness mirroring God’s gong Om
life as scripted is in time depicted
wherein in the vastness we wingless glide
nonchalant to outcomes, heart uplifted
aware at all times that God dwells inside
the light that lights all lights always aflame
our form is suffused with bliss magnetism
life’s highs and lows then for us are the same
as we transcend knowings of every ism
commingled with bliss that does not abate ~
such is our vibrance mind cannot translate
In the hush before the morning finds its name,
a child wakes first and teaches light to grow,
their laughter spilling gold without a claim,
a language only open hearts can know.
Their eyes hold skies no sorrow yet has crossed,
clear mirrors where the world appears made new;
they touch a thing, and all the fear is lost,
as if the earth remembers what is true.
With tiny hands they gather broken days,
and build from dust a kingdom without walls;
no throne but joy, no law but simple ways,
no rise to pride, no bitter need for falls.
They ask of life no armor, shield, nor guise,
yet walk unguarded through its fiercest flame;
for innocence is not the lack of wise,
it is the courage not to play the game.
A tear will come, but never learns to stay;
it falls like rain, then yields again to sun.
Their grief is brief, their wonder does not fray,
their wars are fought and ended all in fun.
O fragile strength the weary world forgets,
that power need not harden into stone;
for in their hearts no shadow lingers yet,
and love stands fearless, certain, and alone.
Deep beneath the twisted root,
Where silence wears a felt boot,
The mother curls in circles tight,
A ring of warmth against the night.
Her brush is draped like silken thread,
A pillow for each tiny head.
With silver tongue and patient grace,
She washes every fuzzy face;
A rhythmic stroke, a tender sweep,
To lull her restless kits to sleep.
She nicks the clay and clears the air,
The mistress of her earthen lair.
When hunger nips at bellies small,
She answers to their whimpering call.
She leaves the warmth of huddle and home,
Through silvered wilds and woods to roam.
She answers every hungry need,
And gives her waiting kits a feed.
But if the heavy foot should fall,
Or shadow loom against the wall,
The mother transforms—sharp and keen,
The fiercest flame that’s ever been.
With bared tooth and a warning low,
She stands between them and foe.
In golden coat and eyes of fire,
She is the shield, a mother’s desire.
Until the stars begin to pale,
And dawn unfolds its violet veil,
She keeps the watch, the sacred trust,
Amidst the roots and cooling dust.
On the lean hill
where the earth barely breathes,
a lupin lifts its violet flame
like a secret entrusted to the wind.
A solitary flower —
yet in its stem
runs the memory of the wolf:
to walk straight through the hunger of the world.
The wolf does not ask for the road,
it carves it beneath its steps.
The flower does not ask for light,
it invents it.
Thus the lupin
teaches stones and men
that the fiercest beauty
is often born in the harshest soil.
Poet’s Note:
Date: March 8, 2026
Chosen Title: the wolf’s way
Sponsor: Ceci ou cela Vol.37
“The distinction of quality and absence of quality does not exist in the least. How shall I worship Siva (the Absolute) who is devoid of quality and absence of quality, who is devoid of attachment and detachment, who is of the form of ether, omniform, beyond illusion, and all-pervading?”
The Self renews itself within itself,
dwelling in peace, resplendent in its light,
free from fear, no agenda on its shelf,
an ocean of awareness with clear sight.
The Self, God or Brahman, is all there is,
which we know not, since we are polarised,
yet when thoughts rest, gushes forth love’s bliss fizz,
whence the absolute truth is realised.
Piercing pores of space and transcending time,
we see manifestations as dream forms,
knowing which no mountains remain to climb
and we remain calm through life’s fiercest storms.
What’s there to be done; God and we are one ~
We are the light that illumines the sun
“The unmoving One, who without effort possesses all that is movable and immovable, is Consciousness, naturally calm, like the sky.”
God’s omnipresence has no place to move,
being all that is, present everywhere,
poised in time stretched peace, with no point to prove,
resplendent with love and light, self-aware,
one without a second, beyond compare,
be it as source or in form manifest,
even in the fiercest storms, heart at rest.
Okeechobee Hurricane back in 1928 was a Category Five
She was also called the San Felipe II Hurricane
No idea why she deserved two names
Her winds were between 160 and 200 miles per hour
She hit Puerto Rico
In 2017 Hurricane Irma took the same path
She was also a Category Five
She did one billion dollars’ worth of damage
1.5 million customers lost power
the warning system was better
There were only four deaths related to Irma
Purerto Rico, Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico,
Adored by the fiercest hurricanes of all
Why do they keep picking on you?
It is curious is it not?
For forty furious years the battle raged on
With fiercest grit and gut ever conceived;
The valorous victor at first the loser was
Till he at last the coveted crown received.
Such indelible scars sustained he
Over the tenure of this bellum sore;
And so shall the victor scabby bruises
Bear to monumentalize this fierce war.
And may every kindly soul shed a tear
In memory of those four decades gone,
When the valorous victor defeated was
Via no careless deficiencies of his own.
O my shadow, sail away.
Be thou far from me.
Morning deadly, thou art grey.
Poison, hear my plea.
Torn apart, O tones of time?
Nerves inside us, roil.
Countenance of bitter crime!
Belladonna, boil!
River, in thy deepest cave.
Giant, see thy grave.
Sidewalk cracked and needing pave.
Savior, time to save.
Armies of forgotten gone!
Tend thy fiercest rage!
Blackout, blossom! O my swan!
Broken, O my cage!
Automaton, mad machine!
Envy turned them green!
Roundabout run red! I deen?
Just what have I seen?
Moon above, thy fullest.
Lunatic, thy fringe.
Fill the brazen bull? Best!
Murder, on the binge!
Great queens, from thy black abyss!
Give the end a kiss!
Such a night! What lurked in this?
Serpent, time to hiss!
Hope, accrue? What do we do?
Magnetize the flue!
Stick together just like glue!
Make the whole world new...
Do we desire to live an impactful life,
To leave a legacy that would bless and shine?
Then let us yield to Christ’s gentle choice,
And surrender all to His will divine.
Our call is to be tender, to be true,
To walk in mercy, mild, and childlike trust,
Be gentle, sweet, in all we say and do,
With willing feet, be helpful, kind, and just.
For He gives peace amid the fiercest storm,
At His Word - “Peace, be still” - the winds obey.
His voice still calms the turmoil, makes hearts warm,
Though fear may rise, stay close to Him today.
Upon that Cross, He bore our sin and grief,
Now He intercedes to bring us peace and abundant life.
Children of the Moon
They go with the tides
It goes with their mood swings
In their shell’s where they hide
They nurture and protect
To a motherly effect
The crabs of the sea
They clip their enemies
So don’t ever doubt them
They’re truly precious gems
They make the fiercest friends
They’re loyal lovers til the end
June and July babies galore
The kind of people everyone adores
Treat them kind and then you’ll see
They’re the best people you’ll ever meet
Love is a complicated feeling, they say,
Understanding its depth isn't like child's play.
But isn't love as simple as breathing, I ask,
Who knew that fate was planning a cruel task.
Love is liberation, salvation, they say,
But what about the ones drowning in gray?
What about the feeling that you could taint someone pure—
Their charm, their smile, their allure.
Love burns, love scars, they say,
But what can the shattered souls say?
How to explain that the broken can't be mended by the kind,
Because their fiercest enemy is their mind.
Love stories of forever and beyond, they say,
But some sit and watch the unfolding of that play.
Those are the ones who aren't sure about their days,
Because they are lost in an eternal haze.
May all the broken souls find love, I say,
But I know their road to love isn't child's play.
They carry the guilt of the purity they slew,
And unfortunately, that guilt drowns them too.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.