Geysers Poems

How to make love to a didgeridoo VI

Antiquated pipeline geysers ravage starry nebulae, blast ash. The hurricane bankrupts reed origami masts. It splits overripe pomegranates. Wild animal guitar buzzes, echoing through shattered valleys.

Electrified abdomen dowels bobble and quiver. Balloons, gemstones, hot coals ululate. Feral cello cherries frost and educate potholes. They mold cracked roads into jagged mosaics of fire and ice.

Fractured aqueduct sprays liquid yogurt galaxies across the void. The tempest collapses bamboo paper cranes. It bursts ripe garnet figs. Savage harp lion roars. Untamed lyre berries chant anthems.

The Tundra

Oh, tundra vast, where winds do bite,
Where summer's day is winter's night.
A land of fire, ice, and sheep,
Of brooding skies that rarely sleep.

We thrive on lava, moss, and pride,
Though sometimes feel the world outside
Forgets we’re more than Björk and Cod—
Our quirks, our quirrels, our Viking squad.

We’re quiet folk, a tad reserved,
With humor dry, and smiles conserved.
But toss us in a thermal pool,
And see us giggle like a fool.

The sagas sing of ancient might,
But let’s be real—our greatest fight
Is finding sun mid-April gloom,
Or not discussing weather in a room.

Our horses prance with double gait,
Our language traps the tongue of fate.
But if you try and twist a word,
We’ll clap—then mock you. (Yes, you heard.)

Our homes are cozy, clad with turf,
A shelter from the glacier’s surf.
Yet in our hearts, a paradox:
We’re mighty trolls, and fragile rocks.

So here’s to Iceland—quirky, bold,
Where glaciers carve and geysers scold.
A tundra tough, yet tender too,
A land of dreams—and “aðeins þú.”

Gossip

Gossip
Miracle Man
8/30/2024

Like Geysers, tongues spew,
indiscriminate tales.
Void of moral thought.

What

Do serial killers do head counts
Why are spaceships aerodynamic
Why is loud in cloud
See at the back of a hospital is that the backwards
Surely a plaster is more use than time on wounds
Every sad comes with an ad
How many sides does the sea have
What do rocket scientists say when something is easy
Does that mean that 2 birds in the hands is worth 4 in the bush
Can you get half a hole
Shouldn’t geysers be waterrisings
Is a Tom really small
The pencil is mightier than the sword
cause that nobody is John ing Wick
How could you light a candle at both ends
Well I suppose if it was balanced on a glass
Every cat I have had must have been on their last life
Wish there was a room full of mush
Time is loads of ships
Fleeting
What do you get for 2 kings and a queen in chess
God save save the….. what is it this week
2 soon
In the words of Queen
Matter really nothing me to
See if you have a..never mind

Space Veteran

Put the rifle back  

in that shattered bag,  

don't want to forget  

traumas from my hell. 

  

Geysers in my soul  

only need to explode, 

watch me hike tonight  

on my satellites.

Elocution To Bitter Cola Iii

Why slaying the stars
& rigorously binding their light
for listening ears under the mango tree
to frame folktales for midnight song,
make a geysers of yellowstone
carrying fresh fetch palm wine—
put their tongues to taste the juice,
to kiss the faces of roses.

I tell you, they aren't the equation
where xy=0
     the shape of a doughnut
     set orderly for rituals—
the contents of misery.

for their body won't be yours
to slice an orange
to fill your sac
after greasing their dreams with frost.

Nor'Easter

The waves dash themselves
Against the rocks,
Sending geysers of spray
High over the seawall,
Half drowning the cars
That are creeping slowly
Through the sandy lakes
Forming on the road.
The wind screams
And pounds its fists in a
Tantrum on car windows.
The angry sea hisses
And spits a frothy foam
Onto the curling mountains of
Emerald and blue-black water.
A lone cormorant dips and bobs,
Appears and disappears
In the unaccustomed,
Roiling surface of the salt
Pond across the road.
Beyond, the trees whip and
Thrash their arms,
Moaning and keening
In the driving sheets of rain.
Pieces of their shattered limbs
Litter the roadway, and
A single strand of wire
Flips back and forth,
Sparking red in the gloom.
People park their cars
Away from falling limbs
And dash for leaf-strewn
Porches, chairs all spun awry.
They shed their dripping coats
And watch the raging storm
Wreak havoc, safely, from inside!

Inferno

Yes, I smell sulfur
Brimstone seepage smothers me
Earth’s crust pizza thin
Mud pools like cauldrons bubble
Dante’s infernal region.

Underworld torment
Geysers vent their hot rage
I am thunderstruck
Extreme caution is needed
The inferno is waiting.


A trip many years ago to Rotorua reminded me of Dante's Inferno. The smell of sulfur (Brimstone) and bubbling mud pools all made me think of the Divine Comedy. I wrote this poem while the experience was fresh in my mind but it has been tweaked again to fit syllable count. These days I try to be accurate regarding haiku and tanka.

Agora

Awestruck by the beautiful America!
Gathering crowd obliged: admiring
Of vistas known so well by buffalo
resting - by thermal pools of color
Aqua-rainbow geysers spring aura!


(6/20/21 Yellowstone – the world’s first National Park)

Those Dimples

The dimples on your cheeks
Like matching enclaves
On opposing sides
Of a massive, naturally formed
Rock formation in Arizona
Those Dimples are my home
I can spend endless hours
Tracing the cliffs
Tracing the walls
I sleep here as well
I am just a small pest
Just the right size
For those dimples are also my bed
I sit in them like a recliner
Positioned like a cursive J
 

To the corner of your mouth
I drink the water from your lips
While I await the first droplet of coffee
From then on, I spend my day
Exploring the formations of your mouth
Bare hand climbing up your lower bicuspids
Base jumping down to your soft pallet
Bathing in the salivary geysers under your tongue 
 
In the evening, I return to your dimples
There is nothing like home
I use a stray strand of hair as my rope
I settle into the corner
Without a blanket
The fire burning in my heart
Keeps me warm through
The Cold desert night

Androids and Robots At Rest

Androids sleep on waterbeds of blue
Robots join them in hotel rooms
In this endeavor everyone is happy
Between the sheets prayers are heard
Imploring their makers to keep them safe
To make them soft, less heavier than they are
Prayers for lesser sharper parts to cut or puncture
Are solicited for mechanical guests protection

It is far too late to sleep or wake this afternoon
For then the geysers come to flood the day 
Puncture noises, gushes of water spring forth
Rains of insanity that logic cannot explain away
The mood and linens soiled for the automatons
Flashing lights in red, whirring sounds of pain
Screams of danger ringing out in all directions

Would not craters on the moon be better
Make for a dryer accommodations selection
For androids and robots need their rest
Leaving humans behind to clean up all the mess

Tropical Love

Tropical Love

Colorful petals, huge tender soft leaves,
Intricate patterns, the type spiders weave.
Gentle breezes, smelling the ocean salt,
Embedded crystals where the surf may halt.
Bright colored finches flocking through the air,
Loud racket is heard from a hidden lair.

Rainforest splendor, how precious it sings,
Tropical colors on butterfly wings!
Georges blossoms in an Edenic bay, 
Colorful orchids take my breath away.
Gigantic geysers spraying in the air,
Lava is flowing, too hot to be near.

My passionate love, as we stop to rest,
Relaxing in comfort against my chest.

© Bjørn O. Wastvedt, 2017

The Enigma of Yellowstone

The Yellowstone River runs through the heart
Of a bold and magnificent treasure.
An explorer's paradise from the start,
It has proven perfect for our leisure.

A natural wildlife home and preserve 
To bison and wolves and elk and mule deer.
Serenity reins, as creatures deserve,
While hot springs and geysers boil and appear.

Majestic mountains and deep valley grass -
Then Winter snow to silence the planet -
Draw human spirits from cities en masse
To a place where common sense would ban it.

It's a super volcano - one of few -
It may kill millions before it is through

10/29/17
For contest Sonnet With A Twist for Michael Vacek

Carmen

(after Théophile Gautier)

Carmen is sleek and slender, with a trace 
of gypsy swarthiness around her eyes. 
That sinister black hair engulfs her face. 
There's something hellish in those slick brown thighs. 

When women look at her, they call her plain, 
but men surrender reason. Elle divirilise. 
The Bishop of Toledo, now, is saying 
a Mass for Carmen on stiff, painful knees. 

About her amber neck a heavy twine 
of thick, black hair coils downward, and it serves, 
when she is in her alcove, nude, reclined, 
as her voluptuous scarf, enhancing curves. 

From that unblemished marble face explodes 
the crimson-painted grin of a heartless winner. 
behind one ear, her fleshy scarlet rose 
has sucked the sap from souls of hopeless sinners. 

With that bewitching shape, the morenita 
outstrips with ease the pale society beauties. 
Internal cruel geysers easily heat her 
dark eyes, which force the fallen back to duty. 

She has, within that vulgar, cheap allure 
some acrid grains, some venomous sharp flecks 
from Aphrodite's sea, from which The Whore 
once squirmed, to castrate us all with sex.

We Are Levitating

flash of surreal insights
haunting and eerie dreams
geysers rushing to the surface
plumed serpents dance
we are waiting
at the crossroads of intuitions
advanced awareness
in deep meditation
we are connecting
to universal wisdom
megalithic sacred monuments
intuitive souls sacred gifts
rational mind is a faithful
servant we train systematically
we are levitating

sep 15 2016
4.52 pm

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