Long Krakatoa Poems
Long Krakatoa Poems. Below are the most popular long Krakatoa by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Krakatoa poems by poem length and keyword.
May my blessings all reach you if Spirit has home,
has an address (like I do, location). Let gift
of this poem be present that pleasures your soul.
Know I certainly cherished your kinship, felt rhyme,
cling to pretense (perhaps) a connection remains,
like a cloud in the distance (in drought) sprouts dim dream
of a future reunion of wheat growing tall
and the smell of bread baking, of famine with food.
Though friend’s memories whisper, flesh absence feels rude,
in a season change colder than winter or fall.
May the warmth of burned poems, of prose flow (upstream?)
to some mountainous stronghold (perchance on the plains?)
find connection somehow to Time’s Author sublime.
Let least dream of ‘God’s pleasure’ be purpose, not goal
of each second of life. May what’s TRUE not spell rift
as muse moves to its stage, qu*er eternal word’s ‘Om!’
Krakatoa Kritic #007
July 16th of 2021
A Student of Love (for Life)
Chapter 1:
I’ve found stagecoach to love is a pumpkin on wheels
whose door opens for you when your guard’s at low ebb,
and you dare to step in (though all magic is sin).
I had gone to the opera with an old flame,
a pre-dinner on opening night - ‘La Boheme.’
Room with round tables seating ten patrons of art.
As my ‘date’ spoke at length to cute gal on his left
I had ‘green light’ to talk with the guy on my right,
found meals’ courses well-seasoned with sharing of heart.
He had taught several years near the land of my birth.
I’d spent time as a refugee near his hometown.
He was open, attentive! Asked, shared my cell phone,
(not that common for me with each number correct).
He was white, my skin brown. There were friends he was with,
a school friend from his college, her daughter, between
them. Both women quite plausibly viewed as his wife.
Facts explain, I think now, why my ‘date’ let things ride.
With two children near grown, and no man by my side,
I was truly not aching for trouble in life.
If my ‘date’ had designs, they wore colors less green;
kids are flies in the ointment of wealth and can seethe
at dilution of parent’s estate (disconnect!)
So I balked when he called, though my heart wasn’t stone,
his soft reaching out touched me, did not dress me down
when I failed to respond. But his voice expressed mirth,
our connection affirmed (that he’d felt). Then the part
where he came to my workplace (I ducked out of sight
till he’d gone). Loved my business, close friends, not bereft.
Does a woman need man, fish in sea needs a cart?
But to love is a choice! Choice is rarely a whim
and I sensed there was chance for a choice here, to tame
not to own. With my boys, might this prospect be win?
Separated, loved still by their dad, I had web
strands to clear, and a break loomed ahead of all deals.
Krakatoa Kritic #007
June 28th, 2021
If John (or Jane), a spouse (or bike) can bring butt pain
and some fools in pursuit of mere bliss think both tools.
Most fighters win rounds (one or two). But do they fight to win (for you)?
Some might say I’m a blighter. Still, new bikes are lighter!
There are good wines that age, but the best wine IS vintage.
If courtesy’s a subtle art, integrity’s its dearest part!
Life (flat out) can mean bugs in your eye, though you fly!
Ride uphill grants a clearer view; this world’s not you!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
My poem is more a humorous comment on the human tendency toward
revisionism (I hope) than a criticism of John’s sly original poem with its twist.
This light-hearted free verse rates a ‘10!’ I enjoyed it, John, though I prefer rhymes!
See ‘Together for the Long Ride,’ a poem by John Watt on PoetrySoup.com.
Krakatoa Kritic #007
Let those comment who kill with soft words when they ‘get’ you!
Should we hold praise hostage, retreat when we can’t see
reciprocal giftings that laud what we write in return?
My take’s yours if you like it, still yours if you don’t, but
a gift I hope serves you! My joy’s to encourage,
not harm. This might be the sole poem I post here (1), that’s fine!
Let all praise what we glean, words hearts join with mind’s sinew
praise noticed or not as you pass, whistle ‘Dixie,’
fly all flags half-mast! Share your muse though I freeze, melt, or burn:
blow my top at poor rhymes, curse free verse! Friend, inhabit
your prose, don't let rhythm and rhyme be a bandage
that grafts a snake’s tail on a mouse! Sing! Canary in mine!
The “One and Only” Krakatoa Kritic #007
(1) By here, I mean on this ‘Krakatoa Kritic #007’ site. I will continue to post poems under my actual name. I will try to respond to all questions about any review. I will not review others' work on request but seek to reward those I see contributing to others' growth, whose poems and whose comments appeal to me.
PS: I have published quite a few poems on PoetrySoup now! And I’m grateful to all readers if they comment or not! I think, however, that numbered, anonymous comments that only PS could identify the author of would be a significant improvement to PoetrySoup’s much-appreciated site! Members can already delete any comment that offends them! In this spirit, look for comments from me, ‘Krakatoa Kritic #007,’ on this site, on your poem! All payments/bribes are acceptable but will not get you nothing though I am a gold-medal receiver. A more loving, healthy community is my primary goal. I will post my reviews of all poems on both PoemHunter and PoetrySoup. I hope this will increase your poem's readership, and draw new readers to poets on both sites.
Comments might be more efficacious if it was impossible to construe them to be solicitations to read the commenter’s poetry (on both PoemHunter and PS). There is enough false praise in the world.
I do not claim to have the ear of God! The poems and comments I offer on this site are my suggestions, hoping to help both sites to become even better servants of poetic expression. InshAllah!
Deep within Earthen bowels
immensely distant from sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm
precipitously crooked
rocky claws pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits
comprising soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked,
via weathered tomb stones)
hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber.
One among their number
included a misanthrope
who sported long straggly hair
bushy eyebrows shield
ding cold eyes of steel
straggly bearded clammy chin
in tandem with a hairy body
which when alive (long time ago)
upheld upon unshod feet, a severely
hunchbacked cretin
Within dense pitch-black terrain
(Mother Nature enlisting
a menagerie of life forms
accustomed to hellish environment)
awash with unrecognizable
alien sights and sounds
mollycoddling bewitching warlocks,
mailer daemons, trolling trojan horses
imps of the pervert chieftains, fiery
long and fostered Golems
who called underworld
their private demesne
also alluded to Marcy's playground
holding hostage Alice in Chains
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
The Beastie Boys, Culture Club
The Human League, and
Village People a Crowded House
Emitting wisps of ethereal matter
appearing a small medium at large
chat snap ping, flickr ring
indeed joyus minions
exalting piety good and plenti.
Prone ounce sing proud purgatory
promoting protean phantasmagoria
hideous hulu hoop dancing holograms
highly distorted grotesque
silent 10,000 maniacs screaming
sinister semblance to banshees
slithering across escarpment.
Echoing one end of universe to the other
putting to shame initial big bang
ranking as a mere whimper
that original primordial blast
which cosmological exploits
generated heavenly sphere instantaneously
comparison viz Krakatoa times Googleplex
essentially reduced to insignificance
albeit on the analogous tinker toy
premised conjectures of brilliant minds
could gander feeble educated guesses
asper extraordinary natural phenomena
mortal mankind could never approximate
as belligerent threats punctuated,
via nuclear warfare
merely rates as a flickr
amidst uber kindle snap chat ting
tinder blinks, extinguishes,
snuffs out one lowly
Beatle browed bipedal simian.
Good titles make 'life' verse for me
(romantic, cliff notes, fantasy),
though they do dictate trails I take,
my vision’s mine (that’s no mistake!).
It’s rare a title’s afterthought,
though I’ve been there, don’t think I’ve not,
still, I grant freedom to my muse
to fly above more earth-bound views.
I’d more explore a title’s gist
than grant one to a poem kissed
that’s witch’s apple’s helpless prat.
(What’s named, full grown? How deep is that?) (1)
Snow Whites succumb to witches’ guile
(does beauty take one extra mile,
or lessons learned forge love more true?)
God bless! This answer’s up to you!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
November 25, 2022
I find it hard to believe that even God’s Love is perfect in
the present and does not get better with time. Is it beyond
the pale to think that God learns too from creation Itself,
including His/Her/Its children? I don’t think so!
(1) Aphrodite, a goddess of love (and of prostitution) is often
depicted as being born fully grown (and naked). She's a strange
symbol for beauty however, as her beauty is thus separate
from any other characteristic or individuation that is not purely
physical. She is defined by (trapped by) her physical appearance,
Snow White is not a whole lot different in many respects. She,
too, is trapped by her beauty, frozen in time, waiting for a kiss!
How sad is this! Is this why Greek men preferred sex with boys?
Three-Kolored Ku (Now 10)
1. bluebird’s ear’s to ground –
pink collared worm (casts below)
now won’t grace black hook
2. blue days can have clouds,
yellow sun bursts pierce grey clouds -
rainbow’s arc mocks smile?
3. girls pink with envy,
boys made blue by sexist roles -
‘his story’ just black
4. greyed out politics –
blue and red (views, poop) both suspect
in the fog of war
5. red sunsets portend
dawn’s blue skies to those caring –
black thoughts rarely float
6. pumpkin’s orange loves
tomato’s ripened redness – light’s
short, black cat nights stretch
7. fall topples most green,
revealing vibrant colors -
reds, yellows – drab wins
8. poetry’s greenest
when planted fields change color -
red blood fades to black
9. green planet’s seasons,
the ocean’s blue expanses,
the earth’s spine - beached white
10. time’s future’s more dark
man’s ‘black’ and ‘white’ aren’t colors (1)
Grace – red, blood-cured wood?
Krakatoa Kritic #007
October 29, 2022
Poet's Notes:
(1) Black is the absence of light, hence no color at all.
White is a combination of all colors, so no color also.
Look! A Shooting Star!
Let me honor your presence (dot chalked on ‘blacksky’),
as my poems (muse offers) make light of faint hope
that one day you’ll look skyward and grok my light too,
though the distance stays greater than words can unearth,
and bards’ light is more passive, a light that reflects
the low mass that they orbit (the skill few undress).
I belong to the school of ‘Who Thinks This, Not I,’
as my fingers keep tabs on where muse would elope
to, desirous of love. Ah! What more can I do?
If your gift’s you receive light, you’re pearl of great worth,
as an oyster gives luster to grit life rejects,
and grants layers of beauty a queen would possess!
I’m struck dumb as a mute when words pour from my pen,
though I take time to flirt as I tease muse with head.
Who can own thoughts full-bloomed (that gestate in one rhyme),
dreams that cadence can crumble (bridged links to the past.)
Now prose sirens shipwreck, their songs buzz to my ear,
as more thoughts (that aren’t mine) leave scorched earth in rhyme’s wake.
If I’m stuck more in giving than getting, say “When!”
if you’d love to see balance, have time more ‘coed,’
where I’m taking your light in, a new paradigm.
I may plead for exemption; my end’s coming fast,
there’s debris all around me; I’ll soon disappear!
Light this fleeting’s a gift, not an ask! Please partake!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
April 10th in 2021
Poet’s Notes:
This poetic form is (new?) to me, and it seems only recently to have
appeared on PH and PS! I like it! Write on!
I’d be your friend though you aren’t mine,
don’t ever send me Valentine.
My poems shine with love that’s true
if they don’t share your point of view.
Their gentle waves trace shores of face,
court all your life, not just disgrace.
Each poem’s trace says who I am:
invites JUST judgment. I’d not scam
a thing from you and offer here
experience, truths I hold dear.
May wisdom prize all fear away,
so, in the end, both want to stay.
Is friendship less that’s widely shared?
Exclusive love appeals! You’re scared
of love, [sic] love you don’t control?
GOD’S LOVE FOR YOU can’t save your soul?
Does Love feel safer that you’ve bought?
Is this, friend, road to Camelot?
My poems star in ‘Sacred Space’
God offers me. Does this erase
‘your sacred ground’ in Multi-Verse?
I dream God honors the diverse
and loves all questions. I do, too,
for rainbows’ colors aren’t just blue.
Krakatoa Kritic #007
April 4th in 2022
Poet’s Notes:
A poem inspired by a poem of the same title
(and rhyme scheme) by Long Tooth on this
Poetry Site. Love on Brave Heart.
KK7
PS: Thanks for choosing me!
Life Alone in One Skin?
It’s a struggle for some, life alone in one skin,
(that confuses the best!) What’s it mean then to win
if a victory’s rote, like a verse memorized
with an audience pared down (to one authorized)?
To give ‘Clap’ to oneself rings of social disease.
Can the right warm left hand of life swinging in trees
or a rhyme sound as sweet that lacks musical heat?
Hear my song of four eyes, two that watch while I drink.
Two that work while I’m ill, that show grace when I think!
Two that flow with life’s seasons, resisting pain’s plight!
Who can blame me (my hope is, I sweeten their night)?
So as rhyme that might miss (as a chord less than true),
may love find, in God’s will, love less distant from you.
And life’s chocolate, flavored (at best) bittersweet!
Krakatoa Kritic #007
February 14, 2022