Long Maelstroms Poems
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One night this darkness – A Collaboration with Darren White
One night this darkness will end life
with clouds in damp fog without stars
and a moon dressed in tatters screaming
at feet scratched on pebbles in low-tide
rough water to sway one and stumble
Maelstroms twist, turn and swallow fish
in an icy-cold winterland with rickety wrecks
Stranded with thundering crashes ashore
leaving flotsam resentful on soggy sand
The roar of firebolts raging around
And the sky will fall in guarded shadows,
streaks painted in dripping revelations,
shades of nevermore patina
eroding encrusted thoughts into gaping holes,
swallowing what is left of the dream
The artisan's hand glares down from the sky,
gouache in thick streaks in tangerine rage,
a knife sticking out scraping clouds
Unstable equilibrium shakes easel unnoticed,
genius vision or prediction of doomsday
When the unthinkable, unfathomable happens,
in silent sunbeam glory a single bloom forms
Tiny roots navigate a desolate landscape,
gently removing soil from fractured stone,
caressing sorrows in springtime whispers
Dark clouds now cast warming farewells
as blue sky canopies float like streamers,
singing in harmony with endless beliefs that,
one night this darkness will end life,
until dawn’s resurgence is reborn
Written by:
Darren White
Chris Green
How blessed was I to find you twined the foam
Among the shells and spindrift you called home
Sweet-spinning tales of sails and seas of suns
To wrap me tight with myst'ry 'midst the gloam
You bound great ships for trips across the sky
Broad sails made light with angels' wings to fly
A darkened sea of night and maelstroms, bold
And deep as any dreams that might steer nigh
You wound me stories fraught with ire, askance
Great battles waged for distant shores to dance
And with your grand penchant for lovers' duels
Each ending dripped with honey-sweet romance
You are the bright that did, with night, conspire
With Luna's beautied madness, feign to buy her
One starry necklace placed to grace the heavens
Then twirled with Mars to set those stars afire
Soft-shined within your eyes, a moon and sea
That whispered to my heart what love could be
All strung like precious pearls to trim your lips
*Celestial musings that you said ... to me.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Brian's Choice A, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Poetic Lines From A Poetry Soup Poet - Vijay Pandit" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
* From the poem "A Man From Distant Lands" by Vijay Pandit - Copyright © January 4, 2018 *
What sinister secrets
lurk within my mind,
What raging storms
grip my heart,
What malicious maelstroms
swirl in my eyes,
What demonic forces
torment my soul...
You don't wanna know!
It will only entice you
in its dreadful dragnet
And drag you through
an undead necropolis.
I thirst for the blood
And subsist on the
life essence of living creatures,
Prowling relentlessly in the
shadows of the moonlit nights
awaiting my next meal.
CROSS your heart
when you see me,
CROSS your heart now
when you read this,
I can feel you breathe
Sense your heart pounding
Smell the sweat of your fear --
So I said so in truth,
So you have been forewarned!
~06/25/2013
~Deep and Dark II contest by Laura Loo
We've many differences.
You yearn for and demand respect.
I prefer to earn it but couldn't care less...
if you respect me or not.
You shove a bullhorn in my face.
Force-feed me your warped points of view.
You put a blowtorch to my faith.
I believe in dialogue, and I'm willing to listen; are you?
I fancy energy independence.
You don't mind drinking oil from the spigot of terrorists.
While spraying me with green philosophy.
All the while running just as fat as I am.
You're anything but lean.
I respect the sovereignty of my country and others,
With a big, beautiful mahogany door and welcome mat.
Just on the other side of a secure border.
I like a fair vetting process based on merit with some semblance of order.
You've a rose-colored revolving door from hell.
Bringing sprinkles of heaven and maelstroms of chaos and death...
onto my front porch.
I like giving all beings a chance at living.
Just like you and I were given...
Funny how you'll grieve over a stillborn.
But turn cold when the unborn are torn into pieces.
You hate my God and me for believing.
Want to cancel my peace and freedom,
You're an atheist, but I'll defend your right.
to not believe in -then leave you to your peace.
Because I extend a hand in friendship,
You think I'm soft and a pushover.
Just in case you chop it off.
The other hand is clawed and spring-loaded.
Willing to put you six feet under the clover.
aswirl within tremendous maelstroms
universal united uninhabitable cauldron
tempered with analogous:
outrageous, portentous
thunderous cacophony in tandem
with thick mucilaginous fog
metaphorically postpartum
nebulous placenta afterbirth
and/or proto planets aborted
per primordial material
slowly (millions of years) coalescence
annealed bubbling primeval soup
engendering (extant
via immeasurably immense stretches of time)
subsequent birth of quasi solar systems
where antediluvian cosmic midwife prepped
quintessential biochemical laboratories
across gamut of space
inexorably incurring, inviting, inuring
pseudo plasmatic phenomenal possibilities
vaguely concatenating, incubating,
nursing inhospitable
wryly, wrought-fully,
write-fully Weltanschauung
respective environmental, geological,
meteorologically rendered seething broth
conglomerations fused inchoate legions
of Ongepatchket protean quixotic
rudimentary shapeless threads
winding up at greased lightening
eventually simmering temperature
thousands of degrees
conducive for indefatigable living organisms
congealing despite galactic Golem
whiplashing microbial unicellular entities
subjecting globular linkedin progenitors
across the countless eons
where hellacious heat gave way to
punks like cool and the gang
drafted heady lagers produced
thickly *** bergs exceptionally humungous ice
hundreds of millions years ago Arctic vortex
preserved intact forebears of this writer
who still retains
one percent genetic Neanderthal Man
stock, lock and barrel.
Oh, how my nethermost being aches for your answer
You yawn like a glistening wound above me, tugging at my will
A pregnant astral enigma, weeping with wonderment and perplexity
Frigid, barren voids, churning chaos, meat and matter beyond imaginings
Vistas of marvel, life fantastic and bizarre, worlds unbidden and unbled
Swirling maelstroms of dust, energies of darkness and dynamism
The heaving breast of heaven, burgeoning at the Constant, ever outward
Oh, to but prick the veil of your timeless and tenebrous mystery
To breach your breadth and boundary, and all that they bind and bear
Would be to weave the garland ... of the gods themselves.
~ 8th Place ~ in "The Universe" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.
O my country—
I cleave to you through cataclysm and grief,
even as avenues bleed vermilion
with the coagulated ire of the dispossessed.
The atmosphere quivers
with the dirge of the abandoned,
their supplications dissolving
into the ashen ether.
Yet, in the clandestine chamber of my chest,
a prayer still germinates—
fragile, obstinate.
Your rivers, unwearied,
intonate their primordial canticle;
your fields, still fecund,
proffer aureate abundance.
But the firmament, once lucent,
is now barbed with malevolence,
and the throats of the guileless
are muted mid-cry.
Once, benevolence flowered here,
now calcified suspicion
roots itself deep in the soil.
And yet—
if the hand sows fraternity again,
if mercy’s sap ascends,
perhaps a concord can still unfurl.
Let the splintered heart reconverge.
Let compassion accrue
like rain in a desiccated land.
Let faith, austere and indomitable,
illumine the labyrinth toward amity.
Through maelstroms I remain,
through conflagrations I endure—
for even the umbral abyss
concedes to dawn.
Your essence is unyielding,
your anima indestructible.
My country,
through the alchemy of hope
we shall resuscitate your breath.
Dusty books of wisdom
prayer wheel not spinning
retreating from one another
stars shedding their satin skin
maelstroms of unbridled egos
the asp kisses the sleeping eagle
oil slicing the throat of the people
the people await the hand of the son
who says you haven't suffered enough
the desperate sinking on islands of needles
a range of golden law mountains are shunned
spinning blades of greed, the hell with need
gone is the silver oasis of shimmering faith
shallow promises spilling from burlap faces
parched souls hoarding rain from the poor
rivers of sin slapping at Saint Peter's door
the four horsemen spurring fiery flanks
the future will honor the lowest of rank
unleashing justice-plugging heart leaks
the inheritance will cherish the meek
what the heck are we really seeking
Written: May 30th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Silent One
Quote: "My mother was destiny. My father, grace." By Rumi
**************************
He was no eidolon,
but a telluric force
keeping his grounding on,
never veering off course.
Yet restless as cabotage winds across oceans,
carried the world in his motions.
His laugh—obstreperous and wild,
a gale where rafters rattled,
Yet his taciturn silence, deep and mild,
calmed the miasma where doubt battled.
Clumsy of tenderness, devout,
learned late how to cradle.
His heavy hands, like a broad ladle,
became limpid, flowing rivers,
guiding me past venal mirrors,
and maelstroms meant to wither.
A ragamuffin teacher,
pugnacious with life’s features,
fustigated blatherskite shudders,
turning them into golden treasure.
Coins of courage for the dreamer,
minted in the furnace of his gaze.
In the penumbra of his presence,
a shudder rippled at vain sight—
the void held its equanimous essence,
a reverent tremor of sublime light.
Whispering secrets of the sunken stars' vicinity,
veiled within the ideology of his scars' trinity.
He was besotted with love,
austerely self-denying as he drove.
An erudite cartographer—a heart of dove
tracing the ancestral cradle, arched above
By the iron of peace, and velvet glove.
Carving a haven from havoc, and a grove.
Dear Father—
my zeitgeber, my grimoire of guidance,
my incarnadine horizon.
Even now,
your mellowness lingers.
A tenderness—
sardonic,
stretching into the infinite.
Midst mild and wild tumults like eddy, vortex, swirl, and whirl,
A maelstrom is a summation of curl and twirl and hurl;
Weather and season get amalgamated with currents,
Winds, storms, gales, squalls, haboobs, and wuthers become deterrents;
Vacuum, like caves or tunnels, into hearts of water,
That curve and cleave and crack, and clang and constantly clatter...!
I have never been to the far or deep sea for fishing,
Or for an adventure that involves mind-body squishing;
Corvettes, cruisers, battle crafts, frigates, and great galleons,
Have got gulped by the colossal maelstrom daedalians;
To the courtyards of the sea gods, these underpasses lead,
Wherein, motionless, creatures feel absolute bondage freed...!
Chaos, violence, and ethnic hatred in every form,
A ship-devouring maelstrom as an innate psychic norm;
Regions, regimes, trade, and populace seeking protection,
Religious democracy coming to conscience flexion;
Wanes into vain vanquish; drains virtues into cosmic pain,
Strife to swim against maelstroms is our existential gain...!!!
20 March 2023
'M' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Theme: Maelstrom
Rhyme Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How May Syllables