Long Pelting Poems
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It was a cold winter's day, the wind howled
Sky missing hiding above, the dark clouds
that were pelting rain had revenge on mind
the cold, wet city was like a death-trap
for the aged and homeless with no place
to go and cover themselves with blanket
on a soft warm bed with double pillows
and a full stomach with warm homemade food
Roopsingh, an old man of eighty-odd years
was shivering under the scant covers
all day there were no passersby because
of the biting cold and incessant rain,
to give a few coppers or leftovers,
the hunger within him was growing as
his shivering did, he could hear the growls
his belly was making under protest
The wind had picked up driving the rain
onto the footpath where Roopsingh lay sprawled
drenched to the bone unable to protect
himself from the vagaries of nature
the shivering had increased and his teeth
were starting to chatter, not a whole lot
of them were left though with advancing age
breath passing through his missing teeth, whistling
A streak of lightning split the dark blinding
Roopsingh temporarily followed by
a loud thunderclap that shook the buildings
and rattled doors and windows to a fall
The deafening sound almost took his breath
away leaving an echo in his ears.
Roop's poor belly growled just as the wind howled
he moaned with guttural pain losing sense
Roop wondered how many have gone unfed
and how many have to bear the bitter
cold, he was still concerned about others
forgetting his own predicament of
gut-wrenching pain and cold body shivers
Morning papers carrying a small caption,
"Rain claims one more life on deadly footpath",
missed the point, Roop died of unfed hunger.
Hunger is a worldwide problem unsolved
Many die of hunger among the poor
The rich have enough food to eat and throw
away the rest with scant concern for the
needy and the poor, a dangerous trend
the habit of eating less and leaving
more on the plate must be condemned strictly
and awareness raised regarding the poor
A ghostly mist hangs in the air,
as greyish clouds morph into rain.
And spinning a web of despair,
a ghostly mist hangs in the air.
And till the day looks less threadbare,
Red Robins delay their refrain.
A ghostly mist hangs in the air,
as greyish clouds morph into rain.
Red Robins delay their refrain,
depressed by cold April showers.
Greeting foul weather with disdain,
Red Robins delay their refrain.
It's hard to accept constant rain,
despite the promise of flowers.
Red Robins delay their refrain,
depressed by cold April showers.
Despite the promise of flowers,
raindrops only launch paper dreams.
For it's been pelting down for hours;
despite the promise of flowers.
Over time, my happy mood sours,
but no one hears my silent screams.
Despite the promise of flowers,
raindrops only launch paper dreams.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
Your voice
fills my cavity
with the fullness
that streams
from vast desert skies
where raindrops fall
like tumbling notes
pelting my heart
with pitter-patter rhythms
of a grand Aria arising
from tremulous rainstorms
that quench
my irresistible thirst
for your enchantment
I drink soaking wet
from the artistry
of resonate nightingales
breached on the precipice
of wonderment of us
Your touch
carries me
across
thresholds
of heaven
earth
universe
for the hearts capacity
to hold a singular place
or direction
for the home of
the infinite being
of us
Your kiss
journeys
to the farthest
part of me
the innermost
mind of me
the library
of novels from
a million stories
with words
boundless and eternal
about us
Rewritten February 22,2022
Winter Love Poetry Contest
Sponsored by JCB Brul
#CHOICES A N D DIFFERENT VOICES...
HOW WONDER"FULL" ! ! !
It's 2 p.m. in the afternoon, I hear and see crowds aloud very jubilant, out and about...especially, on a sunny Spring or Summer afternoon, no doubt!
That IS Great!!!
Then you have those, I suppose, who elect and select to retreat to the indoors...
perhaps a much more quieter setting to connect with one's core! That IS Great!!!
ISN'T THAT SOMETHING!
SUN...Or Maybe A SOFT LITE RAIN OUTSIDE, PELTING RHYTHMICALLY On ONE'S Window Pane...
"STILL A GAIN!"
"STILL A GAIN!"
Do YOU *F E E L* The {RELEASE}...
COMFORTED P E A C E!
To SMELL The ROSES...
BREATHE FRESH AIR!
To WRITE The OBSERVATION... "TRANQUILITY" AND WITHOUT CARES!
"PROSPERITY BLOOMS:
{HEAD & HEART SPACE}
RIGHT PLACE AND RIGHT TIME"
WHAT COMPARES?
WHAT COMPARES?
It's 2 A.M. in the morning, I hear the NIGHT OWLS ON THE PROWL FOR OR FROM A GOOD TIME!
MEANWHILE, YOU HAVE FOLKS LIKE ME...
WIDE AWAKE, WRITING IN THE A.M. BEFORE 3...
"IN THE WEE"
VARIOUS VIBES, DESCRIBED...
BOTH PARTIES ARE SO THRILLED!!
SOME JUBILATING...
SOME CHILL...
BOTH GREAT** IN THEIR CHOSEN STATE!
I DEFINITELY BELONG TO ONE OF THESE GROUPS, IT'S IMPERATIVE FOR ME, "CONNECTIVELY" TO SIMPLY
"JUST BE"
LISTENING *BLISSFULLY* TO ALL SIGNALS...
~AT MY* S O U L 'S PLAYGROUND~
MIND/BODY/SPIRIT***
FREE WILL: CHOICES...
{OH GLORIOUS CHOICES!}
"UTTERLY FULFILLED! ! !"
Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} April 16, 2023#
The cabin door was slamming against the raging wind,
The cabin door was slamming
Banging, it was loud,
She fumbled in the darkness the fire had burned out.
Her faithful dog pricked his ears, continued with his bark,
She reached for the flash light she found it in the dark.
She went out in the dead of night, wearing just her gown,
Lighting,
Thunder,
The rain was pelting down.
Her flash light it was failing, the battery was low,
She did not see it coming, delivering the blow.
The cabin door was slamming against the raging wind
She lay there in the darkness, her forehead gashed, it bled,
The dog continued barking licking her wounded head.
She did not move a muscle, nor blink, as rain it fell,
The dog was smart to hurry, the neighbour to go tell.
Together back they hurried, He picked off her off the ground,
Her white gown now was sodden, it had turned slightly brown.
The cabin door was slamming against the raging wind
She stirred with rapid fervor a sweat had formed on her brow,
She felt his arms around her, He parted her matted hair,
She was content and happy that he was really there.
She felt him kiss her gently stirring her from sleep,
Her bed was warm and cozy, her gown a brilliant white,
The fire now was burning, radiant and bright,
Her faithful friend was quiet, as always by her side.
She was relieved she was breathing and had not really died.
She looked around the cabin,
She saw him sitting there,
She fondled him with a stare.
Before her heart could leap,
Slumber took her in his arms caressing her to her sleep.
The cabin door no longer slammed against the raging wind.
Whistle Stops
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
Recalls starlit sentimental journey storms
Shivers in express downpours, pelting rains,
But sing a litany of train refrains,
Rhapsodies of locomotive terrains
Rumble through restless lullabies forlorn,
Solitary nights silver rails explain
As heartbreak punches tickets for hope reborn.
Whistle stops wait for lonesome midnight trains
But sing a litany of train refrains
Solitary nights silver rails explain
Recalls starlit sentimental journey storms
As heartbreak punches tickets for hope reborn
Crossings clang on tracks in memory’s morn.
6-22-21
Contest: Write Me a Trionet
Form: Stanza 1 ABaAabAB; Stanza 2 AAABBb
Sponsor: LM Hankins
Time has come for getting tough
For I have now had quite enough
Day-after-day this kid comes 'round
To pester me like some old hound
Pelting me with day-old bread
And poking posies at my head
Calling me these cutesy names
And forcing me to kiddie games
Her silly parties, cakes and tea
Are not what they're quacked up to be
Hugging spells I've barely weathered
If not for her, I'm fully-feathered
And if you please, I've had my fill
Her painting lipstick on my bill
Now she's pulled the final straw
A rare offense of barnyard law
Spraying me with bottled water
(Soon, she'll find how far it got her)
Now it's MY turn for some fun
I'll get that chicky on the run!
Perhaps she'll learn, when run amuck -
That "NO" means nothing ... to a duck.
* FIRST PLACE in the "There Is A Brighter Side" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Sponsor. I have selected picture number one (#1) for my poem. *
The Rainbow
The world howled and the roaring thunder did clap,
amid frothing waters and whipping winds our vessel marched.
To us whom the boiling sea had unkindly spared there was no stopgap,
the hellish deluge spared us no water to salve our throats parched,
and our spirits the horrendous face of death did sap.
My captain's fearless visage did cower in prayer,
his wise hands wrung in mute submission to the Lord.
Invincible masters of the seas we were by day, yet we did not dare
to wear such mighty crowns as the storm had us floored.
The heavens we begged for forgiveness, and our sins we did declare.
A brilliant blaze of lightning drenched our pallid faces in light.
The nightmarish hum of pelting rain, a ghoulish crescendo of cries
and the hissing sprays of sea water did ring through our plight,
upon us ruled judgment and over us the majestic skies
did appear as God's black throne, deeming us minuscule and contrite.
So wedded I was to the denouement of my mortal existence
that the infernal spectacles now filled me with awe, not fear.
When, in a moment of epiphany our tortured eyes did squint at the distance
and an end in sight amid the growling clouds did appear,
God's hand, manifest as a golden ray of hope, offered us subsistence.
Feeble thanks we dispatched, our knees unsteady,
the downpour wore itself out to a solemn drizzle.
Those reclaimed lives, unblemished by fear did find us heady
and jubilant, and amid thankful tears our eyes beheld the storm's fizzle.
In the sky a blessing in seven colors - heaven's arc - had been built already.
Date: 10th October 2021
Contest: Quintain (Sicilian) Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Emile Pinet
In the wee hours of the night,
Long before the early morning light,
I heard words rumbling in my head, as I
Lay half asleep if not awake in my bed.
They felt like words of resistance being
Directed against an enemy of our existence.
So I arose from the covers of comfort and warmth,
To address one who has been troubling for many months.
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Out of nowhere it seems, you came
Afflicting us with heartache and pain,
Leaving the entire planet forever changed.
You left many families bound with chains.
You came in stealth and we saw you not,
But your terrorizing presence we surely felt,
Like sun-pelting heat waves causing ice to melt.
But know this, you invisible beast, dancing in the feast.
We sing and dance from the music of a different beat.
These mortals of flesh and blood; these humans of
Spirit and of soul have been built by God to stand,
To withstand you, and if so required, fight until the death
Against your vicious and deathly plan. We shall surely outlast you.
You came to wage a war without warning, but we will not
Be forever harassed by you. You came to overflow us with tears
And fears, to steal, to destroy, and to kill, but we shall be revived,
Restored, and healed. It appears that you have the upper hand, but you
Must clearly understand that the chorus of billions strong shall soon begin
To sense and feel your dissipation, the dismissal of your wicked anticipation.
And one last thing. This Christmas, we shall celebrate in the life and light of him who came 2000 years ago. Tis the season to be jolly, and we shall celebrate CHRIST with or without stuff and things. For we have been created to be mortals of emancipation, blessed, and free.
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