Long Tempest Poems
Long Tempest Poems. Below are the most popular long Tempest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tempest poems by poem length and keyword.
Glowing days that were once red-cheeked and ripe with promise,
Are narrowing like tall candles in a church window,
Tapering from the golden stand and the sturdy base,
To the glorious flame and the ever fading light.
The final birth of dreams that was once distant and cold,
Is now close, closer, ever closer.
The imminent darkened clouds of doubt, that haunt the wise,
Are now gathering close to form a ghostly shadow,
That will create a vast tempest, in a quiet place,
And a mighty torrent that will quench the firelight.
Unyielding waves of fear that are rising in the old,
Are now near, nearer, ever nearer.
To have once coveted the blue from the autumn sky,
Embraced the fallen leaves of a giant maple tree,
To have jumped into water without wondering why,
Leaped joyfully in the warm sand near the emerald sea.
Having playfully chased off the petulant sea gulls,
Broken twigs to build a fire against night’s attack,
Held tight in your strong hands the soft feathers of eagles,
And kissed a beautiful girl on the nape of the neck.
To have laughed at the tetchy clock ticking in the hall,
And smoked each distressing regret like a cigarette,
Knowing it would certainly give cancer of the soul,
The narrowing compels the pining heart to forget.
When forced to consent to the lessening of a day,
And to accept the waning of a moonlit heaven,
To wonder if the path taken was the only way,
Is to live in mortal fear inside a peaceful den.
To be ordered to find gratitude in the calming,
And to find a moments peace in the resignation,
Is not the purpose of the dancing and singing,
This game is but a trial of the imagination,
God has left the beautiful forest unattended,
There is no lesson, design or celestial rule,
To search for meaning is to invite eternal dread,
It takes a saddened, embittered mind to be that cruel.
An elegance can be found in the narrowing,
As memories line together like a pearl necklace,
And clouded moments vanish and amount to nothing,
And all are gently buried with red velvet and lace.
Love the narrowing, set in a purposeless blue sky,
Not because winter nights have become less frightening,
Or the smoldering summer days have now lost their sting,
But as there is no truth in the trumpet or the drum,
It is just a walk among the flowers of freedom.
And a laughing stroll through the narrowing of wisdom.
It was when I reached my fortieth birthday.
Not so young, but, youthfulness ruled the day.
I was known as an educationist, around,
My intelligence and wisdom, they felt, was sound.
Not many were invited to my birthday party,
My friends said I looked hale-and-hearty.
Cut the cake and with all simple meals shared,
I felt, as though by all, I was loved and cared.
It's when I stood to thank each one that evening,
Something tucked my tongue for no evident reasoning.
I stood silent, shocked, perplexed and lost,
None could understand what had happened to the host.
I tried to talk. I could not. Tried again; failed!
Not knowing my state of mind my friends hailed.
When, after hard trials, like dew drops, my tears spilt,
All, around, understood. Lo! There’s some tilt…
They took hold of me and asked me what happened,
I could not articulate; all seemed so saddened.
Doctor - some said; That's what they soon did,
None could remove from my tongue that lid.
I, an orator, remained speechless. Is it God's work?
Or demons do such tricks that God gets the jerk?
I resigned to the state of affairs and remained silent,
Everyone around understood this and became quiet.
I felt my trouble is nothing before John Milton,
I could see; he could not; My path is, hence, silken.
Pain in me, yet, grew, like fire in a dry forest,
Though I seemed silent, within I had great tempest.
Having found no remedy in treatments mountainous,
I turned to God, who is bundle of boundlessness.
I surrendered to him and said - Give me speech -
In return, I will, your glories ever preach.
In return? O fool! What would you give God?
Inner mind said. What could to God you award?
It's, hence, I lay before him, as though dead,
As mute as a muted lute, I went ahead.
In one of praise and worship during night adoration,
I could feel, within my tongue, certain restoration.
Is it reality or illusion? I did never know,
Dumb will speak, scriptures said, if believed so.
I believed; trusted; relied on his immense power,
Many prayed during that very long operation hour.
I talked. They could understand me as before,
Does anyone know, yet, the truth within the core...???
God and God alone is the truth I firmly say,
Without him, for salvation, there is no other way...!
24 October 2022
ER: Enlightenment Recovery Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Courage is not having the strength to go on; it is going on when you don’t have the strength. –Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919), 26th President of the United States
A year of heartbreak, soundless as the stars
who glitter, surreal, remembering
while we make our wishes, feel the darkness
surrounding, gentling at best…
the beautiful kiss of a lonely death,
fatalities sitting in heaven,
never listening to the falling rain,
all the clouds, the edges of each shadow,
forbidding my heart this feeling, so insane…
hurricane helene, with her deafening embrace
left hearts without the rhythm
of hope that quiets the soul,
when the thunder leaves its witness
to the darkness’ demonic twist,
the unending silence from a storm, the risk
imagine a world standing still,
awkward without her joyful voice,
darkened by fears, tears, and despair,
all the dismay that comes to those
who witness the heavens pouring out
not only the flow of rain,
but the waters so explosive
they are truly a hurricane – hurricane Helene
writing her story on our land,
fighting the mountains,
filling lives with her shouts,
seeking to break us,
with her screams and her roar,
as she raises our waters,
our creeks and our rivers,
brings mudslides that change us forever…
oh, what a story she’ll write in her journal
about the day she touched down
on this quiet, quaint home – Western North Carolina
no, we’ll never be the same…
there will always be a hesitation
when the rain begins,
an anxious foreboding,
apprehension of what might become
another Helene, another hurricane,
another rain who silences every soul
with the breath of a tempest
so out of control….
oh, my, what a tale these mountains could expose,
a story of darkness, a story of dread,
a story of fear that is filled with regrets…
how we will remember Helene
I believe… is the storm who reminded
we must always seek
the One who created us to believe,
without His protection,
we’re a people without any peace,
we’re a people without hope or grace,
we’re a people who life will replace,
with death, darkness, disgrace,
all the reasons that storms rage,
all the reasons that we have to abide…
in the love of the Father,
the hope of the light,
the peace of God’s Son,
who will heal those of us,
who’ve been touched
by the storm who taught us…
we must never give up!
1. Non-fiction
The bathroom faucet gushes nectar
drowns my hands in never-laughter,
"Sorry" is a specter
when you told me "0" I felt disgusting,
hopelessly deluded,
naked.
Last night I dreamed
that New York City was nuked,
another Twin Towers Lost,
everyone radiated.
But then I dreamed of you,
in a tight blue dress,
glaring,
cute pout,
"Is this right?" you asked
as you flawlessly played
Beethoven's "The Tempest."
I smiled. "Perfect."
I hardly smile these days.
2. Satisfaction
Deflection of your image is essential.
The closer I get, the more
those spiders right there
don't you see them
slipping on the stucco wall?
They remember the feeling
that satisfaction brings
of outsmarting us all
as the sky reflected in my fingernail
is a storyteller of love's plastic rings.
Is it summer yet?
This doesn't feel
adventurous, heart-warming,
sunsets, beaches,
grandfather, innocent crush,
my eyes in sugar rush,
and the books that told me much
so that I could die one day in your hush.
3. A Loss of Inspiration
Midnight's soon, the day's been wasted
thinking of worlds aside from This,
the walls' three dents from my broken fist
and the postcard she forgot she posted
in this odd room I fill
with jackets, wisdom, thrill,
come sundown I rush into wishes
that my jealousy could be just,
yet it's "brand-new in a landfill"
restoring your horrified webcam look.
Since you've gone and my love has died,
this pen's bloodstains have been my pride.
4. Medicine
Maybe you don't realize
you've crushed that tiny bug.
His funeral will not be held,
not until the walls cover their ears,
and blood diamonds ask for fears.
A refill
and a terror,
I can only see your purple sweater
bending once for all my vice;
Maroon Dream City is waiting for us.
These med heavens.
So addicting
until I relapsed into your eyes,
I'm still sick of it all:
the horizon never reached
and darkness perched and ready.
Stop confusing me already.
5. Hideout
Hey, why did
I miss you
Your smile from last June
And no girl will ever
I wonder
I wonder
Slow down, run me over
And laaaugh
Come walk beside this faster incompletion
On a chilly night of sirens
Hey, why did
And my head pounds from lack of
Hey, if I were to go forever
Come to me in my hideout
and I'll kiss your scream
with eternity.
Warrior of Strength
Dealt a hand from the heavens, steeped in shadows’ embrace,
A warrior born from the ashes, a heart marked but not erased.
In the quiet corners of childhood, where innocence fades away,
Lurking specters, familiar faces, stole the light of day.
A father’s absence left echoes, a mother’s love turned cold,
In a world that turned its back, the silence grew bold.
At thirteen, trust shattered like glass underfoot,
Betrayed by hands once held dear, where darkness took root.
Fifteen came with a whisper, a dream turned to dread,
A boyfriend’s breath on my skin, the warmth now a thread.
A god brother's intrusion, steeped in violation,
A cacophony of trauma, a heart’s desperation.
Words like daggers, another fight,
Thirteen years of torment, where love lost its light.
A fragile baby cradled, in hope’s gentle hold,
Flickered and faded, a story untold.
Distance may dull some pains, but deceit’s blade cuts deep,
Manipulation’s shadow looms, even while I sleep.
Yet amidst this tempest, a flicker begins to glow,
A spirit forged in struggle, a strength only few know.
At thirty-seven, the weight still feels grim,
A new label emerges, like a fate turned dim.
But within every battle, every wound borne and faced,
A warrior is rising—each trial embraced.
When will this end? A question so raw,
But love does brew from the chaos we saw.
Through the valleys of sorrow, and the mountains of fear,
There’s a strength intertwined with the pain that brought tears.
So let the world see—the scars are my art,
A testament to resilience, a warrior’s heart.
For every hand dealt poorly, every burden I bear,
I rise from the ashes—I’ve grown stronger, I swear.
In the wreckage of hardships, my spirit reclaims,
The power of voice, the strength in my name.
Through the shadows that linger, through each twisted path,
I’ll wield my own story, embracing my wrath.
For in this new chapter, as I stand head held high,
I’m more than the battles, I’m the strength to defy.
With each breath a reminder, in the face of my plight,
I’m the warrior of strength, born from dark into light.
Inspired by my life so far. Always felt like I was dealt a bad hand but now I know I was dealt the warrior's hand now 38 years old, I now deal with one of the most painful mental disorders when will the pain stop.
“There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.” Shakespeare in Hamlet
**************************************************************
Augury
As the shine of the sun sets down
In the far away horizon
In villages as in the towns
And dusk stealthily makes its dawn,
The sky awhile pivots to pink
While clouds wafted by woeful winds
Seem in the firmament to blink
Racing across the sky with spleen.
Does the pink sky augur a storm,
Tempest, typhoon or tornado
That may buildings and trees deform
Without a tinkle of ado!
Does it herald devastation
Of fauna and flora on land,
Of harvest and cultivation
And rocking of boats on the sand!
Nature seems to have its own way
To admonish human beings
To hold their boats firmly at bay
And arouse their inner feelings
To keep those near and dear to them
In safety and security
Until the end of the mayhem
Heralded by the augury.
To scoff inklings of such omens
Is to invite spates of worries
From the clutches of a demon,
Let one`s ship sink in the deep sea,
Allow storms to set one`s house flat,
Disregard clues from the divine,
Let the wild winds whip off one`s hat
And snub signals from the sublime.
When empty bubbles of stillness brimmed the place
Upon an emerald carpet of meads, she genuflected with gathered grace
Of languished bones and reverence plucked from nunhood hearts.
Mighty potentate dear, the wonted beseeching starts.
Oh! May the taper of thought illuminate the native firmament of youth
With eternal beams of clemency and immaculate truth.
May remnants of vernal days, emulate the unsullied string of murmuring Rhine
Which lofty silvern moon looks through in her decline.
Oh! Bestow sleets of diamond, shower the withering faith abundantly
My genuine night in ancient might and atrous raven majesty
Never admits a lucid ray of Cynthia's placid light
Nor scarce a pristine spark from virgin Lilies white.
In festal exuberant mirth, flowers rich in prime often steep
Banished from fervid fancies, my dreams slither from sepulchres of sleep
Dreary like spectres embroidered in soot-black cloak
Yoked with throat gripping images of woe, clawed than forked foot of hawk.
Oh! Grand down the enormous wing of unyielding throes
Intercepting the sun's beam of daffodil gold to disclose
The jolly throng of seeming friends in vizard faction knit.
Raze with fanged rust, the malignant swarm of antagonizing foes assailing in skits.
Once these cheeks flushed bright than crimson blossoms glow
Alack! Over those, briny springs of melancholy flow
From heights of penitence, from depth of pain suppressed
Creeping like subtle snakes from hollowed cavities of earth's breast.
Since wisdom hoarded in writhled lores and hoary sage
Never fades, stroked by boundless surges of age.
Since the raging cold of thawed snow, is kindly kept in summer's temperate heat
The severe taste of my delayed revenge, is neither lost in circles of time nor deplete.
Oh! Divine celestial quill, in rich characters of light, write…
Before the blind sentence groped to distinct light
Restless billows of black-faced misery, wretched the brass-chain of words away
Her thoughts bitter and sweet mingled without delay.
Through hollowed glades redoubled echoes nimbly fly
Plumed like pinions in boundless circles scan the scaled sky
Bearing the closing effort of sacred orisons, sealed with despairing cry
Imploring the sovereign sublime, perched upon Elysium throne
Oh! “Let go the string, before this withering faith is tempest blown."
Heavy and eerie silence reigned therein,
The dark rooms looking as sullen as mean,
As if they had taken serious offence
Against me who had failed in their esteem,
My heart feeling contrite was heaving tense,
To have halfway deserted my fond dream.
No one was there my inner thoughts to share,
None who so some forgiveness to me spare,
Aimless I wandered into my blank mind,
And wished I could that royal guitar find
To inveigle my heavy heart to sing:
O Fire, this poor moth that in vain wished once
To fly away, hast returned broken wing
To thee, forgive him just this one instance,
Burn away both his wings and make him lame,
Nay, consume him in thy red scorching flame.
As I wailed clue-less, my soul sinking low,
Two warm teardrops fell from above on brow.
Dark and deep clouds hung overcast on hills
That day, the gloomy woods and bare river
Awaiting in suspense with monsoon drills,
An ominous calm prevailed all over.
And soon it all shivered— land along sky,
A wild tempest blew forth O howling by,
Through pathless woods glaring its lightning teeth,
Like a raving maniac snapping chain,
Wishing to unleash hell, terrible pain
To whoso there’s on hills, whoso beneath!
And not a soul around was in the camp
To wipe dark of my heart, nor light a lamp,
I could sense: a woman lying on face—
On a carpet below the bed, clasping
Her wounded heart, and pulling hair in stress,
Blood trickling down, in utter pain, laughing
Still, bursting into a hard wringing wail,
Now, rend her bodice, now beat breasts gone frail,
And from nowhere winds roared in from windows,
The pouring rains soaked further her sorrows.
Through night the storm never did cease to rage,
Nor did my fair lady's passionate cry,
I wandered from room to room, a blind man,
Unremitting sorrows my companion,
And yet none there who could have consoled me,
As I heard the cry: ‘stay back, all is false',
Maher Ali the mad was there, no doubt,
The old tenant of this odd wailing house,
‘Tell me what’s false?' I could not help but ask,
Waiving me off was how he responded,
Repeating, ‘stay back, stay back, all is false'.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali, Kshudhaarto Paashaana.
Shadows
Stay away from the shadows
you know who I mean
Apparently
they go by many
different names…
it seems
like buddy, chum
Or even friend…
but in the end
They are not what they seem
for shadows love
the day...
the bright light…
The sunny side…
they’re always around
when everything is up
And cheery
and without frown
Yes
You know who the shadows are
They invade your space
With a frozen smile
Forged…
on their face
Pledging to always be there
Anytime
or Any place
But in the end
Its always the same
When that tempest
Hurricane or emergency
Comes
The shadows are gone
Leaving you
Alone, emptied
disillusioned and done
"The Winter's Lullaby"
Choking noble light held by the hands of Fate
As deceived Persephone enters Hades gate
The burning suns falling through the universe.
Despairing and alone not a coppers worth
A bitter cold blankets Gaia's tears in a frozen sea of glass
While the stupefied intoxicated serpent drowned with a laugh.
Undulating sands barricades into immovable glacier,
Infectious prison walls destroyed the strength of redeeming savior.
Chariot of the flame plunges into the water’s bed
Fate’s tepid scarlet scissor hands sever the music thread
Astaea’s darkened soaked mural melts with eternal dread
Seeing red, alluring sirens sang as the music bled
Unfathomable lamented shrieks surged as the music tore
Obsidian tributaries erodes the forbidden door
Eros scorned wound feeds the ravished horde of succubi
Remote hollow temple bell wailed the closing cry
Captured in the dance of loves and hates tempest cyclone
Drums of madness orchestrates into the perfect tone
The infernal flame explodes from the mouth of Tartarus
Driven oblivion crescendos for the pending chorus
The stentorian cracks of nefarious shots being fired
Frantically gasping for the final breath of faith hope and desire
Tragic petrified tears from soundless screams of the choir
Condemned whisper of the drum crucified on barbed wire
Cold candle rests under the gaze of the vastness
No kiss or love to awake the entombed princess
Crimson emaciated curtains descend upon the floor
Fathomless, eviscerated, veiled; the music is no more
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