Long Thunderhead Poems
Long Thunderhead Poems. Below are the most popular long Thunderhead by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thunderhead poems by poem length and keyword.
A shadow, nay, sullen thunderhead
inducing a deluge of emotions
moved across thousands of darkened souls
Freaks, stoners
shy, smart
geeks and loners
outcasts with dreams and compassion in their heart
Strangers like me
To us, you were a friend
we live vicariously through words we couldn't write
thoughts that help us defend
against wolves attacking for spite
we battle predators until the end
paper mache hearts now confettied and contrite
When in need of a voice to understand
you are the poet on which we lean
like a crutch of a crippled, broken man
assisting our stride and making us gleam
Mean pride, through our veins, does pulse
your gift - a gold ingot - exclusively ours
now smelted - our throats convulse
as if poisoned by many whiskey sours
Cancer soiled your beautiful brain
muddied thoughts and took your life
washing future elegance down the drain
freaks are shredded with strife
like targets at a firing range
Suddenly gone leaving the lives bereft
upon which you left your mark
warrior, graciously, exit...stage left
a celestial journey calls to you embark
Created the soundtrack for our misfit lives
making memories connected to your art
our hope that your music survives
thousands of years touching many a heart
A collective "Thank you Neil"
us castaways won't soon forget
how your lyrics and talent made us feel
ghost ride to your garden in the sunset
Thunderstorm
a midnight lightning
My monsoon, I could not awaken
thunder, I could not forsaken
Thundery tintinnabulation tinkling
A sudden, sonic boom
The thundery thunderhead thundering
And the thunderstorms never stewing
I was thundering
Meteoroid's that is wandering
a cloudburst and yes it hums
And that moment my soul grew noisy
Suddenly, I heard some sleeting
there be more purely fleeting?
Rain deafening washout
Thunder
I have dreamed of the torrents
I saw the rains
Only this and a aftershock
I saw the thunderbolts
Suddenly, I heard hollering
But in the fact that it was growling
the laughing, lumbering lightening
And the winds never whistling
Of the light's that is brightening
What there be more pure lightning?
I heard a windward, scintillating pounding
the howling beating
A rumble torn
Thunderstorm
8/20/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
Opinionated- And It’s Eyes---
I awoke and flung my mind soul in the heaven
What could there be more purely seven?
'It's that lordship,' I muttered;
And am I the nonbeliever never okaying;
I crave the divine, deponent denominationalism Why?
Death shall bring skies;
What could there be more purely otherwise?
And its eyes have all the lapping;
Human dogs!! I discovered the deists;
And its eyes have all the licking;
Instead I uncovered the thunderhead;
The grounds the earth cries, the garden smiled;
'It's that pagan,' I muttered
What could there be more purely profiled?
That moment my soul grew ritualistic;
And its eyes have all the plaining;
Eagerly I looked for the deity;
I am shorn of my heterogeneity;
Eagerly I looked for the backslider;
I felt compelled to sniff the atheists;
I awoke and flung the redeemer;
And its eyes have all the scudding;
Of the Zephyr's that is spudding;
It threw its ghost against the churchgoers;
Only this and a dominion;
And the eschatology never poppling;
Somewhat louder than the public opinion;
It threw its ghost against the peonies;
There stood a dear dominion;
The epistasis brought such sorrow;
I discovered the adherents;
The damnation laughed;
The patristic parson pitting;
And its eyes have all the reputing;
Death shall bring religionists;
But in the fact that it was whispering;
Loping and loping with my euphorbia;
Mankind, opinionated- And It’s Eyes
3/6/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
A single, white thunderhead
tainted slightly, with the pink-shine
of a late sun coughs
lazily in the vast grayness
of an elegant sea,
somewhere—
a sea still asleep.
Greedy cries of gulls
fill the saltiness of the heavy air
and through the early mist
people of the day appear
in straw hats and red and green covers.
The night-crowded streets,
baked and earthy,
move on among carts
and fresh purple blossoms
and over-ripe fruit from the sea,
to and endless sand-scape.
Staggered and restless,
the ocean-lights appear,
and a warning from the sky
floods and nourishes
the clay walls of an empty palace.
I Think Of You - Ground Zero (Part 1)
Leaving under a blood moon
in a jet plane rising
los angeles falls behind me
and I...
You.
Two.
Clouds dance
to the song of the spiders.
Latent sun rays fall on me like rain...I
...They say third time's the charm.
On planes again.
A sky...endless... and then finally
from the other end of the world to here.
A continent, an island,
an australian flower drunk on wine.
Her...uniqueness lends to her beauty.
...and I
A fourth night.
A church spire at sunset.
At a distance bats fill the sky,
resemble a smoke plume.
...I
I plead the fifth.
It's all these moons.
Tonight a hunter's moon.
She's unable to hide
even with her bowl of clouds.
It's no help.
She has no spoon.
Her luminous rays give her up.
Moonshine in the moonlight over the sea.
...I
I count...five,
six...on the beach.
A purple nightshade,
a sand flower,
Irish eyes speak uniquely to me.
....I
I, you...
you can't roll a seven with one die.
Back on a plane.
A snow fog blinding.
From my window seat a one of a kind view.
Alone,
...I
I eight...ate...need to eat.
Africa...a Safari.
A plant chloroform green
has holes like cheese.
A large swiss leaf.
I laugh and I...I distract myself.
A stitch in time beats nine.
Back in North America.
A dilapidated fortress stares down
an overwhelming thunderhead.
...I
I camp out.
It requires a tenth...tent.
An Eagle never blinks.
No eye lids.
An unimpeded view.
...but I...I surrender.
There is no place in the world
I can escape.
...I
i think of you.
You are living art.
Here.
Now.
What I perceive
is what I live.
I perceive us.
I can picture you.
I am photography,
the camera, the lens.
I absorb your image,
process it.
A form of plagiarism
I didn't borrow.
I stole.
Inhaled you but
...I
I dream
and I...
...i think of you.
Armand
March 11 2015
Blasting through the night
Blaze to morn
"Hey there Thunderhead!
Where you going with that storm?"
"To crazy eights!
And jesters wild
I’ll just be gone a while
Or more"
A frenzy in her mind
Fixed rage to rhyme
Don’t waste my time!
She says for hours
Words twirl through
The curly wire
There was wreck down deep inside
Beyond the bounds of mercy
Well lay down Sandy. Lay down
'Cause more people love you than baby birds
You’re a lucky mess I’ll tell you
Are you an angel or a bomb?
You made a liar out of me
You proved me wrong
Now a year has passed and gone
Tell me will you slow down and fall?
You’re gonna raze my faith
And I don’t wanna mind
I wish I didn’t mind at all
He passes through the room like a bubble in champagne, unattached, teflon coated, and somehow freer than the rest of us. “Jordies here,” Leong says in an excited whisper.
“Yeah,” I sigh, adjusting my mask, “saw him.” She smiles like a cat behind hers. Leong knows I’m crushing on Jordie and she finds it delicious information which she waves at me like a flag whenever he’s around.
We’re processing in, distancing and passing table to table. Leong can be with me because, as roommates, we’ll be quarantining together. Lisa joins us, she’s back from the restroom. “Jordies here,” she says, bouncing up on her toes to better scan the room.
I don’t look at him but he fills my horizon like a thunderhead. He’s all I can see, even when I’m not looking at him. We reach the end of a row of tables and bam, there he is, six feet away. He says hi, I say hi - I’m very professional as we exchange looping, harmless, euphemisms for settling in for spring semester - then he’s called to the next station.
“If only we weren’t so busy,” I say, holding this fiction in front of me like a shield. “Yeah,” Leong and Lisa say, practically together, and smiling like thieves.
An impossible love, too gentle to touch
A night-blossoming jewel, a rose-golden blush
A yearning surpassing the passions of man
A chasm of longing too deadly to span
Songs made of laughter, poems of tears
An echo remaining from previous years
Whispering fables to satisfy dreams
Unraveling slowly the world at its seams
Brilliant dust from a butterfly’s wings
Transcendent and lovely, dawn’s evening
A language forgotten and rusted by time
Scars crossing a sky untarnished by grime
Hope is the sunrise, a frantic race eastward
Spinning to a sunset, a plea sent skyward
Night billows out, a thunderhead over us
I am abandoned with fictions of what almost was
A cold lion roams, doctrinaire and sterile,
The expanse of Africa offers him no sanctuary, the Saringehti no salvation,
He can only smell the scent of his pride now, his cubs shun him,
Repelled by needless roars, the revolting rants,
Tail tattered, biten by jackels at will,
His nose bit and beaten from battles better avoided,
Soul tethered to a label, only a title, "King of the Jungle" ,
Fleas and insects of all sorts find haven in his muddy mane
once so puffed and wide like a thunderhead trampling over Tanzania,
I hear him in the twilight, lonely, unsated and undesired,
Paranoid about a life that does not seem to love him,
His heart became a desserted Athens, a broken, rigid column slumped on the earth,
He wanders near the Nile, nearsighted and nervous
As an Egyptian boy of ancient lineage stalks him sensitively
Putting the speartip to own temple saying,
I see your ribs, your broken paws, your futility,
I will now deliver your soul unto the cool night,
The spear is launched with a certain bloodlust
piercing behind the shoulder blade, his heart hollers
with the cry of scarred suprise, the lion stumbles and pants
vanity not allowing blame for lack of vigilance,
the boy trots to the spot, kneels in token reverence
telling him, sip the black puddle of your error, as eyes fold ever shallow,
let me feed you these apples of arrogance
so to quiet your grievence, to sooth your ego before final sight,
there is no shame in being slain by a Pharoah King, old lion,
I shall wear your teeth as a timeless trophy of tragedy,
Emblematical of Pride gone on too long,
may the spirit of Herodetous teach this lesson to a new breed -
J.A.B.
The first fulguration stooped to kiss a shard,
Not the thunderhead that boasted of its flame;
A broken bottle in an orchard yard
Held one white filament no night could claim.
The beech unlocked a thousand argent leaves;
Each fern leaned nearer, listening through the rain.
A kestrel loosed the wind from both its wings;
The granite seemed to soften in the plain.
Then lightning missed the heavens altogether.
It entered quartz, wet lichen, antler, thorn;
The river halted underneath its weather,
While moss recalled a coastline never born.
An oak drew brightness downward through its roots.
The fox stood still beneath a hawthorn's breath.
One acorn opened, showing not its fruit,
But rings of summers harvested from death.
When morning searched the hills, the sky was gone.
The birds flew lower, as though nothing changed.
Only the broken glass kept filling with the dawn—
Until the sun looked in, and turned away.