Long Tornadoes Poems
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Phosphorus sugar
It’s glowing in the water
Supporting all life
All will be coming from what we start now
That walks the earth and the ground which we plow
Continuing mission that cannot end
Getting from all we receive and we send
Core, mantle, crust, valleys, mountains, and seas
Gales, hurricanes, tornadoes, a slight breeze
Gold, platinum, diamonds, palladium
Coal, natural gas, and petroleum
Algebra, variables, equations
Trigonometry, sines, calculations
Axes, X and Y, how steep is the slope?
Tomorrow and after, do we have hope?
Temperature, pressure, volume, changes
Atmosphere, stratosphere, domains, ranges
Cooperation, mutual trust, peace
Growing and living, we can’t let them cease
Government, politics, all of the laws
Contracts, obligations, no escape clause
Tilling, planting, for a very big crop
Abundance supply, I think we will stop
Phosphorus sugar
It’s glowing in the water
Supporting all life
A scrap of ore breaks surface.
The metallic pebble is already colonized
by moss and fungi factories,
in a millennia rocks will churn
a green spawn into small rural towns.
Fields of new growth
must be planted in microscopic slime.
The Shawnee come and go,
as fireflies on a summer night they pass,
raw boned settlers,
add their calcium to the earth.
Small time-seeded towns sprout.
Hands work wood, stone, then brick.
More foundational pebbles are unearthed
Tornadoes clear the land, reconstructed
malls ride the roads.
Antique stores blossom in the dust.
Art galleries and cake shops
vie for customers, donuts triumph.
Arts and crafts stores signal the end
of old railway lines.
Cities of iron and coal bud and blight.
The moss returns and flourishes.
A battle ground
where
young
Boys battle
fist pumping
dizzy spells
on edge
Electric shoots up
our spines
We drink in the aggression
and we spit out
lyrics
as we push
further
Charged
hearts on fire
We are going round
and round
Listen to the blaring sound
never stopping
the bruises never softening
Dust storms
kicked up
By
our warfar
Like little tornadoes
Creating
our own destruction
Covering our lips
and
legs
We thrash forward
To mosh
To warp
A Brotherhood
a kinship
The selected few
and even less common
the women
who brave
it
This goes out to you!
Form:
Before a hurricane, tornado, earthquake, fire or flood…
we seem to have evolved into the kind of society…
that sees as an enemy anyone with whom we disagree.
Politics, religion, the right to choose, gender identity,….
we position ourselves on opposite sides…and see the other side as our enemy.
Before Mother Nature unleashes her wrath and fury our way
we have a tendency to let our fear, our prejudices and our hate…
lead our hearts astray.
However, when Mother Nature is angry, saddened or aggrieved…
her hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes fires and floods
don’t care what side we’re on…what we do or don’t believe.
And after she devastates us with her earthquakes, fire or weather
we tend to forget how we are enemies as we all come together.
We put away our differences, our disagreements, our hatred and our madness…
with one shared goal…to come to the aid of anyone in need…
and help to ease their sadness.
Yes, after Mother Nature wreaks havoc on our land our seas and shores
our compassion and our love for one another
reminds us what our hearts were created for,
I only wish it wouldn’t take Mother Nature
shattering peoples lives and hopes and dreams
to remind us we should not be enemies…
that we’re all on the same team.
My house blew clear to Texas the cowboy said.
His spittle hit a saddle, and my face turned red.
He was crude for sure, but his stories were great.
I waited to hear more, and it was worth the wait.
He had stories about tornadoes and rattlesnakes too.
Shared some horrific details about hangings before he was through.
Why do you listen to that old coot? My mama said.
She does not know the beauty of an old crazy man’s head.
He can entertain the best of us with stories of far away.
Much farther than most of us will ever travel if Ma has her say.
“Past Abilene that old house began to fall apart, he said with a grin.
I love his stories, his mannerisms, his invented words, and his fantastical vim.
Clouds
Cumulous, dense, fluffy, gorgeous
Clouds
Profuse, passionate, powerful,
Poetic black and white
Intensely desirous like the light for the cave
Or the river from the mountain on the valley
Though black, gray and white near the shore
Deep inside the core
Ripe crimson lore of tomato like hunger
Waiting and counting down the minutes
And the counting hastens
Too impatient to hold water
Very seldom we can do
We all love the dew
In a diversity of hue
But still biding its time as I saw them
The clouds
Dense, dark and delighted
Biding its time
For the sun to go out
Enabling the concentrated vapors to darken
For the thunderous collapse
In a purple plunge down
On the starving earth
Inside its curious caves and crescents
In tempest and tornadoes
Beautifully blooming blows
All windows open
The brimming dam broken
Buddha smiles
At the existential styles
__________________________________
23/02/2017 Word count – 148 as checked at howmanysyllables.com
For the contest: Any Free Verse 150 words or less: Sponsored by:
Laura Loo
The wind is readying himself for meadow and forest war
My trees are touching their roots
Robin nest is on the ground
Squirrels are scrambling
Wrens, sparrows and cardinals issue warning tweets and whistles
Urging us to take shelter before wind explodes with rage
Humans go to basements during tornadoes
Do birds fly off? Hide under moss or violets?
Frantic sounding tweets and whistles now
Tree branches are shaking the leaves faster than paper fans at church
A fast breeze parts my hair and wipes my cheek
The wind’s voice is persistent and clear
If you do not realize a tornado is heading to Kansas
You have never been inside a tornado
Reincarnated in my next life,
a meteorologist I want to be
with scientific paraphernalia at hand
and land the weatherman's job on TV.
Where I can lie without restraint,
never apologise for rain and cloudy skies, or for
what it is when it ain't sunny with a bright sunrise
which is what I promised the night before.
I can be completely wrong more times than not
and still be paid every day,
as whatever it is I said is soon forgot.
And I can (fox)trot out predictions
such as, 'Snow snow thick thick snow
or, there'll be weather wherever you go
and the winds may or, then again, may not blow.'
Tsusamis, tornadoes and typhoons worry me not one bit,
I laugh in the face of hurricanes
as I'm not the one who will be hit.
I don't hide from deluge, downpour, torrent, flood
which could precipitate a landslide,
they're one and the same to me
as I'll be nowhere near when I'm here safe and dry inside.
The Seasonal family
of Mother Nature
and Father Time
When it comes to
a family reunion,
they are never far behind.
Winter, Spring, Summer
and Fall.
With her daughter
always on the ball.
Mother Nature’s
first born, Weather.
She is not as predictable
as we would like to think.
Weather may be
in the mood for
named hurricanes
or devastating tornadoes.
She'll place water spouts
over the ocean.
She may feel like a little
Wind, Rain, Sleet and Snow.
Weather has been known
to let a blizzard blow.
A drought in the desert
together goes well
with scorching heat,
and on some occasions
she has been known
to give us hail
in the middle of
a thunderstorm.
Just to let you know
Weather is always
on the go.
Trust ~
a mourning sparrow
f o r s a k e n in the russet rush
of monstrous myths,
clouding the cashmere cusp
of dawn’s delicate arms~
of love’s liquefied thorn.
While I trace the wrinkled rays
on the frozen side of the sun,
where the moon, in silence,
peeks to speak
nothing but dialects of the forgotten ~
ash-laced memories
forged in veins of weeping ice
into the form of this
black diamond heart,
aching in nostalgia,
refusing to break
when your name ~ still dulcet ~
bruised the air
like a fairytale
lost in the wintry wilderness,
as petals of promises wilt,
painting a landscape of lament.
Perhaps
I reigned in the ruins ~
an unthawed queen,
gliding glacier dunes,
played like a pawn,
sculpted in life’s illusions.
I’ve tasted
the flames of Cupid’s
frost-kissed arrows,
while seeking comfort
in checkered longing,
within squares of solitude…
Now I hide honesty
behind chained chambers
of a kingdom
unmoved by jest or foolish games.
They know not
the storm within me,
that weighs heavier
than the crestfallen sparks
mimicking
snow-glazed heartbeats.
Yet I know
what I knew was never reliable ~
imprisoned in gold and pearls,
threatening the throne,
as if destiny drew no other design
for the ones
who sit beneath storms,
singing tunes of tornadoes,
wishing someday
rainbow arcs would shed
their fog,
drip tangerine tones of
lucid lilac
and
carnation clarity ~
O heed these unspoken pleas...