Long Typhoon Poems
Long Typhoon Poems. Below are the most popular long Typhoon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Typhoon poems by poem length and keyword.
Physics of the moon
I feel the lunar ecstasy in your heart
Connecting our vibes from over 1500 miles apart
With every swing of my mood ring, my sensational heart will sing
An out of this world phenomenon tune, "you are my everything!"
Absorbing every phase the moon goes threw
Sending energy between me and you
When our eyes meet on the darkest side of the moon
Your body mass rotates like a cyclone hitting my land like a typhoon
Like the gravity that bonds the earth and moon together
Our souls will collide with a massive force of forever
The image of you appears at all times like a moon cycle
Like a cascade running all around my mind, like a halo circle
Our love and vision orbits through every star
Giving us light no matter how near or far
The stars throb around the moon like a secret signal in the night
While you inhale my energy that exceeds into the morning light
Like a rainbow that enters and vanishes into the twilight of our sky
Our first kiss under the moon beam will twist our tongues into a tie
A sweet magnetic shadow will remain under the half moon
Sweeping our love above the clouds to float like a balloon
Holding a reflection with the moon's tide
Our journey continued, side by side
Emerging our love to find its way soon
Like a love mirage with the physics of the moon
:)
The Dark men fought on past their mother,
many had seen the mighty one fall
they fought on with bitter hate,
as now, once more, did the mother of the storm.
Her spear flashed lightning,
she stirred on her horses,
the chariot moving quickly forward,
the spear drinking deeply of Arlagh's blood.
The battle now raging,
one large cacophony of terror,
many smaller battles now being fought,
each as important as the next.
The mother of the storm,
so terrible in her warlike glory,
the darkness of the storm in her movements,
the lady dressed all in black.
She fought like a typhoon,
a mother wishing to meet her son,
to slay all in her way was her goal,
her mind upon the destruction of the foe.
It was arduous work,
she saw the Dark man stand again,
still, she struck with lightning speed,
her spear thrusting home with such anger.
On her left, many of her Dark men,
they struck the left flank of spiders and wolves,
in this crucible, they felt no fear,
they were truly children of the storm.
Their hatred for these creatures was ingrained,
they struck home with such power and speed,
nothing could withstand the shockwave,
nothing did.
Then a voice was heard to cry out,
"Walk in the light!"
It was the dark man,
all the Dark men repeated the call.
Then all the field of Badicha cried out,
"Walk in the light!"
the battle did rage on,
death and destruction on the plain of Badicha.
Chapter ..... 3 .....Part ..... 5.
Turvehr now led a contingent of Dark men,
to the Palovar ford, they did charge,
the enemy were now emerging in great numbers,
across the ford they did stream.
Battle was met, and its crash was heard,
the thunder did fill the air,
this emergence of the enemy had to be stemmed,
whatever the fatal cost might be.
Turvehr had led this charge,
his mighty body crashing into that of a spider,
the mighty horn of power finding its mark,
the underside of the spider now open.
How it did scream in its death agony,
now it was a dying terror,
it now attacked anything near it,
only wanting to escape the dark-winged death master.
To Be Continued ..........
Labyrinth of Sighs
Wondering through a labyrinth of sighs
More platitudes with attitudes that never question why
A litany of afterthoughts about where we go when we die
An emboldened range of rude retorts refuting the reasons why I cry
A canon blazing wartime over a century ago
The night sky spent stargazing, wondering what we really know
A multinational conglomerate just phasing out more duplicitous advertisements that “flow”
A hungry orphan on a street corner, with nowhere else to go
Self-aggrandising promotion everywhere I seem to look
The wealthy uprising causing commotions, celebrities writing books
A typhoon on the island coast, Turkey on the day the earth shook
A morbid day that hurts the most,
An undignified Capatalist crook
The arrogant certainty of western superiority
The way the monotony forms around typecast minorities
The precedence of material goods conspiring to take global priority
The contradictions of individualism that consume the vast majority
The medical anomalies and surgical advancements
The incredible atrocities of cosmetic enhancements
A formidable ferocity of genetics and semantics
An incredible philosophy of frenetic theological pedantics
A sincere gaze of solidarity into another persons eyes
A mere phase of different polarities that use scientific graphs to signify
A Purple Haze of creative improvisational genius that cannot be quantified
A confused daze of inconvenience as another witness is proven to have lied
Returning to the central point of a theoretical discourse
Concerning a fundamental joint possible hypothetical recourse
A burdened soldier after war suffering the agony of remorse
An ancient boulder from the shores of civilisations geographic historical course
A curious mathematician, an inspiring original think
The spurious contradictions of a political candidate on the brink
A furious proposition concerning a scandalously placed eye wink
Human connectivity and the endless search for the missing link
Copywright Elizabeth Moroz
Raise the flag!
To all the nations who helped us,
Their abundant support grant our fervent wishes,
Your hearts shone like stars in the night.
Raise the flag!
To all people who volunteered,
You gave your time and strength,
To help the affected places in Visayas.
Raise the flag,
To those who didn’t lose hope in life,
Even though their homes and families were gone,
Their faith to our great Creator is still strong.
Raise the flag!
To all who gave information about the Haiyan updates,
Radio, newspapers, internet or televisions,
Thank you so much for your incessant services.
Raise the flag!
To all people who continuously prayed for the victims,
Whatever your nationalities, religions and colors are
Their thoughts were for their own disadvantages.
Raise the flag!
To all organizations who reached out and unified,
In your heart laid the spirit of helping,
Hail to all your greatness and Good Samaritan.
Raise the flag!
To all the victims of typhoon Haiyan,
Who were devastated but still, there’s still hope in their hearts,
Raise your spirit kabayan, Mabuhay!!!
NOTE:
It's not too late to say thank you to those who helped
and prayed all the victims of super typhoon Haiyan
that devastated our beloved country last year.
God bless you all...this poem is dedicated to all of you.
Thank you so much
5th Place Winner
Poem of the week Poetry Contest # 9
Sponsored By: Poet Destroyer A
Copyright: All rights reserved
A woman stood on the rocks looking out to the sea.
She was once a famous Hollywood redhead beauty.
This actress starred in many movies her fans would see.
However, she now dwells in hopeless obscurity.
A boat Ginger boarded was named the SS Minnow.
However, Ms Grant had no idea where she’d go.
While in Hawaii, sailing in that small touring boat,
it was caught in a typhoon, and that was all she wrote.
The little ship landed on the beach of the island.
The damaged Minnow would be marooned upon the sand.
Ginger Grant now lives with six other strange castaways.
On this uncharted tropical island, she now stays.
No one at all knows about her present whereabouts.
Her chances of reaching civilization has doubts.
Ginger lives with a pretty brunette named Maryann,
and someone named Thurston Howell, a very rich man.
Howell’s wife, and a very erudite professor,
are joined with a first mate Gilligan, and his skipper.
Ginger dreams of the days when she was in Hollywood.
To return to that place would prove to be very good.
Every attempt to escape from the island would fail
Ginger hoped for a boat or plane, but to no avail.
It seemed like every chance was botched up again.
It was all because of that buffoon named Gilligan.
This old apartment over 60 years old
The narrow parking lot at the back
is always messy:
scattered pebbles,
brawny weed,
broken pieces of flower,
Mulberry fruits that have fallen to the ground
and have been crushed,
fallen leaves,
And Alan's old friend,
there was an old tree
A tree has no name,
the bark is all peeled off
Few living tree branches,
All sorts of scars and filth in the stem
stinks but
Alan loves this old friend: everyone hates
From a very young age
He climbed this tree, played, and ate the fruit
his own heart that had hugged it
he used to show it with a smile
Even in the big typhoon that hit
New Jersey a few years ago,
that is not broken but
In the weak wind that blew lately
One of the three remaining
broke and fell to the ground
wrecked upstairs luxury car
Alan made up his mind
And a truck to cut down trees today
People came late in the afternoon.
I went out
parked the car in the parking lot
in the night
And looking at the disappeared tree,
the barely remaining stump
I took a picture and sent it to Alan
even if it's a small thing
from Brooklyn, New York to here in New Jersey
ran to this place
Alan did not come
he only sent emoticon that shed tears
The old tree presented us
with a clean and widened parking lot.
Getting out of the car,
my wife told me,
"We won't be able to hear the birdsong
in the morning anymore".
G or T Personification Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Joseph May
Written: August 22, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Deep in the typhoon of my maelstrom of anger.
I swirl in vile lunacy with a loud, sonorous clangor.
A reckless and unbridled pandemonium dance.
With wrath that growls such a hurricane's trance.
I recognize my sin and am beyond redemption.
Crawling over the foam, we still spurn the elation.
I am shameless—in uprooting majestic trees.
Crying with laughter as they fall to their knees.
My rage is unrestrained—my yell is obnoxious.
My unfurling may be spiteful to lead you nauseous.
I exact my vengeance on the meek and the humble.
Their dwellings cower—as I endeavor to crumble.
Shrapnel from broken glass flies everywhere.
Bringing delight to the masses with despair
Who dares to probe—my most shielded core?
They are doomed, in my eyes, to eternal sore.
I'm Typhoon—my heart's dark gulf is inert—a storm.
I don't care sense or pain—I wreck—I'm void of form.
While I'm unwinding—I won't bother with your fears.
My cyclonic anger leaves chaos, rampage, and tears.
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.
Tears fall gently
Tears fall gently, like the rain
quietly refreshing my soul
relinquishing all of my pain
Tears fall gently, like the dew
rejuvenating my spirit
with lingering memories of you
Tears fall gently, like a watery mist
releasing all of hearts sorrow
your blessed presence will be missed
Tears fall gently, without any warning
cleansing my mind of despair
from a troubled heart in mourning
Tears spurt quickly, like drops of fruit juice
freshly squeezed necter from my eyes
my fractured heart is clearly of no use
Tears pour down, like a raging storm
washing away disillusioned thoughts
while blankets of hope keep me warm
Tears fall blown away, like in a typhoon
my life hangs on by a thread
darkness covers this heart with gloom
Tears no longer fall, as bright daylight suddenly appears
God comforts me with his love, wiping away all of my tears.
John Derek Hamilton
June 30,2016
Revelations about Dad’s infamous midnight lectures...
woke up courtesy therapy
Especially during past session
on May eighth
two thousand twenty one
between the hours of five and
six o'clock post meridiem.
Between three and four score years ago
the following poetic ill winds did blow
yours truly felt like carrion
repurposed courtesy black crow
decimated to bajillion pieces
analogous to deaf eat, viz bitter foe
where within bared mine soul
telltale toxin did glow
yes dear reader cumulative wrath – hello
synopsis I invite thee to know
why self esteem within me so low
lackluster love life accentuated
cuz yours truly
never kissed under mistletoe
Dreadful homelife upon
exiting early adolescence
no bed of roses parental
wrath did commence
me (especially after
graduating bottom 1%)
scorned as among lowlife
versus being among
productive vested gents
I withstood blistering, mortifying
withering howling offense
yours truly uttered nary a peep.
I dreaded every malevolent utterance
when father requested he speak
not about some choice topic dejure
brought a twinkle to my eye,
but that all to familiar monologue
finding me standing like stone wall
hearing, tuning out with equally
predictable trademark demurely meek
pose with hands crossed against
chest of the then easily intimidated guy
despite feeling effects of utter ennui
and fatigue attempted to stand tall
against the tsunami verbal typhoon
itching to drown out said battle creek
when asked capisce? comprende? farshtayst?
looked blankly at floor well nigh
or pretended to stare at something extreme
fascinating on the kitchen wall
for he may as well asked if I understand
in an unfamiliar language such as Greek
most likely getting successful results
yammering away at common house fly
possibly seething inside (p’raps
equally swatted) ready to lash out into a brawl
held back by fear plus
in comparison to me pop –
just a itty bitty pipsqueak,
who felt onrushing and overpowering
desire to collapse and cry
compounded by growing urge
to urinate from that natural urethral call
spoke nada word, nor gave hint
of hearing from loathsome blather that did reek
like decomposition of fetid of dead
living entity that began to putrefy
which offal to mine ears, tugged impetus
under warm blankets to crawl!