Geologists say ‘by your leave’,
we’re famously polite:
we wear our heart upon our sleeve,
rejoice at rhyolite.
We’re very patient people, but
I tolerated stuff before
that I’m not taking any more:
up with this I will not put.
Don’t bring to me your xenolith,
preposterous, fantastic:
I’m done with make-believe and myth:
my ire is pyroclastic.
Don’t tell me pressure makes a gem,
discomfort forges what’s sublime:
the aimless drip of frameless time
creates a speleothem.
Some things improve with age, it’s true,
while others just feel dated:
to sleight of hand, to me and you,
I’m simply indurated.
I’m wise to every move you make –
I’m distanced from your wiles,
meanders, stratagems and smiles -
a placid oxbow lake.
In blackest halls, a phosphorescent light
Shines forth from darkest depths, a honey glow.
Enraged, ignited, I now blinding bright,
A magma burning, pyroclastic flow,
Torching golden beams to desolation.
Enveloping destruction, ash I leave
Until it’s done, my wounded heart’s cremation.
Now hushed to ember, my healing reprieve.
Returned to dormancy I hear it more,
The walls that groan after each explosion:
A leaning ceiling, tilting walls to prove
The damage I cause from each eruption.
Like cherry blossom rain the charred wood falls
Death I see, but I? Safe in blackest halls.
when it comes to the travails
of the human heart
logic is a poor study
as Diogenes' wisdom gathers a lantern
searching in vain
there is a deeper reasoning
among the bats gathered in the belfry
ratiocination resting on a slippery slope
grasping at a coherent balance
amidst a pyroclastic flow
and although it makes little sense
it never really had to
the sensory faculty never met
with any goal other than
leap before the bottom falls out
and why Vulcans put forth their take
live long and prosper
it keeps the children coming
as well as the undying poetry written
in song as DJs are given to say
this tune is dedicated to
the one that got away
Oregon 10/23
volcanic blast
krakatoa unleashed hell
pyroclastic mass
obliterated
rampant nature’s destruction
world of deep darkness
a seismic event
magma nightmare no escape
pure devastation
Those Tommies send their planes in large amounts
They drop their bombs but all they do is bounce
Like rubber balls their bouncy bombs all missed
Those British pilots must be really…
*
The steward asked the ‘Lady’ won’t you please enjoy our boat
The RMS Titanic is the safest ship afloat
The lady huffed and said a little service would be nice
I’ve got my gin and tonic… could you organise some ice?
*
Vesuvius is puffing out some wispy smoke today
They say there could be fireworks to brighten up Pompeii
How many more times will they say that mountain’s gonna go
And won’t somebody tell me what’s a pyroclastic…
…
Oh!
*
I learned my skills in marketing back in seventy three
For twelfth century Pisa was a training ground for me
I proved my salesmanship to market trader, Uncle Neville
I even got a few quid for that dodgy spirit level
it is that look in your eyes
that commences mine closing
the world disappears
the aroma in your hand
echoes the feel as your shoulder
guiding, powering the arm
the deliverance is in hand
all the senses wait for the touching
held at bay by a Percheron steadfast
angel wings whisper
as your hand arrives on my cheek
my heart in a pyroclastic bursting
as enchantment grasps
every atom within me
where time and space have no meaning
and in that instant when lips meet
the Percherons are in a full gallop
in a universe gravid with an elucidation
that consumes my life
a plethora of galaxies i so adore
all of this from a social event
i had no intention of attending
where just one perchance look
from afar across the room
became the smile on Klotho's face
OKC 4/23
Harken! blasts of thunder
pressurised magma sears
Pyroclastic hearts collapse
a spanner jams the gears
Distended fiery fissures
augur unquantified fears
Cataclysms bring rupture
down path’s not very clear
Aneurysms bursting veins
popped drums burning ears
Brain function touch and go
haemorrhage out red tears
Earth ripping itself asunder
black raw ground appears
Man plugs his inner wounds
holding on to love so dear
By
David Kavanagh
Summer Heat
Morning melts and dribbles
through the blinds, where it rests
in molten puddles on the floor
If you are very still, you can hear
the tap...tap of its fingers as it tries
to seep under the door
Hide anywhere you want to...
go ahead and find a place
Count to one hundred, hands over eyes
Childish giggles bubble from your lips,
but it will find you, no matter your disguise
Afternoon is a pyroclastic lava flow,
devouring each bit of flesh,
sucking the breath from each laboring lung,
melting flesh into tallow for the candles
of night, to be lit upon the sacrificial
altar of your tongue
Above our heads that cloud
Mushroom shaped death
With a pyroclastic promise
Of incineration leaving
Nothing but our shadows
That we can only hope
Carries upon it no pain
No suffering as we just vanish
Along with most other
Life and species on this planet
And a nuclear winter
Lasting for many long years
But with no one to mourn
No one to shed a tear
I take no joy in spreading fear
But have no faith in those who rule
I will take no pleasure if I am right
As humanity succumbs to eternal midnights
No ringing of church bells
No tombstones
Over which to dwell
A thousand years from now
The planet will heal
And with no human species
This earth will grow very well
In time nobody will even know
Or be able to tell
That the miracles known as human beings
Here used to dwell
As we will be a myth
But written in no books
And told in no stories
For they like us will fail to exist.
It was in my darkest moments that
I found I wrote my best
Like a volcano my emotions
would explode from the caldera of my soul
Molten nouns, verbs and adjectives
poured forth from somewhere deep within
Flooding every line like a tsunami hitting the beach
Swelling red hot rivers of ink burned up every page
While plumes of hurt flung pain in all directions
And pyroclastic flow's of tears roared down my burning cheeks
Thus; it is in my darkest moments that I find I write my best
Written from the perspective of a hurting poet
With apocalyptic roar and the sound
Of the fifth angel’s trumpet, this star’s fall
From heaven collaps’d the volcanic north
Face, releasing in pyroclastic flow
Roiling, rumbling, demonic spirits,
Dwellers of the Abyss, vaporizing
Instantaneously man, deer and bird,
Blotting the sun, with roiling death’s ash clouds.
Today, this scene, once hosting Cascadian
Armageddon, now quiet, as the new
Heaven and earth reclaim sanctuary
Where thrush and grouse hide, deer and elk wander
Feeding ‘midst heather and lupine. Life does
Recover her tenuous hold on earth.
Written May 18, 2016, the 36th Anniversary of the eruption of Mount St. Helens
Volcanic spat and gracefully fleeing,
clawing free from cloying breath.
Flame and fire, bolt and thunder
Lofty pride puffs its wheezing lungs.
Pumice stone, hiss possessed,
Soar and tumble, spew and tremble,
pyroclastic gush, clean sweep scrapes
Its hellish gush claws the land.
As pumice specks float on layers new,
Tumble- turn- spin, climbs to climes.
Clouded cold as tears cling to specks,
And weighted grief drags them down.
Freefalling grace and rainbow hewn,
Falling to destruction and soft explosions.
They assault the growling beauty beast,
As its serpents hiss rages at rest.
Camera candy nose
Pyroclastic pose
Beverly Hills publicity
Her kitty’s named felicity
Do the Bentley boogie down
In that shaved Versace gown
Vesuvius Christmas wreath
Viral presents underneath
Walk that red carpet ruse
Marrying mortgaged shoes
Spaghetti string saunter
Sauced communists want her
Champagne celebrity schmooze
Collecting her psychic's dues
Visions of pin-up hair
Her cleavage loves a dare
Diamond mirrored glasses
Nonprescription asses
Paparazzi puckered lips
Pillow tops of Botox tips
She seduces colorblind nations
Undressing orphaned obligations
Designer hip dysplasia
High heel knockoffs in Asia
Behold the drama queen
A feudal minx of screen
Begging the homeless to dream
Because Oscar makes her scream
From my window I see the most wondrous of sights
Mother natures wrath releasing her might
Blackened plumes of smoke in monstrous rise
Turning day into night as it covers her skies
Oranges and reds in sporadic bursts of colour
Oxygen sucked in as her atmospheres smothered
Electrical releases like skeletal veins
When you witness her power, is she going insane
Canopies of greens become consumed in her path
Pyroclastic flows in suffocate wrath
Where once you heard birds in chirping surround
Explosion's now aplenty in catastrophic abound
From my window I see the most wondrous of sights
Am I as insane as her as I marvel her delights
The settling down of the spewed innards of she
I look inside myself as her power thralls thee
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-16.php