~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After the collision, the skin remembers~
a slow bloom of violet, tender beneath fingertips.
Like storm clouds gathering under the surface,
these marks whisper in shades of yellow and blue.
They are maps of impact, soft archives
where the body keeps its quiet reckonings.
Fading hope, a swallowed scream~
proof that even silence can bruise.
Where to now, uncharted waters,
Two men vying, two men scheming,
Biden gloating, Trump now reeling,
Storm clouds gathering, eyes aloft.
So much anger, consternation,
A million words spewed every day,
Talking heads intent to sway,
Incessant noise drowning our senses.
Gone all reason, truth abated,
Daggers drawn, no time to ponder,
Where is grace, we're left to wonder,
Faint the beacon that shone so bright,
No aim but personal agendas,
Winning the game, no regard to cost,
So much broken, so much lost,
Legacies destroyed, a worthy prize?
Is there hope, slithers of light,
Where discourse and civility prevail,
Or just a forlorn dream, to no avail,
With troughs too deep, waves too rough.
Yet storms pass, the sun burns through,
Foreboding clouds soon dissipate,
Destructive winds gradually abate,
The dawn of hope a promise fresh.
America was born of freedom,
A welcome port, a haven sure,
Ideals the core, intentions pure,
Democracy the linchpin, autocracy despised.
So with heavy heart we bear,
This foisted moment of division,
Holding steadfast for our vision
Of one country united in a dream.
Do you ever feel like –
You are being driven onto jagged rocks
By an unforgiving tide,
Searching for a refuge,
Searching for somewhere safe to hide?
Feel the world is spinning much too fast
And you are barely hanging on,
Like a vinyl record spinning out of control
And you don’t like the song?
Feel like you are on a sheer cliff face
And the next hand-hold you can’t find,
The storm clouds gathering above you
And they aren’t silver lined?
Feel you are wildly out of step,
With the decision makers at large,
That you cannot make yourself heard,
Cannot influence those, seemingly, ‘in charge’?
Feel you are whispering into the wind
While others bellow into megaphones,
While the privileged feast high-on-the-hog
And throw you the picked-clean bones?
If you feel your warnings can’t break through,
Just be mindful to protect your mental state,
Your views will eventually gain support,
Just hope this happens –
Before it’s much too late…
FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND
There is excitement in the air!
There is a disturbance in the airwaves!
The dogs are restless.
The birds have disappeared
The air is still, like its waiting!
We are in for a storm of note!
The pressure cooker is building.
The clouds are swirling.
The Holy Spirit is waiting to talk!
Listen to the breeze blowing,
The Pine trees are whispering.
He’s here. He’s here, your time is near!
Waves are crashing, storm clouds gathering.
Sunsets are red and orange with anticipation!
The Holy Spirit is calling,
Beckoning you to follow.
God’s finger, a shadow on the sand.
Listen and hear,
Run and be near.
Follow the footprints in the sand!
By Maxie MacDonald
(Luke 3:16) John answered them all, "I baptize you with water. But one more powerful
than I will come, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize
you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.
(Matthew 3:16) As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that
moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and
lighting on him.
Let out from the cage I was in
Climbed up from the slope that Id slid
Freed from the hole that Id dug since a kid
And the shame of all the things that I did
No longer punched
No longer kicked
No longer searched
No longer stripped
No more waking in cells, on floors or in doorways
In the backs of trucks or the edges of waterways
No more black spiders crawling on the floor
No Black dogs out there howling anymore
There’s light at the end of the tunnel again
And it’s not the light of an oncoming train
There’s still some storm clouds gathering
But they only bring much needed rain.
I’m not in a prison and not very insane
I’m not dead yet and I’m not in much pain.
Now the suns on my back
It’s clearing the sky
My hands are cold
But there’s a gleam in my eye
No more standing around
I’m learning to fly
The fog is lifting
I leave it all behind me
Onwards and upwards
Way free...Way free…
Sitting here playing these empty notes
Strumming out a sad melody as the time passes by
The loneliness is building by the minute, by the hour
Waiting for the time when she’s back by my side
Sitting here playing these empty notes
Storm clouds gathering right outside the window
Filled with these notes but as hollow as my heart
Ready to explode, but when I’ll never know
Sitting here playing these empty notes
Singing a quiet song and tapping my feet
Missing her more than a flower misses the sun
Nothing but the night and a steady heartbeat
Sitting here listening to those empty notes
As the clouds rupture and the water begins to fall
Tried to hold them back but it was too overwhelming
The tears ended up pouring after all
Blossom floats down from cherry trees
pink confetti drifts on the breeze
it’s windblown
Storm clouds gathering all around
blustery gales turn the sails round
of windmills
Riding the surf board standing tall
crest a wave trying not to fall
windsurfers
Jan Allison
22nd November 2014
Sponsor Nette Onclaud
Contest: Fire, Earth, Wind
Chosen Word: Wind
Syllables checked with How Many Syllables counter
~awarded 5th place~
storm clouds gathering
umbrella poised and ready
my hair remains dry
08~08~14
Written for any poem under 5 lines #1 contest Sponsored by Poet Destroyer A
~awarded 3rd place~
STORM CLOUDS
Storm clouds gathering again from the Pacific
Over this graveyard and its winged totems,
Cedar stories rich in legends, these items
--- Of far-off people, Shamans, and soaring spirits prolific.
--- Of the sea Indians - salmon fishermen - now absent
From the Weywakum cabins at the choppy anchorage, *
Facing the ragged edge of the Inside Passage *
With its grey waves and treacherous current.
Graveyards always feel shivery and cold,
But these souls are sealed at peace from storms.
My eyes begin to brim as I read the stones
Marking the changing currents of life age-old.
The chill wind pierces my jacket, waters my eyes.
Gathering in the darkling day without any dawn,
Storm petrels from far Quatsino Sound blown *
Into the ragged edges of grey clouds in the wintry skies.
………………………..................................................................…
NOTE
*Weywakum Indians, Inside Passage, Quatsino Sound are all
well-known local people and places around Campbell River, B C
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
Written by Sydney Peck 13th August 2011,
For Francine Roberts’ Contest “Totems in the Darkening Sky”
The day so calm and quiet, not a stirring of the leaves.
The awesome look of the sky has caused me to believe.
Something weird is happening, deep in the air does lie.
Then i hear them say aloud, Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
I hear the warning they do bring of storm clouds gathering in.
The swirling of the darkened clouds and breezes do begin.
To tell of danger everwhere , I hear the breezes sigh.
Oh church Ring out, wild bells to the wild sky.
The swirling of black clouds, come before our way
We shout a call , warning them, take cover for this day,
Won't be like any other, hear them calling out their cry?
Oh quickly, quickly, Ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
Now slowly, slowly, scenes do change, in brightness comes the sun.
The breezes calm,the darkness past, a new day has begun
The timing of those ring bells, has caused us not to die
I'm grateful for the hearing of ,Ring out wild bells to the wild sky!
Storm clouds gathering
Gusting wind on the prairie
Mother Earth awaits the touch
Unbearable heat
Rejuvenating down pour
Blending earth, wind, fire and rain!
Comments: The Sedoka is an unrhymed poem made up of two three-line
poems called a katauta with the following syllable counts: 5/7/7, 5/7/7. A Sedoka,
pair of katauta as a single poem, may address the same subject from differing
perspectives. The katauta is an unrhymed three-line poem with the following
syllable counts: 5/7/7. This Sedoka is about the natural cycle of Mother Earth and
the blistering heat during summer.
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