Storm Tossed Poems | Examples

words

WORDS

I have accumulating wealth for I have the gift of words.
They're a treasure unto myself in my expanding universe.
Words have the power to wound or heal; it is a well-known fact.
They determine how we think and feel, then finally how we act.

There's a huge supply and a great demand
For words of hope in our storm-tossed land.
People are searching for a reason to live.
Have we comforting words to give?

Whatever you believe then speak with your mouth
Will come to pass, without a doubt.
Your words determine your destiny.
So, speak words of life and be blessed indeed!

(c) L. Gayle Carter

eye on the storm

The sky is a cloudless crystal blue
with a breeze to chap your lips
I’m grateful for it, it’s heaven-sent
the dawn was a celestially stamped, angry red
sailors take warning

It’s going to get feisty cold,
I’m told
about the time we go back to school.
A polar-bear vortex with all its features
will spread its icy paws

What jumps out at me first
is how it could be worse.
if unapologetic nature
pounced sans disclaimers
with a cold worth semi-Shakespearean verse

What follows, star-crossed
is a week storm-tossed
a winter holocaust
with heaven-kissed frost
that only madness would call a judgement

We’re steered from harm
by precision alarms
stay warm
sweet friends
wrap up, stay in
.
.
Songs for this:
Come In from the Cold by Marc Broussard
World's A Changing by The Bingtones

I Have Never Been So Tired

I have never been so tired, not of flesh but of soul,
The years have whipped me like a storm-tossed scroll,
The sea is dark, the winds howl with blame,
Falsely accused, yet I bear the shame.

They said I sinned whence I was pure,
My words turned eyes, my art unsure,
The chains they placed were made of air,
But still they bound me—was it fair?

I once loved the sea, its wild embrace,
Now it mocks me, cold and chast.
The waves, they crash like judgment's hand,
And force me from my loved homeland.

What freedom once was mine, now lost,
The storm of life has claimed its cost.
I leave this world, its cruel design,
Like her, I fade—no longer mine.

It doesn't hurt, this final fall,
No tears, no cries, no pleading call.
The sea will keep my secrets deep,
And in its arms, I'll softly sleep.

Sea Glass

A lonely life  it’s not easy being a fisher’s wife 
but loneliness can be a compassionate companion

unbridled spite of bucking boss-mare-waves followed you ashore
her turmoil roiled the blood in your veins
and no amount of vodka 
could flatline her seething heartbeat inside you

I saw her in your storm-full eyes  eyes the color of stormy seas
you wore your hair in dark waves like hers   a windblown tangle
I saw her in your storm-full eyes   spindrift and steel blue —
rage of the Bering Sea against a canvas-sky the portrait of your eyes

your tongue-shard slashed at me like a broken bottle in hand
word-squalls blew and fist-storms
flew like splintered glass 
piercing me to my marrow till I glistened 
but… I could never glisten like her unblemished face at dawn

years of boss-mare-waves ground you down – razor edges worn smooth
your storm-tossed-heart now floats.. a lost raft on a tamed tsunami 
your flat-sea-eyes the ancient blue of glacier ice
frosted over   dull   yet with a faint glow of stories you can’t tell
as you search a cognitive wasteland for words as harmless as sea glass

I Have Jesus

Whatever happens on the storm-tossed way,
Whatever happens to cloud up the day,
Whatever happens to cause me dismay~

I have Jesus.

Jesus, The One Who quiets the sea
Jesus, The One Who makes the clouds flee, 
Jesus, The One Who brings hope to me~

I have Jesus.

Storm Tossed Skies

across storm tossed skies
lightning strikes launched their gauntlets ~
thunder's voice bellowed

Any Label Will Do

Let’s put the title of these thoughts
aside for a while.
None of this is real anyway.
The talk is ghost chatter,
a pitter-patter of escaping images.

The arrangement of these words
claim to be poetic
yet can you hear the uncouth hammering
of blind console keys?

What is thinking now is a passing jiggle
on an oscilloscope attached to your awareness.
What you think when reading this,
even now
is transforming into distant gull cries
strained through a megaphone.

Don't try to make sense of thoughts
and words
your reactions are a part
of the lie we peddle between
ears and mouths.

The poem is done.
It will live now
just as long as it can be contained
in a storm tossed teacup.

Be as reasonable as you can,
move on
read or write,
imagine a day
without you dreaming you.

If

1 Have you failed in your plan of your storm-tossed life?
Place you hand in the nail-scarred hand;
Are you weary and worn from its toil and strife?
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand.
Chorus:
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand,
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand;
He will keep to the end, He's your dearest friend,
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand.
2 Are you walking alone through the shadows dim?
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand;
Christ will comfort your heart, put your trust in Him,
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand. [Chorus]
3 Would you follow the will of the risen Lord?
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand;
Would you live in the light of His blessed Word?
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand. [Chorus]
4 Is your soul burdened down with its load of sin?
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand;
Throw your heart open wide, let the Savior in,
Place your hand in the nail-scarred hand. [Chorus]

Source: Baptist Hymnal 2008 #513


Copied from the internet. This has been running through my head.

Upon Remembrance of Things Past

When memories are memories long-lost,
     and when infancy's twilight hides what feels
like lifetimes in half-dreamt dreams, sleep storm-tossed
     surrenders glimpses of childhood's ideals

now only half-remembered. It is these,
     that I dislodge from my still obscure past
(existing despite the present's dis-ease),
     before life as an outcast unsurpassed.

Like echoes from out of immortal time,
     mnemonic ghosts appear and disappear; 
and now are fixed in everlasting rhyme,
     writ on earth under this celestial sphere.

And since upon remembrance of things past,
my late innocence returns at long last!

A Quiet Place

When I begin to feel that all hope has been lost
and I'm treading water on a sea, storm tossed,
that's when I seek solitude in a quiet sanctuary.
The decision to be left alone is never arbitrary.

Sitting in the shade of a tree brings me peace
and stress quickly dissolves with coveted release.
In a place of silence, where no words are spoken,
I'm restored in the part of me that was broken.

My mind drifts in a garden of sweet, scented roses,
and I'm content in a world where no one imposes.
There are no tragic news reports, no mention of war,
and I'm slowly floating along near a tranquil shore.

In this quiet haven, faith and hope begin to rebuild.
It's hard to leave this placid refuge where I'm filled
with only positive thoughts, knowing I can take flight
to unruffled shores when I need to set things right.


July 20, 2022
A Quiet Place Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose

Raindrops Descend

Raindrops descend, puddles form,
A stream engulfed, a river is born,
A course is set, the sea to reach,
Meandering ponderously to a far off beach.

The sea reclaims its myriad young,
Kidnapped by clouds, thunder-slung;
The storm is long past with calm all around;
Albatross glide, with a whisper of sound.

Seagulls circle, dogfish sleep,
Gannets dive and dolphins leap,
But black clouds return and lightning flashes
O'er storm-tossed seas, as thunder crashes.

Once more a stealthy cloud abducts infant water,
The sea's own offspring: a son ... a daughter;
The thief sets off at a wind blown pace,
The anguished mother unable to chase.

The criminal finds refuge in a partisan crowd,
A formless body in a vaporous shroud;
The cloud has no guilt, shows no remorse,
But heads inland on a predestined course.

A hill stands guard, like a customs post;
It stabs the guilty, but allows past the host;
The rogue cloud is ruptured, severed seam and pleat,
Releasing its captives and accepting defeat.

Raindrops descend, puddles form,
A stream engulfed, a river is born,
A course is set, the sea to reach,
Meandering ponderously to a far off beach ...

Captain Robert Cornage 2003

Captain Robert Carnage sailed away on a leaking  
ship called the Chesapeake Bay
A tattered crew sailed at his side,
a fickle crew on a dead man’s ride.
Ragged sails pussed a seafaring wreck 
cracking and creaking on a reeling deck
sailing out on a sea of shame;
The Pirate Captain, he’s the blame.
A wicked captain with a wicked heart,
made um walk the plank to play their part.
To curse his deads gave him the dreads,
those that did would wake up dead.
He sent many a sailor down to the deep,
straight to the bottom from a storm tossed heap.
Then came the day when the tide would turn
and crew of bony sailors with a fish to burn,
sent a wicked hearted captain over in the drink, 
Straight to the bottom from a stormed tossed heap

The Sea Rolls and Rules

The Sea Rolls and Rules 

Ragged, slategrey skies
Gulls brave the battery of winds
Mariners pensive in storm-tossed ships
Cut through the waves with billowed sails.

In the sanctity of the ocean's deep
The most ancient things of this world do sleep;
In the crushing cold of the muddy seafloor
Lie eternity's treasures, to rise nevermore.

Far above, life goes on in the swell of the tide,
The Mother of All tosses her children about

Sings them to sleep on her bosom wide
As they swim or shudder, gambol, shout.

The rhythm of life beneath the waves
Flows on and on in this womb and grave;
This whole beauteous Earth sprang from stormy seas;
From the deep dark below,
All her children flee.

Springtime In the Whirlwinds

Winter roars back,
May slips from view,
April has lost its anchor
in these storm tossed sky’s. 
Songbirds scrabble under
canopies still too thin
for cover.

None look up but huddle
in puffer jackets recently stowed.
It snowed all day,
now the wind is shoveling daffodils
out of the soggy earth.

Mice nibble roots
brought up from old larders.
House cats glare from frosted windows,
bare feet wrap themselves in wooly 
Christmas gifts. 

When May arrives it will find us
defending slowly melting igloos.
Water is filtered through strong drink.

Fortunately, we have almanacs
and  long range forecasts
so the present need for handmade arks
may not be necessary.

Our Lighthouse

Addie Marie Beima.
May 20th 1945 - February 21st 2021
Loving Mother & Grandmother.

With unfailing love,
at some point in life,
she saved us all.
Though we weren't blind,
we couldn't always see,
the dangers which lay ahead.

As a lighthouse,
guides a ship and crew,
safe unto the harbor.
She,
illuminated the perils,
of our storm tossed nights.

She guided us,
with stern patience.
Helped us navigate,
life's hidden shoals,
and emotional strife.

She risked it all,
treading deep into our darkest nights.
A strong yet gentle woman,
holding beacons of love and hope.

And though her lamp,
has been extinguished.
She will remain,
our lighthouse forever.

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