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.
in soddening tempest
and billowing gale
i stand and plead with God
for drought
feet rooted in scuttling sand
wind-swept grains thrash at my face
i stand and plead with God
for typhoons
one day i wake up
keeled over in shallow puddles
brought to a boil
by a horizon's line of sun
a flower sprouts by my open palms
and i ask God
for seeds
If tormented truth is
the taste of her fire,
injecting her blood
with poisoned rain
in golden chalices,
what is the color of
eclipsed spheres
where there’s a
desolated darkness
that dwells through
devious spirits
to rise higher?
Maybe there’s no
heaven nor hell in
the onyx fields of
soulless stars,
where obsidian roses
bloom as signs of
the devil’s immortality,
crooning doomed
hymns to the
honeycomb hues
of raven's irises,
which reflect every
bitter dream painted
in strokes of thunder.
But when dusk
bleeds seas of deception,
sins stream through
sinister shadows,
slowly pulling innocence
to a chamber of pitiless
pins and heinous knives.
So watch her ascend
as the metaphorical mistress
of death and beyond,
she is no longer your
heretic queen
that serves you light,
that once breathed
and walked through
storms of toxic typhoons
cloaked in
summer serenades,
taming every hurricane
with her crystal wings
that never tethered
to an evil king of serpents.
Rancour is a canker
That eats us from within
Bitterness and anger*
Are sure to cause chagrin
Malice is a chalice
From which we should not drink
It will turn us callous
With hearts tuned out of sync
Hanker not for rancour
Let love rule our mind tunes
Forgiveness, the anchor
In life's wildest typhoons
Hope is the strongest rope
Sure and steadfast anchor**
In dark sin, need not grope
Rid our soul of rancour
Jesus Christ sure frees us
From rancour's canker clutch
Tenderly, He sees us
And heals us with blood touch
*Ephesians 4:31-32
[31]Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice:
[32]And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.
**Hebrews 6:19-20
[19]Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast, and which entereth into that within the veil;
[20]Whither the forerunner is for us entered, even Jesus, made an high priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec.
Typhoons, cyclones and hurricanes
Alternate male and female names
Derechos included too
Winds that make us feel blue
Serious and deadly, playing no games.
The rain before the industrial revolution, was part of the cycle, to maintain balance in nature. Now, it’s part of a frantic effort to dilute, and remove pollution, no longer able to find lost plants and trees. It now falls with increased frequency,without purpose on concrete and asphalt, barren rainforest lands, stripped to grow cash crops, to satisfy junkies fixes. One can only hope, psychedelic mushrooms, in vogue by the trend setting actors of La La land, replace poppies, and hemp, taking up less land. The oxygen engine, of the earth, can be restored to full capacity, by replacing trees once lost,without a second thought. Reforestation hopefully becoming an accepted priority, funded in addition to defense budgets, and pork. Then Mother Nature could chill, low and high pressure systems again producing needed rain, not the damage left in the wake of tornadoes, microbursts,hurricanes, and typhoons. The time to heal the earth, can’t be infinite. Like the lifespan of all who walk, it has a beginning and an end, if signs are continued to be ignored, and our greatest resources, lives and dollars, stay focused and remain on winning and justifying war.
Fear leashes unforeseen harpoons
when faith flees to the hold.
Wind gauges possible typhoons,
purser murmurs threefold...
fractures in the bulkhead
sailors stymied by dread
damage and death ahead
Fear leashes anxiety;
Faith can anchor urgency.
October 21, 2021
The middle three lines are a leash, a set of three
Right
where the road ends
rests a house
there is Rosa, sunrosed,
is love, trust, life
A coffee in the morning
right before marching the roadworks
scooting the schoolbus
right like the hands of the clock.
Right
where the road ends
stays a mill
here my dogs, suninked,
flowers, poems, life
A lot of coffee in the morning
right before storms set in
minds settle down
right when the thief of plants and apples arrives.
At two, cotton candy clouds
over a volcano that will always wink
at your grandson, curling up with gran
your grandgirl, herding goats with gramps
Your roots stay in this village
right
where your family eats your bread.
At five, we will meet
where the typhoons twirl the desert sand
there is coffee,
cigarette smoke
Mine in my world
right
where we live.
Life will always be full of mysteries
If you are an inquisitive person
Forever searching for information
Everything referring to life and death
Science, history and biology
Murder, mayhem, magic, music and myth
You, me, them, those and other mysteries
Sun, moon, stars, satellites, sputniks and space
Typhoons, tornados, thunder and lightning
Everything in nature a mystery
Reptiles, roos, dinosaurs, fish, insects
Indigenous *****sapiens all
Evolution, religion and culture
Spectacles (Oh dear, I cannot find mine)
The Tempest
Upon enchanted sands of shipbreached shores
Dethroned beggar of a borrowed callow mystery
Heaves a lightning staff into the waves -
Thunderous and raw clandestine secrecy
On luminous swirling ariels sheering the celestial –
Into the curfew of castaway souls as a hoary appeal
Where storm surges loot delirium in foreboding typhoons
As rioting angels brood in their search
For the orphaned heart in tattered rags of upheaval.
Hear the muted tempest of dark depths roar
As wintered tantrums rock the shores
Leasing waves with unseen spells and charms,
Harnessing the tidal astrals in purifying
Tsunamis of holy risk –
Storm watch night, for souls in cataclysmic squalls,
Reshape the shallow shoals infected by deceit
Refresh the tidal pools emptied by betrayal
Now calm the ruffled gales -the shattered glassy sea,
Return from shipwrecked isle to fury abandoned shores.
11/3/2020
Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 6
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Inspired by Shakespeare’s The Tempest
Like the silver birch shaking its trunk
Autistically, in front of darkening grey skies,
How I yearn and pine to be able
To my tangled thoughts finally untie.
Forever grasping, casting out my mind,
I did not heed the fateful sign,
As the strangled stars were struggling,
Beyond gnarled, trembling branches to align.
In unforseen typhoons calamity struck,
Forcing my tendrils to come unstuck.
Such pain, such woe I did thence brook -
To no avail, as destiny offward snuck.
The root did wither, the stars did wane. All that's left is a frightful stain.
Now we await the falling rain, as we are already neck-deep in the mud;
Standing here, forlorn, might as well be made into wood - or even paper.
You can only get chicken pox once.
Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.
Not funny to me.
I have had chicken pox twice.
I have had a form of chicken pox called slap cheek.
I have had shingles twice.
so liar, liar, pants on fire.
I am exhausted.
This lastest bout has taken all of my energy.
I am a sad rag doll who can barely walk.
My thinking is not sound.
I am sad.
I have to know it cannot happen again.
Five times was more than enough.
It has undone me.
I am not sure I can ever be put back together again.
Cyclones. Bad.
Typhoons. Bad.
Hurricanes. Bad.
Shingles. Worse.
Four Saturdays of pure misery.
Summer vacation ruined.
You only get chicken pox once.
Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.
Not funny to me.
Not in the least.
The journey to find my soul’s embrace
From this world, an endless race
Through volcanic trials and fierce flames
Unforeseen typhoons, waves of shame
Yet try as they might, in the dark of night
My hope arrives as a single Light
As Wisdom yields this powerful truth,
Losing yet gaining all I once knew:
Our flesh and bones grow old and decay
Yet our souls grow strong with each passing day
June 11, 2019
A Contest of Aging
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Wrathful trilogy:
Typhoons, cyclones, hurricanes
Stern warning to Man!*
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 September 2018
* Super Typhoon Mangkhut, the strongest storm of the year, unleashed gusts up
to 200 mph while hurricane Florence brought 40 inches of rain. CNN.
tempests' raging lips...
typhoons...tearing hearts apart
~ love's flame's at sea
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