Vesuvius Poems - Poems about Vesuvius

oh crackle fire let flame and quell a sound, this sound upon such spell that cast a tone to ear nearby and changed by cheek and timely sigh along down track and hoof-fall tread at mid of night and wandering dead a single player wrote this eve with harp to mouth, oh crackled weave that to himself came lost in dust ‘neath the shadow...

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Vesuvius Eruption flumped feeling fading forthcoming carrying his giant cyclopedia in hand snaring of day's sun believing his soul hoisting & asked don't cry as I feel free an angel merely skipped me a magma hollow inflated as night tip-toes into...

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It’s going to blow. The saxophone sexuality of a volcanic slumber has become a thundering in our hearts. We feel it in the thigh of being and in the strung valleys of elbows and knees. Olives groves and vineyards tremble in their green dreams. Village churches stumble over their stone steps. Black bedecked widows plead their prayers under the clamor of evermore strident bells. Forewarnings rumble everywhere, molten threats menace, hazards...

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THE BEAUTY OF VESUVIUS An olive garland crowns her Autumn hair, The beauty of Vesuvius — she’s unaware. Although the redness of her parched eyes and the ashen peaks of her sculpted face prophecy with fidgety sighs. Her green and fiery crop intent to part this...

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Pompeii at the top of the stairs, Her negligee glowing like the moonlight. The trancelike eclipse chases her to bed. The milky softness of her gown — birds like stars stun him to moans. The thickness of her hair haloes the pillow A mirror reflects his volcanic shadow. The universe — the subtle kisses the eruption of Vesuvius. Seems forever at rest, in...

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She's running hot again, scorching hot, my friend ... unstable, volcanic temper ready to blow Her angry face burns with a cherry-red glow Something someone said has gotten under her skin Emotional lava is erupting into the air, smoking invectives heats the uneasy atmosphere When Ms. Vesuvius rages, it's best to steer clear Even better yet, it's best to be elsewhere You don't...

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Chest Volcano The painful spot on my chest, stood like Vesuvius, without the flow of lava-pus, or nue- ardent of racing dust, to the tanned, hot skin below. A spot without pus, I fussed and mused, how strange this errant child? The days turned to nights and the spot turned to bump; a minute lump of skin and awkward cells,...

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At the foothills of Vesuvius Scarlet against the leafy green ...

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