A holiday weekend
With nothing but rain
Gives so many a solid
Excuse to complain.
All those outdoor events
At a park or a beach
Will, because of the weather,
Be way out of reach.
Those who rented a cottage
Or booked a hotel
Might be bummed that their plans
Won’t be going so well.
Yes, the roads may be flooded
And temps much too cool
To show off your new bathing suit
Down by the pool
Yet, there’s tennis to watch
Or there’s reading a book
And, aside from the grill,
There are more ways to cook.
Still, it is disappointing
When plans that you’ve made
Have to change because Nature
Rained on your parade.
What we collectively feel
Become humanity’s deeds;
Feelings are our reactions,
Predilections, preoccupation with --
Obsessively entertained seem~ paramount needs!
The nurturing of good bodies
Or, piercing wars
Horrific blood-letting bleeds --
Deeds are the washout
Stains and cultivation's
What came after the seeds
Our generosities and greeds.
The soul of man demands
Seldom satisfied
While the spirit elevated pleads:
Enough! Mercy! Mercy!
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Biden played Peter and risk
Took a chance, a hit or miss
Biden wanted to play chess
With Department of Justice
Constitution Sacrifice
Congress/Supreme Court no dice
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Biden's fire sale a washout
Now he is forced to drop out
All Trump's charges, now dismiss
Party stakes; her race, and dress
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Promise be heard from their voice
People will soon cast their choice
Prayers for whom people choose
Protect our world ... win or lose.
I thought I heard you calling in the rain from afar
What do you need on this gray day without a star?
The fog is lifting, revealing a crystal light
If you look in the sky, you may also see the sight
Perception can change, quick as lightening to ground
Blink your eyes, look again, to see what you have found
I thought I heard you calling, beyond the pounding rain
Let it be a washout for that lingering pain
Perception can change just about anything
Without losing the moment to things that sting
And this my friend, allows us to sing!
Heidi Sands
7/25/21
WINNER
Perfect, accomplished
Achieving, functioning, flourishing
Victor, success; failure, washout
Declining, lapsing, falling
Defeated, ruined
LOSER
Thunderstorm
a midnight lightning
My monsoon, I could not awaken
thunder, I could not forsaken
Thundery tintinnabulation tinkling
A sudden, sonic boom
The thundery thunderhead thundering
And the thunderstorms never stewing
I was thundering
Meteoroid's that is wandering
a cloudburst and yes it hums
And that moment my soul grew noisy
Suddenly, I heard some sleeting
there be more purely fleeting?
Rain deafening washout
Thunder
I have dreamed of the torrents
I saw the rains
Only this and a aftershock
I saw the thunderbolts
Suddenly, I heard hollering
But in the fact that it was growling
the laughing, lumbering lightening
And the winds never whistling
Of the light's that is brightening
What there be more pure lightning?
I heard a windward, scintillating pounding
the howling beating
A rumble torn
Thunderstorm
8/20/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
Vanished is the sun that had peeked so exuberantly
around the clouds! Our new beach chair that broke sits taunting me.
The castle that our children built (and then declared it grand)
lies unrecognizable, a washout on wet sand.
One tire of our dune buggy is deflated, and I hold
inside my hand a too-warm Coke that once was icy cold.
Feb. 20, 2019 for Nina Parmenter's Reflect That Emotion Poetry Contest
Kicks tires
Checks wires
Full stop
Revs prop
Must heed
Airspeed
Thumbs up
Climbs up
No sweat
(Not yet)
Alas
No gas
In spin
Chagrin
No chute
Oh shoot
Bad day
Mayday
Crashed plane
On plain
Washout
No doubt
on valentines day
night of hot passion cancelled~
punctured water bed
Written on 3rd February 2019
For Valentine senyru poetry contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin.
The wind,
a poetry brushing
my skin.
Ferns painting
ankles
in cool dew
on a hiker’s trek.
The stars,
arranged or
understood as
arranged...
a song not
yet forgot.
An arrangement of
notes, of diacriticals,
of arpeggios,
awaiting the blushing
washout.
My arms, open to
the lovely dark,
the smokily smudged
pre-dawn...
Tea vapours’ tendrily
hand caresses tenderly
my nostril, my
hungry Palace of
Intent.
She sleeps,
Somewhere.
Or rises.
Somewhere, that
accursèd ‘not here.’
She starts a shower,
she starts her coffee,
she starts her car.
She starts her day.
These arms are never
so Empty, so Open
as in these epoch
hours before the Light.
My journey is not summaries
I couldn’t understood story of life
When to start when do end
For your search I need bird wings
So this endless tale goes on
There is no limit of sky
There is no limit of dream
My hunger is still same
Feel as like I am doing new beginning
Sometime I feel to wash my mind
Washout every story of past
Only your appear bring happiness
Only your appear make me alive
Hungry heart want your view
Don’t do more promise
Now make love dream true
She’s my beautiful infection,
My toxic allure,
She’s the drug for my suicide.
She’s stolen my reflection,
My mind is obscure,
She’s my rational apartheid.
I’m her perfect hygiene,
Her ideal sanitize,
I’m the only thing to clean her life out.
I’m her classy and clean,
Her beautiful surprise,
I’m her complete utter mental washout.
Meteoric warning of storm's danger,
still awed nonetheless by its brute force.
And those giants along the tree line—
submitting to its dark, amorphous power—
bow in the darting whip of its tongue
as though being torn to shreds by its teeth
and wilted by its breath is their portion.
The curtain of rain that follows in its wake
curries the earth and leaves it green, sunlight
glinting on wet, dusky boulders like the ones
you hauled in from the forest to surround
the flowerbeds. The rain so heavy it left
the lilies crushed, like my heart, ripped
from my breast that day you left, and I,
bowing like the line of trees in the rain.
Within this world I live, is ascertain destruction of humankind.
The crystal ball has reveal to me a blaze in time.
The strongest man will not overcome.
The world is within a universe he formed.
The abyss is a cist a chamber that destroys.
Neolithic buildings are built for burial, the tombs surrounds.
Our life is afflicted by what we see.
Gorged to not scream
Productive is the ravine.
Waters - those jet streams possesses the body with such gift, is seen inside.
While eyes look through the washout, the smile does not shine.
The eyes become black on The Street of Catiline.
This time is over now.
The truth has transgressed.
The house, the phones, the batteries are all disable.
Yet man with all his might will not let go of yesterday.
______________________________________|
Penned on May 12, 2014!
Dust & Ash
Meteors falling from the sky
like stars sparkling in the night.
The volcano’s dust forms
below Iceland’s clouds.
Life stops.
Pilots stand.
Air traffic is discontent,
as the volatile atmosphere erupts.
Through the blocking of the sun,
volcanic ash plumes.
The earth will be cool
for a year or two.
A washout will come.
Iceland’s dust and ash – gone.
__________________________/
*About This Poem: Volcanic ash plume from Cleveland Volcano, located on Chuginadak
Island in the Aleutian Island Chain off Alaska. NASA image taken by Jeff Williams,
Flight Engineer, from the International Space Station. Please view @
http://geology.com/articles/volcanic-ash.shtml.
__________________________/
Sponsor: nette onclaud
Contest Name: A NIGHT SKY
User Name: Verlena S. Walker
Nom De Plume: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Date of Entry: March 20, 2014
Date Written: March 20, 2014
________________________________|
The Saddest Landscape (POEM)Contest
Sponsor: SKAT A
User Name: Verlena S. Walker
Nom De Plume: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Date of Entry: March 22, 2014
Date Written: March 20, 2014
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