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The dank dark clouds moved in menacingly from the horizon.
From which she could feel her eagerness building strength.
The lighting then crashed as the rain began to fall.
While her hips began to sway with the rumbling call.
A smile curled and kissed her lips, while energy built with every drip.
She extracted her power with force from the storm, the tempest boiled making her golden warm.
The flood of destruction she's contorted in dance as her figure it floats entombed in a trance
Only she smiles with the sky when it pours. Overflowing with current from the burning storm.
Her beautiful body it swings in the rain movements are wicked the sight always strange.
Explosions crashing lightning storm veins, filling her existence completely with love.
Entombed in destruction, eminating from above, the howling tempest her only friend.
The storm clouds breaking bringing in the end, her body slowly whithers landing in a calm.
The life she loves to live married to the storm has now receded in the mud.
Remaining lost in time eagerly waiting for the flood.
Ibykos Fragment 286, circa 564 BCE
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come spring, the grand
apple trees stand
watered by a gushing river
where the maidens’ uncut flowers shiver
and the blossoming grape vine swells
in the gathering shadows.

Unfortunately
for me
Eros never rests
but like a Thracian tempest
ablaze with lightning
emanates from Aphrodite;
the results are frightening—
black,
bleak,
astonishing,
violently jolting me from my soles
to my soul.

Keywords/Tags: Ibykos, fragment, translation, Eros, Aphrodite, Thracian, tempest, lightning, jolt, soul, spring, apple, trees, river, flowers, grape, vine, shadows
Ibykos Fragment 286, circa 564 BCE
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come spring, the grand
apple trees stand
watered by a gushing river
where the maidens’ uncut flowers shiver
and the blossoming grape vine swells
in the gathering shadows.

Unfortunately
for me
Eros never rests
but like a Thracian tempest
ablaze with lightning
emanates from Aphrodite;
the results are frightening—
black,
bleak,
astonishing,
violently jolting me from my soles
to my soul.

Keywords/Tags: Ibykos, fragment, translation, Eros, Aphrodite, Thracian, tempest, lightning, jolt, soul, spring, apple, trees, river, flowers, grape, vine, shadows
Adrian Jan 11
Moonlight drizzles upon my lawn,
Tinting the grass with its
quicksilver luminescence.

The scattered clouds,
Drifting rapidly overhead in the
Almost nonexistent wind
Beckon in a tempest,
Shearing away the calm tension
That once roamed my yard.
Looking at the sky and yard from my deck looked pretty cool.
nick armbrister Mar 2019
Angel Juice
They fueled my warplane with 130 grade octane
It was bright green and full of spells
It was witchcraft just like flight
Making my plane soar like a rocket
So I could shoot down **** jets
Defeat their Me-309 escort fighters
Beating them by pure ******* speed
Then nail the ***** jet with my cannon
Blowing his ******* head off with 20mm
Me the aerial knight in his chariot
An airborne God in a Hawker Tempest
The best fighter plane of the war
Superior to all that was German
Be it Focke Wulf 190 D versions
Or their upgraded Me-109 K series
Or the 309s and anything else
I was equal to their vaunted jets
Like the He-162 Salamander
Or fast Me-262 which was ace
I was God...
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2019
(Sonnet)

Our tryst was sore, more like pain or penance,
What kerfuffles in our unspoken for eyes
And love grew low, by unanswered questions.
How could we laugh, live in such indifference,

Long, unmerciful time, grinding us down
With not even limitless skies for leaven?
Each day was comic-tragedy, no Eden,
Lives flooded about, simple pleasures drowned.

Yet, each day we dreamed with harnessed wings
Bound together in the throngs, restless journey,
A promise was made on some green gentle isle
And we made our golden shifts such shining things,

Running to rays, future dawns never to come,
Shining things falling mute in dry rots of sun.
.
Irina BBota Jan 2019
I left my thoughts on the pillow
and started waltzing on the carpet barefoot
just to see that wicked smile of yours
while the cloud's throwing out its soot,
making alliances with the purple storm,
unwelcoming the beauty of the darkness
the one between the stars,
keeping us in the fortress of unfulfilled dreams,
leaving us all behind stainless steel made bars.

I left my thoughts on the pillow,
the bedroom sins remain in the night,
your kiss has left all my senses in turmoil,
for I was and I am a very old soul inside.
Charmed and crowned by Madame Tempest,
looking for a bone of guilt,
expecting the unexpected at a wedding's breakfast,
a brilliant book of menace she has built.

I left my last thoughts on the pillow,
and then I left the other dark half of mine
that annihilated this restlessness from my soul.
Now I can shout out loud: I'm alive!
Austin Mizelle Dec 2018
Blue eyes wandering
Meet with brown eyes
Talking up tempests and
Blue eyes stops and stares.
Because wow brown eyes
You got it going on girl.
Brown eyes stares back and...
Giggles.
Brown eyes walks over to blue eyes,
The tempest twists
Twisting to a twister
A twister twisting the tempest
Into a beautiful hurricane.
And at the eye,
Of the hurricane I mean,
Are their eyes.
The blue one
And the brown one
Eclipsing one another
Taking in each other.
And blink...
They were gone.
Whisked away on a blowing breeze
The sky their tap shoes.
The clouds their slippers
And the breezes their clothings.
Soon blowing breezes turned to hugs
And hugs turned to handholds
And handholds turned to kisses
And kisses turned to...
Love.
And it all started
With blue meeting brown.
Savannah Nov 2018
Must you tug at my heartstrings?
daughter of Prospero and lover of Ferdinand.

While I lie awake before the placid ceiling,
awaiting the inevitable chime that signals morning's sober arrival,

Must you come to prance about my mind as always?

A part of me,
it begs that I cling to the idea that we could be so much more.
Just like before,
the velvet curtains had come crashing down prematurely.

When we had once waltzed in tandem,
with all that had come to be as our mere prologue.
It is as Shakespeare himself had spoken into his play-writing prose, the same one that had inspired your name,

“when I waked, I cried to dream again.”


You were the dream from which I begged I would not wake.
Of course.
I eventually would have to.
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