#typhoon
weathering the typhoon
hoping to see it through
so that I may see you
manning the ship alone
it is anything but easy
in a storm that's far from breezy
on days like this my courage wanes
but your memory gives me a second wind
I pray that you won't leave me behind
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 3:35 PM UTC
A growl.. a stomach?
No, that was —
atmospheric
If not hunger I hope we are all parched
Sep 14, 2023
Sep 14, 2023 at 11:27 PM UTC
The monsoons of the heart
The cyclones of our whereabouts
It's all brewing and burning
at the same time
Within the all-seeing eye of the storm,
the haze and hail over my island are born
It's both evening and morning
at the same time
The violent destructions on the east
The threatening strong winds on the west
It's all beginning and ending
at the same time
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 11:45 PM UTC
The tempest builds in its confined earthly cavity,
Swirling and crushing its source.
It roars searching for escape,
Thundering out with torrential rains.
Lighting sparks through veins
Escaping in blistering snaps.
The soul relishes in the primal storm,
Yearning for a greater release,
A larger typhoon to rip this earth away.
To shatter the shell constraining its rage.
It shakes with monumental tremors,
Succumbing it’s structure,
to rubble on the floor.
-ALC August 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022
Aug 14, 2022 at 11:25 AM UTC
Learn to say No
Don’t give an explanation.
They don’t deserve one.
Stop saying it’s okay when it isn’t.
If they grab your arm, push them away, kick their shins.
If they get angry and yell at you, yell louder.
You are a powerful Woman,
You don’t deserve to be trampled on.
Use your Voice!
You have the force of a Typhoon in your voice.
Drown out the misogyny and wash them out of your life.
Tell them that the answer is NO.
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 8:17 PM UTC
If I'm to feel the shake of your winds gather the leaves from the trees will the rain fall down brushing my skin gently. Will the cleanse chill my skin, cause me to shiver or recoil? Will it touch my heart and cause a typhoon like the tears over missing you, its been years since I last knew what to do.
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 12:32 AM UTC
The night was freezing,
trees furiously swaying;
I screamed, I called.
Your name echoed, resonated.
Without any answer,
I waited, have you gone away?
Shared memories, have you buried them?
Tell me, "I am here."
I heard you
but you did not call;
upon seeing you, I hugged you
like you've been away for so long...
And for so long you'll be away.
Holding your hands, I felt it.
It's like you've gone to another world;
stricken, my heart felt numb.
For you are so cold
and into the cold ground
I cried, I'd save you
if I could.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 4:52 AM UTC
The red moon
Red as the blood that fills our hearts
Red as the passion that give us fire
As the seduction that leave us flying
It is in bloom
As the good feelings that we transpire
As all the passion that inspires us
As all the loveliness we admire
As a typhoon
Like the pleasure that makes we go wild
Like that moon of love up in the sky
Like all the bloom of all our desire
Like that typhoon of love intensified
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
Smoke
gets trapped
under the leaves
of trees
after the rain.
It gave me
the impression
that the shadows
of those leaves
are glowing.
Up the sky,
I can see
the sun,
but it doesn't
hurt
my eyes.
The chilling wind
carried the scent
of the muddy soil
beneath my feet.
It reminded me
of all the devastation
brought upon
by the storm.
Last night
it rained.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
Every sunrise brings a wave of hurt to wash over me like a typhoon.
Every sunset brings my regrets to come rest like bricks on my shoulders.
Threatening to snap my spine in two.
Every doubt comes and shackles to my ankles.
I let the metallic taste melt into my blood stream and become part of me.
Every noise shatters my ear drums and sends shocks through my body.
They leave burns streaked across my body like tattoos.
Tattoos that won't wash off in the sink.
They won't fade with time.
Tattoos that remind me who I am.
...Or used to be.
Every blade of grass cuts my feet like words cut my back as you stuck each one in with precision.
Every car drives away with my hopes and dreams buckled in the back seat listening to the radio.
Singing every word like they can't hear me crying for them to return.
Every cloud rains on my mind like acid that pours from the bottle into his glass.
Like hatred onto the plate that she sniffs.
Every warmth I feel drowns in my sorrows like I drown in the typhoon that lays at my feet.
I will always have my tattoos.
a memory of myself.
...or used to be.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
There's a typhoon a monsoon
Of catastrophic misery, agony, and doom
The pain keeps raining down
In my sorrow I will surely drown
An ocean of emotion and I can't swim
My soul's light is growing dim
The sky just keeps bleeding
My tolerance it's exceeding
In this inky blackness I am sinking
My soul keeps on shrinking
From this psychalgia there is no exception
There is no redemption
In this anguish
Is where I'll languish
In this tribulation I will suffer
There is no hope I will ever recover
In this desolation I will moan and wail
This despair is my last coffin nail
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
drowned the Earth suddenly.
underneath honest light,
all
submerged. this cataract of feeling —
waters pursue beginnings. cradling them
to unknown ends, washed by the shore.
gluttonously the night swallowed
all — parliament of birds warble no longer.
midnight, the Moon
claws the supple skin of organized stone
displaced
where all the edges bloom
forth torrid froth of dappled light which kills no less than a brief life of matchflame. tenuous spar of wind on
the unserious twilight; bulge of death
in the stream — a body haul, rafting
in compost; stench of all topple like
resins held loose in vats. rat **** becomes
as inviting as moulding bread;
tantric music for no instrument, hoarse
cries unbeheld —
until the flesh no longer flounders
pressed against sleep-shaped youngness
hewn lissome in the hours of no succor,
modeling silence in the thrill of
this enthusiastic space,
hands scouring muddied
obscure, atremble,
shadowless hours fill stomachs with
the plump word of rescue yet none
of these fingers unwished the
ingenuity of dull gods — this twilight
nor twinight could ever grive
in forethought, striking bells to signal birds
to arrive again so we could feast
in silver fish, with bare hands scaled to callouses,
looking at it twice-over, this battered yolk
of whiteness, with deeds of the viridian
now atrill in new fragile woodworks
lurching and
ameliorating as we all
stutter and sing
haunts dabbing open
lips of small wounds that
wish to shut quietly, almost
every threat of gray or pummel of
wind startles the flyblown ornate,
hurrying us back to cornerless homes
where all photographs washed away,
very few hang
swayed by verdure
of the gradual throne of sea
curving perpetually the several stars
we have ignored for a while,
where everything quite begins
again to enthrall with a melodic
leitmotif of the most tender of
instances loose
in mouths
and in endless recall
breathless—
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
The wind howls to the craters of the moon, wondering if its lack of breath is another respiratory disease waiting to happen
As bodies crash into the ocean and casualties increase by every bottled up sensibility
The cracks of cardboard doors fill up the voids of emptiness,
Emptiness of washed up filth and five days worth of street toxic meant for the guts too vacant to feel
Their doors quiver to every knock and exhale, families too hungry, awaiting to devour assurance of safety
Just this once, they are asking for a little more
Than numbered days of handfuls of rice and rock salt, enough to feed the mouths of eight
Teeth clicking to every bite, bones clashing together to prolong the food not more than a mouthful
However this time the clicking doesn’t stop
It intensifies as street light poles plummet into windows and shards are washed away, seeping through soaked doors
They are told to leave these places without titles but this unnamed land is their entitlement and home
Their mother whose tongue is a symphony of lullabies remains silent, hoping for the storm to pass
Lips swollen from biting, she looks at her children with fear in her eyes, tears reflecting the shattered bulb that hangs by the kitchen ceiling
She links her arms to her children’s, grips their skin tightly hoping to warm their shivering exterior while whispering the words “they’ll come for us”
Time elapses and the water rises, their properties enveloped by the disease
Their house disappears along with it, in a downward current of pitch black and rotten forestry
What is left is a family of seven, arms linked and accompanied by the howling wind,
Slowly diminishing with its lack of breath, becoming a nationwide debris
n.j.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
*the wind blows like
there is a tremendous fire
it has to put out and it is afraid
not to give its very best
but the problem with the wind
is it doesn't see anything else
except for that raging fire
blindly damaging everything around it
now when I walk the streets I see the wreck
the fallen branches and the leaves
and the uprooted trees that
the furious wind left in its wake
sometimes, people are like the wind
and you are the burning fire
everything around you might vanish
but you will still be there, raging on.*
I hope you will still be there.
Let the wind fuel the fire within you.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
•
If you are a tree,
Bombarded by extreme winds,
In the amidst of a typhoon,
*I'll sacrifice to be your roots,
To diminish your agony,*
OH, I cannot manage seeing you suffer!
*In carrying on in a big tragedy,
With utmost throe alone ,*
*Let me be torn and broken into fragments,
And be cut in combating and holding for you,*
That's how much I love and care,
I wish you only knew...
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
How many is a few? According to an online forum, it means 2-3 .So here I go
Typhoon hits Taiwan today, so I can’t go anywhere but stay at home all day reading and watching movie (Wild Tales). I think should start reading Swann’s Way again. I was quite interested in Proust in my junior year, cause one time my ex said something I called ‘words of wisdom’ ,which echoed with Proust’s words about sleeping. Maybe they are completely unrelated, but while reading Proust I was unconsciously analyzing the reading in Proust’s way: comparing someone I know in real life with the characters in the book; or maybe I was just putting on airs by showing that I know the (far-fetched) relation between what ******** my ex said and Proust’s words… The wind is getting stronger and stronger now and I am wondering where you are. On this lame typhoon day I’m suffocated by the boredom and humidity. I call it poetic nothingness.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
Maybe
The falter of her step
Will trigger a
Mini tsunami.
But
There still is
The sound of gravel hitting stone
And
Brick upon brick;
Reconstruction
means
Beautiful noise, too.
She'll cause the world to
Stop and stare
Either way.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
I feel so powerless as the news relays its latest story
Of a vicious storm revolving the area you're in
I wish you'd appear on the television,
So I could reach out my arm and drag you to where I am
The storm's been flooding streets and delaying travel
And soon might be wrecking homes and crushing lives
I'm so afraid of you being taken away
It'd **** me to see my beacon lose its light
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
wind lashing
rain pouring
typhoon here with
little warning
heaven opens
up it's eye
houses torn
people die
earthquakes rupture
torn apart
family's mourning
breaking hearts
natures wrath
against mankind
lashing out
a monster sky
global warming
oceans death
oh what a world
oh what a mess
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
I find comfort in the news
Be it typhoons or drones
I feel like a 100 year old Camus
For he was a miserable little raccoon
Or should I say Morrissey?
But the bipolar king is lost at sea!
I think of Sylvia Plath and her oven
Incinerated in a jar or in a coffin?
I will mention roses in a second
But first, wear your veil
May I eat your cheeks?
I’m your psychopath with style
We bathed in herbs together
The pale ******* that shone
A reoccurring dream of two moons
I believe in reincarnation
bosoms, as the lunar eyes of an owl
Stars, rain, coffee, cigarettes and music
Few clichés, I forgot about your roses
One day I’ll strike the balance
between rhymes and passion
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
I am a tempest,
the most violent of
winds whipping around
without concern for any
who surround me.
I am a volcano,
the lava of my emotions
exploding up and over
to seep throughout
every nook and crevice.
I am a typhoon,
my gale force winds
showing mercy to
neither sea nor land as
I rip-roar over it all.
And you…
you are the halcyon tranquility
I've been searching for
all along, the serenity needed
to calm my frenzied turbulence
with but a stroke of your lips,
leaving me breathless and
my winds settled at long last.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC