"cataclysmically" poems

Enter the dragon with death and disruption Pride and tradition cataclysmically thrown, Magnificent structures reduced to rubble Distraught people bereft of their homes. Chasms of heartache with bodies of babies Strewn with the bricks in vast disarray, Dust in the air and the howl of the sirens Shouting police on a horror filled day. Christchurch is bleeding, her confidence shattered Our keynote cathedral is lying in shards, Vacant eyed people are clinging to strangers Jagged black holes in suburban back yards. Christchurch is bleeding, our torn, gracious City The nation arises in hurt and alarm, To face the challenge with strength and resources, To nurture our sister with healing and balm. Sympathy shown by the myriad faces Racing to help from all parts of the globe, Expertise offered with money and labour Students with shovels and priests of the robe. Sadness and torment for kin of the missing Frustrated rescuers work till relieved, Moments of triumph with lost resurrected, Agony felt when the dead are retrieved. Led by the strength of the Mayor of the City Courageous citizens help where they can, Moments of bravery, moments of agony Inspirational feats of elan. Poignancy shown by the sad Maori Warden Guiding the aged through the strewn broken glass, Aiding the ambulance crews in their labour Proud to be Kiwi as folk show their class. Christchurch WILL arise from the death and destruction Once again people will overcome grief, Pride and resilience will triumph with the passing And time will repair with deserved relief. Marshalg Victoria Park Tunnel AUCKLAND 25 February 2011

0

Feb 25, 2011

Feb 25, 2011 at 8:26 AM UTC

marshal-gebbie

Christchurch is Bleeding

Enter the dragon with death and disruption Pride and tradition cataclysmically thrown, Magnificent structures reduced to rubble Distraught people bereft of their homes. Chasms of heartache with bodies of babies Strewn with the bricks in vast disarray, Dust in the air and the howl of the sirens Shouting police on a horror filled day. Christchurch is bleeding, her confidence shattered Our keynote cathedral is lying in shards, Vacant eyed people are clinging to strangers Jagged black holes in suburban back yards. Christchurch is bleeding, our torn, gracious City The nation arises in hurt and alarm, To face the challenge with strength and resources, To nurture our sister with healing and balm. Sympathy shown by the myriad faces Racing to help from all parts of the globe, Expertise offered with money and labour Students with shovels and priests of the robe. Sadness and torment for kin of the missing Frustrated rescuers work till relieved, Moments of triumph with lost resurrected, Agony felt when the dead are retrieved. Led by the strength of the Mayor of the City Courageous citizens help where they can, Moments of bravery, moments of agony Inspirational feats of elan. Poignancy shown by the sad Maori Warden Guiding the aged through the strewn broken glass, Aiding the ambulance crews in their labour Proud to be Kiwi as folk show their class. Christchurch WILL arise from the death and destruction Once again people will overcome grief, Pride and resilience will triumph with the passing And time will repair with deserved relief. Marshalg Victoria Park Tunnel AUCKLAND 25 February 2011

40

Betty Coutu drives a mean Rambler takes us public school, heathens to catechism on Saturday morn Smokes a cigarette like a prima-ballerina Shifts three on the wheel drives that clutch to the floor with her thick leg Makes the engine roar a little “to warm it up” Turns with the grace of swan Pavlova or belladonna Something of beauty just to watch her three-finger the wheel through a turn around all while taking a drag exhales to ceiling to music on the radio Elvis? Roy O, Patsy Cline circa 1959 Betty's hair is short, uncombed but she's not without lipstick lights her smoke with amazing matchbook skills Calm like a woman who does it often takes on wear with I'm in love, and I don't give a care She shifts and turns cigarette balanced like gossip on lips or between those first two fingertips Smoke swirling amid kids squabbling and whining in the back seat No belts back then till Dad got home to keep them in line But, I bet on Betty every time to get us there I want to drive like her, so badly! I sit beside her-- ossified watching her smoke and handle like a total expert I am distracted and will surely fumble my catechism answers for the nuns cataclysmically She drops us off by an icy foot slide I swear to God to stop back later when we're done ...with prayer and penance recitation... and resolvings to sin no more Once we're out the door-- back to that forbidden foot-slide Always had a plan for fun So did Betty's son the hemophiliac Bless myself like an Olympian and pray for Johnny before he joins me for a run hemophilia: a medical condition in which the ability of the blood to clot is severely reduced, causing the sufferer to bleed severely from even a slight injury. The condition is typically caused by a hereditary lack of a coagulation factor, most often factor VIII.

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Mar 24, 2019

Mar 24, 2019 at 7:31 PM UTC

elizabeth-balise

Betty Drives Us to Catechism

Betty Coutu drives a mean Rambler takes us public school, heathens to catechism on Saturday morn Smokes a cigarette like a prima-ballerina Shifts three on the wheel drives that clutch to the floor with her thick leg Makes the engine roar a little “to warm it up” Turns with the grace of swan Pavlova or belladonna Something of beauty just to watch her three-finger the wheel through a turn around all while taking a drag exhales to ceiling to music on the radio Elvis? Roy O, Patsy Cline circa 1959 Betty's hair is short, uncombed but she's not without lipstick lights her smoke with amazing matchbook skills Calm like a woman who does it often takes on wear with I'm in love, and I don't give a care She shifts and turns cigarette balanced like gossip on lips or between those first two fingertips Smoke swirling amid kids squabbling and whining in the back seat No belts back then till Dad got home to keep them in line But, I bet on Betty every time to get us there I want to drive like her, so badly! I sit beside her-- ossified watching her smoke and handle like a total expert I am distracted and will surely fumble my catechism answers for the nuns cataclysmically She drops us off by an icy foot slide I swear to God to stop back later when we're done ...with prayer and penance recitation... and resolvings to sin no more Once we're out the door-- back to that forbidden foot-slide Always had a plan for fun So did Betty's son the hemophiliac Bless myself like an Olympian and pray for Johnny before he joins me for a run hemophilia: a medical condition in which the ability of the blood to clot is severely reduced, causing the sufferer to bleed severely from even a slight injury. The condition is typically caused by a hereditary lack of a coagulation factor, most often factor VIII.

64

New Year's resolutions rarely carry into February But the resolution of a new year Will last twelve ******* months anyway. It is the chipped ceramic gnome Left to weather outside an abandoned apartment, Which calls me cataclysmically to the forefront, Asking how long it will be Until I get to write '13' again. Or '12'. Or '08'. Because to get used to writing '14' Is to get used to the empty space between fingers And the mess of my room, which will only fade When I do. It won't be until the storm comes, When the gnome falls from banister to sidewalk, That I'll stop asking how long And begin to write '15' instead.

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Feb 2, 2014

Feb 2, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC

jimmy-king

Resolution of a New Year

New Year's resolutions rarely carry into February But the resolution of a new year Will last twelve ******* months anyway. It is the chipped ceramic gnome Left to weather outside an abandoned apartment, Which calls me cataclysmically to the forefront, Asking how long it will be Until I get to write '13' again. Or '12'. Or '08'. Because to get used to writing '14' Is to get used to the empty space between fingers And the mess of my room, which will only fade When I do. It won't be until the storm comes, When the gnome falls from banister to sidewalk, That I'll stop asking how long And begin to write '15' instead.

16

If Mankind perished: Exterminated cataclysmically Like the dragon dinosaurs, How long would our cities stand? How long before our cars rusted And buildings toppled, To leave the odd dam or pyramid Poking through the tangled jungle mass? A few hundred years they say. Then nothing. All gone. Yet have such holocausts Blighted Man before Back through those swirling mists of time, Thousands of years ago? Great civilisations built by clever men and women, Only to be dashed to the ground By who knows what. Atlantis and much more. Advancement cruelly culled. For Man, Like the world, Is much older than we thought Or think. Some say that aliens helped us build Those ancient wonders. Yet maybe we should cast away this Self – effacing view: Acknowledge that We did it all Ourselves. Paul Butters

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Jul 5, 2014

Jul 5, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC

paul-butters

Ancestry

If Mankind perished: Exterminated cataclysmically Like the dragon dinosaurs, How long would our cities stand? How long before our cars rusted And buildings toppled, To leave the odd dam or pyramid Poking through the tangled jungle mass? A few hundred years they say. Then nothing. All gone. Yet have such holocausts Blighted Man before Back through those swirling mists of time, Thousands of years ago? Great civilisations built by clever men and women, Only to be dashed to the ground By who knows what. Atlantis and much more. Advancement cruelly culled. For Man, Like the world, Is much older than we thought Or think. Some say that aliens helped us build Those ancient wonders. Yet maybe we should cast away this Self – effacing view: Acknowledge that We did it all Ourselves. Paul Butters

32

Cataclysmically holocaustal catastrophic cacophony. Spurious staunch succinct stymie tacit, irate tirade treatise vehement escapade tedium. Belligerent barbarian of a berserker bodacious katzenjammer. Ostensibly deterrent savage vicious violence. Ghastly gruesome grotesque gristly groaty gnarly, awfully terrible hideously horrible heinously horrendous. Inundate liable culprit, assay relay's convey, inveigh irrefragably inevitable inure. Tercel theocracy, anticipate angary amentia. Attenuating arbitration accidence ambiance acoustics. Diction's enunciation execrating eventuation evocative expletives. Reconnaissance reconnoiter rectilinear recrimination. Incessant barratry Bailiff's rake-ness rails. Détente, demarcate delirious destitute demiurge. Diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt, annex annul's edifice ******** Spiritual apercu pneuma's palatial estates!!!!

0

Oct 10, 2022

Oct 10, 2022 at 3:16 PM UTC

toreinss-pinwinkel-iii

Catatonic Phonics

Cataclysmically holocaustal catastrophic cacophony. Spurious staunch succinct stymie tacit, irate tirade treatise vehement escapade tedium. Belligerent barbarian of a berserker bodacious katzenjammer. Ostensibly deterrent savage vicious violence. Ghastly gruesome grotesque gristly groaty gnarly, awfully terrible hideously horrible heinously horrendous. Inundate liable culprit, assay relay's convey, inveigh irrefragably inevitable inure. Tercel theocracy, anticipate angary amentia. Attenuating arbitration accidence ambiance acoustics. Diction's enunciation execrating eventuation evocative expletives. Reconnaissance reconnoiter rectilinear recrimination. Incessant barratry Bailiff's rake-ness rails. Détente, demarcate delirious destitute demiurge. Diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt, annex annul's edifice ******** Spiritual apercu pneuma's palatial estates!!!!

1

I hear the silent sun beaming down, peeking through the window I hear the music of a girl I've never met and I hear my insistent cough rise from the depths of my chest and I hear it storm cataclysmically up my throat spewing disgusting coughing germs on my forearm my fist I still hear the girl I've never met playing the music I have never heard before and I like it and she continues playing I see the sun outside taunting me with its dominion And I remain seated on a chair thousands have sat on before As I cough And cough once more I just want to go home.

0

Nov 1, 2011

Nov 1, 2011 at 9:09 PM UTC

jessica-lim

November

I hear the silent sun beaming down, peeking through the window I hear the music of a girl I've never met and I hear my insistent cough rise from the depths of my chest and I hear it storm cataclysmically up my throat spewing disgusting coughing germs on my forearm my fist I still hear the girl I've never met playing the music I have never heard before and I like it and she continues playing I see the sun outside taunting me with its dominion And I remain seated on a chair thousands have sat on before As I cough And cough once more I just want to go home.

14

Cataclysmically careening down a chasm of chaos I seperate myself from myself I am just a part of the everything and spiralling ever further into the void Devoid of the hubris and ideals of the individual We are now as we are The great Is. Tiny terrifying tarantulas treck through my trachea bring to me the woe and confusion of thought my voice creaks and from within a gurgle of shame comes an uproarious feeling screaming louder and louder FIGHT However I sit in my apartment, surrounded by a display of unadulterated unease the carpet is littered with broken promises to myself and the corpses of my past lives shambling through the dark and finding the bathroom I find the light I turn it on and inside the mirror is the face of my mother, speaking in tongues and drinking maple syrup while Mrs. Butterworth moans like a **** star A fillibuster of inconceivable toxic waste spews from my mouth as I make excuses I shave my face and head out the door I have a job to do after all and this world needs me Me the only me that has ever been or ever will be and the only thing that matters a tangled mess of ligaments and flesh strewn together like a marionette guided by strings called neurons my brain playing make-believe with false pretense keeping secrets and shining lights on the monsters underneath my bed I cry because I like to remember I can that I am able to feel the things I read about in books and see on tv but when faced with tragedy I just shut down and I realize I'm alone and that brings me happiness.

0

Feb 21, 2015

Feb 21, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC

chase-saulter

Untitled

Cataclysmically careening down a chasm of chaos I seperate myself from myself I am just a part of the everything and spiralling ever further into the void Devoid of the hubris and ideals of the individual We are now as we are The great Is. Tiny terrifying tarantulas treck through my trachea bring to me the woe and confusion of thought my voice creaks and from within a gurgle of shame comes an uproarious feeling screaming louder and louder FIGHT However I sit in my apartment, surrounded by a display of unadulterated unease the carpet is littered with broken promises to myself and the corpses of my past lives shambling through the dark and finding the bathroom I find the light I turn it on and inside the mirror is the face of my mother, speaking in tongues and drinking maple syrup while Mrs. Butterworth moans like a **** star A fillibuster of inconceivable toxic waste spews from my mouth as I make excuses I shave my face and head out the door I have a job to do after all and this world needs me Me the only me that has ever been or ever will be and the only thing that matters a tangled mess of ligaments and flesh strewn together like a marionette guided by strings called neurons my brain playing make-believe with false pretense keeping secrets and shining lights on the monsters underneath my bed I cry because I like to remember I can that I am able to feel the things I read about in books and see on tv but when faced with tragedy I just shut down and I realize I'm alone and that brings me happiness.

34

Blue spirals painted on my body, we sailed, cataclysmically cascading in your spaceship through the little towns which, in their infinite stillness, see only movement. Your voice brought me back for a second, Joe. You spoke as if you might be reading a poem you wrote two years before, saving, all that time just for that moment. You chugged ***** when we got there, features illuminated and distorted in the candle-lit cold, as I lay with your girlfriend in bed and watched you to stay warm. All the cars but ours had gone in the other direction, but we'd stayed true to our course. The void of the morning, reminiscent of the previous warning, let the blue spirals seep, in the snow, through my skin.

0

Mar 10, 2014

Mar 10, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC

jimmy-king

Not Quite Cyclical

Blue spirals painted on my body, we sailed, cataclysmically cascading in your spaceship through the little towns which, in their infinite stillness, see only movement. Your voice brought me back for a second, Joe. You spoke as if you might be reading a poem you wrote two years before, saving, all that time just for that moment. You chugged ***** when we got there, features illuminated and distorted in the candle-lit cold, as I lay with your girlfriend in bed and watched you to stay warm. All the cars but ours had gone in the other direction, but we'd stayed true to our course. The void of the morning, reminiscent of the previous warning, let the blue spirals seep, in the snow, through my skin.

16