"cyclonic" poems
Later at the same address
A storm of words reaches flood stage
A couch is bobbing in the currents
towards its mangled ruin-nexus
of matchsticks in cyclonic flow
among the renegade
trash
hanging
from the limbs like tinsel
Meanwhile
chair heaved through her door
Like the river
I am not above my rage
at this stage
of more than enough....
Clever daughter's got my goat
Turns my words on dimes
Lays into me
her score of blame
Each blow to drop me further
presses all my buttons at one time
despite the flashing
Warning! Warning!
“Fine! Fine!”
She blows-out through the afternoon
right past me
in a torrent of curses
A stubborn perfect storm
of words
has taken out parental dam
and blown out toward the Bay of Freedom
to the sorrows of her day
The river may crack its whip
But its got nothing on her
nothing is left standing
in her way
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
Cyclonic is your kind of adjective;
I suppose I was born to love storms
like you.
I could never really keep my hands to
myself. Nor my mouth. Or my words.
I love you like hurricanes love destruction
and mornings love reckoning.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
It’s the morning after the last heart session
Eyes open but brain still crackling with static and white noise
When I try it again
Hoping to get pen to paper
Before consciousness can recover sufficiently to intervene
And proffer pretty syntax to the poem
Hold the mind blank
And stack the words in rows of green growth
Like garden beds
That only need time and attention to bear fruit
Let truth come from some other place
Than reason or left brain
Or the extensive vocabulary
Meticulously indexed in the cranial cavity
Somewhere near the brain stem
Or maybe in the DNA
As C, T, G, and A
Storing data like binary only twice as complex
The recall mechanism operating in the darkness of our comprehension
Apprehension of its failure threatening to leave the poem unfinished
Unillustrated
Uncalibrated
Un-fact checked
Like that matters somehow
Like the facts are important in art
Like the right brain has no sense of propriety
Just as surely as the heart tells lies in gibberish
A chattering maelstrom of syllables in a cyclonic vacuum
And yet somehow the heart speaks with perfect clarity
Uncluttered rhythm
Timing and flow
So you know there is more going on here than we fully understand
Lend a hand to help decipher the intentions of a part of yourself wayward from the rest of you
Leading to a collapse of the ego
And a blurring of the lines between you and I
Turning discrete data into continuous
On the fly
On the run
Under sun and and moon and sky
Until the day that even death fails to be discrete
Or even an event any more important than a fire
Converting energy from one form to another
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
The griffin outside my balcony
squinted and shook
flipping Kansas City
upside down and back.
Giant flakes descended
like softest down -
coating the plaza below
with a mantel of frosted white.
The griffin is squinting once more.
Watch out; hold on tight!
Here we go again
whirling about in a cyclonic flurry
of magic fairy crystals.
August, 2010
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
The Coronation.
Weightless stars drop silently like petals
From a distant place way up far beyond the night sky.
Winter flowers blossom and fly away
Landing like moths on the night, turning to petals, then rain.
To shower you in love over and over again on this majestic day.
Distant orchestras come together in a cyclonic, deafening crescendo
Commanded by maestros flailing wands from the peaks of the highest mountains.
Roll great drums! Make music for my Queen violins and cellos!
Ring through valleys and across deserts
Sweep up all the world’s musicians along the way!
Fireworks ignite the darkness with day.
Rainbows burst, more stars, come petals
Saturate you in light.
And shower you with my love on this,
The day of your Coronation.
Great Gods have come to celebrate
Smiling down they send their angels
To drench your glowing torso in rose petals
And kiss you gently as they settle,
While my tied hands yearn to give you a fond caress.
Every creature in the universe has attended the grandest ceremony in time.
Each gleefully holding a single rose petal
To weave into your hair.
My bound arms reach across continents carried like breath on the wind
To deliver you my heart.
Close your fist and make a wish
What would your soul like to find inside?
True loves lay sleeping snuggled together on the bed of the universe.
Calm is the Queen
With her single red rose.
……………………………………………………
Sun rises and all the petals have transformed into snow.
Still soft, still comforting.
But with an eerie emptiness of a dream that has yet to be told.
Joy is frozen in our hearts
For Love eternal was denied the throne this time.
Remember my sweet darling
You are now my Queen of Roses.
And in a palace somewhere,
As far away as near
I am your King.
(Gerry Aldridge)
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Sinbad’s sea-battered ship was
poised on the edge of annihilation,
The Sultan's brow furrowed with curiosity,
then without warning
Scheherazade stilled her narrative
and lived to see the morning sun.
When the moon and stars next owned the sky,
Sinbad was snatched from the jaws of death
then the saga of Prince Kalandar
seized the king's soul with wonder
but Scheherazade left the tale unfinished
and sang with the birds at dawn.
Rimsky-Korsakoff turned the pages at his desk -
consumed by Scheherazade’s charms
then etched his pen across the waiting staves:
The violin must weave her spell once more
and bassoon and oboe take the prince’s part.
Trombone and trumpet led the martial call
and all the rest enlisted for the cause.
Russian bravura fused with the seductive allure
of exotic tunes born of the dust on the silken road.
A sonic whirlwind filled Saint Paul Church,
as winds and tremolos grew to cyclonic force.
A wall of brass completed Kalandar’s tale.
capped by an exuberant clash of cymbal plates.
The silence yielded to tender violins
chanting a hymn to the princess in all her grace.
Tambourine and winds wove a tapestry
of her debonaire and most virtuous prince.
As the final pizzicato chord faded, the Sultan
turned to Scheherazade with tear-filled eyes
and beheld his immortal princess
and she her valiant and eternal prince
and so it would be as long as night preceded dawn.
She kissed away his tears of joy and whispered in his ear,
“My beloved husband, I will tell you stories forever.
Tomorrow you shall learn of the Feast at Baghdad.”
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
Daves squeeze.
Waayyy below Mozart
n closer to a doggy ****
she's in painted toe nails
of poodle dawgs;
in colonic irrigation
of a plastic tummy tucked clone,
she's contemporaneous
with minuscule ****
has extraneous fat Dyson'd
cyclonic Mike Tyson'd
and a crows foot is botoxed
- to *** **** ******* death.....death.
so am I wrong to like James Blunt.
am I wrong to like James Blunt.
she's cut n paste n drug n dropped
last seasons face has up n flopped
am I - am I - am I wrong;
--- to like James Blunt.
she sings sour songs in
cavernous bathrooms
with a badly strung violin voice
but smiles the smile of the fuckyoualls
I'malrightjacks,,,
Am I wrong..to.
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
***Butterflies in my head
like percolating coffee suds
i walked a little faster
to catch up with my mind's anachronisms
future like a prism in high def
building castles of cotton candy vapors
smoky salt tears whisper out loud
like a hot knife through butter foam
dancing in enraged twists of prophetic cyclonic squalls
shindig of cobalt's eclectic leaves storming fiercely down
wading in puddles of refractive delirium's trippy next dip***
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
A man born inside a cyclone will always spin
He walks a crooked path, smiles a crooked grin
A swirling torrent of energy
Unable to be controlled,... having no symmetry
****** down the drain and stuck in the well
He sees no difference in an utopia or hell
Pushes away, likes to keep his distance
Most will even question his existence
Such a strange being, what kind of world is he in?
What is he seeing through those crystal eyes and that crooked grin?
A tongue like a snakes and a bite twice as venomous
A vicious demeanor described as monstrous
A man of pure intentions and a strong will
But when born in a cyclone nothing ever stands still
A star has fallen and an angel lost its wings
The demons are calling and a siren sings
For a man born inside a cyclone
Throws caution to the wind
He's a crooked man walking a crooked path
With a crooked grin
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 5:25 PM UTC
Cyclonic storm is brewing nearby!
Dampness all over is engulfing;
Only single grey paints the sky!
Trees and plants dance by the wind!
Intermittent light and strong breeze
With a little rain is washing the place!
Storm is supposed to cross the coast
Within 24 hours making all alert.....;
Ships and boats are anchored safe!
End of year with the last storm on
Makes dampness everywhere and
Chilling weather slowly creeps all....!
Anticipating the ensuing storm all.....
Wait and watch suspense at seat edge!
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:25 AM UTC
we tracked
her gyrations
on the weather
channel for days
eyeing the graceful
pirouette of her
cyclonic spin
incessant
bulletins of
the exploding
super storm
on a collision
course with
home, piqued
fear, kindled
fascination
drove fatigue
the day before
Sandy arrived
I followed the
flight of clever
birds lofting
away to the
safety of
inland hills
the foolhardy
mistook hubris
for intrepidness
lifting beach front
margaritas to
the roiling sea
unaware their
jolly libation begets
tomorrows sober
realization that folly’s
miscalculations have
calamitous consequences
The Doors
Riders on the Storm
Oakland
10/29/13
jbm
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
We are imperfection personified....
A meeting of catastrophic events...
A whirlwind of moments....
A cyclonic tidal wave...
Never to be
A once in a moment glance..
Yet we both took a chance...
You took my hand and said jump...
The longest crash I've ever had...
As I stand here before you exposed to my core
I continue to fall
how can someone who'll never be mine hold my soul in his hands?
the unasked questions go unanswered. ..
another day..another breathless moment
We are an explosion. ..
Your eyes catch mine and see me as I am
I continue to smolder....
E.J.M.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
I breathe in sharp breaths
Chest rising then falls
Heart beating as fast
As this cyclonic squall
It's the waiting you see
That makes my mind race
It's the ever unknowing
South East Queenslanders
face
Mother nature holds vengeance
Maybe for all the wrongs we have done
She will hold us to account
Till her damage is done
Once we feel long waited calm
Mother nature's at peace
For our moment in time
Her destruction shall cease.
As we start to assess
and the clean ups begun
Alfred's fear becomes memories
With the warmth of the sun.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 6:35 AM UTC
order is the comfort zone of the simple minded.
they were born into sterility,
administration, bureaucracy,
sign here, here and here.
now the formalities are out of the way,
you can raise the **** child.
but chaos, chaos comes naturally to me.
I sway in cyclonic winds,
with psychotic grins,
and blossom like weeds after
a sun-shower.
when the world around me slips
slowly into insanity,
I slip into my slippers,
take a shot of *****
and look out the window,
laughing all night long.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
Called-up to muster on the streets,
Lay siege with pencils and paper shields,
Place couplet sentries on every corner,
March in-step with iambic feet,
Shoulder prosaic figures of speech.
Launch antithesis and irony,
Landmine metaphors and similes.
The poets engage guerilla warfare,
Surrounding the body politic
To water board with words and wit.
Our units are indeterminate,
Smearing ink for camouflage.
Be wary of everyone you meet,
Every tree lining your street;
We're making notes in small black pads,
To explicate the nots and haves.
Pens are shovels digging trenches,
Editing walls and blue pencilling fences,
Giving refuge to the marginalized,
From the onslaught of towering directives.
We're parading in our uniforms,
Raising banners, ragged and torn,
Calling on all to weather the storm,
To brace against cyclonic edicts
That swirl and funnel from posturing egots.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 8:24 AM UTC
I thought of the boy who has yet to be the best of himself. I thought of how the love I felt for him seemed like a crooked line, wanting to bend and curve into any shape possible. I thought of how his words enraptured me like a tornado with its never-ending cyclonic movement; a cycle of feeling the rush of breathlessness. I thought of how the boy has my heart and mind racing in a circle. I thought of how he was soon to grow into a hurricane, ready to captivate others beside me. I thought again of how he has yet to be the best of himself; give him a thousand rotations of the clock to grow. But I realized how much better I can be for him by then, when now he has already gotten the best of me.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 7:16 AM UTC
There's a promise brought on the wind
A whisper that speeds to a shout
50 days of sand walls heralding spring
The promise of new beginnings
First as payment for this new birth, Mother Earth
Blows grains of sand into the eyes of humankind
Suffocating and choking all in the barren land
Spring is heralded by a claustrophobic cyclonic dust storm
A new beginning, fresh and clean
Above the howling rising sandstorm, spring is sprung.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 7:46 PM UTC
the bread alone must be devoured,
we swallow all our sins
to feed the purple petaled flower
blossoming within.
with roots that mingle with the trees;
come see my holy shrine
I've brought my hearts deep rhythmic beat
to this plane from my mind.
as moonlight penetrates the soul,
the blue eye illuminates;
behold the great concentric hole
found in all shadows wake
cyclonic swirl can welcome home
the sines that hold our place
the frequency disruption rolling,
shaking time and space.
I've made it real, I have become
the great creations eye.
beyond the dam is liquid thought;
and my veins contain the rise
galactic arms reach out to give
connection to the streams,
great consciousness possessing
every molecule unseen.
binary skin peels back to show
the crystal prism form
as light pervades from every space;
perceptions are adorned.
the calmest storm you've ever seen
will surely make its path.
I've witnessed all that's come to be
through proper eyes at last.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
~Like Doorways to Your Mind
by redbarchettadrive
There's a black hole, an entrance to your soul--
like doorways to your mind.
Cyclonic jets rise from the depths
of your universe. Starlight will not be contained--
It bursts and bubbles, it breaks the chains.
It spins the galaxies inside our brains.
Train your wings
on the freedom of space.
Keep the dream right in your face.
Revolution rings--
an eye for an eye.
Dream your dream, let your stars fly!
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 11:30 AM UTC
**It was a story of
why and when
of now and then
of miles I ran
of mice and men
It was a story
of lost at Sea
of fantasy
with ecstasy
for the much I longed to see
in A-B-C
it was a story
of storms
broken homes
lost norms
silent gongs
rightful wrongs
it was a story of
strings and thongs
sweet unsung songs
of fractured bones
and forgotten bonds
it was a story of
wild fires to fend
scars to tend
the rigid to bend
a story of foe and friend
of consolation that does pend
of craft we didn't send
and of trying in vain to blend
It was a story hardly penned
for all who could "henned"
A cyclonic story
none could understand
why it didn't end...**
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
conscious rivulets of thought
abate the cyclonic storms
of karmic mind
May 28, 2022
May 28, 2022 at 8:12 PM UTC
Gusts of genius
Zephyrus thoughts
Natural Levanter
Cyclonic nights
The lunar lunatic
Purple skies are vigil
Rife with enthusiasm
Quill to canvas
Flight is taken
Taken aback by the morning
In mourning we retreat
Maestro of monotony
Morrow I am bound to repeat.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
Seen it somewhere
a coiled snake
fanning for thirst
and respite
behind the fluttering
wind had stories to tell
in a cyclonic storm
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
forever are the courses running closed , to be in their eternal mind a fool to think things end
they only ever stop to start again,
finish to begin
anew afresh
thunderous rains slap at the pavement from the 15th floor
sheets are seen
moving in their own cyclonic storm whirls
nevermind the sky scrapers or monorail
hit hard at the concrete creepers scaling the air
less a jungle more mountain chain of robotic tendencies
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC