"deluge" poems
#there are the ones
that feel it climb up
the shadow towards the light,
hesitation on every rung,
each wave of the arising
overwhelms unabated ―
and woe betides those
who are on the run
from a storm's deluge
A rousing ocean breeze
stirs inside the memory
of an unframed seashell
lying on the hearth mantel;
heightened sensitivity
lapping soundlessly,
spindrift plashing
the shoreline
of another world's
feigned peace
Perhaps the muted voice
of guilty pleasures,
hushed by their own
hidden truths
Feeling the unfelt textures
of every stifled vibration
left unbreathed
The naked truth befallen
so cold and lonely
Running in circles,
volatile as all those
unspoken excitations raging ―
and the whispers of those
who hear not
the voices in the wind
An emotionally enslaved heart
tarries, marooned high and dry
in a memory on a distant sand bar
lain fallow for so long ―
stagnant darkness
of an unsated soul
gathered on the back
of a parched tongue
sullied wordless
Rising up through
a dusty hieroglyph corridor
through an unlocked
labyrinth gate; vestige echoes
from somewhere left behind
in an incomprehensible
abandoned wake
It's getting harder and harder
for an insatiable soul to breathe ...
climbing up a tree trunk―
up within the silence
of the listening tree
Toes dug into
the rough bark furrows ―
fingers reaching upwards
beyond their deepest known grasp
A shadow stranded
out on a hangin' bough
hearkening without ears that hear:
“perhaps they’ll listen now“
the wingless bird sings
in psalms that fly away
on tattered feathers
over untamed waters roil
Back to nature’s waning youth,
the bough bends unbroken
to taste the freedom
of the wild absolving seas
Jesse Stillwater
June 2018
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
Sunflowers
Good morning world.
After the deluge of yesterday I am sun-kissed once again.
Look out of the window.
Two gardens up stand sunflowers.
Heads the size of dinner plates.
Seems rather late this summer.
Late in coming.
For their gifts to be pasted to the sky.
They stand in a sort of floppy gestures.
Trying to support their heavy heads.
They remind me on this autumn morn with blazing sun.
That summer's almost gone!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 3:44 AM UTC
You do the math and I'll provide the irrationals,
as I tend to cling to panic in the asymmetry of life.
In this Twenty-First century women still suffer
from laws streaming out of councils of men.
These are not self-stabbing heroines,
they do not ask the heavy deluge of derision.
They are faced with laws stemming from an abbatoir,
from men who wish to usurp the birthright.
Men who have become strangers to their own mothers,
men whose ***** dispense a fouled milk,
men who deserve an **** ultrasound colonoscopy.
So, I beg you to balance the inequality of the equation,
gather our sisters in this non-Euclidean space:
this is one we solve by inspection!
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
only wanted to enjoy the same unusual things
with like-minded people
the concierge of dystopia fnording *******
messing around with the octopus
cyberpunk nightmare with blue sky
expect a deluge and then wonder what happened to it
evaporated anxiety due for a downpour
catacombs rented by the hour
she typically cares about those
who don't care about her
abandoning me without consequence
don't ever come back
ungrateful swine of nowhere!
loyalty exists only in a parallel universe
where they locked themselves up
and destroyed the key
they feed the rich and ignore the poor
in the end the strugglers will prevail
and the ones who had it easy will suffer
game shows that punish the ignorant
rage that never ends
scoring infinite points in basketball
and still losing the game
only wanted to enjoy the same unusual things
with like-minded people
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
if ever there were
gods or goddesses of desert
of the drylands
of parched earth some call home
they would be surprised to learn
of the miracle of
this Spring deluge
unfurling forth
from deep within
the crusty dermis
of this sublunar territory:
hydrangea and ***** apple flower,
intermingling their hues
of mauve and lilacs,
as well as the color of sky
blooms of the succulents
popping open
in celebratory dance
in wild fuschia
sunray butter:
a dazzling botanic trance
hollyhocks of magenta,
veils of bougainvellia, too
sweetpea clusters
curling in the trellis
weaving heavy-scented magic
through and through
a private orchard of lemon tree, and apple
olive and pistachio grove
One would not guess
the endless giving
of this desert treasure trove
And I feel like a goddess
of mythology softly spun
like Demeter, or Ceres
ancient Egyptian Renenutet
my hands spread out
in the licks of gentle sun
for as spring pours forth its honey
all through this barren land
I , too reawake
and flush out all the infected,
dust-scratched sand
I welcome in
the waters of abundance,
of love, of light under stars
let new energy wash out
old poisons
my radiance spilling far
Reaching out unto the Universe,
cradling this heart
I cup the buds of blooms,
of nectar
to inseminate my dark
allowing me
to release the past
and seed within me, lit
the atoms
of new
start
unfolding bit
by tender
bit
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 10:05 AM UTC
A melancholy ***** we came to adore
in mournful tone, finish the tale abruptly
and sob, uncontrollably;
"Memories of my melancholy ******
including "Love in the times of cholera"
are now part of our folklore, this land
of cashew groves and banana plantations
in Indian landscape, far far away from Latin American shores.
Her lascivious days are over
death visits the house of love, blood splattered
and a haunt of dark happenings, that begets children with tails,
shame, honor and secrets creep out of manuscripts.
Gabo is no more, no more"Living to tell the tale"
the Part Two, promised before.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, after three false starts
goes to his final abode for rest, now.
A coded manuscript, written in
in classical Sanskrit,
(the language of all divine texts
of Indian sages of yore)
scripted by the mysterious gypsy,Melquiades
predicts the wipe out of Buendia clan
of five generations
Torrential rain and deluge engulf Macondo,
ends "One hundred years of solitude".
Gabo you point towards east
what is the answer to the conundrum of Buendias?
In Mexico city
they were preparing to take Gabo to his last ride
to the origin of all magical realism he'd return
In a land far away,
yet exactly the same landscape as Latin Americas
we grieve his death as that of one of our own
Gabo, in past thirty years, you mysteriously taught us
to discern the magical realism of cosmos
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
At the quiet corner of the beach
Quaint waves come rushing
To embrace the shores
With desire deep within
Even the jagged rocks seem to melt
Such is the intensity
Love can persist forever
And deluge the toughest
Life is so rich
When love resides within
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
**Floods of revival , Lord, let them fall;
Streams of salvation reaching to all;
Pour out Thy Spirit , great is our need;
Sweep o'er our beings, now while we plead.
Spirit Divine , O quicken us now,
While in Thy presence , humbly we bow;
Set all our hearts ablaze with Thy love
Teach as the secret of life from above.
Utterly yielded , longing to know
All the blest fulness love can bestow,
Ready and willing , eager to give;
Perfect obedience , bravely to live.
Raise up a people , holy and free;
Heart with a vision like unto Thee;
Souls that would rather die than give in --
Lives with a passion, victory to win.
O for a deluge - Holy Ghost power;
Lord we are waiting ,send it this hour
Open the windows of heaven we pray;
All on the altar gladly we lay.**
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
The flood of weekend fun
has ended -- its deluge
Of waves and love and friends
. . . as waves.
Persists, propels a new inspiration.
Inertia.
Forward.
Back to reality, to work,
responsibility.
To simple morning coffee,
once again,
That reminds me, simply,
once again,
That all these forms are my reality
There is no dearth
Of reality
No dearth
Of weekends
Of mornings
Of coffee
Of work
Of responsibility
Of friends
Of love
Inertia
Forms
Waves
Reality
No dearth
No dearth
Just fun
Just flood
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
The almond pearls bounce on the leaves,
Drip to drench me with the heavenly boon,
What magical transformation the sky weaves,
Its wands of clouds creating another monsoon!
There's though a different spell on the ground
Where water flows like a river in high tide,
Silence broken only by a splashing sound
Monstrous holes yawning on all side!
You longed for it in the summer's pain
Hallucinating in agony the coming of it
You curse it now calling it a bane
As it pours from above and deluge the street!
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 6:54 AM UTC
Dark clouds loomed over the horizon
They broke loose in unprecedented force
Nature’s wrath, sudden violence acquired
It rained down as if unleashing all her fury
It was a downpour without one equal
The heavens let down dark misery for days on end,
Water bodies swelled and hollows filled,
Land mass slipped and trees fell,
Rivers were in spate and dams were full
Waves surfed and waters roared,
Like mountains they rose over the land,
Men in throngs were evicted from their homes,
Hundreds died and livestock perished
Such violence, never ever imagined
Helter-skelter, people fled for life.
Lands inundated and folks marooned,
Homes washed away with all belongings
Power failed and life has come to a halt
Rescue operations go on in full swing
Still many, stranded and crying for help
“Water, water everywhere, nor even a drop to drink”
As Nature thus plays her perfidious trick,
We shall stay united and pool all our might,
To regain for our land what we have lost
When the Deluge chants the dirge of dying souls!
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
Serendipities torrential deluge
Of dulcet applause reigning
In the divine dynasty of
Empiricisms arcane lore,
Heavens most high of heirachies
Beyond the veil
Drowning in altruistic
Reflexive salutations;
The regnant patent mutitioning
Of the waters Lethe from
Serpens poisened chalice of saints
Evoking the advent vigil of
Dusts chaldean dreams,
The sabbatical ordination
The fatal ravens annunciation
Heralding valediction
Convening betwixt and between
Gates of ivory and horn
Arraigning the apostolic conclave.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:35 AM UTC
The river forks at big stone eddy
rending currents meandering course,
its silence speaks not with forked tongue
as kismet's swirling eddies abide
as if time immemorial;
a river naturally cleaved
in two separate distinct directions
befallen destiny without a choice
Spinning round and round in big stone eddy,
time just drifting by in the throes
of doubt — high water rising
beyond the bounds of earth
taking drowning souls up to the sky
Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions,
suffocating on the parting words left unsaid;
distilling life into poetry hew from being —
trickling out like the spilled out sky —
taken down to the empty riverbed
leave lay' til it's all washed away,
in the music of the pourin' down rain
Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations
riding the prevailing currents it can't control
Gravity-gathered down to the shoreline,
manifest reclamation after the deluge,
from somewhere far above the high-water mark
Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides,
thinking you carry such a weight to hold...
It seems all got a handful of sand to toss
up into the wind to seed the clouds
The totality of eclipsing silence grows
that rent the stillness of a dream
of peace on an eroding shoreline
In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment
dark waters will ebb and flow,
imponderable as drowning hope,
leaving it all out there to dry after the rain
believing in your heart —
the best is yet to come
Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
There is a storm
gathering in
my womb
soon to explode
into a thousand
crimson stars
lighting up
my veins with fire
and unraveling
deep-set,
knotted scars
and the gentle rage
outside my window
presses on, inside my head
as I lie here,
my thoughts twisted
in a cozy, yet empty bed
my thoughts unfurl
in misty haze
curl into
smoky
rouge
as nightsky thunder rolls
into creamed saxophone
deluge
the snare drum beats
in firelight
ripple sheets
in silky flutter
as my fingers strum
my womanly instruments
into loamy, primal butter
my voice in quiet utterance
as the heavens open
to heavy rains
that liquefy
my desert
hydrate my
bare-soul caves
so I electrify my echoes
into fruited, crystal drips
frothing up my
cherry wine
upon these moistened,
hungry lips
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
escape the deluge of grays
supposed hallowed streets
pavement, machines
splashing of rain being choked
out by tires squealing
no meaning here
just a spare soul outside
find it by rejecting
everything lit by a screen
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
We Two are One:
Remember when
Long time before
You tried to catch your heels
Flying solo bound
Remember who
crept in the darkness of your room
and played upon your heart
such beautiful sounds
Remember the childhood wonder
and forgotten dreams
of sleeping rainbows
Whilst mother earth
blows stolen ****** kisses
leave dancing shadows
to find their way
Onto the crisp breath's
upon the lips
of such youthful lovers
and time stands still for a moment
And loves air is fresh to inhale
Remember
you are the enormous tide
that extends your mark
upon this world.
The grace of spirited waves,
tossed and turned by timid sprays
Enlightened by the suns rays
In spirit and fortitude:
Solitude awaits you no more
Welcome the deluge and purity
This elixir of life, Behold!
For if loves cool waters
are united, rippled
every wave would
be paved in gold
Exhale the release
Inhale the vision among us
Grow and evolve
just as the rivers flow
Embrace love together
and reflect nature's gazes
For you are
each others sleeping rainbow
Do not forget your united destiny.
You were meant to fly
as in your dreams.
Only higher.
And together.
Forever.
Amen.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 7:11 AM UTC
She fell:
into my arms,
like raindrops
at my feet,
but no:
not the tiny type
that proceed the storm,
like the plump generous kind
that fall,
and let you know
that you're in the beginning and the middle of the deluge
half way in, and you can't go no farther -
type of rain.
Lighting up the night sky
of my life
with spiderwebs of purple lightning
she rolled like distant thunder,
while her waves of water
made everything brand new
again.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
[From Fragments, The Following...]
... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.
... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth. The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.
... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.
... and that's how the rain gets in.
[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]
What ?
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
The blue rain of obscurity
Blurs the edges of reality
Turns a deluge of insecurity
Into fissures of abnormality
And disappointed purity
that decays the personality
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Rain dancers
Children bring forth
The deluge
Joyous and ****
Boogie away the heat of our Cebu
Wash away the grime
The worries of Times
The sufferings
Of war, in Mindanao, in you...
Dance oh Children
Of Sulu seas
Blissful droplets
Mini Filipinos me
Though the air force jets
Thunder overhead
Weep not lil ones
They are further dead & gone
And now in these drops of sky
We drank
Bathed in the Life
Which we give thanks
So, bring forth
All earthly deluge
We babes of Cebu
Shower
In the sacrosanct
Blossom in the truth.
(this is my Philippines)
I am You.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
Dust flowers up from the Chilton County dusk
Rust is flaking off the pickup that has a skunk musk
Bullet , the blue tick hound from your sleeve pulls it
Could it be another hot day in August , would it ?
Peaches have last month gone to fill the niches
Beaches at the river are low , full of leeches
Summertime in Alabama is a long ******
Funnier than that song , swing low number
Gathering distant dark blue clouds that are a mattering
Battering thunder rolling , lightning shattering
Huge drops splattering on clay so Rouge
Deluge now soaking , coming down like a luge
Passing with one loud Crack blasting
Massing clouds now are just in a fasting
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:18 AM UTC
The sea is all flow with no ebb
As the moon hangs full in the sky
He pulls her to him on a breeze
Salty, heavenly, mesmerizing
She comes as he softly beckons
The magnet draws her in close
She inches toward his cool gaze
With the warm water he yearns to drink
For he is parched
And she is giving
Flowing in gentle waves
He calls and she slinks to him in shadows
Locked in the gaze of desire
A gaze broken only by the pleasure
of the deluge of their union
And in that union there is tranquility
His peace releases her
She ebbs, quietly lapping the shore
She turns to see him smile upon her
As she sparkles in the warmth of his glow
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
THE LAST LOVE LETTER OF TCHAIKOVSKY*
My angel, life of my life
Fate would never allow me to meet thee
Only in thy letters to me
Do I feel the touch of love’s ecstasy.
Would but that upon thy sweet face
I would just once behold
All my sixth symphonies I would gladly exchange
In love’s name and in its wondrous beauty untold.
Here with all my rapturous kisses
I send thee the music of ‘Love’s Sorrow’
Every note swims in the sea of my restless heart
None would such grievous pain of mine ever know.
Let history judge
All that is between thee and me
Even the deluge that drowns the whole world
Would never obliterate every melody I dedicate to thee.
• Tchaikovsky’s benefactress was Madame Von Meck (Nadezhda) who exchanged 260 love- letters (1876—1887)with him and endowed him with a regular income on the understanding that they should never meet.
Her late husband was a millionaire whose fortune was derived from his railway business.
Finally, she broke up the relationship leaving the composer in complete devastation.
This is one of the most poignant love-stories of all time.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
I close my eyes and I am transported
to a rainforest during a deluge
where the steam rises and turns
everything misty and magical,
and in the distance, tribal drums
beat in cadence to the rain.
When reality draws me back to the now,
there is a chill to the February rain
and the tribal beat is merely the dancing
of rain upon an old rusted paint can.
Feb 20, 2010
Feb 20, 2010 at 7:57 PM UTC