"hailstones" poems
generous and expanding
white's brilliant reflection..
many shaded towers
edges enclose with
high definition..
sometimes
a precursor to unwelcome
beauty..
hailstones
waterspouts
tornados..
we too
accumulate faces...
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
For a Palestinian Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch
Where does the butterfly go ...
when lightning rails ...
when thunder howls ...
when hailstones scream ...
when winter scowls ...
when nights compound dark frosts with snow ...
where does the butterfly go?
Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill,
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow,
where does the butterfly go?
And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?
Published by Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly, Poetry Life & Times, Victorian Violet Press (where it was nominated for a “Best of the Net”), The Contributor (a Nashville homeless newspaper), Siasat (Pakistan), and set to music as a part of the song cycle “The Children of Gaza” which has been performed in various European venues by the Palestinian soprano Dima Bawab. Keywords/Tags: butterfly, children, storm, lightning, thunder, hailstones, snow, frost, night, shelter, comfort, safety, rose, fire, warmth, Holocaust, Nakba, Gaza, Trail of Tears, slavery, injustice, abuse, ethnic cleansing, genocide
Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 4:39 AM UTC
He's only a mean, vicious cloud in the sky of my heart.
The sun still blazes behind him, but he will always loom overhead,
Spilling droplets of bromine that stain my skin,
Spilling droplets of ethanol that blind me.
I cast down hailstones the size of his new love's eyes,
Eyes which will inevitably spill their own pearls as expressions of the heartache he delivers so well.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
the hailstones were falling like dragons
attacking the windows of the North Tower
it was a New Moon, the beginning of a golden era,
the end of a long shift
his arm stretched, brought the sun from the dungeon
tied one of its rays, gently to my little finger
and nailed it to the sky with a swift move
the clouds collapsed like a pack of cards
(Queen of spades fell to pieces, like it never existed)
and then he held my hand, his sword and shield
leaning peacefully against the rest of my world
once again
I watched my children play ‘it’, my women washing linen
in rivers flowing into oceans I never knew I had
while men sat in a circle quietly sharpening their arrows
straightening their bows for tomorrow’s hunt
is there anything you ask in return milord?
my fingers touched his arm
for the first time in a thousand years
his eyes whispered in love-tongue, his lips kissed my handkerchief
which gently fell to his feet and caressed the earth he stood on
it was late and we had to close the gates until the next morning
when we woke up, drank coffee and lived
happily ever after
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
A man was driving in his car,
Or carriage, on the road the runs,
Where with his wife and little ones,
His horse did stop
On mountaintop–
Over the vale of Chappaqua
Black as night without a star
Came pitchy darkness on men's eyes,
And then great hailstones from the skies
Rattled around
And with rebound
Drove creatures mad in Chappaqua
The awful grandeur of the scene
Impressed him so it made him clean
Forget himself,
His house and pelt
And all his goods in Chappaqua
Thank God, they're safe! One did debar
Destruction on the road that runs–
To him, his wife and little ones.
Tornadoes pass,
Green grows the grass
In the valley, aye, of Chappaqua.
The New York Times. 5/13/2016.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
Before my eyes is the war dance, the armies of light enact,
is this, one inane madness or pursuance of a vision divine?
what makes me lose my heart, to you for all the time?
White lotus of my thoughts, the blooming my every cell echoes,
we are no different, I am reminded, our union is beyond time.
Through this limitless moor, tireless miles,alone I walk,
feel your presence everywhere when the wind booms
the blazing desert sun is unforgiving, it implied this:
"I'll make him regret for his insane love, the intrepid adventurer"
even if he scorches me to death, would I ever let go of my love?"
Rain lashed, strong guests of gale pelted hailstones,
uprooted trees asked me to stop,paths became waterways,
nothing, except your face, entrenched deep in my consciousness,
was in my recall; our love,I resolved, wouldn't die, even if I fall.
White lotus of legends, in you enshrined, is my essence,
don't pretend, you are unkind and I am not in your eye shot,
for you the rules of love I'll throw to the winds, cross the river of fire,
pull out all the stops to reach you, may it be in this life or in any other .
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
Here in this place
I stand on my own
All by myself
Yet still not alone
Where do I turn
At this crossroad
“I wonder”
A storms brewing now
Lightning breeds thunder
East come the rain
The pain of this place
Razor like hailstones
Tearing my face
West flashes lightning
Booming with thunder
Making me shiver
Puzzled I wonder
South I feel evil
Yet pleasure it be
Beckoning to me
Pulling at me
North comes a vision
That fills up the sky
Overflowing with love
And everlasting life
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
Up this hill I have reached,
All these stairs that I have climbed.
I touch the clouds above me,
Feel the stars shining upon me.
But will I feel the thunderstorms too,
Or will I mix in tornado in the sky of blue.
I keep thinking and overthinking,
Snowflakes and hailstones are what describe living!
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 6:57 AM UTC
Opening scene: a girl and a guy we see
begin to converse, apple bobbing for words.
Time ebbs along just like a new song
tingling your skin with that guitar riff.
And she can't describe the world in his earnest eyes
he'll catch every golden wisp of a word fallen from her lips.
I see her laugh from the soul like I have
with you too many times to remember the trigger lines.
our story so similar to Him and Hers
so perfectly crafted, no acting required
but that idealistic movie proves to be
nothing but pictures in motion, no I love you spoken
Our fairytale
is doomed to fail
in technicolor life.
You and I
can only reside in
cinematic black and white
He thinks of her face in every wandering place
sits beneath an oak tree writing lyrics she'll never see.
She still can't forget when their curious eyes met
and serendipity will cause them to meet again.
They'll gaze at the stars and talk of how far
they feel from the earth cos what they've found is worth
more than gold dust
it could have been us
why must reality
eat greedily my fantasy?
Inevitably
the beautiful tapestry
of the love that people are made for
Will come undone
just when no one
expects it like
a thief in the night
Because this rainbow is defective
the agony and malice reflected
in lashing tongue red, those
words fall blue like hailstones
But this is the fee I pay life
for the golden creases of light
when you speak your mind
weaving hues I will never find
anywhere else
with anyone else
Our fairytale
may be doomed to fail
in technicolor life
But I'll take that chance
at happiness
Because life with you is far from
Black and White.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
Between the crosses
Row on row
John McRae
For the greater good
That's what they say
One day
For another
To succeed
One man
For another
To proceed
Oh the sorrow
the devastation
Shots like hailstones
no tomorrow
Jubilee screams
Celebration
But the men they cry
in Depredation
Long Live Our Nation.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
Seeing hailstones pelt the ground (freezing touch of sight and sound)
Their last valiant attempt to escape from Heaven
The sensory nature of the beast will be
Crushed and broken into scarred skin
Midnight strokes me gently like the brush that you paint with (On a canvas)
Nightmarish worlds forming from your fingertips (Carved from angels' wings)
Caressing restless crescents with a lulling iridescence into (So your darkness)
Sleep above a boiling pit of guilt-ridden pleasure (Lasts forever)
Lasts forever
You must have painted a panorama
Of
Your
Dream world
You must have painted a panorama
Of
The
Real World
You must have painted a panorama
Of
Your
Dreams
You must have dreamed you painted a portrait
Of
Me
Take your brush and wield it towards me like a knife
Cut me open, and behold my true colours
Make your masterpiece with what you really feel
Let’s add some brightness
To your never-ending night
You feel my pain
I feel you paint
Still
Life
Still
Life
Still
Life
Still
Life
Sky without clouds…this is the end of it
Hailstones are falling to the ground…this is the end of it
Day without light…this is the end of it
Seeing Heaven robbed me of my sight…this is the end.
Sky without clouds…this is the end of it
Hailstones are falling to the ground…this is the end of it
Day without light…this is the end of it
Seeing Heaven robbed me of my sight…this is the end of it all.
Sky without clouds…this is the end of it
Hailstones are falling to the ground…this is the end of it
Day without light…this is the end of it
Seeing Heaven robbed me of my sight…this is the end of it all.
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 6:25 AM UTC
1
we ran outside
gathering the hailstones
before they could return
to rain
2
spring thunder storms
refreshed the
runoff ponds
the spring peepers
chorus chirps
3
soon, to be Indra, Lord of Heaven,
the God of War as well as Storms and Rainfall,
starter of war
a war which shall engulf
the planet and
perish all
4
in solid,
ice
which shall melt
and drown the littoral lands
lands peopled in the
billions
and so shall follow
disease plague typhus dysentery
death
in its many shapes and sizes
5
in drops
flows from your eye
6
according to religion
holy water
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
I'm sorry for being a natural disaster.
I'm sorry the way my mood changes turns you into a quiet rumble of thunder, always dragging behind the lightning bolt until the full force of nature's fury is pounding down on your head.
I'm sorry for skidding into your world like a golden-tinged summer daydream and leaving it like a levee breaking.
I'm sorry for writing about you so much that your name is carved into my fingertips like water shapes a rock formation -- my journal probably wouldn't weigh so much if all my baggage wasn't crammed inside it.
I'm sorry that I can only write in figurative language lately but the concise truth is like walking barefoot on ice and after a while it's so cold it burns:
I never really loved you.
But admitting it means hailstones of lies battering my already-crumbling storm shelter, all our sunny afternoons grayed out by cloud cover.
And I'm sorry beyond all the weather metaphors in the world, but I can't bear that.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
With drunken hands, my mother mends
the hem of my patchwork quilt
And spills her tears on every stitch
Atonement for her guilt
Sadly smiling, she strings a collection
of hailstones atop my breast
In total silence, she whispers “I’m sorry.”
I am too weak to protest
I cry the day those pearly beads
melt into my sweater collar
So cold in my hollow chest, I hid
the string in my drawer
too ashamed to explain
too scared to admit
I’m avoiding the pain
I sleep beneath a graceless blanket
a warmth upon which I depend
I ignore other hopelessly broken things
which I am too inured to mend
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
An explosive sizzle over the tarmac,
and through the cracks in the windscreen
(which spread like invisible spiders' webs),
the highway snakes through the hailstones,
and climbs yet another hill.
Townes’ voice sounds thirsty on the FM,
the eyes in the rearview lost, doodled-upon road maps
(clichéd with just a tad of Cabernet Sauvignon);
the driver leans over, pops the cubbyhole,
and yet another pink pill.
Telephone wires vibrate like ocean ripples
with the last cries of ravens that rose like a black tsunami,
‘parting the sea’ for the speeding hearse,
and casting cancer-shadows over the land
with each flap of their wings.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
Stars falling like burning hailstones.
Not one wish formed
From the ashes below.
Earth stretches and yawns; scratches
A continent finally
Free from fleas, then
Returns to solitaire sleep while
Epochs enter into aeons
Before the itching
Ever so slowly begins again;
Species rise to reign in the usual
Pre-apocalyptic illusions of
Meaning, denying being merely a
Planetary slap away from a crushed
Stain of the blood it once ******
I never feel as in place and balanced
As when my insignificance looks me
Dead in the eye. And winks.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
I live in the north with the hoodies and the loons,
Where the wild gorse grows and prickles the brooms,
Where fields and pastures roll into mounds,
Which fold into mountains which tickle the clouds.
I live in the north, more water than rock,
Grey, green and blue like glas on the loch,
Reflecting the perfect mirror of the moon,
Are the world's oldest rocks, from which it was hewn.
I live in the north where cold winds blow,
Bringing hailstones and hurricanes, sunshine and snow,
To pristine white sand beaches where white waves come foaming,
To the straths and the glens serene in the gloaming.
I live in the north, the land of the Scots,
Named after the Irish, the natives forgot,
A land of Vikings and Picts, through war and through fire,
They bested the worst of the Roman empire.
I live in the north where the music runs deep,
It can make you laugh till you cry or a grown man weep,
A reel to make you believe any fable,
A blast of the pipes'll have you dance on the table.
I live in the north, still ruled by a king,
Monarch of the glen, lord of the ling,
Whose forests lack trees and whose lands are bare,
Save for the lonely, hunted hare.
I live in the north where magic is real,
And you can never be sure if it's selkie or seal,
Where the goddess Aurora paints the night sky green,
And dances with more stars than you've ever seen.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Thunder echoes.
Flashes through billions
Of hailstones smashing against
Trees, leaving clouds of
Crushed leaves hanging, slowly
Blending into the chaos of
Angry weather, then: Nothing.
I worry for my windows,
Pounded with ice and shaking
From relentless thunder.
Nature, now, is an angry
Woman,
Child, heirloom or love stolen.
Furious fire, skies dark with a
Thousand wings.
Drop your swords and run,
Men. Your homes are in
Flames. Your armours as
Useless as your wet pairs of
Long johns.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
"heaven's really crowded," peter said to me
over black coffee on Maple Street
while we watched the kings and counselors
in collegiate sweaters
lose all their religion
like we'd lost ours.
it fell like hailstones—
they all flipped their collars up
and their heads down;
we looked cozy in the window
and we laughed like we weren't
freezing too.
"this weather's crazy," he shook his head
and rubbed his hands together for the friction;
"hellfire looks better every day."
we smiled and put our gloves back on
to revel in our endless earthly cold.
quietly we weighed his words
and decided they were heavy;
we lit a cigarette to share,
blew the smoke up at the holy high school dance
and said with youthful vehemence,
"god ****
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
Two ultramarine diamonds
Glazed like hailstones
Transfixing and adoring
With the courage of a thousand monarchs
Peering with an immortal persistence,
Like the twirling whitecaps of the sea
And how they never forget to kiss the coast goodbye
Petrifying all nerve endings
In every gap
And every adjacent membrane ofaxons
In every gland and cell
Recepting molecules of hunger and thirst
Set aflame by
Pummels of my infant and eager heart
Both silhouettes swaying in greed
Yearning, longing, speaking,
Pleading with a meek caress
For incessant spasms of arousal,
A stifled sob made of silk
Hushed by the storm of a lull
Sapphire globes fasten once again
A duet of mercy
Cupping cherub faces
Tracing trails of promise with settled fingertips
Down chilled spines
And frozen echoes
Tangled in a warmth never wielded
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
Anonymous!
Tell me what's her name my friend.
The one who stole your heart away.
Noisy siren, snatched your beautiful heart.
Entrapped in words ideal.
She powered by a pen.
Ignited by war my child.
Sometimes fired from summer sun.
Winter rain.
Hailstones biting.
Causing pain.
Sometimes cruel and vile.
Human love discarded.
Dumped on the pile
Words strung on a harpsichord score.
Lost love has a date with destiny.
Destiny wholly untrue.
Two anonymous writers.
Write day and night.
Sort of seeking recognition.
Potential footsteps lead to perdition.
Hope and pray not.
Their only prey is words.
My soliloquy she cries in solitude.
Solipsist by choice.
In her sophistication!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 3:44 AM UTC
Prematurely mourning
for a heart that hasn't broken yet,
I know the path is dangerous;
I'll risk it all again.
I see can see the quiet
illuminated in the night;
the silence speaks outloud inside
each time I close my eyes.
Nostalgic, painful memories
frozen, falling like hailstones,
and I hear whispered warnings
hidden in each wicked wind which blows.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC