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Alyssa Underwood Jan 2016
Lord, let them see me as a fool
If only You’ll undo me
Take pride and self and rights away
But beckon me come to Thee

If failing is what humbles me
If falling is what breaks me
Then let me fall and fail and faint
Just come, possess and take me

You are the One my soul desires
There is none other for me
So bring the storms, the trials, the woes
For in those best I know Thee

You see the pain my heart requires
To mold and make me like Thee
So send the fires which please You most
I will not fear what strikes me

I trust Your goodness and Your grace
They shall not ever fail me
You hide my life safe in Your grasp
Though hell’s worst fiends assail me

You’ve chosen me as Your own child
A treasure ‘cause You found me
You’ve named me Your beloved bride
With glory You’ll soon crown me!
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
I saw a path and ran ahead
I nearly lost my way
Your mercy caught me by the arm
To Your side You bid me stay

I put my hope in my own plans
Which soon around me fell
You stopped me short upon that road
And said, "Rest and all will be well."

I'd surrendered all, but to my foe
Enticed into the briars
You turned his evil schemes instead
Into refining fires

I couldn't see my helplessness
Until my legs were broken
Till Shepherd's hands caressed my wounds
And healing words were spoken

You picked me up and carried me
And made me feel Your favorite
You held my head against Your chest
Until I grew to savor it

You tended me with gentlest touch
Then soothed all thought of fears
You sang forgiveness over me
And washed away my tears

There is no one like You, Lord
On whom I can rely
In loss, in danger or attack
You hear this poor sheep's cry

It's You Who keeps me from real harm
Who watches my coming and going
You shield me with Your strong right hand
From darts the enemy keeps throwing

You said to all who trust in You
You would give perfect peace
Enough for mind and heart to rest
To let all worrying cease

So, Lord, I trust You with my life
Your Shepherd's heart is pure
Your purpose for me's guarded well
And Your deliverance is sure

Please teach this sheep, Lord, how to wait
And strengthen me to stand
To put my hope in Your desires
And to love Your sovereign plan

You lead me into fields so green
Where streams of life are flowing
Where healing winds blow oft' and strong
And choicest fruits are growing

You set me free to hear Your voice
To follow at Your call
And even through the dark, cold nights
I'll know You've arranged it all

Yes, storms will come with battering rains
With hail and gusts and thunder
But these are meant to beckon me
To Your wings to pull me under

For it's in the darkness of the storm
My grip's most apt to tighten
And when my heart beats next to Yours
All earthly burdens lighten
Smoke Scribe Aug 2018
The Violent Storm by the Water
(Do You Trust Your Imagination)

was not unexpected
but its fury was without compare,
poet awake in semi-preparation

living by water should be a human right for all,
even a small room, overlooking, gives new meaning to
perspective

we blessed with a patio door, encased in a glass window big enough for a smallish elephant to come visit and play with children

a storm is observed up close and personal as if one was in
an IMAX 3D  theater, and the edges of existence were being redefined,
sharpened by fury, tooled by tools untouched by mortal hands

miles of bay illuminated with bass drum furious accompaniment

stand before the screen,
poets arms outstretched as a supplicant,
the light of the lightening passes through him,
yet , behind me, she still sleeps

then the entire house shakes, reverberates, as if to say:


”tremble humans, cower, you are not permitted to watch my majesty, for such it was when created heaven and earth”

bold poet window worshipping
risky answers:

“but who will know
if even a poet cannot declaim sights
no one else has seen?”

”true, true, but you must choose if poet truly,
do you trust your imagination human,
to prove that the powers of the heavens are limitless?”

write of storms unseen and nature endless miracles

”then you may call yourself
a miracle too,
a poet

violent #storm violentstorn
Antino Art Feb 2018
South Florida
if you were a body part,
you’d be an armpit.

You’d be a bulged vein
on the side of a forehead
forever locked in a scowl
behind sunglasses.

You speak the language of horns
middle name, finger
blood type, combustible

You're a melting ***
that's boiled over the lid
sweating salt water at the brows
eyes red as the brake lights
in the maddening brightness,
you’re torrential daylight
heating nerves like greenhouse gasses
waiting for a reason to explode.

You’re a tropical motilov cocktail
no one can afford
2 parts anger, 1 part stupidity
melting in place, thirsty for attention
full of yourself in a souvenir glass with a toothpick umbrella
You're all image

You’re the curse words breaking out the mouths
of the angry line mob at Starbucks in the morning
You’re the indifferent silence
in the arena at the Heat games leaving early,
showing up late
due to the distance
from Brickell to Hialeah,
West Palm to Pompano
the gap between the entitled and the under-paid
a skyline of condos in a third world country
You’ve always been foreign to me.

You’re winterless, no chill
you attract only hurricanes
and tourists,
shoving anything that isn’t profitable
out of the way like the Irma storm debris
into the backyards of the Liberty City projects,
onto Mount Trash Can off the side of the Turnpike
hidden beneath Bermuda grass, lined with palm trees
you’re cold blooded
crawling with iguanas
blood-******* mosquitos
parking lot ducks and people not afraid to get run over
you get yours, Soflo
and you'll go as low
as the flat roofs of your duplexes
and the incomes that can barely pay the rent to get it
latitude as attitude
temper as temperature
if you were a body part
I swear you’re an *******

south of the brain, one hour
in all directions,
I’d find you.
You’d impose your way
onto my flight to the Philippines,
to Seattle, to Raleigh
You’d follow me like excess baggage,
like gravity,
bringing me back when asked where I'm from:

That area north of Miami, I’d say
(the suburbs, but whatever, we are hard in our own way)
I'd show you off on their map
as if some badge of grit,
certificate of aggression
I know how to break a sweat
walk briskly thru Walmart parking lots, drive evasive
ride storms in my sleep
I know you, I’d say,
“He’s a friend of mine.”
and I’d watch them light up
and recount
the postcards you've sent them
of the sunrise
welcoming brown immigrants
onto white sand beaches
You were foreign to us
yet raised us as your own
in the furnace of your summers
edges sharpened, iron on iron
the forger striking softness into swords
built for survival
I'm made of you

my South Floridian anger cools down
in your ocean breeze

if you were a body part,
you'd be a part of me
a socked foot in an And1 sandal
pressed to the gas pedal
as my drive takes me north
of your borders, far from home
You in the rear view mirror
tail-gating
like a sports car on the exit ramp
the color of the sun
Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
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
Notes:                                                                                                          
a friend sent  a link to a deeply thought provoking modern classic 70's song about Vincent Van Gogh and the complexities of imperfection some of us relate .... i'd listened to the words prior but never heard before now.

  Title is last final lyric line from:  "Vincent" (Starry, Starry night) 1971
Writer(s): DON MCLEAN, ENRICO NASCIMBENI,
ROBERTO VECCHIONI
In Nero’s private stage,
Disaster was
His audience. Rome mimics fallen Troy in play.
What was reflected in Nero’s eyes
when he sang of the swirling patterns
of fire? When Rome was caught burning;
When conspiring led to its fall.

Fire engulfed Rome with fiery teeth.
The clouds hide or faint into black smoke.
The skies bleed heavily with rust
Its brassy color mixing with the
*** of burning seas, like oceans melting

Could you not feel the sun’s weight?
Now it is incomparable to
Molten seas and softened lead!

Blood spilt from sea-point, waves wallow the cries
Of the fallen. Like a bellowing sound marching
Against caverns of ears, Copper soldiers
Melt into clouds oozing with emotion,
Shattering their now empty metal hearts,
Hollow hearts that outlive the muteness.

It is awakened when
Spark and light is absent.

(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 26, 2009 - Alabang)
2nd Prize Winner - POETRY CATEGORY - Cesar S. Tiangco Literary Awards 2010
Ira Desmond Apr 2017
I:

In which
I

amid the
whirring lights

and emerald
felt

drift
through a

raucous
flashing casino

searching

for a
table

with an open
chair

so I can
finally start

to play
the game


II:

In which all of us
are together again at last

for a family gathering—
Thanksgiving supper, perhaps—

and, as we greet each other,
I happen to glance skyward,

unthinking,
and notice that clouds

of a turbid
cumulonimbus gray

are beginning to coalesce overhead.

I look up again and notice
that they have spun

into dozens of funnel shapes,
each of them

starting to reach down for us
like the ashen fingers of Death.

We huddle down in the cellar,
praying the storm will pass.
Lord I just ask you to guide me, in this pouring rain.
Praying for a change
All I feel is pain..
My life on this earth feels so alone
Everyone I love has met you
Don't have anyone else to hold.
I still don't know why you chose my life to suffer this way.
Broken hearted, ashed out blac & milds, emptied bottles,
Lost in a cycle..
Im praying to be strong, like my mom said
So I'm still fighting.
Living blinded, sometimes I do feel like screaming for help
But no one reached out a hand
When they knew that I fell.
Blessed that I now have an umbrella
To protect me from the rain
Im still holding on
Cause the season has never changed.
No one really heard of this pain
Cause we all sinners
We too focused on the hopes of fame.
But that's just the flick that starts the flame
How could we hold our head up in the pouring rain
One day I shall release my spirit
Into the sun
Then reunite with all of my loved ones.

©MH
Throwback poem I wrote when I was in a storm with no umbrella.
AM Sep 1
the scariest part of a storm isn’t the rain
the wind
or the lightning

it’s the thunder

the wind and the rain are normal. they’re expected and known.

the lightning is scary but is over as soon as it starts

thunder is the reminder. the loudest part. the deep rumble of anger. the outburst of passion. it strikes fear into the innocent. and unease into the not.

thunder can’t physically hurt us. but it doesn’t stop the fear from thinking it can.

because maybe he will
Eloisa Jul 27
In my quest for solace, love truly never fails,
Your memory magically appears to calm the violent storms and adjust my sail.
Deb Jones Jan 10
Lightning ripped open the sky
Thunder shook the ground
Mother earth on display
William A Poppen Oct 2018
Storm winds from the west
Send us scurrying down the plank
Steps into the dank basement
Sounds become deafening as the
Skies darken

Whatever is happening
Is only visible through a four-paned
Window no larger than a newspaper

At age seven this is all new
Thunder, lightening, storms
Have come and gone
Usually starting in the west
Among growing and billowing clouds
This time the darkness is heavy
Winds blow straight yet swirl simultaneously

A look of fear unlike any he has seen before
Covers his mother’s face

His father, a man of few words and a placid personality
Forces new wrinkles upon his worried forehead

The hay barn slides across the yard
Walking as though each wall has legs
Slowly collapsing, it crumbles into the granary
Once it lands the storm begins to abate
They will survive
Slowly, step by step his father, then his mother
And finally he ascend to view what damage
Has occurred.  One view and he knows the answer
The devastation is real and substantial
Survival, storms, childhood
Ashari Ty Feb 12
.. .. ..
Freeze the droplets, halt the rain
But nature will always bring
Hail storms or snow
Either way, everyone is cold
.. .. ..
Gabriel Bonney Oct 2018
I love storms,
to the point where I would go out of my way
to chase them down.
If I find on the radar that it will miss me,
I'd drive to wherever it would next be,
get out of my car to stand in the rain,
and let the storm surge around me.
In the same way, I love you,
to the point where I would go out of my way
to listen to you all day long.
If I find that you're avoiding me,
I'd kindly step into wherever you'll next be,
get out of my comfort zone to stand in your rain,
and let your storm surge around me.
I wouldn't selfishly wear a rain coat,
but I'd bring an umbrella with me,
so you can step out of your storm,
if only just for a moment,
and stand with me,
so I can remind you of the calm
after the storm.
to l.w. and for everyone else
Lexie Apr 25
If patience is for fools
You will find no wisdom in me
The hands of an anchor do nothing
For the heart of a full sail
Let the waves come
They have met me before
And if they do not remember
I will remind them;
That the salt in my veins is no less than that found in her depths
rhiannon Sep 2018
Disturbances, however hard they try,
Will always be horrifying.
Now alarming is just the thing,
To get me wondering if disturbances are atrocious.

The ramp is not nonthermal!
the ramp is exceptionally nonthermal.
A ramp is hot. a ramp is nonthermal,
a ramp is caloric, however.

hardships are not lean!
hardships are exceptionally zoftig.
Do hardships make you shiver?
do they?

Don't belive that gales are big?
gales are little beyond belief.
Now unimportant is just the thing,
To get me wondering if gales are shrimpy.

I cannot help but stop and look at depressing tornadoes.
Do tornadoes make you shiver?
do they?

Cyclones, however hard they try,
Will always be traumatic.
Never forget the harmful and painful cyclones
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