"thermals" poems
Paragliding is a matter of maths.
You launch, fly, land, bash or crash.
How you meet the ground depends on maths.
Maths is key to survival.
Allowances for maths out of your control, will drive your fun.
Wind, heat, thermals and other pilots in the sky.
Unforgiving ground is gravity's final aim.
The wind will blow, thermals will lift, but gravity's maths will always win.
Your time in the air, and possibly life's end, will depend pilot error.
But gravity's maths doesn't care, he is all.
Gravity is annoyed with paragliders aiming at the ground with miss.
Gravity has calculated it's maths.
He spies those who fly forever, and wishes them on the ground.
With silence and invisibility, he draws those pilots in.
Some follow the maths and land with ease.
Some ignore the maths with peril.
Gravity's maths will always win.
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 8:29 AM UTC
^¡^
/\^/\/\^^/\^^/\/\
like a wraith your smoke doth rise
into sulphur yellow skies
a fiery raptor... awesome sized
where the sultry brimstone lies.
from the ash... so grey and dry
erupting with a piercing cry
as volcanoes steam and sigh
dancing on the sparks you fly!
the devil mounts your back to ride
over molten rivers wide
his golden spurs dig in your side
on the thermals... up you glide!
then you turn and make a dive
into the flames
where you may thrive
born of fire you survive
you were dead...
*but now ALIVE!!!*
soulsurvivor
(c) 2014
rewritten
(c) 3-17-2015
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
Beast surfacing, the geyser blows
sea-spume that sudden, broaching, slows
to blue, then falls, no prim fountain
or ticking clock, Leviathan counting
decades at formal intervals.
On benches over rising thermals
that reach to roast us, faithful, waiting,
we cheer the act of hesitation
before the final curtain -- though, see,
the trick's just heat, just gravity.
Almost enough, I hear you say --
this tidal flame, this awe-filled day,
as mists dissolve and quick steam clears
and cools and sinks, for years, years.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
Patience
(no one noticed)
hardly moves its wings
Playing the atmosphere's
instrument
Poetry
Plying
well-known
Instincts....
Sensing lift of thermals
curling physics
with feather tips
Hanging
motionless
effortless
in love...
...its own
dynamic
unaware
Precursor of imagined--
tracing wind
taming flight
suspending
beauty
Soaring
in the failing words of winter
Slaying
energy
in disbelief of air
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
I listen to the sound of the breaking waves
Smell the salt tang in the air
I watch the graceful seagulls
Ride the thermals way up there
No sound of human voice, no strident car alarms
I sit in natures solitude enraptured by her charms
The sea reflects the sinking sun in hues of red and gold
I'll never tire of such things though I grow grey and old
The first gleam of the evening star appears in the ever growing dark
And the golden crescent of the moon begins her journey through the night
No words of mine can best describe natures perfect charm
This is peace, a perfect peace, tranquillity and calm
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
I love watching swallows
Gyrating and playfully swirls;
Mingle above over the river
Forming in a malee a ball.
Swiftly riding the thermals
Scooping the swelling water.
They shriek wheeling freely
Like boisterous little girls.
I came to see the lively acrobatics
In graceful motion of symmetry.
See enormous body of water flow
Pour itself into it's wide open mouth.
Slowly eroding shaping contours
And lives living along it's banks.
Constantly foreboding danger
And yet beauty and the mighty
Together in harmonious chemistry.
There I was many hours
In thought. What do I ever get?
At the jetty by the imperious
River where until dark I will be.
Time spent the opportunities
Passing by I have no regrets.
I'm like a ship from harbour
To harbour of a predestined life
With cargoes of worthless experience
Till I rot at the bottom of the sea.
Laboriously river meander and flow
Agile wings twist and turn in the air
With invisible brush of arcs and lines
With a vast sky as an open canvas.
The two characters, elements
Of nature, demonstrate their part;
In the theater of strength and grace.
While I am but a nameless intruder
Grateful of the kindness forever last.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
Perched high on a crag,
legs poised to spring,
hearts beating wildly
as we take to the wing
catching warm thermals,
to float on thin air,
taking breath quickly,
hardly any to spare
Now is the time,
wings spread out wide
a smooth operation,
to bank as we glide.
Flowing the motion,
as fluidity is key,
we land, we devour, for Vultures we be…
LadyP©2014
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
*common chilling sights--
i see humanity
ungranted
ice nucleators--
mutual lives underground
buffered dots of heat
Jupiter winds glow
revivals there and then --
red swirls of lust
twelve conquests past
all creatures skyclad
in that loose zodiac belt
unconditional
dark solstice
deepest love
festive thanks
at dread allayed--
more roasted birds
.
the same sun,
snowflake years
uniquely melt
.
still Fall-ripe,
matunda ya Kwanza
nourish unity
.
only a nick,
the green knight forgives
saint sir Gawain
.
winter thin
Shakyamuni trees
entangle star rays
.
Dōngzhì recurs--
tangyuan and dumpling soup
warm ears and hearts
.
Lucy brightens
Advent's tidal frost
sugar powder blind
.
strong eyelids--
holy corpses
smile again
.
endyear eyelids pull
open --
Summer's chain emails
.
i nightgaze here too--
Yalda Shab brightens birth night
vermillion sweet eve
.
gelt to gifts--
sacred lights remembrance
wonders burning yet
.
obstacles embraced
powdered elephant dance
ancient clouds of lore
.
of country dwellers
gifted greatest gifts--
pentacles outshine
.
hot planets glint
subtle light unseen and far --
night sky snow
transaeonic squint
textured sense illumes vast space
light trails interweave
evergreen bird womb
coos beyond my porch--
fireplace ignites
Februa nears--
thermals gather itch for
one last indulgence
Hubble vision melds
an interspecies lens--
"home" descends anew
integral trust--
grapes freeze by vintner's paths
of future sweetness
moss between toes
Spring ooze effluvia
giddy spine sky high*
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
Abbreviations are obscure.
Aren't they?
But I bow my head in certain familiarity with the letters: A.S.A.P.
We have been here before, in yesteryear, today, and eternity.
It is plumbed in the unfathomable depths of what we call "space".
The diversity of experience is tangibly present.
I don't know about you - but I can just about cut a slice of it and eat it, right where I stand.
Talk about having your cake and eating it!
That is likened to the freedom of a bird of prey, as she surfs the thermals of the Great Expanse.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
If Charlie Parker
Could hang his hopes
That someone
In some lost corner of history
Could blow a soaring reunion
With birdland fingers
Tremble dancing in flock
Then in this sapphire of an evening
His old ghost
Is pushing thermals for
These wings of notes to wander in
As they search for some secret progression
That unlocks the amber stairway
To the burgundy heaven of jazz
Drink long enough and swint your eyes
And you might almost mistake the
Stage lights for halos
This was a resurrection in B flat
That curved its broken body into the great throat of god
And begged us to come drink deep
From the red wine redemption of his voice
What else could we do but fill our glasses
And sip our way into sainthood
Off the liquid sound of heavens saxophone
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
We sit in tightly crafted boxes by day
forcing our feral souls to be still.
When we leave our daytime offices
for larger, comfier coffins,
the same spirit we once stifled
rips off its chains of productivity
in favor of a rarefied air full of possibility.
As we soar without any pretension of advancement
we forget that other life that appears with an overly punctual sun.
Through no fault of their own, we fault these day to day doldrums
through bleary red eyes while the true culprit of freedom
waits amongst the thermals until the night breaths anew.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
*They told me to shoot for the stars
But the gravity of negativity
Outweighed the thermals of positivity
And even with everyone's support
To Hell I fell*
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC
Breathe Steady 10.29.20
go forth then, unto God and his Glory, abounding and rejoicing in the power and peace of that holy dwelling place.
abide, therefore, forever in the Love and in the Light.
-sayeth the channelings, sayeth the distorted mask,
sayeth that through which sound passes.-
sons and daughters of the Earth who bathe in the waters
drawn of love/light/wisdom in the bathhouse of
the higher densities and inner planes.
Bath waters of golden white light, brilliant in a
radial pouring forth of tangible understanding and freewill.
scarcely can such energy be described in so
cumbersome a language, charming as it endeavors to be.
underwhelming must the emotions evoked be
in comparison with the All Glory of experience of
that which is spoken of.
the death ****** of the fire-bird serves as its own
inoculum and womb; two ends of a terminus
in polarity.
I activate in order to combine,
dwindling dread.
I seal the upswing of trans-dimensional laughter,
with the everyday tone of exodus.
I am guided by the advent of thermals.
-I am a solar riptide, surf me-
and then time slowed way down.
the semi trucks were like great sea mammals with
their whale calls and slow passage by the flanks.
“Who are you?”
“I am the Kalachakra.”
“Did you hear that?” (hushed tones, hands cover the phone.)
I was quite close to the illusion of Death.
The opaque specter, shaking and rumbling the very
fabric of the matrix about me.
wavering not within the sinkhole of indifference lest my terror turn manifest.
I’ve risen from a pillar of salt,
I’ll rise from the embers next.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 8:37 PM UTC
They crest the white foam in perfect formation,
With purpose and strength they flap as they glide,
Fixated ahead in assured navigation,
Each trailing the other with nowhere to hide.
Then all of a sudden with no clear command,
They veer on some path and head for the sky,
Soaring the waves like a mischievous band,
Riding the thermals with a predatory eye.
No longer a pod but single torpedoes,
Spotting their quarry they launch with intent,
Diving at speed like rapacious mosquitoes,
To feast on that glimmering shoal now hell bent.
Again and again they dive to then surface,
Their sacks full of loot hidden from sight.
Transfixing, majestic, nature's true circus,
The curtain then falling as they once more take flight.
Florida's Pelicans, a marvelous sight,
Gregarious and cheeky with us so entwined,
Once hunted and culled as merely a blight,
Now in our hearts so fully enshrined.
Jul 5, 2023
Jul 5, 2023 at 10:06 AM UTC
if you feed an emotion, it will grow
just as if you place a patch of herbs
legal or not
with water and nourishing soil in the sunniest spot
the problem with an emotion
is that it has the ability to explode
tick tock
and there you are picking up the pieces of your broken heart
but while its path is undeviating
and your spirit soars in the thermals
utter bliss
is this a flight that you can afford to miss?
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
I listen to the sound of the breaking waves, smell the salt tang in the air
I watch the graceful seagulls ride the thermals way up there
No sound of human voice, no strident car alarms
I sit in natures solitude enraptured by her charms
The sea reflects the sinking sun in hues of red and gold
I'll never tire of such sights though I grow gray and old
The first gleam of the evening star appears in the ever growing dark
And the golden crescent of the moon begins her journey night
No words of mine can best describe natures perfect charm
This is peace, a perfect peace, tranquility and calm
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
i hear the cranes again
riding the thermals upward
this warming morning
calling and circling, they
fall into the long v shape
an arrow swiftly northbound
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 12:07 PM UTC
You like all the others
Was moth minded
Searching for flames
To incinerate the wick between your legs,
But I was more Aurora
Than bonfire,
And though you tried to slip yourself
Between these shimmering curtains
My window was softly opened as you slept
And I had slipped away before dawns fingers ever stroked your face awake.
For you see that I will no long burn
Down the forest to chase you from their depths.
Instead I will unfold myself as an orchid
In the swamp of your misplaced memories
And let you creep though the man eating mangroves
To pluck my waiting grin
You see there are fields of tongues
Waiting for lips to ****** them
But they are all speaking in thrusts and moans,
In hidden glances and the unbearable weight of seductions
Below the belly of a girl whose gasps are unseen serenades
In the rolling flush of night
We lock our hands together,
Because the key to release them has been
Swallowed by youth and our hours till morning
Are fading like your slipping resistance,
To letting love land its fragile feathers upon the inside of your thigh,
And then taking wing on the thermals
That rise from the friction of fantasies collision with skin.
In sin I’ll reclaim you
And consecrate our communion
In the cathedrals of your eyes.
Even the way you hold your breath is holy
And though lips are sealed
I like the stammer of your speech
Are slipping secrets into the cavern of an ear,
Where we wait out the weather
Of a thousand spit lovers lost
Trying to douse the bon fire that burns between the legs
Of each and every human that has ever spent the night
Making love to the moon,
Cause she never shows her dark side
Only grins a crescent promise
And laughs as if the stars were suitors
Trying to out sing her cratered mouths.
In a thousand voices she
Whispers hope to this conflicting
River of blood and bone
That make up all I have to sell
To the window shoppers who peak
Their heads into my bedroom to find me
Shaping love out of a pocket full of missed calls and shadows
Who can never drown my thirst
For a straight answer to the timeless question
Of will you still kiss me
In the morning
She rides the winds like a whisper
But can never reach my borealis
And instead burns so sweetly
With lips of ash
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:12 AM UTC
Love is like oxygenated blood which pumps through vascular decades of sensual experience.
Soaring upon the thermals of the Andes, the flight of the Condor reveals perspective of the land, where events are perceived in their complex entirety.
I am fully aware that music can be hypnotic in its ever-flowing stream of rhythmic nourishment. So, there are many parts which make the whole.
Therefore, in the height of our carnivorous quest for survival and intermittent gratification, let us bow in reverence to the many elements of vaginal rituals. It’s a rhythm and blues encore with wings which are not comparable to those of Icarus.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
When the last vision is lost
And the moon rises over the red mountains
Does the soul crawl forth and walk again?
The only angels, buzzards riding on thermals
Greet the flesh with hunger. And what
heart opens to see the beauty of love
Of compassion? The perpetual expanse
Of stars above, the great unfolding.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
This describes all of the cottage industry angels that men produce they are angels for profit
Pure angels Zechariah 1:8 “I saw by night and behold a man riding on a red horse and it stood
Among the myrtle trees in the hallow and behind him were horses red, sorrel, and white then I
Said my lord what are these so the angel who talked with me said to me I will show you what
They are” what they are is the most pleasurable and pure knowing of angels they are in God’s
Word doing the work of God we don’t discredit angels in books but here you can have a sigh of
Relief knowing assuredly their wings is not noise filled from rust or any manner of impurity
Join them in complete utter trust they haven’t been set before you for any ulterior motive of
Anyone the song blessed assurance doesn’t come from this but how glorious here the door is
Wide open come in and dwell among sacred doings in the earth feel alone weak sad come to
This clearing that appears profound all powerful truly you can mount up on angel wings soar
The True dimensions of the soul unbound in delirious thrilled freedom ride on thermals created
By visitors who call heaven home you will be touched by reality unknown to human thought
Truly the rush of angel’s will surround you live in a beleaguered world of fallen angels that only
Seek our hurt but in this rarified place where heavenly glory is readily displayed you will know
Peace comfort and power adrift you are bestowed with garlands now temporarily but one day
It will be replaced with a golden sacred crown on your head His gleaming light will shoot out in
All directions accompanied by your joyous laughter these are truths and thoughts that will
Enrobe you enthrall you the sweetest tremble the softest tenderness will beguile you where
You will abide among true friends and protectors that serve God honorable just a few true
Words that will truly uplift you what is being described is your birthright your treasure without
Measure it’s not written in stone but in Holy love that consumes heaven’s thoughts you are the
Central most desirable discussion that heaven ever has this is just one mention of that truth
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
I soar on eagles wings
Above mean grey city streets
Where the seething anthills of humanity
Not truly alive but do exhists
The stinking **** stained stairwells
Where the dealers ply their evil trade
Where life is held so cheaply
Who will see another day
You walk into the wrong street
And your life is on the line
You smell the rancid stink of corruption
In these the modern times
The thermals lift me higher
Carry me to the South
Below a verdant meadow
Where wild flowers abound
Picnics taking place
'Neath the spreading boughs
Of the stately chestnut tree
And gentle dappled light
Down there in a chrystal stream
Children laugh and play
No drugs or air pollution
To Mar such a beautiful day
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
Blown between thermals
black tips punctuate azure.
Steady glide
empty horizons loom.
Pitiful cries
Fear her own abandonment
and white headed stallions
charge below,
their salt sweat
scorch throat, blind eyes.
An inborn junction
she turns curse free
The scent of green
Fills the levanter
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
The quest for both burial and resurrection are significant, as their flickering shadows of the self-depreciatory abyss chant their silent and hauntingly audible presence under the canopy of the ancient forest.
Let us celebrate the night together, as we are traumatically enveloped within an exposed and dialectical pronunciation during this classical and acoustic daylight romance.
Although I truly hate your love, I also reject your evident indifference.
This is the essence of feeling like a fake within the genuineness of our actual and perceived realities.
It is heaven-sent, like a feathered breed of unresolved investigations within our socio-political climate of assumed advancement, where the intensity of the beat gyrates her percussionist hips across ******* expressions of the cosmological sound barrier.
Concurrently, the tangible rhythm of nature’s pulse considerately consummates her forcefully placid interactions within the context of gender specific diversity.
It is all in the name of discriminatory wholeness, my friend.
Our ambivalent connectedness to that which is catastrophically uncertain reminds me of drawing curtains across this conglomerate dawn of darkness and uninhibited concealment.
Just look at our ornithological formation, where leadership spreads her wings with censored zoological resignations and simplistic wisdom.
You have truly lifted my soul within the complexity of this circuitry, and I wholeheartedly acknowledge that we are a myriad of expressions which cannot be adequately articulated within the thermals of our cosmological stratosphere.
Yet, there is a certain finesse to delinquency, and I have bridged the metaphorical gap across the chasm of divided entities, where we can embrace the cool and gentle breeze right at the fulcrum of unforgiving landscapes and shamanic pastures.
Like an artistic depiction of woodland serenity, we are engaged in this wonderful neutrality where it is all about the dance – otherwise known as the energy of modern choreography.
Epistemology can be questionable, where assumptions are sickeningly grounded within the soil of egocentric perceptions of supremacy.
Trust me, my seasoned partner of those astral plains of Nirvana: my lips are sealed in this putrid reconciliation of proclaimed opposites, which are said to mutually attract.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Winging on thermals
across river valleys
counting days until
death hones-in;
lead pellets
swallowed,
prey
eaten.
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC