"thunderclouds" poems
My Kite
The view of purplish branches upon the trees and
Looking beyond grassy mountains on the horizon
Bring back memories of my childhood days,
Wading in a nearby creek and flying my kite before a sunlit sky
And then recalling the wind beginning to blow.
Magenta leaves would decorate
Branches of both growing and fallen trees-
Wild geese soared above and deer were running freely
While my kite was carried upward by the wind
As highly as those trees would ever grow.
My kite I believed would carry that mysterious spirit deep inside of me
Into which I had placed all my faith and trust
The tail of my kite seemed to cross the sun, though far above me
I feared the demons’ of the woodlands following me as I walked-
But with strong assurance I pursued my kite wherever it would go.
Dark clouds began to cover the sun one day and
Branches upon the trees were seemingly blackening
While lightening sharply illuminated the sky
I believed a storm was rapidly approaching.
As fright and haunting disbelief inside of my mind began to overshadow. .
I have told others that my kite held within my protective soul which was always with me
Because I saw it to be an angel dancing freely in the sky
I believe my kite held inside the spirit of a seraph,
That saved me from all that betrayed and hurt me
As the voices inside of my mind had often told me so.
Years have passed and that wind was always fierce and deceitful-
Breaking the string with which I held my kite-
I sadly watched it as it flew higher and higher towards the sky
Until it disappeared behind those approaching darkening thunderclouds
Vanishing beyond my sight- leaving me frightened and alone below.
Years have also passed since I lost my kite which I believed was my guiding illumination
People would laugh and say my mind had escaped reality
Now I can see that there is no one to save me from those demons of this planet
I still hide the pain of loss of my spirit of salvation behind laughter and a smile
But that does not erase the void I feel inside and that is an unrelenting sorrow.
Claudia Krizay
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Under the blanket of slanted waters, streaming down,
Behind the silver linings of the distant thunderclouds
The eternal sun lies suffocating, sheathed by the storm.
The rain smears the gray heavens. The world
Drowns behind the endless battery of the downpour.
Each trickle, each moment, quickly falling. Fading
Into the cesspool of dirt and debris. The pit
Of emotions and forgotten truths, washed away.
The leaves twist and turn at every droplet's touch
Crying out in soft thuds on the heavy roofs above.
Like the tin roofs and the sun and the heavens
And like the leaves and the dirt and debris
I gently whisper my pleas to the deluge:
*Rain.
Purge me.
Douse the embers
of false passion and ire.
Absolve me.
Cleanse this melancholy.
Ease these memories.
Purify me.
Rinse away the guilt.
Sink these doubts.
Restore me.
Clarify my vision.
Refine my thoughts.
Heal me.
Replenish my soul.
Bring about forgiveness.
Rain.
Revitalize my roots.
Soothe my mind.
Soak my bones.
Calm my spirit.
With your perennial blessings,
Bathe me in your sacred waters
So that peace
May finally find me.*
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC
A somber feeling, carried by pure agony,
Flowing, drifting, swiftly in the stream of thoughts, as the spilled pieces just have vanished, never to be whole again, or gazed upon,
The pieces of a time crafted in blessed and happy thoughts,
Swaying back and forth, the once illuminated, azure heaven far above is darkening with ominous looking, thick, yet allure thunderclouds,
Perhabs once this sky has cleared up again, this scene will shine just as majestic as it did before, without worry nor care, without pain.
Ah, phantoms.
I would like to lose myself in this wandering fragnance of what used to be a wonderous and amortal spring dream, created in plain fantasy
But after the city already lost its colour to the obscure horizon,
I realised you were no longer here with me,
And the pieces of a past long gone, have cut my skin before vanishing
Chasing a brighter past caused the future, knocking on my door to be dark, yet such emotions made the world I inhabit a cold, lonesome but also a very gentle place,
Even if tomorrow were never to come,
I wouldn't be able to care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes.
~ Umi
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 6:36 AM UTC
Tell me a story, traveller,
of unwalked roads you walked alone
beneath the blue and sunlit sky,
paved with earth or cobblestone
and straying clouds that wander by.
of strange lands and stranger folks
and strange songs they sang with you,
in strange tongues they call their home,
that, in your dreams, was somewhere new.
of temporary loves you loved,
then set your broken lovers free,
and healed your broken, heartless soul
beneath the starry sky and sea.
of darkened woods and foreign sound
that haunt the night-time every night.
of moons that follow footsteps quiet
and stars that watch in silent light.
of stormy nights and thunderclouds
that failed to bring your childish fears,
and drowning rain that drowned the winds
and brought you melancholic tears.
of snowy golden sunsets high
on mountain sides, ragged and old
and tears of wonder, tears of joy,
love of stories left untold.
of rivers running swiftly by
your resting sleep ere break of day.
of twilights that blanket the sky
and sweep the orange clouds away.
of lost lanterns and memories
and aimless wandering in the night.
of faraway towns of scattered starry
homes so warm and hearts so bright.
of lone camp-fires’ dancing songs
and lonely faded quiet applause.
of longing and of selfish pain,
of losing love and loving loss.
Tell me a story, traveller,
of reminiscing in grateful shade,
and of your final travel home
before your loving memories fade.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
The girl was scared of puddles
And she was scared of rain
Every time the thunder clapped
She raced back inside again
She was given beautiful umbrellas
And coats of waterproof silk
But still she sat inside
And read on the window sill
As she grew the rain poured harder
And the girl cowered away
She hid behind her mother’s back;
She never ran to play
She was afraid of what the droplets were
So she sat and watched them gather
She still refused to step outside
And so she grew ever sadder
People came along
And people quickly left
They found the girls odd cowardice;
The way she counted every breath
There came a day when it was too late
And the girl was forced outside
She was lost without her silken coats
And with no place that she could hide
The girl was chilled clean through to bone
And her shy life came to an end
In her silken coats she reached the gates
And the golden stairs she did ascend.
In God’s own home she lay down her fears
And she swore that she’d be brave.
For there there are no window sills
And no pouring rain or hate.
Saint Peter smiled and praised her,
The girl who’d been inside,
And Saint Peter whispered truthfully
As he watched the young girl cry:
“Now, girl who’s scared of puddles,
And girl who’s scared of rain,
Did you ever think that when the thunder claps
It doesn’t have to mean your pain?”
“There’s others out there, like you
Who have suffered just as much
Yet they stay strong and they pull through
And they do not lose touch.
“I’ve been here always to protect you,
And that will never change.
So when you’re scared next just think of that,
And stand to face the rain.”
You must learn to love the puddles
And embrace the freezing drops
Dance under the thunderclouds
Until the lightning stops
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
Forever falling
Through the open hearts of outstretched arms
Tunnel vision of the past
Paves the roads ahead
The off-ramps of destiny are untamed, forgotten, and overgrown
No safety awaits me, and
There is no shelter under the roof of a broken home
Storms chase me, but
In thunderclouds I drown out the world
Wanderer
Weary of only the weather
Inside his own reflection
Jul 1, 2021
Jul 1, 2021 at 3:47 PM UTC
I found it on the floor of
the women’s dressing room
after a concert.
The ladies were long gone
and I was clearing up.
It was one inch long and
the wings were one inch wide.
The dragonfly had
two overlapping oval wings
on each side
and a long curved tail.
The body and tail
were set with butterscotch
yellow rhinestones.
The wings held chartreuse stones.
Two white rhinestones were the eyes.
The quality of the stones
was extraordinary
though the setting
was not really gold.
When I took it to my office
to put it
in the lost and found
my extra many ceiling lights
made it sparkle
like in a jewelry store display.
I put it on a stack of tissues
I keep at the ready on my desk
so I could see it
any time I wanted.
When I moved my head
just slightly, it would make
the sparkles seem to move as well.
It made me very happy
just to look at it
and I have no idea why.
Nobody called to claim the pin
It’s value is likely very small
But it’s come to symbolize some of
The shiny things I hope to capture
In the time remaining of my life.
It won’t be long ‘til I
am forced to
spread my own frail wings
and fly
from this cocooned
career of work.
Perhaps the dragonfly
will be a talisman
and lead me to
the meadows
I have dreamed of:
awash in creativity,
accomplishments rewarded,
and never any gales
of jealousy
or the thunderclouds of
evil that
rattle my windows here.
On the day when everything
is packed and shipped, my
keys turned in,
lights turned off
for the last time
and I am free, I will pin the
dragonfly
to my collar and
and take us looking
for that meadow.
ljm
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 2:00 AM UTC
Hustling winds,
through the silent streets.
A dying flower,
with a hope to live.
Thunderclouds,
in search of solace.
A blank paper,
awaits to be written on.
Somewhere amidst this chaos,
we met.
We met,
for the wind,
to break the silence,
for the flower,
preserved forever,
between the pages of our story,
for clouds,
to let it rain,
for paper,
decorated in smell of love.
We met,
like the limitless sky meets the land,
with memories sealed in clouds,
sailing across the silent blue ocean.
We met,
like the drifting river meets the sea,
mixing into each other,
making it one water altogether.
We met,
like the first drop of blissful rain meets the thirsty earth,
losing his existence,
to nurture her.
We met.
Jun 24, 2021
Jun 24, 2021 at 3:22 PM UTC
I slip shrouded through a summer’s mist
Away from sterile streetlights
That cast a distorting haze, hiding
Endless solar waves, that rest above
This earthly place where I pass my days
With stars tied tight to an infant night
I run and cup one lightning bug for my lantern light
Like being guided by my adolescence, to an open shore
Where the sky meets the vastness of my sleepless mind
This place is free of weight that holds me down;
No thunderclouds hover above me now
Constellations; like scars upon the sky, share stories
Through the passing tides of time. Cassiopeia undone by her pride,
Reminds me when to swallow mine. So often, I feel chained like the maiden;
Andromeda, imprisoned by a pious Poseidon.
On this lonely beach,
I trace my own tale, like a signature on the night. Not a hero but,
I was here. The simple story of a wandering man,
Always willing to lend an ear.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 6:24 PM UTC
"The Gathering Storm"
Shifting, churning, swirling, .... the breeze comes spritely
from the slate colored billows of the thunderclouds.
A gentle whisper at first,..... then building to a crescendo,
tickling the underbellies of leaves..... and rolling them over.
Bending the supple tips of branches to a rythmn
unknown to any author of music.
A rythmn of nature following no rules.......
and knowing no bounds.
What reason shall it follow,....
when the flapping of a sparrows wings,
And brief stirring of the air by a single bird,
......a half continent away
Shall have a cause and effect on what...
we feel pulsing against our exposed skin.
Is it not so with us,.... each one of us as a single sparrow,
flitting about and mingling with other creatures
Shall we not have an effect on that,.... that we touch
with our alterations of what is... and what was
We can only have hope,.. to manage the chaos
of the seeds that we sow... and the sprouts of our intellect.
Not knowing what will grow from our aspirations of changing that
that is .... to that,... that we dream it to be.
Shall we dare to become the God that we have worshipped .....
Shall we dare become the ... Sheperd's of the universe.
Perhaps, !! ..... but we must lay down the rules and know the bounds.
Let us not forget,..... we are but caretakers
for the creations of a greater spirit.
"The Gathering Storm"
Written By Dennis Gilchrist
Aug 30, 2011
Aug 30, 2011 at 9:07 AM UTC
Twilight falls across the bay
Soothes the worries of the day
As the shore adores the sea
Me for you and you for me
Stars appear across the sky
Whisper leaf and curlew cry
As the lock is for the key
Me for you and you for me
There is traffic, there is waste
Icy doubt and black disgrace
There are thunderclouds of fear
But they cannot touch us here
There are nightmares, there are wars
Broken hearts and slamming doors
There are phantoms of the mind
Here, we leave them all behind
Gentle darkness on the land
Beating hearts and touching hands
It's as simple as can be
Me for you, and you for me.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
it's so heavy, why's it so heavy?
it's the vegetable I ate or maybe too much.
strings drawn tight and a strong drawing
cleanse the inside and outside.
it feels heavy, a break to prevail
shrews in fields and thunderclouds
a different darkness falls on countenance
the railway shrieks, the train has come.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
you mumble and maunder
all through your afternoon
nap....
never quite still,
but not thrashing about...
and then you wake,
tired and grumpy
all sweat and stickyness
two hours of tired
and five years of sassiness
standing before me
with thunderclouds for
eyebrows....
you want!!!....
but what you get is
a big hug a quick dash
to the next door neighbors pool....
please god....when will this
heatwave end???
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Thunderclouds booming like a military drum
Rain is pelting with a solitary hum
Lightning is crackling like the breaking of bones
The sky is attacking rough enough to break stones
The sun was a blood clot, before in the sky
a burning ball of fire that could gouge out your eyes
The grass was scorching, like needles beneath feet
Until the sun set, admitting untimely defeat
And the sky rolled yonder, like an enemy crouched
An ominous shadow till the war cry was announced:
Ear-splitting boom, that rattles in your gut
Louder than a gun, and it stuns, now you run -
But there's nowhere to run
There's nowhere to hide
From the galloping dread, like a torrential tide
Its coming for you, twisted hand of fate
shaped like a lightning bolt, straight out of the gate
The faces that peer, innocently knowing
That the sky-god's wrath was menacingly growing
They're scattered across planes, barren as ice
As the enemy cuts across them, with a single clean slice
Unwavering is fate, that tossed out their doom
And such is life and death,
As sudden
As unpredictable as a thunder's boom.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
1. I like the color of your sweater and the stripes on your sleeves and I especially like how the ends fray and the gray looks more like milk than it does a rainy day sky or a weatherbeaten road.
2. The reason I stepped back was not because you smelled funny, or that I was shocked to find you there, but because the air condition was hitting me right on the shoulders and I left my red sweater at home.
3. Okay, so maybe I was a bit shocked at finding you there; it’s just that you’re the first one who’s ever bothered lingering at the poetry section besides me, and I’m not good with surprises; in fact, I hate surprises.
4. But you’re a good kind of surprise.
5. I like your glasses. I used to have a pair just like them before someone removed them and told me that I should learn to see differently. Things have been kind of unclear since then, but I’m learning how to hold onto the side rails.
6. I hope you’ll let me remove yours, too.
7. Your hair looks like a bird’s nest. I wonder if you’re hiding life or pieces of green bottle in there. That’s a lovely shade of brown, by the way. I’ve never seen chocolate curls before.
8. Do you think that if a pine wants to, it will grow until its branches poke holes in the sky for stars and pinecones to fall out so we can catch them in our palms and compare who got the most scratches and who caught the most stardust?
9. The book you picked up happens to be my favorite. If you turn to page 118 you’ll find a poem about churning seas, angry thunderclouds, and a drifting boat that lost its sail.
10. I think I finally found my sail.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 5:25 AM UTC
**his mind was filled with thunderclouds,
that were holding in sadness and pain,
so he screamed out loud,
and let his words pour out like rain.**
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
Round and round we spin.
I’m dizzy and disoriented
from swirling emotions that
leave me wanting to hold onto your hand.
Back and forth words are spoken.
Suspicions and wondering
twist our love into a ball of
turmoil that is trying to unravel.
Over and over we dance to the same song.
Rhythms of broken hearts
beat like raindrops against
the glass walls of our souls.
Up and down our lives rise and fall.
Days will be sunny or stormy
with clearing skies or thunderclouds that
build to a towering mountain of despair.
Trust each other and believe in us.
Cast the doubts and fears out to sea
where they will sink to the bottom of the ocean floor
to live amongst the wreckage that lies below.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC
Lemonade in hand
Cool sweet breezes are blowing
Little petals wilt
Thunderclouds are moving in
Just before the thunderstorm
~Marian~
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
It’s shattering,
the splintering Crunch
of greasy potato chips
between my greedy molars:
chips that taste like stale smoke
and the salty yellow Crunch
of the Mylar bag
that holds them closer
than a health-crazed mother holds her child.
It’s drowning my senses out,
the accountant-firm Crunch
of black coffee characters
beneath my crippled fingertips:
keystrokes that sigh like short fuses
and the riffled paper Crunch
of the overpriced notebook
that was sold to protect
them against non-quantum uncertainties.
It’s pointless,
the mortar and pestle Crunch
of sundried willpower
before my monolithic day-planner:
obligations that loom like thunderclouds
and the omni-present Crunch
of the rigid ticking deadline,
that has concocted its scheme
to unravel my pleasant net of silky procrastination.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
1. Every time I look you in the eye, I see thunderclouds. Yes, your laugh is silver bells on a spring day and your smile could have caused Mona Lisa to grin all the way in, but they’re right. Your eyes are the behind the scenes and your body is a movie. I don’t enjoy watching movies.
2. I can’t keep up with the storyline. Chapters fifteen and sixteen were about homecomings, and now the main character’s digging his own grave again. You never explained to me how he went from dancing in the moonlight to rubbing ash on his head, just when I thought we were getting already to the ******
3. The wounds are reopening. I thought you knew better than to pick at the stitches.
4. Your heart must be handcuffed to mine. I feel it every time you hurt, every time you pull, every time you cry out and ask God, “Why?” The only difference is that every inch you move away is a sucker punch in my gut. I’ve never had a high tolerance for pain.
5. Do you know how many poems I’ve written about you? Try walking outside at night and count every street lamp from here to the opposite side of the sea. My words burn too, but they never seem to be bright enough for you to see. You’re still tripping in broad daylight.
6. I’m tired of standing behind you.
7. Hope is an anchor, but I’m starting to drown.
8. Sometimes I scream in frustration because the seeds are taking too long to grow. It’s so easy to forget that they will. It’s even easier to forget that I’m not the savior. But I try to be, so I’m putting down this yoke, little by little.
9. Seeds do grow and their trees make enough rings to tell stories to last generations.
10. I heard in a song that love alone is worth the fight. Maybe I’ll continue this battle long enough for you to see that we’ve already won this war, so that the next time I look at you in the eye, I’ll see the northern lights.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
Dear, dear, don’t go out, dear
don’t move don’t play don’t do
stay, stay in my embrace, is my caress not enough for you?
i’ll hug your frame till the inside it flees for good
safe and warm and safe and warm
they’ve come and i’ve no way to go, stay
the door is closed, you see them drift by but don’t go, don’t go
heady bright fluorescents that drug, stay planted
with me dear, with me, don’t go
hold me back, closer, i’ll drop a kiss on your blank forehead
dear i love you, i love you, i love you
live thunderclouds in the sky, killing rain solidified underneath
they play haunting un-music, the silence absolute
and dear stop asking questions,
don’t talk about them don’t break under curiosity, stay still, stay silent
stay here in my embrace and let us comfort each other
dear shh, no don’t, don’t talk, because they’ll know
they’ll know they’ll know they know
dear you left me, i told you not
to go but you went through the door like a storm
and you closed it; the room is electricity as
i watch you move; cobbled streets
and then you are there in front and i wasn’t enough as
they reach tendrils to your cheeks and whisper the universe
you laugh and tessellate
and then you fall and crash and dissolve
dear i am alone
i still see you out there sometimes, purple and black
and blue where they loved you
a delicacy; escargot for the new reign
of apathetic gods who love and then forget and
dear, dear the house creaks where they brush by and i
miss those questions, wind in my ears
not silent prairie of fear and loss and grief
dear i love you
dear i am not enough
dear i am sorry
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
Chills run up my spine as the spring air cools. I notice the sky behind me. Thunderclouds clash and lightning strikes at a distance.
The storm is coming.
There are blurred faces everywhere, in a rush to get to safety. As the storm's fury would take their lives if they were to be trapped. But I do not fear the tempest. I hear it calling to me, as if to lure me into its eminent danger.
The storm moves closer.
As if to intimidate me, the clouds taunt me with their peril, and the salty rain fills my eyes. The thunder is deafening. The downpour soaks my shoes, running off my coat in the middle of the gale.
The storm is all around me.
Black thunderheads above me, the lightning strikes. The illumination casts shadows in the sky, a perfect silhouette.
The storm is beautiful.
The storm moves on, the sun pierces the clouds, and a silver lining of discomfort and insecurity enter the void in my soul.
The storm is my comfort.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
Purple
All my thoughts of you are purple.
You will ever be inky,
Regal,
The last colour of the rainbow.
Lush berry stain
And a famous rain.
Pools, purpled with the heart of the moon
through thunderclouds,
Viscous and inviting.
Amethyst lover.
A rose dappled with dew.
As if it wept
Like my bruised and aching heart.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC