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Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Scattered Thunderstorms

The radar shows a band of multi-green storms,
Parallel running to the East Coast,
Stretching from So. Florida to Falmouth, Rhode Island.

Path-dependent, the edges skirt my present location,
Instrumented, but not weather resistant,
Water teases, invites me to a head clearing session.

Breezy gusts of overcast, caramel salty bay waters,
(weirdly calm),
Spray sprites whisper, scattered thunderstorms, starboard side

I am the only boat out, especially,
The only one going for sure aimlessly,
Radar non-discriminatory, stupidity legal,
So fools like me go out alone.

Scattered Thunderstorms,
Unavoidable, summer's favored annoyance of choice.

The melancholic platelets budding off my bone's marrow,
Forming wondrous clots of sadness,
Running strong in the currents of my veins,
Downtempo'd, there is no relief for
Inside of my radar scanned brain, the scattered thunderstorms,
Have arrived much earlier today.

What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?

The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!

It is so easy to feel ******,
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.

Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day

Value you more than me, but you've worn me down
My blood streams your anguished distress,
I cannot survive these scattered revolver-repeating
Anguish-Cries-For-Relief from the Thunderstorms,
That now having reached, breached,
That now, having infected my heart which started
This day brow beaten,
First poem of the day, already shell-shellacked,
Now, I must shut me, batten me, down.

The average lifespan of a platelet is normally just 5 to 9 days. Platelets are a natural source of growth factors. They circulate in the blood of mammals and are involved in hemostasis, leading to the formation of blood clots.
the Sandman Jul 2016
I hold glass bottles to the sky
In thunderstorms,
I go home and shelf them for light.
I crawl up and back into you
In thunderstorms
and wrap in warmth till I can't breathe.
Drown me
In thunderstorms;
Hold my head down inside your veins.
Your goosebumps hug me to you, snug,
In thunderstorms
When I find asylum under
Your thumb.
In thunderstorms,
I love you again. Just for a while,
While my mind pours columns of cold,
In thunderstorms
That hang over my head and haunt
Me with self-doubt till I stress out.
In thunderstorms,
I watch the rain drip down my brain
And cut through ice and chloroform.
g Sep 2014
she loved the rain
the splitter splatter sound
every drop makes
were music to her ears

she loved the thunder
the ferocity of its roar
gave her the strength
to hold on for awhile more

she loved the lightning
the beauty of each stroke
containing the lethal power to hurt and ****
yet remain in inexplicable beauty

in short she loved thunderstorms
a mixture of rain thunder and lightning
just like her inner conflict of thoughts
and emotional turmoil

she compared herself to thunderstorms
not that she was a beauty
but she believed that
it depicted the words she wanted to say

she loved them so much
she chose to die on the day
there was a thunderstorm outside
pouring out things she never said.
exams tomorrow ****
Trevon Haywood Apr 2014
Thunderstorms will impact you.
And it's not going to hurt you.
So, have your umbrellas ready.
Because it's gonna be a big one with some heavy rain, loud thunder and dangerous frequent lightning.
And it will never go away forever.
It's just Mother Nature's wrath.
Of love and passion.

Anonymous. 4/8/2014.
Thunderstorms will impact you.
Chloe Elizabeth May 2014
I could sit here all night and listen to the thunder, watch the lightning and run my fingers through the raindrops on my windowsill; trying to think of the perfect way to put into words how a thunderstorm makes my body tired and my mind feel safe but the truth is, I just love thunderstorms so ******* much. That is how I feel.

By Chloe Elizabeth
I just love thunderstorms so ******* much.
Trevon Haywood Oct 2015
I love thunderstorms.
Like beautiful girls do.
I'm so glad that I'm not scared.
I always be safe.
I love to see lightning.
I love to hear thunder.
I love to see the rain falling.
Against my window pane.

Storms scared me sometimes
Katlan Alexia Mar 2014
My mind consists of thunderstorms
it rains its pours all day
memories, thoughts, pictures of you
always washed away

happiness is short
stress and sadness stay
while the colors of the rainbow fade
i see plenty shades of grey

the day you left is when it started
it never leaves my mind
thunderstorms reoccurring
falling close behind

Lydia May 2018
"But what if we're wrong?"
It was silent
But her thoughts echoed around in my head as we laid on top of her pickup truck
I swatted at the eighteenth mosquito chewing on my leg
I don't want this to be love

We were tangled up in the acoustic music they play on the radio on Sunday mornings
She was trying to dream up something clever to write about
And I was pretending I could learn to play guitar through osmosis,
As if blending myself in with the harmonies, finding her in every lyric, and sheer willpower would give me wings or at least magic guitar hands

She set the alarm, checked it over and over
She was not going to be late for her first day
I told her I'd be asleep when she got home, she told me she knew
I told her to wake me up

I wasn't looking for perfect
Perfect really only applies in first year physics courses
After that, we learn to fall in love with "rough around the edges" or "unique" or "unfinished"
As if their life is a puzzle that we need to complete
Just so you know, it isn't

She bought me breakfast and dropped me off
She used to tell me she loved me, but I know she didn't
She does now, so she doesn't have to say it anymore
When I said, "love," before, I didn't really mean it
Not like I mean loving the garden on the balcony of her apartment or thunderstorms in May
Even if I was a puzzle that she completed (and I'm not saying that I am), we didn't need any glue to fit perfectly
The support on this poem has been unbelievably incredible. I am so grateful for this community with all of these lovely people :)

Please comment :)
Frankie Gestone Mar 2013
He woke up in a rapid sweat, darkness surrounding him, his soaked pillow was pressing up on his neck as he could feel the uncomfortable stabbing cold run right threw his whole body. His mouth was dry and his body was in great pain. He lay there practically naked, but not just physically, also emotionally. It was like a catatonic state where the person’s body is paused in reality, but the actual person is far away and isolated even from himself. He wondered why he was so comfortable being uncomfortable and remaining frozen in time.  He saw nothing but the subtle moonlight that peaked through the blinds of his window. A point of existence, he feels nothing because all he has ever felt has drowned him. His numbness was being accepted and he embraced that if he remained this way, he would never have to feel hurt or heartbreak again. It’s better this way, he confirmed.

Eventually he got up out of his bed, walked outside to a nearby empty field. He looked up at the infinite night sky and contemplated the moon, the stars, and the endless space that sustained all of its existence. A tear fell down his cheek as he remembered the beautiful wonder of life and the universe; his realization that he is just a small spec of dust compared to all that is and all that is wonderful. Whatever happened to that universal happiness he used to feel? The feelings of the unseen, the cosmos, the mysteries that remain unsolved were all love. He then felt ancient and brand new at the same time-always being around all that is, but recently born into the unknown. The silence of the night swarmed him, and he suddenly embraced all the things he could not accept. The lullaby of the wind put him to sleep.

When he awoke, it was twilight. The sky was a lighter, deep blue and the sun in the far distance was rising in a fiery halo of mixed red, orange, and yellow colors, and the early morning clouds were clear and transparent. He heard the sound of a train horn in the far distance. He followed the sound with his ears as the sound became slightly louder and louder. Then, suddenly he could see the light of the early morning train.

The train had stopped as he approached it, and he hopped on with no hesitation or looking back. This runaway train was going to take him to where he needs to be, and he blindly and faithfully accepted that his fate was out of his hands now. No more heartbreak, no more reminders of the past, and most importantly no more drowning in his tears. As the train proceeded to move forward, he could feel fresh air gently touch his face, and all that he saw and ever knew were now flashing lights disappearing into eternity.

It was hours into the late morning when the train made its first stop. He listened to the train conductor speak out over the intercom, almost incoherently, say, “This is Brightstone Park. Next stop will be Riverhead.” A nostalgic feeling suddenly came over him as he could remember that his very first kiss was in Brightstone Park with Jessica Garzi. That was not his first true love, but his very first heartbreak. Riverhead was a forbidden memory, as he knew a classmate who had committed suicide off the Riverhead Bridge. He had not returned there in five years because of his haunting memories that would always come back to remind him just how cold and frightening the world really is.

While lost in thought, he felt a rough, sand paper-like wet feeling on his forearm. He looked down and it was a black cat, but not all black. The paws were all white like socks, and the chest and stomach were snow white. The loud prominent purr was a very peculiar reminder of a cat he once owned. Her name was Midnight. She was not the friendliest cat to strangers, but she loved him, especially when he massaged her paws. This cat was practically identical to Midnight. Midnight was put down three years ago though. As he began petting the cat’s back, it ran away and jumped off the moving train. He looked out in a hurry, but it was gone. It was just like everything else he loved. There for one moment, then gone the next. The strange thought that has one wondering if anything had actually existed that is now no more. A person, or a thing, could mean everything to you, but once they slip away, they become like the wind: occasionally brushing up against you, but never revealing its form.

On the train he began to wonder how he got where he was, and in general how the smallest decisions he made lead to bigger events and all in all, everything was all connected. There are no isolated events, or isolated people- it is all proven fact and science. Everything depends on each other to survive. The trees depend on the sun to keep themselves alive; we give off carbon dioxide to the trees and in return, we receive the oxygen we need from the leaves of the trees. He thought about the potential of a seed-for example, a tomato seed. Within that tiny seed is unlimited potential of life: The seed may produce one plant of several tomatoes, and within all those tomatoes are countless other seeds. This is all from one seed. Then, one may take a couple of seeds from a picked tomato and plant them throughout the yard creating a garden. That original seed came from another tomato seed inside a tomato on a plant, and that seed came from another seed. When did this cycle of reproduction begin and when does it end? Is it just another form of the infinite? When a person eats a tomato from that original seed, he receives certain essential vitamins his body needs for surviving and sustaining good health. This good health will effect his offspring and so on and so on. When he defecates, that will all return to the earth for potential fertilizer used for other tomato seeds. This is the same when he returns to the earth again. His dust will fertilize the same world that he came from, for all things come from it just to inevitably return to it.

He continued to think about how matter is never created nor destroyed and the same for energy. Nothing ever truly dies; the form changes into something new, like how water becomes a cloud and the cloud becomes water. Though this comforted him, he noticed that a few feet away from him was a former coworker and friend, Natasha Karev. She always infatuated him and they became close friends, but he always wished it had continued and gone even further than it did. One night, only a couple of years ago, they were at a friend’s party. Both were drinking, but not so heavily. That night they bonded and got so close, that she admitted she loved him. He was never quite sure how real that “I love you” was, but it was burned inside his heart ever since. That night there were moments she would tell him how much she wanted to make love to another guy at the party, Kevin, but was afraid to approach him. She told him she desperately wanted to lose her virginity that night to somebody because she was eighteen and only getting older. This was like a sharp knife slowly penetrating into his heart. He remained speechless for quite a few minutes. Finally he decided to go up in a bedroom alone. To his surprise, she followed him up and kissed him. He felt her clothed body up and down, and she touched areas not many have touched before. She told him she wanted to have *** and that she wanted him to rob her of her virginity. He was speechless, but extremely excited. Then, abruptly, she told him she could not because everything was happening way too soon. Why couldn’t she just make up her mind? He sat frustrated in the darkness, again, all alone. After that night, they spoke and remained close, yet that night was never mentioned again. It was as if it had never happened. After about two years of an on and off friendship, they just went their own ways. There were no fights or disagreements. Life just separated them.

“You’re just a figment inside somebody’s dream. So far from reality, you are a dream within a dream within a dream.” Startled by this soft voice, he quickly turned around to see Natasha smiling at him. “Ha-ha! I knew I could scare you. Were you abused as a kid, or something?” No words could come out at that moment, but he hugged her tightly. She explained to him that she is getting off at the next stop to meet a friend. He was sure he wanted to follow her and see where life would take him. She reminisced and told him how she had been away inside her own cave for several months, but is now very happy to meet up with everyone she had lost contact with.

The next stop arrived, but he did not catch the name of the stop he was getting off. As he got off with several others, both he and Natasha met up with her friend, Valeria, who he found quite cute. She resembled Natasha a bit in that they both had ***** blonde hair and blue eyes. They walked right into a giant street fair with a crowd of people looking at the foods and desserts, the trendy clothes, cheap jewelry, and children play rides.

As he looked around, he began seeing many familiar faces. He saw Kevin, a childhood and grammar school mate there with another co-worker of his, Jenny. Jenny was a Colombian beauty in his eyes and who was a flirt and tease to him, but never actually gave him any time alone. Incidentally, he knew both of them at different times in his life and had no idea they knew of each other. Kevin stopped contacting him during high school without any arguments or disloyalties that would tear a friendship apart. Keeping his head down, he walked a few feet to discover another childhood best friend, Jack, who was with a mutual childhood friend, Melanie. Melanie was a best friend of his and also a first childhood crush who also had a crush on him. He thought it was odd because even though Melanie and Jack were also best friends, Melanie never liked Jack in a special boy/girl way. He felt a moment of heartbreak, but quickly turned away and kept walking. A little further up the road, he saw two more childhood friends, Chris and Jimmy, who as children did not get along that well and only hung out with each other in the company of him. How peculiar it was suddenly seeing them together after ten years, and as seemingly best of friends.

That was not all. Things were getting stranger and stranger. It was like all the people who had made an imprint on his life were now coming together around him. He saw his two therapists, one he had gone to as a teenager and the other as a young adult, stand next to each other selling prescription drug samples. Both stared at him with a blank face, but with a prominent smile. He could barely nod at them. Natasha directed them to a local bar. Inside the bar was huge and also had a second floor. He noticed the music playing in the background was, Nocturne In E Flat Major, Op.9 No.2, by Polish born Romantic composer, Frederic Chopin. He became fixated on the elegant eighth note, left hand arpeggios, and the sweet and peaceful fast moving seven, eleven, twenty, and twenty-two notes from the right hand. If he thought about the most beautiful song ever written and all that is wonderful in one, this was the song.

They all took a seat and began looking at people and laughing at their behavior. Everyone was wearing masks. Social masks. They observed how different people act when they are in social gatherings, and how if you carefully study their body language, it will become clear that what they are saying and trying to put out is not what is actually being expressed through the body. One young man was frantically shaking his right leg as he tried to flirt confidently with a young woman he had just recently met. His face began to turn noticeably red, in an embarrassed flush, and he was making sudden hand gestures and quick eye blinking. She, on the other hand, pretended to be interested in what he was saying; yet her eyes would often look around the room and her body was a good distance from him with her arms folded.

Then as they were all laughing, he abruptly stopped and looked ahead to see two drunken women making out two tables away from them. As his eyes focused in on them, he realized they were two of his former crushes, Claire and Veronica, who he had no idea knew of each other because in fact, they were from different time periods of his life. He began seeing former teachers and professors from each stage of his school career, laughing hysterically with one another. Some of his most inspiring teachers and professors were gathered with other teachers and professors he despised. A young, tattooed hipster woman entered the scenery with a little Cairn Terrier that had an uncanny resemblance to his recently passed dog, Petey, who was put to sleep when he was away on a vacation, unexpectedly. His sorrow began to overwhelm him for not being able to say good-bye and see him for a proper last time. Everything about the dog’s high energy, playfulness, and watchdog attitude was exactly like Petey. A tear ran and fell off his cheek from his left eye right into the hand of Natasha. He looked up at her and she said, “Your tears are my tears. For what pain you withhold, I take and share with you.” She then wiped her right eye with the hand that held his tear. Natasha’s friend began to speak slowly into his left ear in Russian. Though he could not understand a word she was saying, it sounded just like a poem based on the pattern and rhythm’s consistency. It made him feel free of melancholy, but then thought of Angela Antonaci entered his mind.

He thought that the last painful experience ended with the break up of his closest best friend ever to play a part in his life. She was his girlfriend for the last three and a half years. They had known each other for ten years before they broke up their entire relationship. She was thirteen and he was fifteen when they first met in a park. She was always all over him like a little schoolgirl and he would often get frustrated with her obsession over him, for he believed he was no big deal. She was the first person to ever make him feel special and important, and even though he would resent her likeness towards him, he could never keep his eyes off of her or stop himself from always coming to her when he felt lonely. After about seven years, he realized he was in love with her. He had always been in love with her from the first time they met eyes. His long road had always lead back to her home in life. Every time he tried forgetting her and moving on, they would meet again. That person people search their entire lives for, he had found.

He rose out of his seat and briefly said goodbye to Natasha and her friend and went upstairs. He wanted time to be alone and walk around until he suddenly saw Jessica walking towards him. He stopped and waited for her to say hello, but she walked right by him, as if he had never existed. He felt a little insulted, yet relieved as any awkwardness that would arise was avoided. Looking ahead, he saw Angela’s two best friends, Kate and Julie, with her high school crush, John. John was playing an acoustic guitar on a lounge chair, singing to the two friends, almost enticing them with his eyes and voice. His jealousy overcame him, as Angela had been infatuated with him on and off even though he had played with her feelings throughout high school and college. John would tell her he loved her and make her believe he was a romantic, then when she fell into his words, he would leave her and keep a distance for long periods of time, leaving her in despair.

The conclusion occurred to him that maybe she was nearby. He searched throughout the entire bar not finding any other clues that she was around. When he went downstairs, he saw Natasha and her friend asleep, as well as most of the bar, except for the bartender. It was like everyone just passed out from the alcohol or possibly inhaled some type of knockout drug. The bartender was watching the news forecast of a tornado watch and dangerous thunderstorms. The bartender looked at him and said, “It’s better if you stay in here. It’s dangerous out there. I recommend you don’t go out!” He just listened, but decided to leave to the outside anyway.

He walked three blocks through the heavy rain and strong winds. He took a moment to stop and look at the black and gray clouds above him. As he looked across the street, he saw her. She was with her mother, sister, and mutual friends of theirs, Chrystal and Mike. He also saw behind them, his own mother and sister. He ran across the street to her and she shockingly with excitement screamed, “Hey!!! Oh my God!! Please stay with us. I missed you so much. You have no idea. We have to get to a shelter away from this storm. Hold my hand…” Smiling, he kept walking with them. They walked for twenty minutes and entered a giant field. After ten minutes of walking restlessly through the field, they all stopped to catch their breath. Angela’s mom ordered everyone to hold one another’s hand. An enormous gust of wind pushed them all to the grassy ground. He began to shake violently as he felt the touch of death nearby. He wondered if this would be the end, as he felt unaccomplished and left with so much left unsaid to her. Thoughts raced through his mind like a speeding highway about how to get to safety. Unable to control and remain focused on one rational thought at a time, he blacked out for a minute.

Then there he was right in the middle of a storm. In so many ways, he realized where he was ending was where he originally began. All the imprints from all he ever knew came back all at once to watch him finally leave all he ever knew from this life. And in the last moments, he found himself with her. He held her hand, while she held his, and the hands of their family and friends. The world was so dark and cold. The wind became much more rapid and an enormous bright light from it came within just miles of them. He kept looking up at the dark black and gray clouds over them, never as frightened as he was now. His focus was on the great strength of the wind. Whatever melancholic thoughts he had of his life, he would not give up hope. Maybe he was just hopelessly hopeful, but holding each other tightly might, in some miraculous way, save them. Then suddenly a deep peace began to sustain his very being. He remembered whose hand he was holding- the only woman to ever understand every level of his being. He looked down at her big, precious eyes pouring out tears. Their eyes locked, as she had been watching him the entire time. No words needed to be said from one another. They knew exactly what they felt and meant. For the first time in his life, everything was all okay. All was beautiful. The whole situation was beautiful, not tragic. In that moment, he understood this was where he was meant to be. This was where he wanted to be, for only in such a life altering moment does one comprehend the very nature of love and life. To just glance into her eyes and see the same person staring back in suspense, while all he ever knew was being born, growing, and dying simultaneously in complete acceptance. They began to fade and disappeared into the light.
Al Sep 2014
Thomas Thurman May 2010
Here as I sit and number pretty jewels,
the colours small and shining as they stand
arrayed or strewn, in lines as though unplanned
and re-repeating words of other fools
anew, to show my more pedestrian mind
reminders that I still can think anew,
just on a whim I look across to you
and in your eyes and on your page I find
eternity, infinity on earth,
the rainbow stretched to where the planet ends
the thunderstorms themselves your willing friends,
the rains that drown the land to bring its birth...
my petty counters fade: your rain transforms,
and so I ask to share your thunderstorms.
I always feared thunderstorms
Lightning has killed many trees I loved

I understand that lightning
is a necessity as it replenishes
the nitrogen in the soil

But it destroys to create life

Tonight the thunderstorms roll
The thunder remains high
just growling low
as the lightning skips from cloud
to cloud

Then all at once
a bolt hits close by
and the thunder
kabooms . . .
rattling windows
Making your heart
skip several beats

The wind picks up
the sirens go off
and you chek out the radar

You breathe a sigh of relief
as the approaching storm splits
and goes around you .

It rains hard . . .

Then it stops . . .
so has the wind

Aloft the clouds
are race horses
galloping away as fast as they can

They have business elsewhere

Now all is quiet
a feeling of relief
soaks in unlike
the water running
rushing down the sides of the street

An after the storm moment
of peace when the air feels as clean
as the thoughts you . . . you don't have
A moment tonight between rows of thunderstorms rolling through
Rj Apr 2014
Is anyone else in love with thunderstorms?
Does anyone else like the gentle drips before it begins,
Like finger tips softly touching your skin
Or the low rumbles before it starts
And the dark sky low and full
The rain comes, soft or hard, streams of water falling
Puddles forming, all other noises seem to disappear
It has captured your full attention
Now you see a quick flash of lightening
You count the seconds under your breath
one Mississippi  two Mississippi  three Mississippi
Crash! or maybe its a Boom!
All different noises. Never the same.
My heart races every time I hear the low rumble
Or the pitter patter of rain
her Nov 2016
i've currently
thunderstorms inside of me
and i'm learning
how to
people often see the sunshine
and forget
that lightening
brings brightness
to the dark
as well
or that
thunder wants to be heard
just as much as the birds
dark clouds
are really just as soft as
the white ones
i've currently
thunderstorms inside of me
and i am no longer scared
of getting wet
i seek shelter within myself
here is where i
Syd Feb 2014
Growing up we were allied with tired
people wearing empty eyes
reserved for those whose breaths
were outnumbered by sighs
And in cased in a body who
knows all too well that beauty
is corresponded with size
Constantly battled by a heart
who would take no part in
giving up when you had yet to even try

I asked you to write poetry
along the curve of my spine
so that when the words finally broke me
I would know how it felt to be paralyzed

I tried

We grew up with these standards set
that seemed near impossible to be met
and when you cried
I said don't
           don't tell me that this world isn't fair
and that this life got the best of you
because the truth of the matter is that
that isn't true
at all
I know
because I got the best of you, too

When we were seven years old
you looked at me grinning and stated
Kissing is weird
And I just laughed because
even back then I hated
the way I sounded after hearing your voice

And in fourth grade
when you were given the choice
to sit next to me,
or that cute new girl named Emily
You chose me
Because, somehow,
the girl who had placed fourth in the spelling bee
and concluded her favorite book was the dictionary
had racked up more brownie
points than the beauty queen

In middle school
we learned that popularity
was based solely on cafeteria seating
and all that seemed to matter was
who you were eating with
at lunch that day

But no one ever bothered to say
hey, I'll save a seat for you

So in grew the miss fits and nobodies
and here we first knew that our value
wasn't worth a saved seat
So we did our best to blend in alone
along the walls and tried our hardest
not to fall when the world slowly came
crumbling in on us
Because in the end all we had
was ourselves among the dust
of the place that we used to be a part of

Used to be

It all used to be so routine
Coffee and cigarettes and
somewhere between
glasses of wine we would find
ourselves curled up on the couch
with our hands intertwined
like two lovers who didn't care
to converse with the presence of time
Because we didn't

Thunderstorms were our thing
And every spring when the rains
would come it never just rained,
                       it poured
I'd pretend  that I was scared so I could explore
the veins on your arms as you held me
and I did my best to absorb
you like the ground soaking in all the rain,
saving it for later days
when the sun was too bright
and the flowers thought there
was no way they could ever survive
But they did

Because even on the hottest of days
the rains would arrive
and revive their stems
restoring the strength they needed
to grow again
I only hoped that someday
I would trace your veins back to my heart

Because loving you was an art
that had no ending towers
and the only place to start
was with a paintbrush in your hand
Ready to paint the flowers
that bloomed when the thunderstorms
shook that vacant tomb
I used to call my heart

But somewhere between
a head start and a late beginning
with life, I found loving you
was  by far the best part
r0b0t Jan 2015
Small purple thunderstorms live in my forest, shattering their own worlds with musical rain and shocking thunder.
Mishty Nov 2014
Those thunderstorms drink away the river water when her gaze is fixed on her love.
Sound Of Rain Apr 2014
I've always loved the thunderstorms,
the wind whistling and moving through the city streets,
as if it's in a hurry to be somewhere in particular.

The thunder clapping and roaring and rumbling through,
just like how my heart beats loudly when I realize something and
I don't want it to be true.

The lightning streaking brightly through the sky,
like a beautiful little streak of truth that's bright
and exposes every little lie.

The rain falling from the sky as if they were tears,
crying and mourning for the things that have been
gained yet lost too quickly,
also washing away lies that exist all around in layers.
There's a beautiful storm going on outside. I just randomly came up with this. I'm not quite satisfied with it, but decided to share it anyways.
Lucy Tonic Oct 2014
Thunderstorms are ******
So stand underneath a tree
Or light a candle in your bedroom and lust after the one you love

The wind is a wise gypsy
So let yourself be blown away like autumn leaves
And let the colors swirl around you

Sunshine leaves sweat and joy
So play in the daytime
And watch the white fluffy clouds turn into shapes

Nighttime brings diamonds in the sky
So look for the man in the moon
And make a wish on a falling star

Mountains are for those with kind souls
So climb to the top
And let your soul grow wings

The ocean forces you to dream
So ride each wave
While your mind evaporates

Trees are habitats for woodland creatures
So meditate with the noise they make
And feel serenity

(Savor nature in all its glory)
Cori MacNaughton Jun 2015
Thunderstorms - inevitable proof
of the awesome power of Nature's God
The first of nine short poems written before I got out of bed this morning.
c.2015 Cori MacNaughton
Mik Josefchuk Jun 2014
If something could be said,
About light and sound
In relation to you,
There'd be a lot to say.
There thought in your eyes flare
Then follows the sound of your voice,
Spreading jokes and ideas
That everyone wants to hear.
But I'm the only one,
Who sees the lightning before the thunder.
The quick changes of emotion,
Flashing ever so slightly,
Before you speak and draw the attention away,
So no one sees the switch from hurt,
To anger,
To pain,
To joy,
Before cracking a joke.
Where others sees shelter,
I step into the rain.
Now because of you,
My dear,
I completely understand
Why storms are named after people.
kian Aug 2016
you are so much alike thunderstorms

i've always found comfort in the rain but ever since you came
your screams and cries has ripped my soul and i don't know how i can be able to love the raindrops like before
when now the drops comes out of your eyes and it's all my fault i'm so sorry it was not my intention to break your heart

but that's what i thought
until the thunder starts crackling
and it's deafining to my ears
until the winds are too strong
for my nimble knees
until you told me you cared about me but you told your friends how useless i am
until you started to hold me at my neck and i struggled to breathe
until you said you're sorry that i was being this way as if i was a glitch that was never wanted
until you made me feel guilty for my emotions i don't hold because you're the one who controls them for me                                        

you are so much alike thunderstorms*

i saw you first as lightning and i thought how beautiful it was to make the dark sky a little bit bright but then i heard the thunder and i was scared to my bones
i was scared because i don't understand how something so beautiful be so scary.

so there was only one conclusion and it was that you were never beautiful at all and things that kills you for being who you are don't deserve to be called beautiful and that things that put you in chains don't deserve the love you gave them
Jon Ordway Sep 2013
Sometimes I miss you so much that I forget things about myself,
like, what my smile looks like or the sound of my own laughter.

But still my mind is filled with all of these useless facts
like, Charlie Chaplin once entered a Charlie Chaplin look-a-like contest and came in third place

The Empire State building was the first man made structure you could jump off of and reach terminal velocity before you hit the ground

The average person falls asleep in seven minutes.
Females' hearts beat faster than males'.

Dogs can make ten noise while cats can make nearly 100.
There are approximately 9,000 taste buds on the human tongue.

You hate thunderstorms, I am a thunderstorm.
I know its impossible to die from a broken heart.

But lately when I look in the mirror I can't even recognize myself
and reaching terminal velocity sounds sweeter and sweeter each day

At night I can not fall asleep because I am haunted by the thought of you.
My heart has almost stopped beating in your absence.

If you called me on the phone I would not know what to say,
but still your lips are the only thing my taste buds recognize as happiness

You hate thunderstorms, I am a thunderstorm

I know that you left me, so why won't you leave me?
I know that you left me, so why won't you leave me?
emptydurbansky Jul 2015
I often think back to the times before school
Times when I was 3
When my mother would stand in the rain with my big brother
Rain boots and umbrellas keeping them dry
I remember getting scared of the thunder and I'd wake up in a panic, because she wasn't next to me.
She always came back inside,
Tossed a movie into the VCR
And stroked my hair
Promising me it was just God bowling
Celebrating the new angels he's welcomed home
She always mentioned that he was sorry for being so loud, but couldn't contain his excitement.

Now I'm almost finished with school
And it's never phased me, when I dont wake up to her
I don't wake up to her at all
She left.
And I dont think much of the thunderstorms anymore
Its just rain
And I just feel empty and anxious
Petrichor always arrives at my door step
Welcome home petrichor...
Maybe I'll throw a bowling party for you since my mother won't return...
calion Feb 2014
We are both just stupid kids.
But I often forget this
and compare you to things
much greater.
My favourite thing
to compare you to
is a thunderstorm.
You seem dark and gloomy,
but you release light in times of
incredible darkness.
And I will never be
the kind of girl
who hates thunderstorms.
In Yucatan, the Maya sonneteers
Of the Caribbean amphitheatre,
In spite of hawk and falcon, green toucan
And jay, still to the night-bird made their plea,
As if raspberry tanagers in palms,
High up in orange air, were barbarous.
But Crispin was too destitute to find
In any commonplace the sought-for aid.
He was a man made vivid by the sea,
A man come out of luminous traversing,
Much trumpeted, made desperately clear,
Fresh from discoveries of tidal skies,
To whom oracular rockings gave no rest.
Into a savage color he went on.

How greatly had he grown in his demesne,
This auditor of insects! He that saw
The stride of vanishing autumn in a park
By way of decorous melancholy; he
That wrote his couplet yearly to the spring,
As dissertation of profound delight,
Stopping, on voyage, in a land of snakes,
Found his vicissitudes had much enlarged
His apprehension, made him intricate
In moody rucks, and difficult and strange
In all desires, his destitution's mark.
He was in this as other freemen are,
Sonorous nutshells rattling inwardly.
His violence was for aggrandizement
And not for stupor, such as music makes
For sleepers halfway waking. He perceived
That coolness for his heat came suddenly,
And only, in the fables that he scrawled
With his own quill, in its indigenous dew,
Of an aesthetic tough, diverse, untamed,
Incredible to prudes, the mint of dirt,
Green barbarism turning paradigm.
Crispin foresaw a curious promenade
Or, nobler, sensed an elemental fate,
And elemental potencies and pangs,
And beautiful barenesses as yet unseen,
Making the most of savagery of palms,
Of moonlight on the thick, cadaverous bloom
That yuccas breed, and of the panther's tread.
The fabulous and its intrinsic verse
Came like two spirits parlaying, adorned
In radiance from the Atlantic coign,
For Crispin and his quill to catechize.
But they came parlaying of such an earth,
So thick with sides and jagged lops of green,
So intertwined with serpent-kin encoiled
Among the purple tufts, the scarlet crowns,
Scenting the jungle in their refuges,
So streaked with yellow, blue and green and red
In beak and bud and fruity gobbet-skins,
That earth was like a jostling festival
Of seeds grown fat, too juicily opulent,
Expanding in the gold's maternal warmth.
So much for that. The affectionate emigrant found
A new reality in parrot-squawks.
Yet let that trifle pass. Now, as this odd
Discoverer walked through the harbor streets
Inspecting the cabildo, the facade
Of the cathedral, making notes, he heard
A rumbling, west of Mexico, it seemed,
Approaching like a gasconade of drums.
The white cabildo darkened, the facade,
As sullen as the sky, was swallowed up
In swift, successive shadows, dolefully.
The rumbling broadened as it fell. The wind,
Tempestuous clarion, with heavy cry,
Came bluntly thundering, more terrible
Than the revenge of music on bassoons.
Gesticulating lightning, mystical,
Made pallid flitter. Crispin, here, took flight.
An annotator has his scruples, too.
He knelt in the cathedral with the rest,
This connoisseur of elemental fate,
Aware of exquisite thought. The storm was one
Of many proclamations of the kind,
Proclaiming something harsher than he learned
From hearing signboards whimper in cold nights
Or seeing the midsummer artifice
Of heat upon his pane. This was the span
Of force, the quintessential fact, the note
Of Vulcan, that a valet seeks to own,
The thing that makes him envious in phrase.

And while the torrent on the roof still droned
He felt the Andean breath. His mind was free
And more than free, elate, intent, profound
And studious of a self possessing him,
That was not in him in the crusty town
From which he sailed. Beyond him, westward, lay
The mountainous ridges, purple balustrades,
In which the thunder, lapsing in its clap,
Let down gigantic quavers of its voice,
For Crispin to vociferate again.
Sawyer May 2019
its not fair for the sky to be mean to the clouds for crying so much

its especially unfair because the sky cries every night too

silver sparkly tears washing off blue eyeshadow

but its ok when the sky does it because the sky pretty-cries

the clouds ugly cry

and thats not okay with the sky

its not fair that no one likes it when the clouds cry

because the clouds only cry because they are heavy

and want some of the weight to go away

the sky cries and everyone loves the sky

maybe because the sky is older

and can smile again when it is done

because the sky cries to get what it wants

but the clouds dont know why they cry

they cant help it

they are so heavy and it hurts so much to carry all the raindrops

and the sky does not care

the sky says, “but you look so light and fluffy

so i think you are not heavy at all

i think you just cry because you want people to talk about you

and you know unless you cry

no one talks about the clouds”

the clouds try to hold their raindrops in now

even though it hurts

and they are very heavy

because they live in the sky and they must

do what the sky says

when the sky is watching

but of course they cant hold it all

and the sky gets mad when they let out all the raindrops they were holding

so the clouds try to explain “I’m sorry

the rain was heavy and i had to let it go”

and the sky does not listen

the sky says “you are so dramatic

you do not have to cry so much

over something so small”

but the clouds do not understand

because the clouds have never had a reason to cry

not a big one or a small one

they just do

so the clouds start holding more and more and more raindrops

they dont let themselves have thunderstorms anymore

it hurts so bad





and the sky still does not seem to understand that

the clouds just want to not be heavy

the clouds wonder if the sky will miss them when they are gone

they suppose that the sky will be glad to be rid of the rain

and then the clouds go away forever.
samasati Oct 2013
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful *******, backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, *******, iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer *****, good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
I wrote this with my momma one fine morning!
there is always so much more to add.
Angels bowling in heaven*, grandma always said;
I’d nod—it seemed plausible enough for a while,
Til I decided so much bowling sounded more like hell.
Tea Jun 2014
You are a sunny afternoon
and a calm sea
with a glossed over surface
and the light breeze soothing my s k i n

But he
He's the tidal waves and
gray storm c l o u d s
with just a hint of midnight blue and
in the          d
and he can shake me right down to the core of my being
Dianne Jun 2014
We are not the ******* first summer rain, anymore. When heated water vapor condenses and unstable airs break through, we are now as dangerous as thunderstorms, cracking and flashing and desperately wanting to burn the whole sky down.
Shaded Lamp Aug 2014
The air hangs heavy today
After last nights banging of the drum
Its strobe light pyrotechnics
The awe inspiring deluge
That washed even criminality from the streets
The old horse-chestnut tree who's shade I often steal
Proudly exposes its now swollen spiky fruit
We sigh together, this old friend and I  
Another summer will soon come to pass
Let us drink its final rays
A quick check of the weather report confirms my suspicions.
jane taylor May 2016
the sun is always shining
i create the rain
drowning in dark water
deluging thunderstorms

i obstruct the view
twisting tourniquet
shutting off the glow
fatality is sure

take flight in hurricanes
live in the twister’s path
cyclone is my choice
whirling to my death

the sun is always shining
afraid it’s far too bright
for me to grasp my power
and know that i am light

ESP Mar 2016
Storms are coming and                                    I
Only want it to stop
Flood is all over the room and I                     am
Swept by the streams
Words are filling my brain
“Will you stop thinking?”
Thank God someone said that,
“I’ll help you in your                                   healing.”

Voices are inconsistent and                              I
Am finding out how should they be gone
Or should they be gone?
Static, I don’t know
What to do but, I                                             am
Writing thunderstorms by now
Hoping for a sunrise to come
Hoping that self will stride,                          fighting.
Ariel Horn Oct 2012
Crashes are head everywhere.
Children scream and hide
Only if they think it’s going to get them.
Some stare out into the murky rain,
And wonder how nature could be so beautiful.
A flash of light greets the booming roar
Adding special effect to the magnificent sight.

Some can be scared
Some can marvel
Others can just wait for them to pass on
Everybody has their own interpretation of it
However foolish or selfish it may be.

Some boom like the thunder.
Others flash like lightening.
All in the same,
When combined together
They bring beauty.

Working in harmony
The thunder and lightning dance
Together to clear the air
And create that rainy smell
Only some can really smell.
Elli Aug 2014
sometimes you're the sun on a bright and sunny day
and sometimes you're a raincloud on a gloomy day
but nonetheless they are both needed for flowers to grow
under your feet

I've seen the worst of your thunderstorms
and the best of your radiant days where you shine the brightest
and I choose both
because I love you nonetheless
and I will be the rainbow after your storm
and the stars that will keep you company at night
Samuel Haefner Dec 2014
even skies away we cannot flee
but that's pretty hard to see
i want to cry all the time but my eyes finally have gone dry
and it's starting to lie, since i'm the guy, and we're the sky

how can thunderstorms look so pretty
the flashing lights just wont agree
how can i be so loving to something that could make me die
it's ******* up our minds, but you can't fly, at least you tried
from an original song, which can be found here:
Kylee Carnes Jun 2014
I hate thunderstorms because the thunder reminds me of every time my heart is broken by you.
& The lighting reminds me of every time I will fall for the simplest lies you say.
At the end I will always get hurt.
& They will help me notice I don't need you to survive.
Taru M Jun 2014
*** for me!* I shout
She flashes her pearly whites
the brightest smile I've ever seen
(She likes it when I talk *****)
gets wet off it     ...     soaking
                                               the streets
                                      flooded in every nook
rivers gorging car tires
     thunderstorms are our communion

*** for me! I shout
and She moans like a god   ...   boisterous
my legs pump faster now
Her cries are electric
   I can't help but feel the jolt

louder baby
She indulges
and I come
                    full stop at the corner of Broadway & Covert

one day...
              She will tire of my obscenities
  all my ~*******'s~
in a final flash She will smite me
and when I reach home
  He will be at the gate
crooked finger a compass pointing to hell
*** for me I will cry
reverent in nostalgia
I will have played the game past the final quarter
still taunting His existence

but I'll smile
content in knowing
that every action has a consequence
content in knowing
  that I learned that pre-god
   pre-conservation of energy
content in knowing
    that life taught me to run in thunderstorms
and the first time I shouted back
I felt enough energy to risk hell for it
There's a blend of two distinct and loosely related ideas in this one
Most find the crash to be a nuisance
Not me.
I find an unusual serenity in the calamity.
An undeniable calm in the chaos.

As for the flash
Well it adds a little mystery
To the life I live full of misery.

Rain runs down windows
Replicating the tears down my face.
Reminding me I'm not alone
In this desolate place.

Thunderstorms are therapy
Designed to drown out our thoughts
And provide inspiration
For artistic creations

— The End —