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Carlo C Gomez Sep 2021
~
Inundate your love
for this sacred village,
on bended knee,
facing the freshet,
supplicated hands pressed together,
one of grace, one of charity,
lips of sweet euphony,
whispering into the morning sun,
a language deep and pounding
inside your heart's timpani,
abiding like unsheltered waters
that nourish the vine

~
Capel Celyn was a rural community to the north west of Bala in Gwynedd, Wales, in the Afon Tryweryn valley. The village and other parts of the valley were flooded in 1965 to create a reservoir, Llyn Celyn, in order to supply Liverpool and Wirral with water for industry. Capel is Welsh for chapel, while celyn is Welsh for holly.
Herena Rosas Aug 2021
I demolished my own walls to let you in

They warned and admonished me from the danger of your existence

Yet somehow, I was still enthralled by the unprecedented phenomena you brought

I disregard their warnings and entered your danger zone

My soul found solace and felt mitigated in your arms

I am not terrified of your tremendous storms

I am willing to embrace your disastrous nature

My love, I am your victim and it's a privilege to submerge in you

I accept the severity of the damage that it might caused me

I am the sufferer and you are the love that caused

losses

terror

blood

And still those reasons will not restrain me from loving a catastrophe like you

My love,

It is my responsibility to insure my safety and well-being

You are the flood

And I promise to calm you.
he was the flood.
Norman Crane Aug 2021
ants protest the rain
in vain / water flows / terrain
specked with ant remains
Thomas Steyer Jul 2021
I looked out the window, goodness me
torrential rainfall in Germany

on the TV a reporter said
people are missing, many are dead

aerial views of the devastation
leave no room for the imagination

they show the extend of the flood
which left the area covered in mud

horrendous stories and detailed accounts
explain what happened and no one doubts

this is a direct result of the climate change
experts say, it's neither surprising nor very strange
Zywa May 2021
The sea is whitened,

the sand's blown up in the air –


secure from the flood.
Collection "From Sacred Scriptures"
Sharon Talbot Mar 2021
Children of Louisiana,
Swept away and drowned,
In the river’s flood
And the ocean surge.
Never have recovered
Fully from the rain falling down,
And of a city that was purged.
Ignored by the government
And its fellow man,
Follow in a long line of sufferers
Since the melting, ice age glaciers
And even a tsunami in the North Sea
That wiped out Doggerland.
Dark Ages got darker as people ran
And Britain’s white cliffs were sheared.
Times got better and then got worse,
But the people carried on.
Now, the floods are a weekly thing,
A blip on a newscast,
As lost as the victims in a mess
Of other disasters,
Of wildfires, droughts and don’t
Even mention the quaking earth
Or volcanoes! We can’t take credit
For causing those!
Rich men in their castles,
Feasting and clapping each other
On their fatty backs,
Rolling in the spoils and spills
Of oil, on the flaming water of
The American plains.
Sheikhs in old Mesopotamia
Whine about oil pipelines,
Promised to them by President Cheney,
While the people starve.
Bloated oligarchs spread destruction
All over the world, from
The Congo to Chernobyl,
Melting icecaps and raising the sea,
Sinking islands where they don’t live,
Vacationing in the Maldives,
On special rates before those go under.
They won’t fix Miami, but let it sink,
But not before they plunder
The empty towers built on foolish dreams.
Of course, they’ll be the last to go,
Crammed into mansions up in the Alps,
Fighting with the European nobles
Over who gets a crumbling palace
Now sitting on the last ice floe.
A few American cousins round each other up
To catch the Dixie Flyer down to New Orleans,
Trying to hide from the polar vortex,
A dazzling case of ignorance and greed,
Only to find the tracks buried in the sea…
Down in the mud of the deep, brown sea.
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
I poured myself out onto you, ink on vellum, your
skin gravelly, your alluring purr as smooth as silk and
soft as velvet, but as you folded me in your arms, my words
were lost like cries in the wind. For once, in a long time, I looked
at you, truly looked at you. I looked past the thin sheen of sweat at your
brow, like the dew on the blades of brown grass in the hot summer mornings.
I looked past the spray of freckles that dusted the tops of your cheeks and the bridge
of your nose, the freckles you loathed so much when you were just a boy because they
reminded you of flecks of glitter. I looked past the blonde locks that ringed your face like a
golden halo. Your hair is longer now, than it was, when we were kids, but I doubt that even
now, you’d let me braid it. I looked past all the little details I’d noticed about you
when we were growing up, and now, I saw a man with amethyst eyes and a
longing washed over me like a wave, pulling me down with the undertow.
I long to know this you as I once knew you, so well, like the back
of my own hand. So, with salt and foam, sweat and ink and in
every sweeping wave, drag me into those lovely amethyst
eyes. If the eyes truly are the windows to the soul,
pour in like a light and flood on the floor. Show me
what you’ve become, because, while I easily
recognize your flesh and outer
appearance, I long to know
you deeper than looks
could ever go.
Sink me,
show
me.
This poem was written in 2017. It was formatted this way to look kind of like a crystal, but HelloPoetry's text field butchered it and I can't be bothered to redo it, so use your imagination. :)
mark soltero Feb 2021
let it wash us away
like the floods of the new age
**** all the mistakes
leave only perfection
all true honesties
that leave their residues of purity
right down the leg
of each other
your body cries
tears of merriment
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