That which may sink still may rise
Those who are living still may die
Rock may crumble, trees may fall
A king may sit in an empty hall
Mountains may soar to support the sky
If lightning speaks, will thunder reply?
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Wood may break, iron can rust
That which is sunken still might rise
Even those who are dead still can die.
Posts Tagged ‘Lightning’
Risen
Posted: November 10, 1996 in PoetryTags: Dead, Iron, King, Lightning, Mountains, Rock, Thunder, Tree, Wood
0
A Dream on My Couch
Posted: September 29, 1996 in PoetryTags: Ant, Child, Cigarette, Dreams, Ferns, Friends, Garden, Light, Lightning, Mountains, Orange, Rain, Silver, Smoke, Window
In a dream that plucked me
From the couch that I slept on,
I walked, ant sized, through the growth
In my garden,
Shaking nasturtium stems
To feel the dewdrops like rain,
And climbing mountains
And ferns
Like a child with no friends.
Reminiscing like a fool,
These dreams torment like reminders;
Gleans of silver behind the tarnish,
Cigarette smoke fanned out the window.
When waking I walk
Through the garden I planted,
I can hear, I can see, I can smell
But not understand
Like I was able to way back when
In the gloaming of orange street lights,
Summer solstice and heat lightning.
Rioting Raindrops
Posted: March 12, 1995 in PoetryTags: Ants, Banshee, Books, Clouds, Demon, Fire, Grey, Hail, Lightning, Mardi Gras, Night, Ocean, Rain, Siver, Soldiers, Storm, Streets, Thunder, Weather, Wind, World
The rain came down
Like cartoon anvils,
Spending itself on the cement
In an assault on the town.
The parachute-less troops
Gathered in the low-lying spots
And took over the streets
In order to regroup.
Rioting raindrops,
Seething and churning,
Swallowing curbs and sidewalks
And the floors of a few shops.
En masse, they moved
Like a swarm of fluid ants,
Chewing up the asphault,
Around, under, and through.
They occupied the intersection
Several steps from my domicile;
A congregation of soldiers
Moshing in misdirection.
The storm drain was debris overrun
By the midnight attack,
Mouth buried in what was handy,
Gagged by the silver-headed ones.
They celebrated down the gutters,
Their comrades swept down from the hills,
Retreating, they left for the ocean
Until their cries became gutters.
Discontent and garbled threats
Of heavy grey clouds yet to come,
Of their shock troops, the hail.
Big drops, little drops; they’re all wet.
Promises of thunder, their drummer boys
Their standards of lightning
And the wind-demons who bear them;
This I hear in the storm’s noise.
I stood in the lee of my apartment
Water draining from my hat and jacket
I watched the fury of the rain banshees
With a certain amount of excitement.
I love the rain and the wind; all weather
Which drives people inside to read books.
They boil kettles and build fires –
An opportunity to be together.
But I like to be outside in the dark
Of wildness and wetness and the glory
When the streets are reclaimed by the Mardi Gras rain
And the world’s turned into an amusement park.
The Cataclysm of the Mirror
Posted: November 17, 1993 in PoetryTags: Angel, Anger, Beast, Believe, Bird, Blood, Cigarette, Fire, Fly, Glasses, Godzilla, Hope, Lightning, Magic, Mirror, Vomit
I’m looking at myself
in the mirror and wondering
who the fuck I am –
wire-rim glasses, two day old growth of beard;
cigarette dangling from my lower lip.
FUCKING POETRY – I’ve been gone so long,
writing to myself, watching
my pen bleed from word to word
across the page,
tasting every letter,
thinking every penstroke: the speed of poetry.
And fuck it if it’s not – it’s mine:
my thoughts, my wisdom, my reminders, and my beliefs.
Soon, the anger manifests in obscenity
and thinking of destruction and Godzilla,
not caring, not feeling anything but
pinpricks in my feet from stepping on rooftop antennae.
Flying like a bird, a beast, a leap
from a cliff, to die, to live, to believe
in myself and my vomit, my eyes,
my power to change myself, thus the world.
My wildfire magick of angels and cataclysm,
comedy, tragedy, hope, lightning flying
from fingertips and pen nibs.
It’s all the beauty of the plumbing behind the sink.
I Can’t Breathe
Posted: September 15, 1993 in PoetryTags: Candles, Circle, Crickets, Dog, Dream, Echo, Fire, Fireworks, Honesty, Human, Joy, Lightning, Moth, Ocean, Rhyme, Sea, Sky, Smoke, Snake, Stone, White, Woods, World
why can’t I
just be another guy?
but I’m a person
with a snake-sharp tongue
and I’m a ripped flannel…
I shoot my mouth like a shotgun.
riddles and rhyming and rhythm,
not taken seriously enough to stay honest
just another number in the GTE phone list.
I lie and I lie and I lie
to convince you all
that the poet is just another human being;
that I am just another guy.
I thresh through these lines
like a dog wrapped in seaweed,
thrown with stones in the ocean:
I can’t breathe –
there’s all the smoke from the fires I’m lightning,
I’m telling the sheriff that I’m struck by lightning.
when does it all stop echoing ‘round in circles?
I think it’s just another dream.
I’m on a porch with a candle and a carpet;
there’s crickets all around
and I feel wonderful without the world dragging me down.
look, I see you don’t understand with a frown.
I can’t even repeat what I’ve said.
I can’t think of a poem I’ve written,
then read,
and thought that this is it, this is perfect!
I’ve even given up trying to rework it.
I don’t want to write for a living anymore
I feel like the homework that’s always lost to the dog
and I don’t remember whatever
I expected from myself anymore.
these fireworks of joy that I wished to paint the skies with
are nothing more than explosions
of white-winged moths from a log
that I’ve kicked walking alone in the woods.
Rain Song
Posted: April 18, 1993 in PoetryTags: Angel, Clouds, Eye, Fears, Heart, Lightning, Pain, Rain, Sky, Song, Space, Storm, Tears, Thunder
I
I pray for rain nowadays when I see
Those dark clouds splayed above me, threatening.
I can’t always tell what rain will fall
Or what tears you’re crying to comfort me.
When the sunset’s burning and crowded for space
In the sky with your pain so apparent,
Your heart is tearing apart with these questions,
No answers; let it all fall as rain.
chorus
Go out and bathe and dance in those streetlights,
Let the nighttime come down as ink
With the rain, all your pain, it’s your tears, all your fears
And frustrations – they’ll leave you
Soaked and alone crying out for the joy of the rain.
II
Can you see the sky and how it mirrors your eyes
And your tears as they’re streaming down your face.
Do you think I can stay here and wait?
I’ve got to get up and play, get soaked and catch cold in your rain.
(chorus)
bridge
These heavens will fall like thunder but water
On you, so alone in your misery.
Drenched to the skin look within at your shine
Be an Angel and cry and it clears you inside
Just like the rain.
III
So when this storm has passed and
All the fury of lightning’s been spent,
Your strength may still ache but you’ll dry and be fine
Then maybe you’ll learn how to pray for the rain.
Thee Memorable Ocean of Dream-Boy
Posted: July 20, 1992 in PoetryTags: Blood, Boy, Candles, Cloud, Cry, Drums, Earth, Lightning, Mirror, Sound, Steve, Tears, Trees, Wind
steve said C-R-Y
[in hidden eyes]
thee, tears may arrive.
striped little boy I envy your dress
AND your innocence.
(shrieking) PAINTING,
blowing multicolored bubbles
through your paintbrush…
I Re-Collect
we begged lightning with fish from the solstice
[once upon a time]
when batteries ceased to function
drums only drums and howling,
croaking, baying;
Fucking with the night in
flickering candles, canvas cloudwork
[fists full of earth]
mystic corrections of our skin, in chalk, in earth
blood leaking from my ears
as we listened to the sacred sound of the wind’s whip
[lashing the backs off the trees]
you and I and fish, standing on a mirror, looking through the grass
into the heavens of lightning.
frogs at the pond
make finger-shadows
and see them dance
on the surface of the water
during lightning.
I doze off
to wake up
surrounding by stars
floating on a sea
of moth dust
and butterfly wings
with children singing
nursery rhymes
and I can’t move;
there are so many flowers
all bearing fruit
lightning arcs between stars
as I watch the dance
of their rotation
then doze off
and wake up
here.
it is difficult
to look into your eyes
for too long
from the weight
of the compliment
of the love you return me.
if only I could
say it a little differently
every day.
fears of boredom,
of loss, of lightning
chatter my teeth,
bind my tongue
when I struggle
to just love you.
You Really Should
Posted: May 9, 1991 in PoetryTags: Bones, Dreams, Eat, Imagination, Kiss, Lightning, Naked, Time
I am here to waste your time.
come: step into my world of castles,
Legos, action figures, Transformers, things
only found in active imaginations
caged in flesh, hair, and bone.
come. follow me through idle dreams.
I am here to waste your time.
I am here to slap you with lightning.
a candy bar you know you want to eat.
never let yourself never let your S-E-L-F.
I am here to tell you what I see.
I dream. I feel. I want to tell you:
waste your time; it’s yours to waste.
come,
I am here to waste your time.
startled, surprised: it’s fun!
it’s good, so sharp, like biting your tongue.
get drunk on it, spin it around,
waste your time or don’t then.
listen to it with the volume way up.
relax. I am here to let you play my Nintendo.
yes you can. you deserve it.
you can do what you want; run naked.
make a mess. run me over with a lawnmower.
give me a big kiss. eat all of those cookies.
I am here to help you
waste your time.
Working Title
Posted: May 8, 1991 in PoetryTags: Byron, Clock, Dark, Dreams, Drug, Light, Lightning, Naked, Shelley, Universe, Window
I want to stand naked on a rooftop in the lightning
like Shelley and tell the world that we are gods
and god is nothing, let me be
my own god, my own master. I am only
my own, naked, standing, hit by lightning,
drugged, dying, depressed, damned
but all this so I choose.
I will fall when the universe breaks
the subatomic clockwork monotone.
embracing the light, welcoming the darkness,
thinking to myself of Disneyland
to allay my fears of falling and falling down,
the cross behind you unsupportive,
catch me, Shelley, catch me, opium,
follow me, Byron, kill me, poetry.
my dreams are made from sand
as my flesh, as the mind is dimensioned.
the skull is an appropriate sieve
for the ashes, the ashes, the ashes
we all fall down. the wind turns circles
in the dust, draws the face of a clock with one hand.
drip castles; elephants; lightning again.
my cheek is pressed against the cold rainy windowpane.
I sit by a silent road
Waiting for a car to go by
Racing the split-rail fence
To the lightning horizon.
Thick powerful snake
coiled in the base of my spine,
building, building
with negative lightnings.
lash I will lash I will strike you
by accident I will and
I will be sorry afterwards.
from my fingers and my mouth
will shoot those things
that always make you cringe.
Little Raw Ideas
Posted: January 13, 1991 in PoetryTags: Ass, God, Life, Lightning, Thunder, Weather, Wind
Did you sense the urgency in the setting sun today
Did you hear the impatience of the wind this evening
Can you taste the excitement imported by the weather
Don’t the palms of your hands itch for solid steel
I’m hoping God will unleash the lightning riders
To rip my roots out of this ever composting life
And dump me on my ass in the middle of a thunderstorm
Soggy and brilliant and fiery and real!
I’m just waiting for it to rain
So I can caper around in the puddles
Holding my hands out like an aeroplane
To rinse and spin dry my troubles.
II
Searching the sky for forked lightning
Cowering under the thunder
Soaked with excitement; it’s frightening
Taste the damp, earthy smell of wonder.
10/1/90
the quiet sound
of the rain dancing
tiny pirouettes
out on the sidewalk
is the only noise
which filters through
into my room
tonight;
no rumbling thunder
no bright lightning,
just the not unpleasant sound
of the rain falling,
crystalline clean
precipitation;
the rain comes and goes
tonight, but
in the morning I might find
a few puddles here and there.
Seadreamer
Posted: March 11, 1987 in PoetryTags: Captain, Child, Dream, Green, Hero, Imagination, Lightning, Love, Maiden, Ocean, Sea, Ship, Sky, Tears, Water
A little kid sits in a corner with a dunce cap on his head
He’s being punished for something someone else has done and said.
A single tear runs down his cheek, yet he still shows no emotion
For his mind has carried him away to a deep blue boundless ocean.
A captain and his trusty ship, he sails with imagination
Outside the world is stark and harsh as compared with his creation.
By wondrous people in wondrous ports, he’s beckoned to the shore
But landing his ship realizes a goal, and his fantasy will be no more.
So he sails along, taunted by faces that he has never seen
Past vibrant cities, rural towns, and verdant hills of green.
Impassive at the prow, wind in his hair, and sea salt on his tongue
His is the story of a Seadreamer, a tale of a hero unsung.
Stoicly standing, resisting temptation present in every stream
The captain knows the fragile state of his precious dream.
Also in this world is a pretty maid who can never touch the sea.
A similar fate as the captain has vice versa curses she.
Gleaming water, teasing depths, voices within the surf.
But as the captain, the maid is strong, and strives to show her worth.
The Seadreamer sailed across the sea until it met the sky
And there on lonely island was the young maid, rather shy.
Yet Cupid’s arrows impaled them both and turned their hearts to love
Blind inspiration struck each one like lightning from above.
The captain turned his ship to shore and the maid ran down to meet him
In their haste they each forgot they’d end each others dreams.
But love overcomes all obstacles, for now and ever more
The maiden’s foot touched the ocean as the captain’s hit the shore.
Though their dreams were disrupted, it came to no great harm,
For the captain sitting in the corner awoke with the maiden in his arms.
Nature’s Path
Posted: June 1, 1985 in PoetryTags: Cloud, Fire, Force, Grass, Lightning, Nature, Night, Storm, Tree, Wind
Nature’s Path
Of conflicting forces;
From first to last,
Eternal voices.
A group of trees,
The wind is coming.
A gentle breeze,
Inaudible longing.
The clouds are rising
Upon the wind,
Scarcely realizing
The danger within.
Within the glade
The wind is stirring.
The grassy blade,
Secrets burying.
Pressure building;
Night grows near.
Lightning flashes
Its threatening leer.
A fiery streak
From the sky;
A burning tree
Is the reply.
The storm is passing;
The damage is seen.
Burnt trunk lasting,
Disrupting the scene.
Froggacuda's Weblog 