Quotes about volcano, page 2
Volcano Of Passion
As the passion builds inside, my heart beats faster
My mouth goes dry
My hands become clammy
My eyes widen in anticipation
Out comes a flow of words, a flow of meanings
A flow of thought and feelings
I can feel it growing inside me, waiting to burst out
I really just want to shout as the words flow out onto the page
Without any rage, just a desire, a passion
For my words to have their own stage
The volcano has erupted, the words flow
Yet when the dust settles, nobody but me knows whats happened
It's my very own volcano of passion
poem by Craig Piercy
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Angry Mountain
The heat smothered close, flames are bright
And vividness is exceptional and beyond belief;
The picture of fire is now preying on the thinkers
That thought out their messages of the volcanoes.
A volcano can not know why we lean and judge,
Or whether we engage in torture or not.
However much the mountain erupts with fury
The flames are absent after an age of ruin.
Fires abound in the skies around the geography
Of the mountain range, fires so high and vivid.
Let heat be the parapet of insolence, the mountain
Is an angry volcano so refusing us.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sonnet: The Volcano of Corruption
The evil nexus is a Volcano,
Erupting smoke and fire very oft;
Destroying gorgeous landscapes that we know,
And turning hard, arable land that’s soft.
Sometimes, it seems so indolent to look;
So, people build their habitats too near;
But when its lava, righteous men does cook,
It spreads around a psychosis of fear!
No one can put the volcano’s fire off!
It lives as long as people on earth live;
And smoke of granite, sulfur, it can cough;
To man and beast, lung disease, it can give.
God only tames this natural disaster!
Yet, prayers can bring solutions faster.
poem by John Celes
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On the cradle of peace
Melting magma inside
The Volcano of thought, restless to burst
The anger that got the weakest crust,
A dream beyond the dream, trust
The word kept in museum of lust,
Searching a dowser to douse,
The fire within us,
O! Dew from heaven! Save us,
O! Save us, Earth is burning
Unquenchable thirst,
Unfathomable desire we keep
Thought became the devils house
Innocent people are slaughtered
By the sword of colour, race and religion
Human being is standing abyss
On the platform of economy
Education policies have divided the society
In fact societies are being divided in two
Ruling class and the slave
[...] Read more
poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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Dormant Heart
her heart was a dormant volcano
quiet and still, then our eyes met
and the volcano exploded.
i could see the fire
i could feel the heat
as it cascaded down
my heart to meet.
as they joined forces the
heat started to rise
smoke so strong
that it filled the sky.
like the dark depths of the ocean
it rose to the top
for this was a love
that could not stop.
as it reached high into the sky
[...] Read more
poem by Louis Rams
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The Steppe
How lovely those journeys into quiet!
Boundless the steppe, like a seascape,
ants rustle, and the feather-grass sighs,
mosquitoes go whining through space.
The hayricks line up with the clouds,
volcano after volcano, they fade.
Grown silent, damp, the boundless steppe,
you drift, you’re buffeted, you sway.
The mist overtakes us, washes, a sea,
and burrs are clinging to stockings, today
it’s lovely to tramp the steppe’s shore,
you drift, you’re buffeted, you sway.
Is that a rick in the mist? Who knows?
Is that one ours? Yes, it’s found.
There! Yes, that’s it all right, though.
The rick, and the mist, and the steppe all round.
[...] Read more
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Heraclitus Fr.30
The world is becoming the bruise in my heart
The desert skin wearing the burns of the dark
The burns of the light
It’s placed in the accords of infliction
The thought of the rain and wind the volcano and the grain
A re-creation of endless circles
The spheric cages of the sky and earth
Dressed in moss my chilly waitings are
The soul of the north freezes my breath
Reality swallowed in a piece of question
Infinitely pushes the edges of the fall
The finite stuck within a dream
Where have I heard the eternal rhythm of the tribe
The beating of the earth within its step
The breathing of the water dripping down
The walls of the caves
Where have I seen the volcano lava
[...] Read more
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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"Vengeance is Mine," Saith the Lord
Thou wouldst not be avenged if thou hadst but
Insight enough into the human heart,
Into its frailty and its cowardice.
Thou wouldst not be avenged if thou but sawest
How mad, how childish and how selfish are
The helpless ones, that did thee harm because
They thought--Ah! What then thought they! That perchance
You hated them, or trod them down, or took
Their sun away; and e'en for love will they
Destroy thee, meaning well with thee--so well,
That they as lief would see thee dead, not to
Belong to what they hate--thy work, thy friend,
Thy strong ambition, or the gift that God
Hath put into thy soul, that calleth thee
Away to other heights and other temples,
Then where they long have worshipped. They dislike
Thy road, they word, they call it strange and dark,
And they would lead thee back to where they started
So long ago with thee, and show the wrong
Thou doest quite unwittingly. A sigh,
[...] Read more
poem by Carmen Sylva
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Psalm
1
Be silent with me, as all bels are silent!
In the afterbirth of terror
the rabble grovles for new nourishment.
On Good Friday a hand hangs on display
in the firmament, tow fingers missing,
and it cannot swear that all of it,
all of it didn't happen, and nothing
ever will. It dives into red clouds,
whisks off the new murderers
and goes free.
Each night on this earth
open the windows, fold back the sheets
so that the invalid's secret lies naked,
a sore full of sustenace, endless pain
for every taste.
[...] Read more
poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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An Octopus
of ice. Deceptively reserved and flat,
it lies 'in grandeur and in mass'
beneath a sea of shifting snow-dunes;
dots of cyclamen-red and maroon on its clearly defined
pseudo-podia
made of glass that will bend–a much needed invention–
comprising twenty-eight ice-fields from fifty to five hundred
feet thick,
of unimagined delicacy.
'Picking periwinkles from the cracks'
or killing prey with the concentric crushing rigor of the python,
it hovers forward 'spider fashion
on its arms' misleading like lace;
its 'ghostly pallor changing
to the green metallic tinge of an anemone-starred pool.'
The fir-trees, in 'the magnitude of their root systems,'
rise aloof from these maneuvers 'creepy to behold,'
austere specimens of our American royal families,
'each like the shadow of the one beside it.
The rock seems frail compared with the dark energy of life,'
[...] Read more
poem by Marianne Moore
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