Storms poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best Storms poems ever written. Read all poems about Storms.
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
We will be what we could be. Do not say,
'It might have been, had not this, or that, or this.'
No fate can keep us from the chosen way;
He only might who is.
They leave their homes
And follow their fate
Through fields and trails
I have desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail,
And a few lilies blow.
Our Andy's gone to battle now
'Gainst Drought, the red marauder;
Our Andy's gone with cattle now
All through an empty place I go,
And find her not in any room;
The candles and the lamps I light
Go down before a wind of gloom.
A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
When the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
'T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs
The first flower of the plain.
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting
I had eight birds hatched in one nest,
Four cocks there were, and hens the rest.
I nursed them up with pain and care,
Nor cost, nor labour did I spare,
A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze,
With labored respiration, moves the wheat
From distant reaches, till the golden seas
Break in crisp whispers at my feet.
We sow the glebe, we reap the corn,
We build the house where we may rest,
And then, at moments, suddenly,
We look up to the great wide sky,
Go to sleep- though of course you will not-
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray
dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,
A father sees his son nearing manhood.
What shall he tell that son?
'Life is hard; be steel; be a rock.'
And this might stand him for the storms
Watch those bears
All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:
In their faces a colourless gaping of life's adversity:
the hopeless grief of a hellish existence;
Malnourished, starving, filth and olfactory horrors;
Their humiliating nothingness clothed in rags;
You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
The Sea of Storms too oft I think of it
For in Storms confused I saw Ideas born.
Neptune reared his green head
Planks floating in the white-mouthed waves
Lake that shelters its
From the ravages outside
And the upheaval of ocean waters
That offer health and the dangers
Storms of beauty be
Storms of Winter be
Storms, Winter, Beauty
Three in one
Someday, I will stop fighting these storms
It has been a never-ending mind game
That started long ago
The storms began when I was a child
The storms that sweep down from the skies
Are nature's way to cleanse the land.
Sometimes small, sometimes large in size,
It be the will of nature's hand.
Storms can bring about
So much fear
Monsters and demons come out
Of the darkness of the imagination
I looked outside one morning as the day had just begun to see a grey sky overhead….dark clouds blotting out the sun.
Sadness seemed to blanket everything at the beginning of this day…the world seemed smaller…more confining as a storm was on its way.
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