Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Volcanic Lake


Around the rim a heavy rain that falls.
Slow and burning and heavy their she swoll.
It made no difference to the underbelly
of the clouds their dark side up.
Birds hung low and you so throaty had.
Green saplings shed their own leaves.
The button of a rose that grew from rocks.
Beneath the ink well of the sky the storm
grew still.
And love is sweetened by each breath she took.
The white sand she sits beneath her hips.
Is broad and wide.
And sliding down he fell inside and died.
She took him by the hand and kissed him there.
The only way to see the dusk
and silver twilight stars and paradise.

Submitted: Sunday, July 28, 2013
Edited: Monday, July 29, 2013
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Volcanic Lake by Is It Poetry )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

New Poems

  1. The Road is Full of Thorn,, Aftab Alam
  2. Do accept, hasmukh amathalal
  3. A Bit On The Side, Rod Morris
  4. Some Things Should Not Have Been, Anita Khelawan
  5. Let not this earth be divided, gajanan mishra
  6. With situation, hasmukh amathalal
  7. Misery Loves Company, Bill Cantrell
  8. Hot Summer Tanka, Toshie Nohara
  9. No need to ask, gajanan mishra
  10. Truth, Tony Adah

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]