Get Your Premium Membership

Best End Over End Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best End Over End poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of end over end poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for End Over End poems, articles about End Over End poems, poetry blogs, or anything else End Over End poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New End Over End Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best End Over End poems are below this new poems list.

View all new End Over End Poems

The Best End Over End Poems

Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Nature's Kiss~

Connecting with nature
Walking along I find peace…
Autumn leaves surround me
Crunching rhythms at my feet
I Step inside harmony ~

Brown leaves start swirling
A Tiny tornado forming
Admiringly…I stand glowing… 
A mighty wind blows off my hat
Quickly…I wonder …what was that?

As I hold onto my head
It blows away end over end
Nature playing games instead 
My gracious hat…ahead it blew
I ran after it fast and true~

Blown up against a Willow 
Floppy hat blocked indeed
Tiny raindrops starting to fall 
Cool drops kiss my cheek 
Nature’s spirits forever speak ~

                                          



Copyright © Jane Bowen | Year Posted 2008


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

JOURNEY COMPANIONS: THE FRIEND SONNETS PART II

HEROES

Near somber guards, units of children heap 
dead leaves, naive to any else fallen.
Friend, you chuckle, but your posture speaks
of duty on this day of contradictions.

Firefighters bow heads in silent paean, 
while polished trucks stand at attention.
Families have again answered the call
to attend this festival, so uncommon.

Here, laughter rings around the memorial
for exuberance must never be doused,
Gloriously wrought, a sculpture of angels
commiserates with each mourning house.

You say, I see valor in lives that inspire.
 I see heroes and their lines of fire.


*For Craig

NEW DALI

Surreal, the way a contortionist knots
himself as the escape artist breaks free.  
Uptown, buskers beckon with what-naughts,
drawing thousands. Candyland, sighs New-Dali

at its epicenter, his true element,
and he takes it in: the sword swallower,
blindfolds, jugglers, clowns miming laments,
fire-fed gals, stilted-men and tots taller 

on shoulders. This carnival can endear,
turn heads, but only one with a seer-heart
studies the music box dancer, then swears
that she spins perfect webs with street-smarts.

Mirroring that swivel, awed by his entourage,
He becomes centrum to his own collage.


*For Chan, fully alive in Heaven.


SNIPPETS

Your brows are up. The Princess Cinema
is not your choice. C'mon, I don't fit here,
you snort. You, with all your charisma 
and kindness, stand in a short line, fearing

boredom or worse ... pretense. Promise me,
that we aren't about to wallow through
subtitles, you sigh.  Give me clarity,
a story, something that I can relate to.

But the charm catches you by surprise,
a star-struck atmosphere, the seats are new
and the popcorn is still warm. Friendly eyes
laugh, then amusement streams from you

for these Global TV spots simply delight
like each snippet that you joyfully write.


*For Andrea




TARTANS

There be Scots as farrrrrr as the eye can see.
Brawn calves and bright kilts delight lasses 
while pipers swagger out of the pub, tipsy.
Your smile broadens as a caber is tossed

end over end. Then, across the glen, highland                      
dancers in ghillies beckon with hearty flings.
Auch, it’s hot yet heather dare no’ wilt. Clans
gather, roguishly rib each other, as wool spins

in wheels. Aye, the romance can fair overwhelm
e’en the sensible. Worse for we, the fanciful. 
Come, here’s the tea tent. Let soft fiddles calm
as we nibble oatcakes. Tartans and tunes pull

heartstrings. We sit raptly, lost in Brigadoon,
put pen to napkin to let wee thistles bloom. 


* For Francine

TESTIMONIALS

Rustling maples break vows of silence,
naturally. As pleased, spears of hyacinth  
worship breezes with such soft reverence
that we give pause in this living labyrinth. 

Nothing here is still; wood thrush reverb
good news and cicadas buzz testimonials.
Nearby, a creek mumbles, Word-Word
while squirrels glorify their bounty. All

is abuzz with joy, save for the shade
under a weathered cross; it’s emptiness
resurrects veneration. A butterfly wades
the sudden hush, lands on your hand, nests.

My friend, you lift it to wood, sympathizing 
on bent knee, speechlessly evangelizing. 

*For Brian

ON THE FRINGE

Your eyes drink the hues of the Shisha Lounge:
art on walls, art brewing over charcoal.
This coffee ceremony is on the fringe,
far from the pallid and staid. I’ve marveled

at these dear blends, how culture can transcend 
barriers and ignorance. We order too much.
Tibsy, zignie, timtimo.. injera bends 
to each spiced delicacy as our plates touch. 

Gone is this haven where pleasure was shared.
Still, I’ll bring you there. Scribe, man of integrity,
sit with me. Exhale poetry. Imbibe tribal air. 
Mine, this moment and mine, this memory

but that mystifying brew, that receptive floor,
the smoke refined by deep respect… each are yours.  

*For my cuz, Scribe


SUMMERLAND

A warbling vireo hops from oak to elm.
Your gaze wanders, too. This amphitheater
hosts the lyrical, almost overwhelms,
for beyond the mill ruins, the Grand River

is deep in thought, reflecting. It’s as though myth
lives; Summerland has come to the hillside 
where weathered fieldstones beguile the impish
to dance. They do or else tin flutes will chide.

Though cozy the spot,  the world's at our feet.
Tanned toes can not help but tap. Strong is the lure
of pipes and those songs that dulcimers keep.
When night softly falls, one group brings rapture. 

They sing until stars tire and all are hoarse
like poets rousing words to supplicate verse.

*For Carrie


WORD ON THE STREET, 2009


Pure pageantry, how publishers' banners
wave over tents. Flocks of readers graze
on glossy trades, leaflets, hardcovers,
chapbooks. My friend, a true gent, stays
his ground. Maybe, it is the press of page;
Its forthright weave petitions for slants,
favors unique fonts, yet gilds no edge,
sees no need for illustration, just verdant
language. I did not intend to read
over his shoulder. He grins good-naturedly,
tweed makes an allowance. Each line, poetry,
he praises and I still my chatter. We feed
on gems, unrushed, but their brilliance spurs
a verbose woman and a man of his word.


*For David



Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Snowman For You Pt 1

I awoke this morning to find a foot and half of snow all around covering the ground.  I 
quickly got dressed wearing several layers of clothes.  Plus a winter mask to protect my ears 
and nose.  Snow equals very cold weather.  I thought about you, wishing you were here with 
me - us together. Yes us together to act silly in this snow so white, and to run from each 
other having a snow ball fight.  I made sure I grabbed my I-phone and then slipped my 
gloves on.
       So bright was the pure white snow.  I'm just glad the wind didn't blow.  I was ready to 
begin.  I would keep my promise to Charma and build her a snowman.  
       First you start with a single snowball.  The size of a big softball.  Not too small.  Then 
you place it on the ground rolling it around; rolling it end over end.  I was determined to 
build this snowman for my friend.  Round and around on the ground, bigger picking up more 
and more snow. Building snowmen you can never out grow.  Bigger and bigger it gets until it 
is as round and high as a tree.  Three giant snowballs for his body you have to admire.  I 
stacked his giant round snowballs on top of the other which were quite heavy.  I managed by 
myself which wasn't easy.
       Your snowman wasn't complete.  I wanted to make him so real like he had a "heart 
beat."  I went around to my back yard to find a fallen tree limb.  I had to have arms for him!  
After I put both stick-arms on either side;  I returned back inside because there were other 
things that must be applied.
      
 Continued in Pt 2
 
Note: Here's Pt 1 of your snowman poem Charma:)


Copyright © Jimmy Anderson | Year Posted 2009


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

When Angels Speak Of Love

When angels speak of love
Voices echo but no sound
Comes forth from lips for
They never part
Just the pulsating drums
Rhythmically entrancing
Tis’ the beat of my lover
Her heart’s essence flowing
Eyes closed yet bodies
Knowing real love at first 
Sight my life finally has
Purpose to invent poetic 
Verses speak only of Jaimee’s 
Curses eyes capture my soul
I’m left helpless falling without 
End over end and over again
When angels speak of love
You never speak
You just live…


Copyright © Lyndell Cadasse | Year Posted 2007


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Bushmans Final Homecoming

the Nulla Nulla passed 
in a delicate arch
this was the final throw
no prey or hunters fate awaits 
at journeys end


end over end
as the battles before
or terrors that lay behind
fell away,
the Nulla Nulla
becomes one
with mother
again 


as this warrior is beaten
with the dust of time, 
and wearing 
his shroud of birth
tribute is paid and offered
in a thousand thanks to Gaia


as a billion 
points of sand
burn his feet
he relishes
his last walkabout,


merging into 
a shimmering mirage
within the dreamtime,
the serpent 
writhes in joyous welcome, 
at his homecoming 
 


Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2010


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Radio Played

The old Ford truck was dustin’ the gravel roads that day
I was listening to some pounding seventies hits
My second bottle was about empty by my thirst

Nothing much else to do on a hot dry southern day
But drive, drink, and listen to the AM radio
Cruising the hills, hairpin curves, and old wooden bridges

On this particular day, I was feeling just fine
A pint of vodka, grapefruit juice, and a little weed
Lived so far back in the woods, that was my company

A troubled, poor loner, with an old blue pick-up truck
I had driven those back roads over a hundred times
A stop at a bootlegger and a lovely dream ride

This particular day, the tie rod end just broke loose
The steering wheel spun like a top in my fumbling hands
I dived in the floorboard as we went end over end

My Ford and I landed stuck between two cedar trees
I remember the quit ‘cept for the radio
Doors were stuck, so I kicked out the windshield and crawled out

After climbing about halfway up the embankment
I heard the radio still playing back in the truck
It was a Lynyrd Skynyrd classic, my favorite  

“Gimme Back My Bullets”

So, I went back down the hill to where the old Ford sat
I climbed on the hood and reached through the shattered windshield 
I shut the ignition off and pocketed the keys

As I started back up the embankment, I just laughed
Didn’t matter if the key was on, the truck was totaled
When I reached the road, I flagged an approaching sedan

It was two girls from school looking real scared when they stopped
Trying to look my best with blood running down my face
I said, “You ladies headed my way, by any chance?”

They looked at each other and one of them said, “Where’s that?”
Brushing the broken glass out of my long raven hair
I dusted off my shirt and the tucked it into my jeans

Looking back down at my old truck pinned between those trees
I bent down and looked in the driver’s window and smiled
“Well it don’t matter babe, as long as it’s not here.”

Ended up walking home that day, laughing all the way 

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008



Copyright © Gary Jones | Year Posted 2008


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Wristwatch Thought

Drenching louder hunger with an answer to care, you know a senseless prayer.
Tell them to mind it, this, curious as murder with another more vengeful purpose.
How then taken away could I exist?
Never should I know, blindly convinced that an answer without guilt sits guarded.
Drenched and proud, bless this blasphemous pen..until the ink runs end over end.
Tell them to find sin, this, furious and cornered with another for vengeful purpose.
Drenching louder hunger with an answer to care, you know a senseless prayer.
Tell them to mind it, this, curious as murder with another more vengeful purpose.
How then taken away could I exist?
Never should I know, blindly convinced that an answer without guilt sits guarded.
Drenched and proud, bless this blasphemous pen..until the ink runs end over end.
Tell them to find sin, this, furious and cornered with another for vengeful purpose.


Copyright © Jonathan Michael Conlon | Year Posted 2013


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

the faller

The Faller 
He stands at the edge of a tall mountain looking down the sheer drop. 
Seconds pass. 
The man jumps! 
Nothing stops his fall. 
Rocks smash his frail limbs like matchsticks. 
End over end till he finally hits the valley floor 2,800ft below, 
his body a bloody broken mass. 
Why did he jump? 
Suicide? 
No. 
Because he enjoys it. 
He's the faller. 
This jump is his 318th off this mountain. 
Broken limbs, pulped body, severed head, fatal injuries and death 
are an occupational hazard. 
It's ok. 
The destructive injuries vanish after 30 minutes and 
the faller is as fit as a butcher’s dog 
and mad as a psychopath to jump again. 
Witness a freak: the faller.


Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2014


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Freedom

Freedom The world is spinning upside down Take your beliefs And toss them outside the window Let your hair flow free Raise your hands and shout It's another day and we're runnin' Livin' life on the edge High on life and high on speed We're a trailblazing people Take a breath Can you feel it? Everything is going black and white The lights are flashing Reality is bouncing before your eyes Let your muscles tense Everything is going end over end Livin' life on the edge High on life and high on speed We're a path creating people Take a breath Can you smell it? Oh yeah, oh yeah Feel the wind in your hair The caress of the wild side It's quite beautiful But not as beautiful As the freedom we allow ourselves Take a chance, take a swing Can't get a grand slam without trying And take a deep breath We're going again The world is spinning upside down The lights are flashing So toss them outside the window Let your muscles tense Raise your hands and shout Livin' life on the edge High on life and high on speed We're a path creating people Take a breath Can you go again?


Copyright © Christopher Goss | Year Posted 2012


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Latino

The cute, lisping leather jacket
births from the door like
God's only child

and coos on the phone to
God
         knows whom.

He is the messiah
the one we've been waiting for.
Beautiful browned skin isn't
what the good were expecting

But,
     it is He who takes my
breath (with a veiled sashay)
           He who makes the

waters ebb and sway
the flowers grow old and
our earth shake
(as fine bone china
plates fall end over end
and break)

The cute lisping Latino boy.


Copyright © Paul Sylvester | Year Posted 2005


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Fallen Flight

Primitive stirrings tinge my sleep.
Dawn’s grey mist welcomes my awakening coherence.
I traverse ice bound fields of summer’s past glory,
in search of winged game from the north.
I search for tundra dwellers that flee winter’s bleak death.
I seek the airborne migrants,
who call upon the brisk sting of morning chill.

Decoys are arranged on the shore of a vast waterway.
A believable trap is set.
I camouflage under the protection of a dormant tree.
Yellow grass, evidence of the forgotten warmth of longer days,
shields me from sharp eyes.
Peering out from the spent vegetation, I wait.
Scanning horizons with eyes and ears for the anticipated geese.

A soul chilling cold seeps beneath my layers.
My fingertips numb beneath stilled gloves.
They clutch the metallic instrument of death in my lap.
I fight urges to flee this hostile and frozen landscape.
Ice islands float about the closing waters of the reservoir,
pushed by stinging winds.
The breeze rustles the decayed plant life of the bottoms.

Finally I hear the call,
a shrill squawk of defiant life.
The gaggle approaches my deliberate display.
I bring the gun to braced  shoulder.
The safety comes off.
A gliding bird is singled out as prey.
A  fevered rush of frantic energy swelled through my rigid body.

Time condensed before untaken breath.
The metal trigger wrote smoke and flash to the once silent scene.
The acrid smell of gunpowder over fresh snow brought delight.
The bird’s flight was shattered.
End over end and downward the feathered being fell.
Bolting to it’s place of final rest,
I did not hesitate.

The last remnants  of life I took with unashamed hands,
Ending the suffering of the magnificent creature.
Blood stained the pure backdrop of crystal waters and fine snow.
We were alone on the frozen shore.
In tribute to the fragile life I had ended,
I would with gratitude and awe,
make feast of the succulent flesh of my kill. 


Copyright © Michael Wayne | Year Posted 2011


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Tumble

Where, when, and how will it happen?
If I ask questions, I receive questions
Of adoration. Silence ensues.
In worriment, I catch a look
On my lady's face, and come
To realize her head is spinning.

Mediums between tongues tumble,
Tangled in arms, clinging between rings
As glances unravel social instability.
Affection answers hope valiantly,
Subsiding gracefully as
A raging fire would on a cold, dark night.

My lady follows in smiles and laughs,
Free from the shade, dancing
With no resolve, encasing
The components of a natural beauty.
I graze curves with hungry hands
And drive home, loving insatiably.

Although flames feed the hungry superfluously,
The lovely lairs where guardians wage war
Lie unknown to the conscious. The scrupulous
Droves defend onslaughts against entrances.
True love is angelic, demonic,
Coaxing the levity of everyday life.

End over end, minute over minute,
Medleys stir and absolve while forging
With dormant love pleas. Please
Don't leave me here, tumbling
Alone among questions of silence,
Turbulence, trust and wanton reason.

Everything is solvent
As the moon looms over the horizon,
But words which wander wonderfully
In person parade wistfully
In absence and shed
Tears when no one is looking.


Copyright © Mike Frampton | Year Posted 2010


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

February Thoughts

There is quick snap to February's wind
tossing the limbs end over end.
Little buds cling on tight, waiting for the
sun's warmth to remove winter's bite.

Leaves are scattered here and there, but 
the gates of the park are open everywhere.
Children laughing and playing still, they pay
no notice that spring has yet to make it here.

The smell of coffee brewing is in the air, warm
mittens & scarfs in cheerful colors, stand
out everywhere. February's sky filled with grey
leaves not a person in the park in disarray.


Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2018


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

To Carolyn Devonshire

Golden hair shining in the breeze,
you-- strapped into the boat’s chair.
Feet braced, your mouth wide
and eyes lit up like an angel.
You are pulling the rod with
all your might, as the fish rises
into the sunlight, it glistens.
Turning end over end it gains
slack needed to throw the hook.
It rises once again into a mighty
leap over the stern where you sit.
With a sigh of relief, you know 
you will always remember, 
that salute as your trophy.  


Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2012


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Gloom

Confusion sets in
Along with it the sense of vertigo and spinning wheels
Tumbling end over end and from side to side
Slipping through the cracks in the floor

I’m lost again
Forgotten all over again
Unforgiven one last time
And still the church bells ring out to echo the tale of my soul
With its sweet ballad of woe
And crying eyes and flushed cheeks
Petals flakes falling softly to the ground
Crushed beneath feet and booted heels and crooked canes

But my heavy eyes and slumping shoulders burdened so
By this weight upon them both
Throws down the gauntlet of dreariness deep

“God help me now . . .”
And no there is no answer for one so wicked as I
No answer at all for I deserve none don’t you think?

“Well to hell with you God!”
My head sags to my chest and my eyes close
The lids so heavy

I feel the sense of gravity on my face
And still there is no answer

“Who needs you anyway, you never answer . . .”

No, 
No flower petals . . .

. . . . either


Copyright © Neal Freeland | Year Posted 2008


Details | End Over End Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Amorous

It is the sound of descending snowflakes
Stumbling end over end, lightly so
It is the rhythm of the air
Breathing softly through sienna coloured hair

If you listen carefully without a breath
You may hear it within the echoes across the waters
Of the haunting melodies of the loons
As they sing of their fragile dreams

If you cup your hands together, you might feel it
In the lightness of air between your fingertips
And soft as the brushing of new-born feathers across your skin
Unbreakable, and yet as supple as teardrops mingled with a kiss

It can be seen in fleeting glimpses
Within the calm reflections over mirrored waters
In the lone brief moment of dawn
When the first rays of light wink to kiss the surface

If you desire it can be tasted
In those foremost kisses of warm summer rains 
In the tantalising caresses of mist whispering over you body
As you lie within the sultry breath of moonlight

It is the scent in the air
Of serenity drifting across the leaves of grass
It is the essence that lingers
So long after the first kiss


Copyright © Neal Freeland | Year Posted 2006