Best Gyres Poems
I know a scamp who chortles frabjously
as in the springtime galumphing he goes.
And just to show how wacky he can be,
he makes his tongue point up to touch his nose!
He has no wicked claws or eyes with flame
to match those of the manxome Jabberwock.
But just beware his jaws. Although he’s tame,
he can’t be stopped once he begins to talk!
I vouch that he can jabber endlessly
and have me at the end of my short rope.
My ears just might fall off one day, for he
gyres gibberish just like a gyroscope.
I dub my beamish grandson “Jabberwack”
for how he acts and how he loves to yak!
For Debbie Guzzi's "Go Ask Alice" Contest
My old friend struggles
with his life's meaning.
Familiar with dead cats, Newton,
Einstein and incredible fractals,
he gleans patterns instantly
and misses nothing
in his galactic surveys,
nor leave a clue unglued.
He can entertain the most bazaare
concepts in the fervent hope
that truth will emerge from under
some unlabeled rock.
But all such inquiry always gyres back
to herds and migrations,
lemmings and old habits,
and wave upon wave upon
an ancient beach,
simply maya and samsura.
Sevilla, the evening pins flowers on your hair
A pirouette of tasselled gown rustles by
Igniting a lusty swirl along theater’s wing,
Over spotlights on red liquefied hips
That kiss of flamenco gyres into a dance ;
Relishing the wine which drips as you lift
And tap those feet through moonshine’s gloam:
O, such swaggers devour my senses
While Latin music sets the castanets ablaze--
Then a pause, a sensuous movement, jigging.
Sevilla, you are a luscious pageant of a song,
A brief canticle gliding on my bones, that I
Fondle you in the dark caressing scented nape:
What endless thrill you bring on an August dusk!
Then together drunken madly , recklessly
I will be love's sunrise, and you my finale's art,
As this heart etches a twirl in flamenco sighs,
Clinging to each refrain of such possessed trance.
For Silent One's Contest:
Poems That Paint a Picture-3 9/24/2017
~ a most memorable dinner in Sevilla
watching a Flamenco concert~
When we don’t have gyres anymore
Shifting will be useless
That’ll fix us
***
1 From tuning précised white harmonic doves,
You made a fair light, the sun was torn halves,
And weaved the dimmed lawn- an elegant quilt,
For only those mine could feel the well-built!
2 Hence I, with my will, put bars in the wind,
That is in the bourn of ‘prison’ herein,
But daybreak along broke with stranger fires,
Left frozen be this heaven where it gyres,
3 Seemed nothing less now, my fury was lit,
By those flames that ate my paradise’s seat,
Your presence and will have shined through that fire,
Vile as to sing with the underground choir!
4 Yet in my dark thoughts, spread light of what’s true,
That rooted in you for Wisdom’s with you,
Ruins of Great showed it was but a door,
Whose sill was a threshold leading to more,
5 Beyond grand onset, the path I know tread,
I know you did craft by each thread by thread,
That somehow cuts through the proud earth above,
And if I shall, this must lead me to Love,
6 Thus lifeless, lifeless, indeed you are one,
For this ultimate, you bade it begone!
And let it unite together with mine,
Whom mentored me so to age like a wine.
7 What more can replace the love that you gave?
For this one shall never have its own grave,
Until I can reach the terminal east,
Then I’ll be those beasts in hatred who feasts!
8 Yours do have outstood all among others,
Revealed in springtime, in its young flowers,
In summer: the ocean; pastures of fall,
And playful flames through the winter spell’s call,
9 Passion and concern, more likely divine,
The best that did lay, they all in you twine,
Hence I’m grateful but to one entity,
Of life only spent in eternity…
-oOo-
his are whimpers of breath,
lullabies drumming from a rising chest,
his is a soft pat on the head,
a wave of tenderness, trough to crest.
her right hand reaching back,
sensing a nape's outline with touch,
her left hand spider walking,
closing on a leg with a silky clutch.
buttery eyes in half stupor,
weightless minds near limp slumber,
swollen lips distantly throbbing,
tongues muted after flickings limber.
a cheek mere inches from the heart,
the other side kissed by the midday sun,
a moment of reprieve from beastly lust,
whose fiery roars are momentarily gone.
penile twitches against her back's contour,
drying up in its own sweet flaccid time,
reminiscing labias with a head all its own,
inside warm folds of rhythm and rhyme.
mellifluous ecstasy banishing uncertainties,
troubles held at bay by such willing surrenders,
no worries to murk flitting bright hearts,
when raptly swirling in gyres of such breathers.
jumble of sweaty limbs haphazardly entwined,
one languidly quiet and breezy afternoon,
a velvety couch and wispy rays of sunshine,
the leather’s exhales coming none too soon.
“That’s what I love about baseball –
it doesn’t mean anything.” – Woody Allen
The sun is shining, flags are flying,
Spring is here once more:
fresh-mown grass, and onions frying –
and so you know the score.
No criticizing, analyzing –
pack away the screed:
today there’ll be no need
for diagnostic apparatus:
we’ll live without divine afflatus
until the coming Fall.
No gyres or Gaias, or signifiers,
no pyres , no lyres, Heraclitean Fires:
Just bunts and grunts, and foul-back fliers,
and eighteen guys with heavy thighs,
all chasing on a ball.
I strut the bars of night
Rawhide jacket with chains
Disco gyres through punk seventies—
High on beer, Marlboro
Leather brands me-- rebel
Innocence gone from wild kisses.
Nette Onclaud Contest: Knit Your Fabric
11.08. 17
It is gone from us
Between our fingers like sand
Ars Moriendi
We shall never more
Find purpose or grace for it
Midas immortal
Bartholome stays
In hovels and parliament
The blade shines the sun
O Yeats, it's worse, worse
For gyres multiply like wasps
On the children's eye
The city travails
And in every place you hear
The glass shattering
Something in labour
I can't define its presence
Too cautious my eye
But we shall not find
Not till the hourglass dries, that
Ars Moriendi
On Her shore I stand
At a meeting of sea and land.
The waves roll in at a steady pace.
In the distance I spy Her face.
Her smile so white,
It's the foam in the light.
Her blue eyes beguile
I feel Her love go on for miles.
I take steps closer to my Ocean.
Thoughts of joy are set in motion.
Slow and idly, I savor my swim.
When, suddenly, all grows dim.
The waves grow larger in the storm.
Furious gyres have taken form.
As I struggle to get to air,
Panic consumes, as does despair.
In the din I'm going under.
All my hope is torn asunder.
I concede defeat whilst sinking down,
For my love caused us both to drown.
I gaze from the sea, and spy you in the distance.
The fog clears, I see your face,
And my heart stops all resistance.
Your eyes pierce the murky haze,
And your hair whips in the wind.
To this day I'll always know
What made my love transcend.
A fair maiden in the mist,
A heavenly apparition,
I'd sin no more, and calm the waves
Just to cross this partition.
Though the gales are strong,
And the gyres churn.
My adoration does not cease.
I'd give it all to halt the squall,
And have us sleep in peace.
I am lifting
your blood-soaked shirt
giving the latitude to planet
which broke the law.
The elite
wants to know, why you were
still here, when steam was rising
in golden night ?
An extended
grief overtakes the wind
in the flute. You become a free man
walking naked.
The gyres
were calibrating the magi.
An empty niche waits for a Buddha
to take the re-birth.
Satish Verma
Written: September 30, 2023
Sponsored by: Silent One Pick a Colour Contest
"There is my body, in it an ocean formed of his glory, all the creation, all the universes, all the galaxies, are lost in it. Rumi"
_____________________________________________________________
In the scenic scope of a sparklingly stained sky.
Brushstrokes by a dulcet master, sky-high
An exhibit of azure splendor, a masterpiece.
Exquisite works of nature, why must you cease?
A cyanic cerulean, cavorting and courageous
Paints a tale that is both untold and tenacious.
Azure colors dance with genuine happiness.
All day long, hearts are captured by sappiness.
Wispy wetness, whitening whisper wreath.
With complete pride, wrap the sheath
Clouds of cotton candy wander nearby.
Adding elegance and grace to a sunny sky
A golden orb, the sun, sends a brilliant light.
Exudes a svelte and diaphanous gaze bright.
A radiance of soft light through the universe.
Fluttering formulaic fascination is fluminous.
Flowers fields in fabulous fonts of Forebay
Akin to a painter's palette, they thrive and sway.
Delicate petals, akin to brushstrokes fine,
Creating a tapestry is so divine.
The ocean waves have a turquoise hue.
Crash upon the shore, in shades of dew.
Symphony of mellifluous vibe, a rhythmic song,
As the creator elixir flows swiftly along,
Seagulls whiz by with wings wassail wide.
Their graceful flight was a sight to abide.
They elapse through the canvas with elegant ease.
Adding zest and zeal to an ephemeral breeze
As the day gyres to dusk, the sky transforms.
Brushstrokes of indigo chart various forms.
Mahogany and navy, fete the felicity of the scene.
Choreographing a fugacious, halcyon, and serene
Furtive stars twinkle, akin to gems so bright,
As the divine fulfills the tableau for the night,
Brushstrokes of cobalt in the glamor sky,
A marvelous feat that yields hearts to sigh.
The splendor of nature's marvels can't be denied.
A canvas filled with hues, so bright and defied
The creator is inconspicuous, yet his aura is felt.
It's clearly blatant in the cyan smudges knelt.
The day of courage has come, I'll tamp down our rage,
Take studies in strides as I re-new Truth's defense,
Steady the chapters, the verses of pen and page,
Embrace the tabled periods, make joyful sense.
No more brutal beast betrothed to my own bloodlust,
I have learned from feminine lessons, strategies,
Risen above corrosion, shaken off the rust.
I will combine our Gyres, my hard and her soft "G"'s.
No longer afraid of weakness, crying my tears,
What do you think, friends? "Are you having a laugh?"
No! I'll kindle intelligence, dam silly fears,
It's not just some split decision, no, not by half.
My former glory was spent on the outrageous,
Now's the day to be certain, to be courageous.
It seems as though the world is shutting down,
Things happening that simply don’t compute.
The present curdles, turns a sepia brown.
Current affairs – a tree with rotten fruit.
The nineteen thirties seem to rise again
But through a looking glass where left is right,
And cowards gag the obvious refrain:
Do not go gentle into that good night.
William Butler Yeats, obsessed with gyres,
Miscalculated by a few decades,
Nor did his slouching beast conspire with liars.
But prophesy shines bright before it fades
On those whose lives the years will not condemn,
Who fight for more than just Jerusalem.