Best Spin Out Poems
Now let me share my shivery story,
With random revelations shed some light -
Though I’m a dazzling glow but no glory,
I’m much more than white mesmerising sight.
I know around the globe I’m frowned upon,
Shoved aside as unremarkable meme.
Frosty and I, my boon companion -
Ephemeral scapegoats of Nature’s whim.
The poignant part that’s so freezin’ unfair,
Snowbirds and geese leave sweet homeland behind,
And what the hail, even a grizzly bear
Under my frozen fist checks out to hide.
I’m well aware that cars are going nuts,
When on black ice wheels spin out of control,
I’m traffic’s curse and drivers hate my guts -
Apologies for my heavy downfall.
Still silver lining’s part of every cloud -
I’m not warm and affectionate as such,
But my visage being shovelled and plowed
Morphs into cool and captivating touch.
Though I’m made up of many a snowflake -
Floating frigid and fragile to adore,
I swear and say for elves and Santa’s sake -
There is white substance to my melting core.
I’m seasonal and thus a treasured treat,
I’m well equipped and sell extremely well:
Without my gifts, apart from slush and sleet,
Would be no sleighs, no skis, no NHL.
I’m a commodity just so you know,
When you can’t smell the roses, seize the snow!
Let winter’s inhibition cover go -
And Let it glow! Let it glow! Let it glow!
The tide was getting rough, crashing into my body like a pile of rocks
And when I had enough, I morphed into a poetic warlock!
My pen became a magical staff, with such extraordinary power!
And with a demonic laugh, I sought out poets to eat and devour!
My pen seemed to glow a brilliant shade of blue like sapphire;
This lit up my studio with a bright hue that became hot like fire!
I took my wordplay and sentences of the dark, mixing them in a pot
Opening hell’s gateway, which ignited a spark and my poetry, got hot!
With my black cape, and magical pen, I stormed into the bowels of Hell!
I took duct tape, cast an omen and put the old devil under my spell!
I tortured the pathetic being and made him beg for my mercy.
Seeing is believing as I made him recite all my love poetry!
I returned to earth and had no more fight left in me
Reciting my incantation, I was rebirth and again took to writing my poetry
I regained a soul, but could still feel the aura of the aftershock
Every now and again, I still spin out of control for I’ll always be a poetic warlock!
I met him in a cafe one cold winter day
as I was absorbed in writing a poem
I realized a man watching me
a handsome man
and my world began to spin out of control
time stood still
I did not know that we were about to set sail
when he came over I could almost not speak
but when we began I could not stop
he wanted to know what I was writing
a poem, I said
and read it to him and that was the beginning
days, became weeks and months
we spent a lot of time together
and he loved when I read my poetry to him
I asked, would you love me still if I was not a poet?
he would smile, of course, but I love your words
the promise between us was a delicate flower blooming
his touch was like music to my soul
the drum of time rolled and then we married
and I promised to love him for a thousand years
love is a fragile seed that one must treasure
but God took my beloved away and the seed withered
I drown in the dregs of yesterday's sorrow
and among the pages of my poetry that I read to him
I folded my wings
and waited
part of me wanted to destroy those pages
until, I heard his voice one night
whispering I love you, and I love that you are a poet
it is your destiny, so write, write for the world to read
and I will hear your poetry all the way up here in heaven
I will watch over you every single day and I am waiting
for love is a journey that never dies
Dragon’s found his mountaintop; he is flying high, right now, so far…
As I made a wish, that he could fly straight… on an amazing, falling star.
Don’t know how long this will last, with his big body and small wings.
But he’s making the most of it all, as I watch him, triumphantly, do his thing!
He’s definitely at the top of his game; even the Elven King admits the same.
But the Elven King says he’ll use the magic up… around nightfall, anyway.
The Elven King controls Dragon’s magic, but won’t give it to him, right then.
The little guy might spin out of control; he’s not ready for that ride, to begin.
Still a touch, is enough, to make a Dragon stop and think, about what’s true…
Someday, he will fly perfectly, but for now, he needs some growing up, to do.
Dragons once obtained their powers, the moment they were hatched… But…
They grew into wild, selfish, crazy things… scarring all… throughout the land.
So a wizard took their powers, and gave them to the Elvin Kings to hold…
Until their minds grow, to love others, for Dragons can be, a tad selfish, I am told.
In their thoughts it is said… They first need to learn to see inside another’s’ head …
To learn, everyone relies upon someone else, and that’s a good thing, for all around.
When Dragon finally discovers this thought… he’ll be at his, beloved mountaintop.
Then to the pinnacle he will have climbed, as he gives true, helping hands, so kind.
But wisdom simply doesn’t come right away, to Dragon’s, I am told, they say….
It must be taught, by loving hands, which can show him, all there is, along the way.
That’s why Grandpa Troll brought me his egg, for patience is the key… They say...
Loving hands will guide his way, better than, early flying wings, can bring.
Written by Carol Eastman 1-19-2015
Around and around the track they go
And who will win, well you just don't know.
When they crash or spin out
That's what it's all about.
Without it , it's a pretty lame show.
for Royal Trevinos sports limerick contest
Once long ago
another place another existence
we were only stardust
swirling in some pastel nebula
the beginning of love
I with you and you with me
unaware of the future
together without distracting society...
Formed in the briefest space and time
two primordial souls connecting
void physical form or speech
to impede predestined ordained love
nothing to weigh upon metaphysical shoulders
so conceived or ever unjust
so simple and uncomplicated
when we were only stardust...
I love every atom of your DNA
every molecule in your body
the universe inside of you
let us love and honor the stars
shimmer and sparkle in the cosmic night
together we spin out of nothingness
born to further the shining light...
~ ~ ~
I looked at him and I was lost for words,
those eyes so d e e p and dark- so penetrating;
he seemed able to look into my soul,
all my thoughts and all my dreams he knew.
I was unable to look away then he spoke,
he had the most beautiful voice, like music;
so calming and soothing to my soul,
other sounds f a d e d away and the air was electrified.
a storm began and the wind howled loudly,
thunder boomed and r a i n fell in dreadful torrents;
my world began to spin out of control,
I was lost in a whirlwind of emotions and desires.
I wanted to be part of him- to be his forever,
his lips were soft, strong g e n t l e and demanding;
words so sweet that I closed my eyes,
he held me and the pleasure was beyond this world.
suddenly I felt a change- a shift in the air,
the storm ended and calmness settled around me;
I knew it was over- he was not forever,
after all, just a s w e e t messenger in a lovely dream.
_______________________________
August 3, 2013
Poetry/Verse/His Forever
Copyright Protected, ID 08-4967-700-03
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, Best Love Poem Ever
sponsor, Laura Loo, Judged 2013
First Place
Behind your beautiful eyes and gorgeous disguise,
You've cried a thousand tears.
Baby girl, it's to you I write these words;
I hope somehow your clouds disappear.
May God reach from the heavens,
And protect your weary soul.
I know during these life lessons,
Things seem to spin out of control.
©2013 Honestly JT
WAR IS THE GREATEST PLAGUE OF MAN
As war is fought it takes charge
And events spin out of control.
The madness of men can alter the soil
Which nourishes the roots of their soul.
Many things will forever change
Far more then wished to be.
As the wrath of war starts to destroy
Those things we fight to keep free.
War is the greatest plague of man,
Religion, state and sanity.
Any scourge is more preferred
Than the one which disables humanity.
When war breaks out, boundaries change
And all who die are a token
Of the rage that must run it's course
Before words of peace are spoken.
War I hate, though not men, flags nor race
But war itself with its ugly face.
When we lose faith in the brave, which die
Then we're not fit to greet those who cry.
What distinguishes war isn't death
But that man is slain by fellow man.
Crushed by cruelty and injustice
With his enemy's murderous hand.
War tends to punish the punishers
So the losers won't suffer alone.
The essence of war is but violence
Till the survivors come marching home.
Sometimes it's hard to defend what's right,
Sometimes we're forced to rise up and fight.
Sometimes we survive, while others must die
Sometimes never knowing the reason why.
The rush of combat is a natural buzz
Caused by fear, leaving nothing as it was.
Hunting one another like wild game
Without a shortage of those to blame.
Sometimes victory comes too slow or quick
Sometimes the cost on both sides is sick.
Sometimes God is asked to intervene
To help stop the savage from being so mean.
War is a hell we visit before death
Fueled by the whisper of the devil's breath.
There must be a reason man destroys man
But why it is so, I can't understand.
By Tom Zart
Faces void all passing by
open eyed yet emptied
like flashes of a vacancy sign
blank stares like orphans pitied
Caught in time
no plans to sketch
just colored pencils
with broken tips
Only the artist's see
painting joy on canvas
as if an apology
for selling a feeling - to what the living should be free
This city speaks of sunsets passed
and lakes that serve as portraits hung
rush for a weekdays check to cash
while natures gift remains outrun
For me I'd rather fish the sea
a humbled walk along the beach
fall upon a stack of leaves
but freeways and buildings my peace has breached
In love with a life of simple pleasures
unhurried by the next place to go
where hospitality is still the measure
not a life that's put on like a show
Where did all the soft eyes go
the patriots passion the pride
when did this world spin out of control
and kindness become something to hide?
To each his own the saying goes
but what of love thy neighbor?
When abnegation is no longer chose
it's no wonder isolation be favored
"Toe Valley Tom will be right back!"
Cued the Mule Skinner Blues, as I finally took a break from my Bluegrass Show on WTOE, the radio station you could hear across the street--if you were lucky!
Its a very long story how I took a job as a DJ at a country station. Though, I will mercifully shorten this episode in my life!
drive through boulders
onto the slippery main road
spin out to station
I was recently married and had taken on the editorship of a small weekly newspaper. Well, it folded after a few months and desperate for a job, any work that I could find in the tiny mountain village near the Estatoe River to support wife and myself! (the county and namesake river were shortened to "Toe"--hence the name given to me)
WTOE hired me as a morning DJ and reporter after a short audition--also I was the only announcer who could read the news and be understood.
You would probably be shocked to learn how I detested country music! Sheer torture for yours personally who only liked classical and a little jazz! But, I could tolerate bluegrass, which was the only saving grace!
mournful music
caught myself singing along
immediately quit
Self Exploration
_______________________________
I arrive like a butterfly,
I spin from my cacoon
the other part of me
will be here very soon.
I once was so innocent,
but something in me changed
something so sensual
my body feeling strange.
I have all kinds of hunger,
I suppose I should
it feels just like heaven
should something feel this good?
My hands get so jittery,
each time I find that spot
I bite into my pillow
and twist into a knot.
It feels like such release,
every pleasure found
I'm flying on cloud nine
and I'm never coming down.
But when that quake takes place,
my O in overdrive
I spin out of control
I've never felt so alive.
I take a deep breath in,
a release of stress
then wash and climb into bed
for a good night's rest.
8/18/14- Jessica Thompson
More to the point
What is your crack pipe?
In the heavy storm
Of getting a grip
On life
One could be excused
For looking for a way out
An escapism
Some people keep busy
Some people spin out
On all sorts of things
So
Where is your crack pipe?
What if I became a mad scientist that created a mysterious new virus,
and unleashed it on the world’s population?
What if this virus was the only hope to save mankind from eventually
destroying itself, and the planet earth?
What if I was caught in the act, and jailed for life before I released it?
What if the world continued to spin out of control for the next 20 years?
What if at the very end of our existence just before we had all been destroyed;
The President came to visit me and wanted my secret formula?
What if I gave him the recipe for my mysterious virus, and showed him how it works?
What if there was really no such thing as a cure all virus and I was bluffing all along?
What if I’m bluffing right now, and there really is a cure all virus that could save us all?
What if there was hope for mankind and this planet before it’s too late?
What if you had a crystal ball and could see 20 years into the future?
What if you had an original thought of your own and could create the cure?
What if the fate of this planet and all that dwells upon it were in your hands?
What if I told you there’s no such thing as a crystal ball, and our future is here and now?
What if I told you that you could create an original thought, but you never will unless you try?
What if we started asking why and stopped thinking what if?
“Never trust your life behind a cheap gun”
- Annie Oakley
Annie, has a heavy heart.
But also a light heart
one that shines in the sun.
and regardless light or dark,
Annie’s bright heart will spark
and spin out a round, whistling like a song being sung.
With only moments notice,
before most prepare to know it
She showcases its essence in one single sentence.
But a statement to render us speechless
Pierced as a whole.
All of us she reaches.
Standing there alone
with her gun.
She splits a playing card at 90 yards
without care.
Plugs a nickle in the middle
flipping through the air,
and with a single shot, puts out a candle flame
without disturbing wax a drop.
The hammer and trigger are stock,
and cherry is the handle.
Handmade, crafted, shaped
like herself, to perform in dust and rain.
Tooled as a saddle and Gold washed in a barrel.
But Annie's gun is a mystery.
And what's more
when she points her heart towards anything
or chooses to use it for our amusement
Her targets are always attained.
Somehow by her grit, grip and will,
we're left in awe, and even a little afraid
of Annie's heart of iron and steel.
Afraid of the way, she owns the stage.
Holds and keeps her gaze on the straight away,
as we ourselves stare down the sight
she'll let fly the first of bullets loaded that day
With five more, soon on the way
“Never trust your life behind a cheap gun”
she'd say.
And each round fired off
takes us back to a younger age.
The image of the dying past, laying to final rest,
The old west
and the way things used to be.
To see those cards split at the neck of the king.
Lit cigarettes gently whisked away
from the lips of her husband, sitting
blindfolded, or asleep
She alone stands with Sitting Bull,
A dying breed.
For us watching those bottles break
Our hearts too, shatter as much as they
having never seen such a scene
as we've seen today
they scatter
with the ashes in the breeze.