Best Whiffed Poems
Written: November 24, 2023
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Seraphic sand is sapped on the seashore
As swirling waters swallowed the load roar.
The roiling river rapidly ground to an oar
Shore seaweed—pure praise to restore.
A skylark beat the cords, its wings galore
Brilliant sky; rapt gasp wails fading before.
Moon sashayed stars as it whiffed implore
Tides will come and flee—still nevermore.
Upon heavens, a moon casts a silvery hoar
On the whiffed coo, as the seas' soft afore.
Whispered tunefully while purling in abhor
I walked around tiptoes, humming a chord.
Until the sun rose with a blazing core
used their citrin cord to snag the spore.
Grinding you in the coal black mortar of my expectations,
I know your substance is not one to powder under impact
And yet I work here, feverish, to prove my trepidations wrong
I grind you, harder against the walls, and you never powder,
You are shards of glass, getting smaller and smaller,
Cutting through the walls, straight into my skin
I cry out in a thousand minuscule pains,
As you enter mercilessly into my bare flesh
Tinkles flair as the wind blows upon the incisions
I sparkle in the night of our plight,
Terrorized by the horrors I have constructed,
Toying with you… you…the finesse tool to my agonies
You gained control of me like a mimed puppet master,
The binds I had tightened upon you asphyxiating my sanctuaries,
Tied along you, and twined around me
Silent, smiling, seething…
You begged me to scream
Your glass shards icing into my pupils, through my brain,
And out into the recesses of all my verbalized fears
I shove the remaining shards into my fleeting sight,
A hawk screeching, being stabbed in the eyes by its own feathers
Expelling blood and tears …matter and might,
All I wanted to do was finally see you…
To take in the scent of my grounded version of you
So long though had I whiffed in the potent poison you always were,
Too long, as it no longer has the same effect my nostrils numb for…
color awe
so crystal as to hear an
enigma
whiffed fragrance
a strangeness to scarcely taste
obscure scenes
light is sown
feel the warmth that follows miles
minds do smile
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"An individual whose conscious awareness is such that a sound becomes fused with a sense of color and taste; for whom each fleeting impression engenders a vivid, inextinguishable image; for whom words have quite different meanings than they do for us—such a person cannot mature in the same way others do, nor will his inner world, his life history tend to be like others'."
from:
Luria, A. R. & Solotaroff, Lynn (translator) (1968) The mind of a mnemonist: a little book about a vast memory. Jonathan Cape
Have you walked the bushland trails?
With Banksias all around
And whiffed the scent of rotting leaves
All scattered on the ground
Have you walked with sand beneath your toes?
Amidst the seashells lining beach
Your hair all blowing in the wind
As salty air your mouth does reach
Have you lifted up your face?
And felt the snow-flakes on your skin
The feel of this is oh, so great
As Autumn dies, winter comes in
Isn't it great to be alive?
With so much beauty on this earth
To smell the flowers in the morn
As new day it comes to birth
Floating on life waters of which I drink too much
Whiffed on angel wings in arms that’s tranquil to the touch
Searching souls where chances of escape is very slim
And surviving equals staring in the eyes of reapers grim
Slashing strings and snatching as he cuts me down to size
My guardian salutes me then engages as I surmise
Amidst the raging battle I am trapped so in between
The torso and the neck of higher beings most pristine
And being pressured thus I part my lips to utter screams
My breath is snatched by one before I disappear downstream
I wonder next when I awake who is it I’ll first see
With blurry vision both the frames look much the same to me
The tears won’t leave a trail or surface pains which I’m inclined
They’re Loch Ness monster hiding while the darkness is outlined
Though both are treasure hunters searching for this strange believer
The lesser weeps the victor who’ll be crowned golden retriever
Shrouded is the mists that pens me to the walls of doubt
Eclectic as I learn what smothered freedom’s all about
Reveal this dream, awake the mouth to mouth that must revive
The cloudy pillow talk that says I am indeed alive
"Pipeline: Hawaii's North Shore where Championship Surfing Meets are held, remains the deadliest since records began in the 60s."
Golden shores surfed duo gift essence new threshold,
History made two by sea,
Footprint holds their granule sunk traces, queues the bold,
Long woods wee came two by sea,
Boarders store their sea tools drift faces, cue behold,
Fantasy dreams two by sea,
Reckon calls pair home schools feet races fuel's the sold,
Handily swims two by sea,
Loop unfolds those who rules hunk intense corkscrew rolled,
Gone absentees are two by sea,
Fathom pulls remain cool surfaces, two consoled,
Breathing-free crawls two by sea,
Jettisons beached dual shift places cruise controlled,
Rest at ease lays two by sea,
Ponder hauls twain unspool whiffed graces schooled withhold,
Bended knees pray two by sea,
Covered boards bros no fools--but in case, 'Win the Gold',
*Pipeline be? Two if's by sea?
*HMS; Anapestic tetrameter.
languid doldrums, swaying lanyard, sails hanging loose
dreary small drums reverberate, neurons dumbing down
nerve ends fuse, sunlit shadows depict my numbing frown
feelings grind dull, thoughts stranded in the dangling sluice
sudden intermittent draught, strengthening breeze
mind and body free-falling, spontaneous pressure
sinews stretch, skin on skin, pulsating probing pleasure
senses tingle, tickling laugh, lengthening squeeze
breathe in deep, sniff olfactory aroma drift
gustatory tasting plates licked and tongued
erotic amalgam squished and belly-bunged
nostrils flare, exotic pungent odour whiffed
cavort, canoodle, drooling lips, flavours of the beast
rhythms rise where delirious frenzy can often be
harmonic screaming near the edge of cacophony
weave distorted images, dream-dancing above the feast
fleers, seekers, washed-up innocent sinning on the beach
subdividers and King Canute howling at the wind
viral loads onboard, invisible invaders grinned
collective cowardice casts the truth spinning out of reach
Two perfect feet and too perfect hands
My wish for you, ________ when the stork finally lands
As sleep becomes scarce and the crying never ends
Know that you are forever surrounded by friends
You've got this and that, and the next thing too
Because a fantastic loving mother is inside of you
May smiles and coos overwhelming show
That even your newborn will see this to be so
Heart felt congratulations on this special gift
Remember that always when soiled diapers are whiffed
Lessons To Learn
There are so many lessons to learn
Like being nice guy and taking turn
And to old lady should offer seat
Next time on bus again repeat
People's feelings start to discern.
In middle of sea, we were adrift
Smelled an aroma that we whiffed
At an enchanter isle we would arrive
Our souls and spirits all came alive
Tide was slack and started to shift.
Ship rocked and rolled on vacation
We ended up needing some sedation
And on myself had to get a grip
Both of us slept through whole trip
This was beginning of a new tradition.
Jim Horn
Whilst walking by the sea at the very crack of dawn
An early morning saunter on this special Christmas morn
Something caught my eye just as I meandered by
It was different, it was still, had it fallen from the sky
As I got a little closer to this tangled mass of weed and shells
I noticed an aroma as I whiffed some very smelly smells
But undeterred by a sound I heard, I swiftly soldiered on
Approaching the mass rather tentatively, nervously humming a song
Removing the tangle of seaweed and shells revealing a shape like a corpse
So still it lay, had it passed away, the shape was so bent and so warped
A red flashing light gave me such a fright, in it's chest as it beat like a heart
Then turning its head, a smile on its face, gave thanks for my helpful jumpstart
I recognized those deep blue eyes, as I asked him how long he could stay
Walking hand in hand, oh how we laughed; to my home we made our way
Eating jam and cream scones, with strawberries too, enjoying his afternoon tea
Then we watched with delight way into the night, his film, for he was ET
So with utter delight, talking into the night, we had wine and a bacon baguette
Raising a toast to my Christmas day pet; this magical day I will never forget
But time to go home, for he is ET, his spaceship returning to fly him up high
I will treasure forever these 24 hours, waving goodbye with a tear in my eye
26th December 2018
Competition: Christmas Pets
Sponsor: Dear Heart
2nd placement
Contest Name Podium placing promise(3)
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd Place
Contest name 'A CHRISTMAS GIFT MEMORY '
Sponsor BJ Legros Kelley
Vanilla times revisited me.
It was delicate when it met my nose.
My mouth moistened as it tingled the candied fragrance.
Overcome by its embrace
Stifled by its warmth.
I knew this aroma intimately and I welcomed it with merriment.
It was my relief
My alleviation from this world.
It was vacation in the spring time.
My confusions absolved when I whiffed the scent.
This fragrance filled my dear Grandmother’s home.
Her cookies
Her perfume
Her candles
She was Vanilla
Down to her creamy skin and sweet smile.
Her Vanilla voice soft and serene.
She took me far away when she spoke.
To a time of her memoirs
A time that seemed so far away
I drifted to her voice as it filled my ears.
This place was euphoric to me.
I recall her memories like they were mine.
I remember those vanilla times.
Every time I pass a bakery.
When the café rolls a new batch of crêpes.
I am returned to these days.
My mind echoes her recollections of yesteryear
She told these stories while baking her treats.
Baklava’s syrup and honey
Greek Easter bread with vanilla and eggs.
Surviving today is hectic
Grandmas at rest
It’s hard to release.
When that sweet bouquet rejoins me
I go back to those Vanilla Times.
The sailing ships above my head,
unimageable shapes navigating through,
as I walk the lonely stretch of the beach.
Memories stir chapters of the past.
I always wondered what my life would have been
if I took a different course, then the one I took.
That day the colors fanned out and whiffed
of redolence unmistakable that Spring had arrived.
The sound of the train had wakened me up that day
from thought as I waited for him at the station.
A considerable distance, listing to recurrent rumbling roar
of the train's vibration snaking on the rail score,
metal wheels rhythmic clatters over the rail ties the closer it neared.
He stood still for a minute before he stepped off the train.
He was tall, alluring sculpted body, in a dark brown suit
and Stetson hat, short lace up Oxford shoes; a gentleman.
He was a man I had met while in the service.
We spent a couple of weeks enjoying each other’s company,
but the joy of it wasn’t enough.
He decided to reenlist again, applied for Officer Candidate School.
I didn’t see him again.
His image still imprinted in my mind.
3/8/2023
Appearing suddenly and with haste,
Holding nothing but a dagger,
She cut open my throat.
Like a jilted mistress, naked under the moon,
She carved runes under my tongue,
Tore my mouth apart
And bled things previously unheard.
Breath came,
In the form of a warrior woman with battle scars,
Skin ragged and withered
Feet firm upon the ground.
Encased in mud,
The iron on her skin whiffed foul and sweet,
Like truth.
She hummed.
Loudly,
She clicked her tongue at me
And in her vision,
Poured breath into my mouth.
I drank it in and shared it out.
It was much too soon upon your chest
So you heaved and moved away,
Filled only with the sound of death.
A poet at the Mall.
At the mall, yes we have one near Faro, I met a poet.
The mall is nicely built and has two bell towers.
From a time to time, they chime to remind us why we are
here not sit on a bench in its courtyard looking up to
the sky seeing mind-blowing cumulus configurations.
The poet I met had a white beard, wore a black old suit,
a tie with red wine spots on, a black beret that whiffed
of garlic...I think. You could see he wasn’t really there
His eyes scanning the ground he bent down picking up
half - smoked butts of cigarettes. Ok, so he was poor,
so what? Haven’t you heard of a poor poet before?
They are not all idle sons of the rich and with university
degrees in literature. A notebook in his side pocket and
two pencils in his breast pocket; so he was a poet ok.
A Tribute To A Major Appliance
Long live my awesome stove!
A gift from His mother, and
Intentions not as dark as hell.
Cooking and burning, as you see,
Will go hand in hand,
Till my very last breath.
Inseparable lovers!
Aah! Start with a matchstick,
And a finger would get burnt.
Bless be the lighter, to alight
In my threshold for my softest hands.
But when its button was jammed,
My head down to inspect the pause,
The unpinned fringe obviously caught afire.
No alarm, no fire brigades could douse out
The flames from my crowning glory.
The stove on full flame with a chef's confidence,
Quickened my wits for a hurried dinner hour,
Perfect time to receive Her worried call,
Lost in talk of fanciful pleasantries.
Sniffing something perhaps of scorched caramel,
As usual whiffed in from our friendly neighbour's kitchen.
My paraphernalia betrayed my finest of pans,
Surely my precious stove is far
From the cause of my kitchen misadventures.
Pledged together with holy nuptial vows,
Live we in my kitchen a haven of delicacies.
The stove in my hearth, my heart in my stove,
Does cook only manna dew for him and me.
September 10, 2015
Contest: A Tribute To A Major Appliance
Sponsor: Mary Oliver Rotman