Best Whimsies Poems
hid insecurities within
ambiguous humor &
convoluted whimsies,
rules consistently changing
in a game which required
hardly more than breath,
nothing less than obscurity
twisting a fallible fancy,
seizing day's intangibility
Categories:
whimsies, allegory, day, deep, emotions,
Form:
Carpe Diem
memories unfurling
on the shores of time
calligraphy strokes
tracing wild whimsies
of my yearning heart
curling frayed remnants
between the fingers of
forgetfulness forlorn
both glass slippers
vanished in the night
love notes scattering
to feral autumn winds
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 29, 2020 for contest SOUL SLIPPER sponsored by KAI MICHAEL NEUMANN - RANKED 6TH
Categories:
whimsies, autumn, dark, heart, longing,
Form:
Free verse
Hold me in your eyes,
look upon me in tender interlude
embrace me in the center of your dawning light.
Let your essence speak
and whisper sweet nothings
- or - stirring somethings
to my soul
the power and purity of your poetry thrills me!
Awaken my being with a new palette
of mellow musings
and watercolor whimsies.
Plant virgin taste buds to bloom anew
to taste life, as if, for the first time
reborn, with a constant craving of never getting enough.
To make pearls out of grit
is to make sorrow and hardship a thing of beauty.
Categories:
whimsies, appreciation, change, god, growth,
Form:
Free verse
Introduction
From the city on the river
Where the Sage of Monticello
And the Great Emancipator
Birthed the country, saved the nation,
Sounds a call for civil discord
In the service of ambition
From a man whose God is power,
And his name is Demagogia.
Gathering Storm
To the banner flock his minions:
Come the vengeful, the nostalgists,
Come the dreamers and the zealots,
Come the heedless disaffected;
All these factions so enchanted
By the whimsies of the Leader
Who vows naught but boundless warrant,
All objections notwithstanding.
Marching Orders
Demagogia tells his vassals
That the ones arrayed against him
Are ignoble, quite unworthy,
And must not be given quarter
When the battle is enjoined.
‘’Lay aside all thoughts of honor:
Smear their people, smear their children,
Plough and salt their reputations.’’
Engagement
In the cities, in the hamlets,
Over air waves, on the WorldWide,
Campaigns combat, hot and savage,
Demagogia as the dark horse;
So much riding on the outcome,
Which determines if his vision
Is a dream cut short by waking.
Or a nightmare neverending.
Forewarning
When it’s settled, morning after,
Demagogia stands triumphant,
Savoring the prize he's conjured,
Casts a baleful eye about him,
Smiles grimly, mutters darkly:
‘’Now be fearful, non-believers;
Like the Phoenix, rising, rising
From the flame pit, from the ashes . . .’’
2/21/2016
(Poem Written in Anger Contest)
Explanatory note:
“Song of Demagogia” is a mimic poem of Longfellow’s celebrated “Song of Hiawatha.” Definitions are fluid, but it is not, strictly speaking, a parody.
Neither is it a thinly disguised attack on any politician in office or running for office. Rather, it was conceived in anger at the devolution of our political culture in recent years and what that may portend for this country down the road.
Categories:
whimsies, anger, conflict, future, leadership,
Form:
Free verse
EARTH:
Blossomed and beaten, then nurtured and tilled,
Burnished and buckled, soon blackened and chilled.
Partisan, personal, some conquered and fought for,
Torn down and built up, all bartered, yet paid more.
WIND:
From every corner they blow, shrill cadence and call,
The moist warmth of spring, the crisp cuddle of fall.
They will ravish the birds, they will ravage machines,
Wild whimsies of women who are caught in between.
FIRE:
He crackles orange glee what our passion remembers,
Popping scarlet orbs swiftly from footprints in embers.
All forms he has known from a cave mans' first shout,
He is quite lovely to look at, but truly deadly left out.
WATER:
Surging and crashing, cresting angry steel gray,
Receding and cleansing, churning vivid green spray.
Now becalming bright topaz, her skin liquid jewel,
She beckons the sailor and beguiles the brave fool.
All stood before time as steadfast witnesses would.
God creates, not abates. We can not. But HE could.
Categories:
whimsies, allegory, fantasy, nature
Form:
Rhyme
Persuasion's possessive verses
'midst absolute poetic madness
surrendered in rhapsodic poesy,
poets are a tidy sum of quirky &
care zilch of external perceptions,
content to breathe 'round seduction
and unicorns' phantasmagoria
insomuch nonsense amid candor,
directionless winds 'neath allegory
'pon posies and dragon's intimation
twisting mundane to vibrant intrigue,
translations representing prism's
kaleidoscopic colorful impressions
and themes of whimsies' schematics,
transparency & transcendence yielded
'neath abstraction's elaborations,
refining & expounding unspoken lyrical
compositions of a fancied expose
commencing communed communication,
redundancies' excesses never take recess
panoramic hues of conceptualizations' foibles
reverberating gusto of paradoxical aberrations,
chromatic visuals swaying eye's sensory perspective
distorting brain synapses proliferating alterations,
dancing 'tween fiery moonbows & dandelion whims
'pon emotions flabbergasted mid-starry night folly,
prancing within rain's whetted infidelity of sunrises
hanging amongst cosmoses' effulgent constellations,
feet never planted firmly in earthy burnt umber
viewing worldly horizons differently upside zest's zing
of inky relished sublimation and shifting symmetry - -
and we make naught apologies for imperfect paragons
Categories:
whimsies, allegory, humanity, hyperbole, imagination,
Form:
Prose Poetry
He was poetically intolerant,
she thought herself an Emily
writing sonnets 'how do I love...'
he indulged her feeble whimsies
in light of other finessed talents,
essentially, larks amidst boudoir's
uncommonly emboldened expertise
Categories:
whimsies, allegory, hyperbole, poetess, poetry,
Form:
Imagism
Poetry is the air I breathe,
lifeblood trickling 'tween
luscious marrow in my bones,
existentially rooted crux reflecting
Amen's utterances & hallelujah certainties
'round reality's technical formalities
foreshadowing furthermost prevalence
of comprehensive earthy assumptions
& defining whispered whimsies,
exhaled betwixt sunrise's saturated ache
for fiery transpired virtual presence,
literally composed of complicit
synchronicity resoundingly set ablaze
mid expounded otherworldly desires
Categories:
whimsies, addiction, allegory, fire, muse,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Wisping winds whisk whispered whimsies willows’ way.
By the pond, we ponder potent possibilities posed by pollinated passions.
As we divine dallying delights depicting developing days,
Moonbeams mobilize to mob us on the mossy mound.
Categories:
whimsies, destiny, future, love, moon,
Form:
Alliteration
Dear Lord,
I know the end is soon to come
My frightened heart beats like a drum
Past events in visual recall
In rapid succession I appraise them all
WAS this my life after three score and ten
The avariciousness of a thieves den
WAS this my life ignorant still
Low in Spirit and weak in will
WAS this my life a degenerate mess
Rejecting assistance with such casualness
WAS this my life filled with wanton delight
Nonsensical whimsies without any respite
Dear Lord, I want to cancel it out
Forgive me my sins in alarm I shout
Lost Sheep, YOU are my chosen one
Throughout YOUR meanderings a light has shone
YOU have faltered oft I know
But throughout each betrayal I have loved you so
YOUR cries for help have not been in vain
YOUR triumphs my loss, each confession my gain
YOUR deeds good and bad are in your eyes
So few of mankind do apologise
Love is YOUR gift on your sleeping face
Peaceful at last in my constant embrace
Theresa Stephens
Categories:
whimsies, blessing, death, faith, inspiration,
Form:
Verse
What theory unifies forces, weak, strong,
With gravity— also, to which belong
All the string theories of why and because?
To answer these queries, M-theory does.
Proponents aver it offers clarity
As to the issue of singularity.—
Where there’s a will there’s a way,
So they say…
In the beginning our universe sprang
From membranes colliding to cause a Big Bang…
Hence matter and energy stem from vibrations of strings seen by seers
In a music of spheres.
One mode of vibration, or ‘note’, makes the string an electron,
Another a photon…
And what of Higgs-boson?
There’s even a mode for the graviton, thought to have gravity’s force.
So vibrating strings would then be the source
To create tiny articles which we call
Elementary particles— one and all.
Dimensions— four plus compactified seven—
Equal a total that’s oddly eleven…
To wit, though string theories wound up at the tenth,
They had to add one more that’s odd to the nth.
Do we have enough sense or senses extended
To fathom those p-branes M-theory intended
And get to the bottom of hyper spacetime
In this super multiverse theory sublime?
What sounding vibration
Strange seeming sensation
Might set the strings strumming
Or maybe branes humming
Is something to ponder,
One’s whimsies to wander—
My mind like the wind evanescent can roam
O’er billowing waves and ineffable foam
With parallels plenty of our bubble home…
Thus I heard
M-theory’s word.
Albeit in physics there’s much knowledge base,
What waters of wisdom could ever embrace
Such cosmic curled places with hyperspace face?
Eerily far we’ve come to here
From bards’ illusions yesteryear—
When heavens would sing lullabies,
With moon and stars to harmonize
Midst luminescent light display
That might have been the Milky Way
Overturning all its jars
In a shower of shooting stars…
How flimsy, fleeting, and fragile life seems,
In our floating realm like a land of dreams!
Amen— let poets lyricize yet
Sweeter reveries lest we forget
Dearer wonders perchance of yore
From whilom membranes nevermore
Where earthlings gazed at clearer skies
With yonders nearer to our eyes,
In a once upon a time divine
P-brane world of auld langsyne…
– Harley White
Categories:
whimsies, creation, deep, muse, sky,
Form:
Rhyme
I dwell on virgin moments lightly spent
beyond the lips of verdant fairy glens
A grand invincibility was mine
and life, ah life, the sweetest purest wine.
I danced on dainty rings of dryad saddles,
I fought and died in bloody, death-less battles
but always mother earth denied a tomb
as though a rootless seed in fruitless womb.
A wild and reckless heart so often pleased
while thrills were fresh and rousing novelties.
When youthful whimsies never found a yawn,
between the ocher fires of dusk and dawn
and life's bold color spectrum never grayed
the sunshine eyes of vibrant, youthful maid.
But then I dared to chance a fatal dance,
escape, be swept away in the romance
of damning, mortal love so circumscribed
by life's short boundaries that death applies.
And in those borders such a fury raged
it slipped my mind that he was Time engaged.
I yearn alone for Time before I learned
to want, to need, to hurt, to love, to burn
for more than what the earth and sun could grow;
for him and mortal life that comes and goes.
No grave-spared hearts could have survived my sorrow,
the anguish greeting infinite tomorrows
for closing peace prevails when death endures
and ends the war with Life's one fated cure.
Eternal life, no less, my gift, my curse,
my soul forever knows a deserts thirst
its mouth wide open dragging sorbent tongue
with these forever cravings of the young.
I'd gulp a bloody Nile, consume Earth's breadth
to quench the thirst, the hunger snubbed by death.
No blade of respite either kills or stills
discomfort in my cries, insanely shrill.
Ten thousand wounds can't bleed the noxious taint
of mortal love complete with Death's constraints.
Nor can the magic of the vernal Fae.
take from the Earth a mound of pall decay.
I loathe the way that I anticipate
the lonesome endlessness of constant fate
when once before I lived for nothing more
than just to see what sunrise had in store.
Ah Life! I would, could I find exodus
espouse my ever-living flesh to dust
or maybe find contempt for Man’s love spells
and damn the man I loved to hell!
Categories:
whimsies, imagination, death, death, earth,
Form:
Rhyme
Glory prizes abound
when your heart shines like the sun.
But let's not get too gushy here.
Or cheesy. Or tacky.
Let's get real: you are your own best motor,
pluggging along towards a fostering joy.
These are facts not whimsies.
(I speak of whimsies in earlier texts,
when I observed fairies clinging to your earlobes
[if you only knew!].)
it's been a warm summer day in Seattle, sure,
and yes, I HAVE been in the garden most of the day,
cleaning gutters and pulling up grass
my girlfriend isn't a fan of.
These labors lie along a path that leads
to a happiness.
The grim grime and flat-out guck,
you find it between the beauty.
You raise it up and tops it
into the big green bin,
amazed at the path you've found
right outside your doorstep.
Categories:
whimsies, life
Form:
Free verse
As the angels of
laughing ladies,
gently anticipated,
the doves of virtue
and grace, beautifully,
a bastard of mote.
A master of beauty
the essence of dazzling
affects, the whimsies
of witch, sorrowful,
attaint, ghostly dialects.
For the princes' coming
the giddiest of sickly
man-staggers. Proudly
the poltergeist wrote.
For triumph, proclaimed
victory, the blood of lazars.
The caduceus of darkness,
chastity and grim,
our righteous in light,
Sons of God, they resurrect.
As the light of
Venus, our amorousness
of pathos, an alliance
of golden virtues,
a dynasty brilliant.
The blood of evening,
vespers of red tides.
An eidolon choir,
the phantoms,
revenant. A man
of prickly ears,
keen senses,
an aporetic.
The blessing bestowed,
now upon, the harlots
of misery mysterious.
Her knowledge, her spare,
her wisdom, her wit,
the crux of
ancient Hesperides.
The jealousy,
dear Jeezebel,
the maelstrom of
eidetic hysteria,
an endorphin heretic.
Categories:
whimsies, death, visionary,
Form:
*** In Simple Lines Poeetry Comes ***
(“You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life…” Walt Whit an, “Leaves of Grass”)
My lines —
My life…
Riding moments,
Raising poetry
Like Beauty feels
Glorious
As Mother Nature is — when her winter here ends —
Brought on to her time of re-birth —
Sprouting life on toward the sun
From and within layers of earth
As Springtime’s newest whimsies grow
Dew-tipped on all and dawn vibrant ‘tho ephemeral…
Words of import
In simple combinations
Phrased memories come
To waves of fields of grass —
With their repeated reciting
Of Poetry’s honored lines’ past
And then, in sequenced words,
Time has amassed
The little aspects of me —
Presented and quite apt for pennings of similes,
Or for drawing on some imagery —
In my heart —
My simple lines were found
Stemming from radiant peace
Or ardent hours,
With persistence versing inspirations
Into my simple lines.
With all attention closely given
To reverberating echoes of a quintessential metaphor
From melodies ‘oft playing unnoticed in the air
Always
Some distance from just so close
By the fields of Spring’s fresh grasses —
Lyric-tipped all
Invite…Await
Wandering poets with thirsty pens.
E——————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 1/21/2023
Thanks be to God…
Categories:
whimsies, beauty, feelings, inspiration, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme