Best Whir Poems
God sometimes does pray to man;
Quite often we hear him not.
But once above the din of earthly prayer
I did hear his voice;
Through the dizzying whir of angels' wings
His prayer came loud and clear;
A prayer in a tongue I can scarce recall
But which I did to English render.
Priests of the faiths, shepherds of my flock:
Shall you like the devil not hear my prayer?
My words find room in your ears but none
in your hearts,
And so the faithful wander astray from holy
to hollow creed—
The hollow creed of pissful religion.
I can nowhere look and not meet their flights
of insanity;
And nowhere go and not leave un-torn by
their evil ways:
From crimes against humanity,
To drives against womanity--
All wrought in the name of Heaven.
In prayer I now command:
Reach out your staff each day and by its crook
draw the flock near.
Teach them that to answer my prayers is the
highest form of worship
And that man is borne to me not by the things
he drives but by the things that drive him.
Hand them the one compass of golden truth
Whose artless needle ever swings with passion
away from their crooked altars
To point fixedly at my eternal word as to
conscience revealed.
If these words still shall not bend them to the
light
Then, perhaps, my wrath will
When upon their heads it descends
Like a whip of lightning cracking on earth's
bare back.
Categories:
whir, faith, god, peace, prayer,
Form:
Free verse
I miss so many things: the old pear tree, which once lived by the walk and the bees inside. The bees almost never stung, but made the most delightful buzz. The smell of the pear blossoms and the fruit as it rotted on the ground. I even miss the colonies of ants, which swarmed. You see, I chopped it down. Well, the bees stung my ex-husband, or, he was scared of the bees, or some such thing. The bees like the cat, knew more about the true core of the man than I did. Once the cat shat on his side of the bed, and pulled the sheet over it. Even then, I didn’t really hear nature’s call. I miss the rose bushes, which I tore out because of the June bugs. “Mustn’t have untidy, ugly, things around me,” fool that I was, and continue to be. I have almost eradicated the wild violets. Soon, even I will be gone. “Who will remember all that sweetness? Oh, the pear crisp with crumbled cinnamon crust on a Fall day, all gone.”
a mown lawn
stretches to the horizon –
a hedge clipper whir
The Rose Queen was a lesser villain than I. She was imaginary and I am real, or so I believe. “If you’d lived with Alice would you have played croquet with a flamingo club?”
First Published in Contemporary haibun January 2014
Categories:
whir, beauty,
Form:
Haibun
He never seemed to have the time for her
Responsibilities kept piling high
His days just seemed to fly in blinding whir
He could not sense her love was soon to die
So tired from his work, he'd lie in bed
and kiss her quick goodnight, then fall to sleep
How could he know her needs he had not fed
For they had life and home and funds to keep
He felt that life was good, and all was well
They spoke of his good fortune and his wife
How could he know that flames reached up from hell
and soon he'd taste from cup of bitter strife
That night he planned to take her for a spin
He bought some chocolates and rose in bloom
Outside his bedroom door, he lost his grin
He found her being ravaged in their room
His best friend and his wife in love's embrace
it made his heart convulse in frenzied beat
Before he'd kill them both, he left the place
But how could he forget her brazen heat
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They sat there in the office, pens in hand
their lives were torn in two, divorce: the end
She touched his arm as he prepared to stand
He melted then, but had to just pretend
"You never knew the love I have for you
I tried my best to keep you satisfied
Throughout my days, the best I tried to do
but your neglect just left me traumatized
You never praised the beauty of my face
The touch of love you kept; I died within
You did not see the negligee of lace
HE saw all these, and tried my heart to win
I tried to close my heart, I did not dare
to lose the home we had, I longed to be
the one you loved with soul and body bare,
yet all my pent up love, you did not see."
And with those words she gave a little cry
the tears that flowed struck cold his broken heart
He knew the fault he bore, he now knew why
But it was all too late; they now must part
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There is a moral to this tale so drear
A wife is still a woman with desire
She longs to know her man to her is near
So take the time to please and stoke her fire
You need to show her that she is the one
Who makes you long to love, and laugh, and live
So let your passion rival heat of sun
And then her all to you, she'll freely give
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A wife has needs and wants just like you do
To see her constant bloom, give love that's true
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Categories:
whir, betrayal, hurt, husband, wife,
Form:
Narrative
Mother Earth awakens, in subtle pastel hues
Aspen leaves flutter and quake, shaking off the morning dew
Morning stirs, and Hummingbird wings whir and trill, just out of sight
Columbines dance on a pine scented breeze, solely to their delight
Mother Earth enjoys the day, basking in suns glow
or splashing in the rain showers and watching flowers grow
Whispered secrets on the wind, ancient wisdoms to impart
keeping silent vigil, she hears them stir within her heart.
Mother Earth lays down to sleep, bright colors paint the sky
evening shadows blanket her shoulders, as she closes her eyes
Pine trees shush their lullabies, and usher in the night
the taste of dew hangs in the air, as stars begin to light
Categories:
whir, native american, natureearth,
Form:
Rhyme
Star-dusted peaks you seek on love's golden moonbeam bliss,
Feeling the rapture of whipped-cream desire in a whir;
Human experience wrapped in euphoria's kiss,
The ecstasy and agony of human nature...
Throes of living with woes, lost love's pathos reminisce,
Soul-groaning, heart-moaning; unwanted guests' bereft slur;
Wallowing human exist falls in nightmare's abyss,
The ecstasy and agony of human nature.
Susan Ashley
October 13, 2017
*Painting by Paul Lovering - 'Agony And Ecstasy'*
~ Tenth Place ~
Premiere Contest #105
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Categories:
whir, desire, emotions, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm an Ultra Quiet with a whir
Frigidaire 24” Built-In White Dishwasher
Energy saver
With hot and cold stir
Oh yes they do make a dishwasher
I’m getting so old they just don't know
They think I can do the job like a pro
Baskets are crumbling
Rust on everything
I'm ready to blow and overflow
Naive people believe what labels sell
They use a lemon scent liquid gel
States; “No" pre-washing
Leaves dishes sparkling
All lies, it makes the dishes look like hell
They have hard water in their home
So the liquid soap makes no foam
Barnacles have formed
Heating elements deformed
I'm tired of their complaints when they get home
I'm an Ultra Quiet with a snore
Frigidaire 24” Built-In White Dishwasher
Energy saver
No, not any more
Oh yes, they do need a new dishwasher
9/22/2015
Contest Name: A Tribute to a Major Appliance
Sponsor: Mary Oliver Rotman
Categories:
whir, fun,
Form:
Limerick
Green!
Alive
on tall grass,
blithe, lithe, limber,
swaying long and lean
in their beachy masses.
The deadpan sand eavesdrops as
breezes wave blades like silk banners.
Whispers whir with emerald voices;
long-winded grass gossiping with zephyrs.
Categories:
whir, beauty, happiness, joy, nature,
Form:
Etheree
Suspended like a lemon drop
on the tongue of night
the moon melts
on the clarinets keys
Haze, ever present,
on this humid September eve,
blurs the edges of reality
calling forth images
of sweet beginning
the howls of wolf..
as the sax soars
and the warmth of blood.
A firecracker night
sparks
spinning in lamplight
basking in blue velvet
humming with the whir
of cicada's
with the brushes
on top hats.
Categories:
whir, life, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Oh, splendorous tree, limbs reaching high
with grandness framed by endless sky-
your epic branches sway in rhythmic dance
while rustling leaves whir with breeze-
concerting their own song.
Of nature's boundless beauties, you, grand tree,
display epitome of form and grace-
from mighty trunk that twists and bends, carefree,
to mingled branches, intertwined like lace.
splendid is the tree
standing tall neath boundless sky-
signing God's glory
September 5, 2020
~1st Place~
Contest: Writing Challenge - Nature, Four in One
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: 09/20/2020
Rules- Former Contest: Four in One
1. A single Crystalline - 2 lines, 8/9 or 9/8 syllables
2. A single Kimo- 3 lines, 10/7/6/ syllables
3. Your Choice Form: (chosen- Iambic Pentameter
4 lines, abab, 10 Syllables, 5 feet per line)
4. A single haiku- nature, 3 lines, 5/7/5 syllables
Nature Theme Chosen: Tree
Categories:
whir, nature, tree, tribute,
Form:
Verse
The anorexia is not conspicuous,
being half-submerged, just
breaking through.
She’s a powdered mirage.
Her skin a hyaline shear
drawn over a necklace
of clavicle bones.
She knows her chest
is returning to childhood,
she wants to shelter there,
to be her own child.
Small breasts bob under
burgundy nipples,
buds made more prominent,
anchored as they are
to shipwrecked ribs.
Designer bling distracts.
Cameras whir, she poses,
one hand on a denuded hip,
not resting there,
but stealthily carrying
an ounce of flesh,
toward a spotlight.
We collude with her,
applaud the way
she decorates a condition.
We all know her emaciated beauty
is a mutual hoodwink.
We know that the closer to death
sexuality becomes,
the more rapacious our appetite,
the more we will wail,
as she slips
through our hungry hands.
Categories:
whir, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
We move with wheels that whip and whir
a human hive, spinning with a purpose
cohesive and connected, in one accord.
By the sweat of the brow, legs churning
we flow with the wind, with beating hearts
racing along roadways and up steep hills.
Now we are cascading downwards
with great abandon, locked in, hooked
hooked on the ride and to each other…
…as we race towards the setting sun.
2/6/2022
Categories:
whir, friendship, sports, together,
Form:
Free verse
I kept the inner workings,
kept the plastic furniture
while it cracked
into multidimensional bones.
I kept (in part),
the whir of its mirroring mind.
Of course, the viewer has dimmed out
nothing in the camera fully develops,
yet images emerge.
I can catch the blurry taillights of stars,
find my way through a long-burnt corn field,
photograph photographs
yet to be imaged.
Categories:
whir, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Lovely, is God's gift, a sapphire world,
a breath, a sigh, a soothing soul of beauty.
Quote_by Poet
The refreshing cool, caressing breath of awaking dawn,
clouds nesting ascends from the blue horizon heaven's yawn.
The sea's heartbeat and unending scent, of the briny stir;
never calm, but constantly moving, rippling, water whir.
Gulls dance under breaking clouds departing upward in flight,
dash of white dives, swoops, squawking in the lacing sunlight.
Wind's flow of rapture, proceeds in joy as it longs to play
with the salty foamy turquoise sea waves that bend all day.
The turquoise continuous body of water beneath
its breadth and depth, her womb ever pregnant and coral reefs.
3/9/2022
Categories:
whir, bird, imagery, sea,
Form:
Imagism
Stair carefully dear into the unknown abyssal void.
Pier was once past and now rotted and rictus, petrified.
Hue manatee threaded ten den and garnet.
Ruby teardrops and crimson Damascus drips droplets,
like a leak key faucet in the dead of night.
Scarlet necklace four by one who did sow much,
kismet of my bloodlust and neck crow man sea.
Fools are all burning with me now, how kris pea.
Cerberus let me pass for free or dye dog,
he growls but I remain steadfast and waltz threw.
Welcome to my finally fore Hades is dead,
only pan door ah re mains.
Categories:
whir, dark, dog, gothic, horror,
Form:
Free verse
"shhhhh.....shissssssh"
"be quiet"...whispered
"Can you hear that?"
.
.
"What is that sound?"
Is it far...a faraway
train whistle lonesome
from song of mainline?
Is it the soft ting
of the tea kettle
cooling on the stove,
bending it's metal?
"What is that sound?"
It is the slow creak
of old wooden chairs
as mortise and tenon
slowly adjust, torqued
to a shifting weight.
Could be a mantle
clock tiptoe ticking
away Sunday afternoon.
Why don't they make
digital clocks tick?
Is it that catlike scratch
of the Autumn branch
gently scraping the window?
"What is that sound?"
It is the hushed hum
of computer fan lulling
a digital brain.
The Venetian blinds
rhythmically tap half-open
double-hung windows.
The vibrating whir
of some electric motor
compressing or orbiting
the periodic table.
Mountains of Quaking Aspen
leaves relaxing the winds.
When is alone welcome
and when is it forlorn?
The weight of near silence,
light as the dust that
floats the sunlit room,
or heavy as a cardiac
anvil under ancient
spreading Chestnut tree.
Did the bell toll at
the village church,
ringing all comers
to awake momentarily, or
was that just tinnitus?
Unable to open eyes,
sounds belie surroundings
and alone might be
fallacy or welcome.
Deceptive senses afoot
in the stirrup, and hammer
tapping anvil might only
be a mindful dream.
© Goode Guy 2011-06-13
Categories:
whir, imagination, introspection, life, mystery,
Form:
Free verse