Best Whirligig Poems
Like green leaves that turn yellow and wither away
Like buds that blossom and fade away
Like white clouds that turn sullen gray
Like lengthening shadows darken the day
The whirligig of time brings forth
Mysteries hidden in time's womb
The only certain destiny death
That stone cold tomb.
Like a flickering flame blown out by the wind
Life's breath is soon extinguished.
So we too shall pass away
And while on this journey we may
In this deepening gloom, shine a bright ray
Love, help, encourage, pray
A new beginning everyday.
Closing my eyes I can see you again
My whirligig, dancing as if on water
Not watching my fingers play
Bow loosely threaded like your dancing hair
Red reflected in the flames behind you
Colouring my eyes with warmth and longing
While my hands tire, my arms sink
My violin hits the ground I hear them say
Boy, play me some more, their faces
Grey and distorted while all I want to see
Is you, all I want is your husky voice
The rasp of your fresh beard on my skin
Walking to the dying fire, trampling ashes
Raising my arms and once more seeing
You, arms around me, dancing together
Your soft hum in my ear, while you hold my
Violin high, bowing for me, striking a chord
In my heart, forever in my heart
***
April 26, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
I miss my youth – the way I’d run
or swirl beneath warm summer’s sun.
Oh, dahlia daydreams of romance,
sweet kisses and that first slow dance.
My real life barely had begun!
Adventures I was slow to shun,
A whirligig, with glee I spun
imagining . . . perchance . . . perchance!
I miss my youth.
Good health was mine and ailments none,
and oh, to meet that special one
for whom I fell with just one glance.
Soft brown eyes held me in a trance.
The lesson learned: What’s done is done.
I miss my youth.
Cradle garden faithfully, free her petals.
Pluck bouquet and playfully tend her, kiss her.
Praise her beauty soulfully - stem and fragrance.
~ Whirligig love her.
Today...
Let me swirl, let me sway,
I want to whirl my cares away.
Stand by...
Let me float, let me fly,
I want to forget how to cry.
Don't stare...
Let me dance, let me dare,
I want to romance with the air.
Joyride...
Let me groove, let me glide,
I want to move that samba stride.
Soft blush...
Let me reel, let me rush,
I want to feel your gentle brush.
Stroke me...
Let me spin a trot spree,
I want to grin through this boogie.
Alive...
Let me jig, let me jive,
I'm on a whirligig waltz drive.
09.24.17
Based on the painting "She dances in beauty"
by Anna Razumovskaya
Ripples on the water drift on by
Lilly pads flip around on top, in the air
Surrounded by beautiful dragonflies
I stand by the water, beneath me, I stare
At Whirligig beetles darting on the surface
Little fish, making circles all around
Butterflies visit purple flowers they kiss
It is a peaceful, warm, place I have found
Taking in the quick moments before I must go
Saying bye to the Goldenrod plant, waving at me so
These are the special moments to keep, that please
These moments I hold onto, moments like these
Heidi Sands
8/1/17
*prose was six lines when posted.
STOLE HER HEART TOO
A golden feather, shaped like a heart - the point like a prima donna’s ballet toes. Spoiled feather fell from forever into mortal hands. The giant screamed, stomped at his loss. The whirligig like the lamellae of a music box. Falling from seventh heaven alongside the corkscrew tree. Jack, deliriously descending, on his way to visit his procured harp, plucked from the giant’s brother. The fair lass in silver slippers hugs the feather, agrees to kiss Jack’s stupid lips.
8/31/2019
Writing Challenge 4, August 2019 - Six Lines
Sponsor, Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
What’s It Like?
First:
A strand of hair finer than silk in the Emperor’s robe blows across her face the very end catching in the corner of her mouth. She fills my field of vision her eyes looking full at me, there, a question therein: What’s it like?
Then:
Tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Yes, that dark spot in the iris, windswept black eyebrows thick and meaningful. Freckles (what an odd word).
Some superlatives:
She’s the orange and fire red of Oklahoma sunsets, Snake River waterfall mist, Palouse rolling richness, maple leaves drifting on the Guadalupe, warm butterscotch on vanilla ice cream clouds sweeping up the valley rain is sure to fall or is it tears? No matter.
Of another order:
The closet’s darkness she is blood on the hunter’s hands, desert dirt devil and twisted mesquite and rose thorns, hand tremors a finger on the trigger, harsh words spoken in anger; she can be cruel.
But then:
The whirligig dance at lake’s edge, white lotus above black water, the cicada wing I saw just this morning, her face so close to mine I can feel her skin’s moisture. I see most clearly that fine strand of hair.
And still the question: What’s it like?
Pine needles falling, I should think, koi blowing bubbles, a mother calling a hand on my shoulder the slightest touch whispers turn around see me. I won’t tell you lies; it hurts, that ache that arc that pain her fair hair’s autumn auburn blended sweetly with black water and her white dress, memories at the tip of mind, the spangled, star-struck twist and turn, dodge and dance of cold constellations.
That’s what it’s like.
He's love’s anvil
Banging beauty with propellant power
Bends no ear for mercy--
Body batters tempo hour after hour.
He's love’s anvil
Dashing dreams into the dust
winds whirl them high
as clouds roll by
Never pausing ---
rhythm raging rhythm
hour after hour
like the cadence of the sea
drowning men are history
Hammer pulverizing--
Ferocity in nature can't be taught
like a crazy tiger
that can't be caught
He's love’s anvil
Seeming harmless with no outward hazard sign--
Beckons with a cold-beat
Fear and joy now intertwined.
Throbbing is love’s anvil
Elemental altar of no second chance
Sparks are remnants soul-burned--
whirligig of ashes spinning
in the dangerous splendid dance.
He's love's anvil.
Button up your lip.
This is not a story of romance.
V, Anderson-Throop©2015
Wheeled myself this morning
To the waterside, flawlessly mirroring
Bright white, blue coloured early sky
Daisies strewn around like smithereens
Hip hopping bird, questioningly
Asking for crumbs I have not, why
Not bring that one small gift of love
For this one small friend?
Humming wordless sound
Watching whirligig beetle
Turn and twist, walk like that one son
On water, or diving under, oblivious
To my admiring eyes, if only for
One second, or one hour to
Walk the surface like a bouncer
Swim and dive, breathe in deeply.
October trees, they sway in the wind
A tangerine tango that taunts the tinges
October leaves, they swirl in the breeze
A vermilion whirligig that vaunts the whispers
October hues, they swagger the mind
A rubicund rollicking that haunts the shadows
October scenes, they sweep the heart
A garnet gambol that daunts the artists
October skies, they swarm the soul
A titian twinkle that flaunts God’s blessings
09.30.2021
For Regina McIntosh's "October" contest
I was out of control, spinning
on the whirligig of youth,
giddy to be caught
in what Kerouac called
"the whole mad swirl
of everything to come."
I didn't know what to expect.
I was ready for nothing
though I had spent years
in solitary confinement
with books, exams and degrees.
You would think I'd have learned
something about life as it is,
not as I wished it to be.
I went out on the street
to look for work
and was surprised to discover
no one spoke Old English
like Beowulf or Middle English
like the Wife of Bath.
An old professor told me
I talked the way
e.e. cummings wrote
and no one would hire me.
A few years later I married
a woman with several degrees.
She thought I was normal.
We had five kids in six years
and drove landlords bonkers.
"The Lord will provide,"
we said, and He did.
Fifty years later, the five kids
have rucksacks of their own
packed with jobs, marriages,
children and good lives
measured against
the standard of most.
Their mother is dead,
and like everyone else
on this strange planet
I am in the process
of dying in the jaws
of what Kerouac called
"the whole mad swirl
of everything to come."
I have seen almost all
of "everything to come"
except for the best part
and that, I am told,
will take my breath away.
Donal Mahoney
How the igloo spectators did laugh
as I spun like some frozen giraffe
black ice caught me napping
jack frost “boo-boo” snapping
this whirligig skater a fly-half!
Date created : 3rd January 2021
Contest : Winter Snow or Ice Limerick
Sponsor : Tania Kitchin
NB Jack Frost snapping as in taking a photograph when I cut a funny figure while trying to skate.
Fly-half in comic sense. Slipping and falling in comic rugby player mode
Whirligig comic weather-vane
I strive for simple life and simpler deeds,
Cut down on needs,
And minimize the multiples of me,
And wriggle free
Of whirligig complexity.
Sniffs of cotton candy glide
Glistening like hairy sugar bombs
Through barns of dozy prized cows
Stinky squeaky piggies squeal off-key
While whirligig Ferris Wheels grind and spin
In the hum of the Tilt-A-Whirl and giddy voices
May 14, 2023
Bitesize Contest No. 64 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier