Best Whirligigs Poems
Bells
Solitary heart, newborn in brooding silence,
Steps on a cluttered path
Through elms and boughs of broken limbs,
In a pungent, evergreen hush
Absent of astral cacophony
That falls like mute pennies from wishes,
No buzz nor whirling wings
Disturbs the tacit spell
Until a faint and far-off chime
Brushes against my startled heart
Like the flutter of a butterfly kiss
For at my feet coral bells harmonize
With snowdrops in strings of chimes
Awakened by the breath of angel wings -
Music born of stardust carried on wind chimes
Banishes black spells in lyrical pinwheels,
Melodic whirligigs ringing in silvery silk jingles
Like crystal icicles brushed by soft winds -
A carillon of the winter angelus
Pealing in effervescent tiptoes to remain.
dim and dismal green
disconnected from the sun
waiting on the rain
the leaves dull-humid
still-standing, no breeze blowing
expectant of drench
a relief of burns
the Summer cold to the touch
an austere old thing
the tinkling droplets
chime whirligigs with fancy
those cool snowy clouds
puddles with bare feet
the steam escapes the pavement
white sandals in hand
7/23/2019
I am sitting on the cliff overlooking the river
Far below in the crevice of the mountains,
Where the waters meander like a ribbon
And the rafters are tiny figurines fighting
The currents like whirligigs on the creek.
It’s a fine place to ponder life’s options,
When all seems grayish skies and bleak
And words come slowly to fit the writing,
While the mind wanders free unbidden
Ideas bubbling up like creative fountains
Thoughts as elusive as slippery quicksilver.
written September 23, 2021
[written in reverse rhyme
scheme ABCDEFEDCBA]
Ah you and I; such an unfathomable affair,
So contradictory to logic and reason and safety –
In being together we have thrown all caution to the fickle winds,
We have bound ourselves together in a marriage of dysfunction
And yet at the heart of it is the sweetest love,
Preserved like a mosquito in amber, pressed between our palms…
In every move we make, every breath we take, the love is there
It is in the reassuring metronome of your heart beneath my ear
As I rest my head in sleepy submission upon your chest
It is in the butterfly kiss you plant amongst the strands of my hair,
A small but tender deposit of love,
Glistening like fairy-dust on the crown of my skull
And it is in the tender tracery of your fingers on my skin,
As you sketch whorls and whirligigs along my arm,
Mirroring the tangle of blue veins just beneath the surface…
It is this love, intangible and insecure as it is, that keeps us strong –
That keeps the breath sighing through our saddened lungs
And though we may face the darkest times two people may suffer;
And though the specter of death hovers between us,
An avenging angel with a silver sickle shining in his hands –
Still, the love holds its ground; a slender bond of steel,
Hanging between our hearts…
Keeping us together -
Keeping us alive…
Received a letter this very day; bearing a tale of woe
Words detail a love now lost; as tears begin to flow
The mind does spin as whirligigs; emotions cast about
A life of love and devotion; cast asunder; simply thrown out
An artist knows; that paint must flow to cover a broken heart
Brush strokes wipe the pain away; pain of two lives torn apart
Bold colors display the pain he could not hide; would not hide
The canvas now reveals what the artist feels; knowing a love has died
A closer look at a fantastic word
And no, I’m not talking in bafflegab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
To absquatulate like a fracas herd
Throw a foofaraw over a little jab
A closer look at a fantastic word
A uni-brow is a glabella furred
And whirligigs hung too slapdash to grab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
Scuttlebutt schlepped to sassafras by bird
Skedaddle from a skirmish of stone crab
A closer look at a fantastic word
A quibble over razzmatazz occurred
Doohickey from a lummox, easy nab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
So scrumdiddlyumptious I may have slurred
Like tintinnabulation, it’s not drab
A closer look at a fantastic word
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
multicolor leaves
showers of seed whirligigs
bird nests now empty
Cathartic tea, steaming under our noses,
away from the suffering of grown-children woes,
and wifely duties. Just hanging together - best friends.
rooibos - red bush tea
releases the tongue’s anguish
~ red lips turn upwards
Hearts bond over chicken salad, stuffed with
whirligigs of grapes and nuts, and giggles.
tea-fingers, wholesome
bite of little sandwiches
~ the crust left behind
settled in for hours of conversation - just how
this happens, only God knows. He made us
girls this way. Men just eat and stare, but
our lady chat never never ends. The clock taps
fingernail seconds, but we totally ignore, for
the precious absence of time, where we sip
on endless tea and release all the sadness,
embrace the joy, of seasonal bliss, steeped
in immaculate flavor, that life gives girlfriends.
glossy fingernails
pointing, tapping, red-happy
~ teas good to last sip
10/24/2017
ROLLER COASTER
slow clang of chains, moving loudly
against the brain, upwards
climbing, like the beanstalk,
where Jack don’t know
and...here...we...go
like a new sunrise
in living color
the precipice of a new year
surprised by whirligigs,
thrust upside down
at the locomotive-ground
with no direction
but the moon and sun
the changing of seasons
shall this run
year after year
or
will i come
to a
sudden stop
letting others on
creatures with no hair
no words
staring
at the wonder
of life
not realizing
the bumps and bruises
sunrise and set
and the gears
that are moved by tears
and laughter…
dreaming as i ride this clanking
cathartic piece of art
upside-exciting
downs are frightening
is it at all real
painting new tracks
some dali
a bit seuss
hanging loose
12/31/2017
The sea, precociously sails, toward shore.
A curious imp of a child is he.
The waves, like whirligigs, with laughter roar.
There’s no other place i’d rather to be —
where sequin splashes, touch the wind then flee.
With precious charm, his true blue eyes foresee.
With strong limbs, wrestles monstrous whales, and knocks
over huge sandcastles, built with small hands.
He blows on boats and slides under their docks.
Don’t turn your back on him! He’ll wave his wand!
Still kind, he stops, befriends the suntanned sand.
Resolved to do his part, he trims the land.
But role of dad — the king releases calm.
The impish sailor shamed, dropped in time out.
This pampered teenage child, hears preach from mom:
“Draw out wild waves, from deep, to crest and mount!”
Her misty eyes know what this life’s about.
“Reign well, my son! Swells held up high, froth clout!”
With thirst, I turned away to grab a coke,
then crash, swept off my feet —the wave it spoke.
1/26/2018
Laura Loo’s Urban Sonnet Contest
Rhyme Scheme: ABABBB- CDCDDD- EFEFFF-GG?
shift of the leaves
slowly changing
separating from summer
chilling whirligigs
ready for color
dying to fall
!
!
!
!
!
!
8/27/2022
For our friend, Caren:
RELAXATION OF FAERIE FOREST
dosido, arm in arm
through the pinefill
of faeries. celebratory shakes,
knowing nothing of masks.
protected from human mistakes.
clinking of teacups
“Morning, dear.”
the scent of honeysuckle
and lilacs.
invitation of forest minds,
muses tempting, plotting,
prodding.
fluttering petals, prams
giggling.
girltime in volition.
the whispers are cheering, cherry blossoms
with twirling wings
whirligigs of chimes, tinkling.
zephyr zests the piney invitation
of relaxation — imagination unreal.
silken hues, scarves dance like a chinese dragon.
my dear friend’s amused. she smiles, unconfused.
serendipity of each new introduction, production
by Ann of Appletree, Beatrice of Begonia, Calise of Calliope.
explosion of applause by humans...
teeth whitened by sunlight...
lips spread as if puppet strings of gold suspended them…
my friend cheered up as they nickname her
Eeyore of Eglantine.
A muse slants her eyes from under the bough
a bit jealous
but a “tee hee,” develops and a wee hand
covers her mouth
but she remembers to cover it and pout.
She shouts,”All hail Eeyore of Eglantine!” then rolls
her eyes, a bit too cute.
Someone’s suspicious!
1/22/2021
Lunatic’s Song
I think Jesus knows I’m nuts
so why would he arraign me
in front of all those saints on high
so sane they’ll never see me
skipping down the road at dawn
and not a soul behind me.
Funnel clouds may tear through hell
but not the ones inside me.
They come and go all on their own
as if they can’t abide me.
Today they’re off to New Orleans
so batten down the hatches.
When they return they’ll churn again
whirligigs inside me.
Yet every day when I get up
I know this much for certain:
I think Jesus knows I’m nuts
so why would he arraign me?
Donal Mahoney
Hence, I plunge into imagination to encumber suffering,
Athwart are the horizons wider than my pride,
I, one but three, such a symbolic trope, the Trinity,
A gorgeous exaltation gorged into voracity, itself.
The good is near me! The evil - inside of me!
The principles of distortion underlay the phenomena
Of eternal agony, above and beyond embers of Inferno.
I command the creation of the tenth circle, beyond
Boiling rivers of blood and fire, beyond the frozen lakes,
It’s the core of gravity, the centre of an inescapable certainty,
It’s darker than darkness, blacker than blindness,
It’s dwelling at the bottom of a raven’s gut – and I call it – hope.
Have none! Do not wear livery. Do not submit to a judge,
Nor allow a bailiff to cross your path in the legacy of the flames.
On the wings of poetry far from perishing Evil, all the way to
The dawns of assorted cognizance that whirligigs the itch in me,
I exfoliate the words by setting the residuum of thoughts, in line
With the divinity of soul, that presides in my inner world, unknown
to the world.
A cipher on the head – I cannot be bought as I am not selling
The spiritual cosmology of my imagination, even when it’s ebbing,
No treatise of compromise is saccharine I crave, as I confer
A profane sense in the heathen parish of myself, for myself.
Hence, I plunge into imagination…
My brand-new garden spinner twirls
When breezes start to blow.
It joins my dancing windsock,
Strips a’flying to and fro.
The wind provides the magic
For the whirligigs and trees,
From little puffs of air to gusts
Of varying degrees.
On days when all is still, I hope
The weather will improve
So I will once again enjoy
All things the wind does move.