Best Whirring Poems

My thoughts whirring
When life freezes the blood

Actions that burn in hell
A fire that burns forever

Terror -  their empire of hate
Fearless, they control our destiny

Terrible...

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Seduce me in Black and White
You reach toward my face
and touch my lips
Tracing the slightly raised pink curve of them
gently - lightly - before
the urge...

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She kept it all inside her
and never spoke a word,
though her thoughts flew and darted
like a trapped and frantic bird.

Inside her was a garden
that was...

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I was driving home late one cold Winters night
It was minus ten and the moon shone bright
Then in my car headlights a young girl I...

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Fading porch light lures with pale glow
a circling moth, dull-beige and bare.
As starlight ties vast sky in bows, 
I shy away from ruthless glare. 

Night...

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   His fragile limbs in a caged body 
    seeking proteins from ivy drips
     vulnerable fears...

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I never told anyone how my ears reverberate in a silent room.
The whirring drone ever present, a conquistador of my private spaces.
This is my cohabitation...

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In-flight
In pheromone
Honeysuckle perfume
Insect antennae knot freshly
bouquet.

In breeze
I feel your breath
rustle shiny reeds
of my stints' hapless hinterland
you learn.

A vest
of velveteen
gleaming wings that trembled
Turn to a whirring...

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Head down
The old woman sews 
A dress
Nimble fingers 
Marking each stitch
The whirring of machines
Whirling and whirling
Round and round
Threading memories
Of another time
Reminding her
Of a night
Long ago
When...

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It was really a simple thing
Four chains holding a large plank 
Suspended from the ceiling
A big blue swing

Summer at its peak
Heat touching 45 degrees
Cousins all...

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Bill and Blanche set off, to the 'Yorkshire Show' they did go
T'was a yearly trip, and they would always show.

Each time Bill says to Blanche...

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Dear dragonfly, you hover from flower to flower
But there is one which you always seem to linger on
When the world stops and time stays at...

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It was the Main Street hangout for the teenagers of its day.
For a nickel they could dream as they heard the jukebox play!
Wispy white metal...

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When I was a child and my dreams were of gold
I always believed everything I was told,
my faith was implicit, my innocence pure
and magic existed,...

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I opened the sewing basket, letting my eyes and hands run over the tools she had used—the scissors, the darning egg, the pins and pincushion,...

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