Best Whirrs Poems
A lawnmower whirrs in the distance
My neighbor has gotten ambitious
The sun shines upon my head
As I sit upon my deck
I feel the warm rays soak into my skin
Am I tanning yet?
The bees are busy buzzing
Stopping only to drink from sweet blossoms
Birds are calling happily
Back and forth across my rising lawn
Should I get ambitious too
And mow my growing grass?
I sigh
Not today . . .
Not today
purple profusion
pine green supported....
hummingbird's whirrs
Indian summer.
Fierce days – radiating heat
From sun, road and walls.
Still, humid nights when
Spent, I hunt elusive sleep.
Blessed air-con whirrs.
Cool dawn brings relief.
Face lifts to every breeze.
Autumn IS coming.
Bright skyscrapers gleam
Across the bay, dawn-painted –
Gold, rose, mauve and grey.
Captive on sand-flats –
A tree. Stark, dark reminder
Of the summer floods.
Mother Nature hurts –
And heals us. But we are more –
Like her, we’re starstuff.
I set the date
Hope I am not too late
To save some souls
From chilly fate
The year of our Lord
Dial one nine, one two
From my home-based lab
After locking in-situ
A gyro spins
A crackle, a flash
I land on the deck
With a terrible crash
Oh souls that surround me
Running here and around
Never notice my vehicle
Though designed to astound
The floor is now jaunty
My breath like fresh mist
The critical moment I fear
I have missed
Make fast to the lifeboats
Although they are few
I frantically seek out
The captain and crew
"You can double the numbers.."
I cry with a shout
It's too late for they're pushing
The final boat out
I reach for my notepad
Complete these last lines
'Crisp bright morning air
Yet the darkest of times'
A note to myself
Set my machine now to 'home'
So she whirrs and she crackles
Takes instructions, alone
My vain hope is she
Meets me in an earlier state
An inventor incumbent
To change the course of this fate
Now my destiny sealed
By dark ice of the sea
As resigned I join singing;
Nearer My God to Thee
Fast forward to now
Deep-sea divers explore
The old shipwreck is claimed
By the ocean once more
Yet a mystery beckons
Cameras peer through the grime
Uncatalogued cargo
Out of luck, out of time
The last plasma puff of the engine invites them out
Of the vessel, wearing refrigerated high-tech suits
Equipped complete with claw-like studs gripping cracked grout,
Fighting for balance against the gusts in their pursuit.
Tsal pulls out the holo-tablet to map their position
And consult the travel plan. The air crackles to life
At the rod in his hand's and the one on his chest's intersection
Showing in script and diagrams what once was humanity's hive.
A step on a fish bone draws a snap which pulls
His eyes downwards then around the oily dirty landscape
Where lay more bones from different creatures whose lives were culled
By a slow death they'd tried in vain to escape,
Probably the last of each of their species to have braved heat,
Thinning air, toxins in solid, liquid and gas form everywhere.
Tsal thought of who'd ate whom last at the eve of total defeat
As lives became meatless skeletons after plants had left here.
Ok! Back to finding the once supreme masters of this rock
Who built the cranes surrounding this now barren and dry seabed,
As if adorning the grave of many a beast. With some luck,
The image in his hand lights red as it hovers over a broken bone head.
(c) Nyonglema
Let's all go out and support Earth Hour on 28th March 2015 and yearly!...let's make this silence of whirrs and buzzes a little LOUDER.
She whips and whirrs, wild and wanton
Gaia’s grasses nearly come out of the earth
She is in a frenzy, stirring things up and away
At first it is scarves and paper plates, then there is an eerie calmness.
A quiet, deadly, silence and a black sky at two in the afternoon.
She is back, sounding like a freight train, choosing her victims.
She begins flinging cattle, logs, and sheds.
There goes the silo! Twirling up into the sky like a top.
On the Richter scale she is a four; and she is damned proud of it.
Which house will she take? She chooses her victims helter skelter.
Her anger and rage are in full blown whipping and swirling stage now.
She is diabolical, ruthless, unforgiving. She is the wind.
Wide awake in the pitch of night
is when they come
drifting in and out dreams
dancing between real and fantasy
declaration sits within the heart
and is always felt
each time different but the same
the longing oft remains
and roams
the thrums, the whirrs
easing me off to you
caressing those night time blues
staring then stirring
how can I await
as time passes by slowly
but surely
you wait too
Even amongst the hums and whirrs and hisses
coming from behind the counter
Its so easy
In the pretentious mist of this artsy café
To pick up
And draw on
The stained remains of conversation;
Some so Avant Garde
Andy Warhol would vomit.
Drenched in pomposity
Peppered with multi-syllabic phrase,
And thoughtful hums between beard strokes.
These are the philosophers and future prime ministers to be.
Full of words and the dedication of a dying fish,
with a stench and jounce to match.
The girl in the stripy top wants to be heard
Flicking her mane rhythmically as she giggles
Obnoxiously at her friends bad jokes.
Donned with that oh so vintage-esque scarf (its warm inside)
And a rock-n-roll T-shirt.
Both pierced with todays hottest jewelery; They are different
Like every other alternative wanna be wandering the street.
Nobody told them its in what you do that counts.
I would love to pick up *** ends here
But I am shy and enjoy being an orange chameleon
Set against the pine tables and chairs
Worn by an unquenchable caffeine and image addiction.
The artists, musicians and hippies should gather here,
Just to off set the skinny jeans
And influential teens engulfed by an overrated image.
At least the coffee is good,
And the waitress is cute with a genial smile.
The art and décor, inspired.
I'll probably keep coming back.
Apricot sunrise that changes
Fast turning to gold
Whispy angels' wings dot a blue sky
Fog shawls the forest bold
Coyotes yap yap in the woods
One lone lookout crow caws
As the roosters crow the sun up
The sun wakes diamonds' awe
A glistening dew caresses all;
Lingers; kisses leaf and grass
Pecan's silhouette dark design
Crows caw increase with sass
What a blessed morning 'pon the porch
A helicopter whirrs
Off at a distance, the sound of blades
Close by birds voices stir
Doves coo, crickets sound, birds chirp songs
As stillness encases
Not a breeze moves a leaf or twig
Down at the old homeplace
The succulent awaits the sun
That pink streak now rising
Stretched across a gray blue sky
It's magenta blossoms abiding
Change happens very swiftly each
morn, the sky's color shifts
Now sand like the ocean's shore
That constantly pitches and drifts
Oh! The stillness fills the soul
Colors flash upon a screen
Beauty displayed blesses the spirit
Like the world viewed in dreams
The roosters still rest enjoying
the cool, not a sound stirs
Songbirds rest within their nest
No dove arises with whirrs
An illuminating glow appears
Upon the wispy clouds
Palest pink upon the horizon
Master painter is proud
A red fireball sets the pines aflame
Dark silhouettes exposed
Fan brushed clouds etched above
Like spring's melting stained snow
The heat and humidity will
flood the air~overwhelm
Great is the time spent in the cool
Within the master's realm
Finis'
Leave me on this island
Leave me on Elba to die
I don't mind
Actually I do
I'm just the shyest man alive
And maybe to her
I'm not even so much as a boy
"Only boys play games"
I was never in the game to begin with
I say one thing
Then contradict myself
Because everything I say
Carries the weight of feathers
Floating through black holes
"Love can be so sweet"
She also told me this
"But truth is even sweeter"
Even if it lacks a tasteful edge
Instead, a vulgar shape
A pencil-etched *****
in a textbook
The drumbeat ticks along
But there's no uniting force
Behind it all
It's aimless and broken
I never came
Never wanted to be there
In the first place
I tried to call it all off
But hung up and just didn't show up
If you can't count on me
Who can you count on?
…Sorry?
No, I'm really not
I don't want to spread a skin
Over something that cannot be beaten
The computer clicks on
Whirrs and starts
You understand every circuit
Every flash of light
As if understanding is some sort of
Absolution
But I pray the ambiguities make you crazy
They're the only thing left to keep me sane
Leave me alone on this island
Leave me alone to die
It's fine
For the shyest man alive
Maybe one day you too will value silence
And solitude
It's really quite beautiful
Raving gang!
Nation in a mirthful mood,
Whirrs of discordant triumph,
Eyes steaming noxious passion.
Look about!
Revelry boils over;
Death in the embrace of a squall
Eddies skyward; the stench chokes.
The rabble!
Itch for fun in filthy holes—
Slide down the slit of vipers.
The wild stares, chilled in a pout.
Look atop!
Gaunt vultures swarm in wait,
Craning with graveyard muteness;
Keen eyes, sharp claws, ready to pluck.
Joyous gang!
Rainbow spray, deep emotions,
Dewdrops glistening at dawn
Awaiting the summer sun.
© 2015 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
A thrill of autumn debutant debrief
with row on row of bushes blooming red
releasing winds of change upon the reef
autumn bids her hues of mournful reds ;
the bristle pinecone clings to scented pine
and dances in the breeze then all around
as trinkets fall abreast time after time
the nutmeg earth rejoices without sound
in gentle motion earth's rotary stirs
fulfills the promise of a season's page
October and November breezy whirrs
find aim and turn their colors brown to sage
as cooler nights attend our entourage,
we welcome her by harvest's old adage.
Ice, ice, baby
You pour me over maybe
A straw to pierce the depths
Inhale the deepest breaths
A fancy glass all fluted
In milky joy I'm rooted
A scoop of whizzed banana
Tastes of pure Americana
The decor is all flashy
Just white and red, not trashy
All dressed up in your nifties
Time travel to the fifties
For teens on scooters suited
All sweetness undiluted
A jukebox in the corner
Soothes away all worldy trauma
Drop a dime to stick a tune on
Whirrs and clicks to drop the best song
Grab yourself a Coca-Cola
Dance in lights from the Rock-Ola
Gals all twirls and frilly knickers
Dudes in shiny winkle pickers
There's an innocence and beauty
As they jive to Tutti Frutti
How we'd love to travel back there
Leaving every burden and care
Just an evening sure to thrill ya
Taste of ice-cold pure vanilla
Ice-pick lighting,
headache inducing halogen,
white screen glows,
static blank heat.
Anti-matter, cold and desolate
as snowfields in winter,
enigmatic dreamless philosophy,
cryptographs of oblivion.
When dims the halogen,
the projector whirrs,
future enacted luminance,
expanding and imploding.
Blue and green slides,
entropic deliverance,
in architectural visuals,
structures of bleached death.
White flesh superimposed
with illusions of life,
unfrozen equilibrium,
hurtling to nowhere fast.