Best Whooshes Poems
The laundry on the line is dancing in time
to a wind whipped tune in early June
it tosses and turns, it whooshes and whirls
around and around in a yard before noon.
As clothes gayly flow, with pink socks in tow
the magic of the cool breeze surrounds
while bold colored shirts flirt with frilly skirts
the gossip from lace nighties abounds.
Sweet dresses sway and swiftly sashay
‘round blue jeans and tee shirts alike
they flip and they flap, they jitter and snap
as the wind crescendos and spikes.
Sheets fill up and fluff in billowing puffs
‘til the breeze takes a break and rests
“hands” then appear to put an end to the cheer
and the clothes slump and know they must rest.
In all of my days, of this simple display
I had never imagined or thought
that a view from afar, a clothes line in a yard
could bring pleasure that cannot be bought.
5/5/2022
The waves lick the pier-deck beams,
a boat has passed upon the lake
to shuffle the song upon the wind,
ebbing whooshes.....
The smoky waters still to tease
slow with ancient whispers,
The Loon leads upon the woody melody,
some sylvan songster
too beautiful to languish,
still sleeping....
Not floating upon the dawn
through misted peace;
all ears have heard
the first kiss of throngs,
Gentle as waves upon the tide,
from the very earth it seems....
the sweet haunting cry
echoes souls through silts
leagues deep,
The very marrow of stone,
and pine and leaf,
A morning hushed but for its
pretty plea, a male perhaps
(so tender with feminine appeal)
They all call so, pillowed
their first-light throngs,
Angels upon the deep billowed morn,
Where the very clouds above
have seemed to hover
above the lake along,
Their soothing cry
fills the waking wood....
hushed waters, still as stars
feeds the twilight with song
(pining through hovering hats of mist)
I lie,
on my large comfort bed..
counting seconds,
syncing my heartbeat,
with the tick of the great white clock,
above my head.
What I'm thinking,
even I do not know..
Clouds have formed on my thoughts...
Fogs have scathed my vision,
hence, I cannot see beyond
the goose trail of old memory..
The wind whooshes in uninvited,,,
with a knowing air,
It tells me...
Oh.... I have forgotten..
I sit up.. and shake my head ruefully..
This blankness,, this emptiness..
This menace of internal unknowingness...
It eats me up...
I know something pegs at my unsettled mind.. But what??
Oh!!!! I remember now,,, only vaguely though..
The wind,, it had said something..
Something about sunshine..
Sunshine on a rainy day..
I stand up... No longer able to contain
the powerful synergy of energy..
Inside me, this surge occurs..
It jolts me, it jostles me here and there - So I walk
Up and down the entire bedroom..
I'm getting something..
Hazy formations,,, silhouettes,,, outlines....
Then, the first images appear..
Blurry at first, but..
as time passes... clearer they become..
I start to understand..
But....
Suddenly, I'm drawn back into the past...
I recall,,, I remember... The hindsight is too powerful for me..
I jump up!!!
And in a matter of seconds,,,
I find myself dancing..
This thing,
that boggled my pristine mind..
I finally know what it is..
But I do not have a name for it yet,,
It's,,, it's a tune,,, it starts with a rhythm..
A konga drum,,,, chimes,, gongs...
Then,,, larger, thicker, hide-drums...
Then... A beat,, syncopated and enthralling..
It's fast... Strong,,, daring...
Then...
Dancing steps..
Dancing...
A voice, raised from a variegated population...
Heart,, beating in sync..
I discern,,,,
Yes...
Sunshine on a rainy day..
Hmm...
My mind is full.. It's near breakpoint..
I am now eager to name this anonymous sensation..
I think...
I think...
Yes...
The name falls to my small ears....
It startles me... But,,, I receive it
with a heart full of dire hope..
I breathe a sigh and let the name out...
"Yuletide", I say..
And as I pant, recovering from the exhilaration,,,
A figure, in red and white
crosses my window...
Merry Christmas....
To great applause, I walk the rope -
I’ll stay upon my feet, I hope;
I look below and see no net -
And smile (although my brow is wet).
I juggle, dance and skip, recalling painful falls;
Then ride a bike and sing My Way…to great applause.
On the trapeze, I seem to fly,
The ground beneath me whooshes by,
I catch my partner by her feet,
Perspiring madly with the heat,
I somersault and spin - the effort makes me wheeze;
The show is done, I take a bow…on the trapeze.
For David’s Circus contest
Using the Wrapped Refrain, a form created by Jan Turner
cool, moist breeze blowing
sweat-soaked smiles light up faces
airborne petrichor
wailing wind whooshes
fluttering clothes flap in joy
botox treat for earth
drizzle, soft sizzle
scattering kids on the run
monsoon makes its mark
Like many heroes of mysterious Marvel Comics,
Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange is a bolt of magic mix;
Spells of supernatural kinds he works, abundantly,
Crimsons, crystals, ice, rings, chains - in constant redundancy...!
Pile of pure pulverization and annihilation,
The Bolts of Balthakk has become eternal damnation;
On any stuff - solid or liquid - the bolt does explode,
Like iron-oxidation, all powers it does corrode...!
Bounds, rebounds, rings, winks, blows, boomerangs at its master's hands,
Swishes, swooshes; whizzes, whooshes like winds in desert sands;
None in heaven or hell could ever its gravity hold,
Like swift, sly electric current it does its force unfold...!
Is it terrible torch of fire? Or lake of lava?
Is it hydro-nitrogen bomb resembling baklava?
From hands of Doctor Strange, like gold dust they serenely fly,
Clapping, crashing, flashing, dazzling, booming, zooming they spry...!
Doctor Strange manipulates these bolts like liquid plasma,
For him, a magic-surgeon, it's mere mental miasma;
An awesome third eye adorns the forehead of Doctor Strange,
For mesmerized kids, these are, delightful amusement-range...!
30 August 2022
Doctor Strange Spells Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
I hover high above the ground,
gently land ing the tree's.
The branches easily sway,
moving with the breeze.
I sit there, just watching all the
movement in the street below.
The sun bathes me, heating my body,
from the rays soft, warm glow.
I leave my perch,
zoom toward the people,
and then...and then,
up again I fly, just missing,
a tall, dark steeple.
In and out of the clouds,
I nautically drift.
A bird screeches and whooshes by.
I grab onto his tail,
as he pulls me toward the sky.
We fly together for a while,
riding high, on a pocket of air.
Just me and the bird, alone,
soaring free with not a care.
Now I let go, off I fly,
into the mist of the day.
Such a feeling, higher, higher,
much higher I say.
The ecstasy of being so free,
swells up deep inside of me.
All of a sudden I feel a pull,
falling, falling deep.
And then it is over,
I awake to reality,
from a happy peaceful sleep.
Akin Twin Invisible Presence Coaxing...
Action across ouija board
fingers of left hand appear to move
planchette of their own accord...
inexplicably, silently, and verily
along a barely traceable minuscule chord
dance, with some spatial force
from outer limits,
perhaps a dimension unexplored
of twilight zone, (where spirit
of Rod Serling dwells)
horizontally, linearly, and peculiarly unmoored
hashtagging, kickstarting, and zigzagging
while just barely hoovering
with maybe a hair breath
of space to afford
between alien world and terrestrial
plain playing field, when oh my lord...
(this premature ejeculation
from an atheist sword
like cross my heart), thee paranormal
shenanigans witness movement toward,
and away from death still
participants mouths agape
with bated breath until last letter scored
which message... uh...ah...cannot be revealed
yeah...yeah...yeah...due to HIPAA laws...
...(Without explanation, there
gets heard a clangorous din
along with whooshes of ice cold air
brushing against my chin
analogous to some unseen
genie i.e. and/or jinn
freed from the lantern by Aladdin,
then,...how odd...a deathlike
stillness one could hear a pin
drop pervades so painfully quiet
as if...all sound got vacuumed in
to a void of parallel universe...
...Though I don't dabble in the black magic,
nor nothing linkedin with the occult,
yours truly titled his poem used to
"grab" attention fast as Usain Bolt,
he who dashes off runners block
as a blinding earth shattering jolt
faster than speeding bullet,
a praiseworthy athlete with no win tent to insult,
but merely chose his name out of thin air
(in accordance with abracadabra)
and flimsy rhyme that did result...
But..., aye...beg (bribe with
all the wealth of Midas)...please
believe me you, this rather cheese
zee poetic endeavor got
wrought with eyes wide shut
(for all intents and purposes eyes closed),
where gentle force did cease
phalanges asthma southern paw
of righteous honest to dog
gone guy with sixth cents sees
dead people as like miniature floaters
(in my eyes with ease)
poised and struck unbeknownst
computer laptop black keys!
on the other side of a twenty-seven mile wide mountain range
is a place to go where no cars and cycles buzz behind me
where the dusk heated sun does not touch my back
and polluted air does not burn my eyes
where the Pacific Ocean whooshes in my ears…
i can get there by dawn and sit on the beach
smell the salty air as the sun rises from mighty waves
stroll in water shoes across sharp pebbles
dash into a cool frothy force crashing upon me
there, over this mountainous Taiwan backbone
i could stay drenched in plum wine all day
women amused with my Mandarin mouth
women amusing me with their English tongues
i could do this
with karaoke nights singing to my fancy
but would i forget my wife at home
looking like something is wrong
i look to the peaks of green mountains
follow their curves through lush valleys
twenty-seven miles of tiny winding roads
upward, over, around, and down to the shoreline
with indistinguishable places to rest
and weeks if i wish to stay
with an iPod of twenty-five thousand songs
in a cold car with cool sound system
it could be years
if i do not miss home
up and around bends with streams and waterfalls
adventuresome companions and sweethearts
and my favorite noodles
on hyaloid shade phylum
of zaffre azure
swish
soulful scrutinize
apodictic vinculum
magniloquent
wandering of wispy whooshes
wrapping wisps of weird warbles
shrivel olive trees
overflow no omen
drenched in sweat
summoned by chimera
once called passion
title assertion?
baud pace of rimless dreams
blurred bark
bare branches
fruitless leaves
unfetter'd
sky loose
mythic gem idol
purine as Myrsine
space rock fit
moon zappily
uncanny
azure drilled of ritzy rag doll
mesh shimmer blaze shackle
include
dare
desire
gaudy Sirius in darkened spell
mottled splendor
to cognize my path
as xanthic whispers
afresh
Written: August 06, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
The witches finger
When night time falls on Halloween if you`re near the woods don’t linger
For if you stand to long this night you`ll feel the Witches finger.
It`s long and crooked with a pointy nail its skin is rough and grey
It comes alive on Halloween night but dead and black by day.
She wakens up but once a year from her cold and icy tomb
Then she sharpens up her nails and sits upon her broom.
She screams a deathly cackle as she adorns her Witches hat
Then summons from the depths of hell her big black evil cat.
It stretches and it yawns with its mouth so big and fat
Then gobbles up the cobwebs and the spiders from her hat.
With jagged teeth and razor claws and a pair of fiery eyes
It sits upon the Witches knee as they take towards the skies.
The crypt doors they burst open as her finger points the way
She`s hunting for some victims before the break of day.
She`s flying through the night sky with evil in her eye
She’s hunting for lost children as she passes by.
She needs to be replenished with her heart as dark as coal
She’ll put her finger on your chest and steal your mortal soul.
So when you’re trick or treating in your Halloween disguise
Don’t wander in the shadows where the witchy has her eyes.
Don’t go down dark or unlit lanes where children should not be
Stay in the light stay with your friends where you can clearly see.
But when a shadow falls across the moon and you hear the witches scream
Your legs are frozen to the spot and you pray it’s just a dream.
Her dark cloak flutters in the wind her broomstick whooshes by
She has rotten teeth a crooked hat and she only has one eye.
So hold on tight and run for the light and do not be a hinder
Because if she catches up with you you`ll feel the witches finger.
THE END
Listen to the orchestral tune,
The sea sings its song as the ship moves along,
Serenading to the silvery moon.
The wind swishes and whooshes, humming its song,
As it wings on its winding way.
The strings of the stays strum along,
As the ship does its swing and a sway.
The wake bubbles aft,
The peak slams a beat like a retreat,
While the wake works up a cadence with the turn of the shaft.
The sea, a grand orchestra plays,
Its symphony so wild and free,
A melody of sights and sounds,
Nature's grand symphony.
Loose blocks beat a tattooed rhythm,
As the ship moves through the night,
The boats creaking at the davits,
Add to the sounds that ignite.
The thrum of the engines, constant and low,
Adds bass to the sea's melody,
While the pings of the sonar, high and fast,
Make the perfect harmony.
Tolling of the ship's bell, clear and strong,
Joining the choir with glee,
And the bellow of the foghorn loud and long,
A trumpet of the sea.
Flurry of seamen, busy and bright,
Adds to the orchestra's play,
As howling winds and banshee screams,
Compete with the symphony at bay.
Listen to the orchestral tune,
The sea sings its song as the ship moves along,
Serenading to the silvery moon,
The strings of the stays strum along.
As the orchestra plays, the ship moves on,
In a grand symphony of the sea,
Nature's beauty on full display,
A breathtaking sight to see.
~kcm
14 Apr 2023
Xylometry zaffre zacaton swirl on hyaloid "penumbra phylum".
"Magniloquent melodic" apodictic vinculum survey.
"Wandering wispy whooshes" by wisps of weird warbles.
"An augur awash" in dew shrivels grapevine burst.
"Chapter claim crafted" up by chimera once called an alibi.
"Baud beat" of boxy beauty, barren trees with fuzzy bark acoustic.
"Unsustainable vastitude whips" to leave an open sky.
"Myrsine moon marble", magical gem idol aroma.
"Ritzy rag ravisher" mesh shining in a flame with an azure
saw.
"Sumptuous Sirius in somber" spell mixed glory to find my
pattern.
Written: September 14, 2022
March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb;
At least that's what they say.
Here in Alberta it's blowing a storm.
Mother Nature's having a Hey Day.
March came in rather quietly,
Here in The Great Northwest.
We've had some winter weather, true,
But she's been all in all a good guest.
Today is March the twenty-ninth,
And the wind is a howling banshee.
It whooshes past the windows,
Blowing limbs off trees.
The wind is a roaring tiger today,
No peaceful little lamb.
I pull my robe4 about me,
My ain't Nature grand.
Akin twin invisible presence coaxing...paranormal
Action across ouija board
herald Faustian bargain
as fingers of left hand appear to move
planchette of their own accord...
inexplicably, silently, and verily
along a barely traceable minuscule chord
dance, with some spatial force
from outer limits, perhaps dimension unexplored
twilight zone, (where spirit of Rod Serling dwells)
horizontally, linearly, and peculiarly unmoored
hashtagging, kickstarting, and zigzagging
while just barely hoovering
with maybe a hair breath of space to afford
between alien world and terrestrial
plain playing field, when oh my lord...
(this premature ejeculation from an atheist sword
like cross my heart and hope
to die a martyrs death), thee paranormal
shenanigans witness movement toward,
and away from death still participants mouths agape
with bated breath until last letter scored
which message... uh...ah...cannot be revealed
yeah...yeah...yeah...due to HIPAA laws...
...Without explanation,
there gets heard clangorous din
along with whooshes of ice cold air
brushing against my chin
analogous to some unseen
genie i.e. and/or jinn freed
from the lantern by Aladdin,
then,...how odd...
a deathlike stillness one could hear a pin
drop pervades painfully quiet
as if sound got vacuumed in
to a void of parallel universe...
...Though I don't dabble in black magic,
nor nothing linkedin with the occult,
yours truly titled poem
to "grab" attention fast as Usain Bolt,
he dashes off runners block
blinding earth shattering jolt
faster than speeding bullet,
a praiseworthy athlete
with no win tent to insult,
but merely chose his name out of thin air
(in accordance with abracadabra)
and flimsy rhyme that did result...
But, aye beg (bribe
with wealth of Midas)...please
believe me you, this rather cheese
zee poetic endeavor got
wrought eyes wide shut
(for all intents and purposes eyes closed),
where gentle force did cease
phalanges asthma southern paw
of righteous honest to dog
gone guy with pennywise
and pound foolish sixth cents sees
dead people as like miniature floaters
(in my eyes with ease)
poised and struck unbeknownst to me
computer laptop black keys!