Best Whorled Poems
Oh dreamy lass of fragrant wiles,
a parasol of white unfurled..
your bloom beguiles her moonlight miles,
a mirror pale in petals whorled.
Her face in phases does allure
and casts enchantment not demure,
yet bud’s flirtation just as sure;
a flower-moon on long stem’s dance
with wind in sweep and sway romance,
vanilla toffee scent does prance
beyond the buxom moon all smiles
as incense wafts from airstream’s world
and paramours does damsel lure —
enkindled moths in nectar trance.
Susan Ashley
February 18, 2023
(Fragmented Rhyme)
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Fragmented Rhyme
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Rhymes confirmed with: rhymezone.com
Syllables (8 per line) confirmed with: howmanysyllables.com
Rhyme Scheme: A B A B C C C D D D A B C D
Seems like I could be on top of the world.
I think about poetry like my tongue is pearled.
Just the other day I wrote a poem to honor another poet.
I spun around in a spin to unfurl to the Soupers whorled.
I know they think they’re the bombshell.
They are big headed and believe their words cast the spell.
They vortex puts us in a whirlpool.
They billow swells.
Soupers let’s keep it real.
The universe zeal.
We entertain each other with our thoughts.
Poetry is our appeal.
We write to regale.
Anything else considered is to no avail.
I laugh aloud.
Soupers the advantage is a tall tale.
I am here to share-out.
That there is such a thing as an amateur in the house.
I know many fill the title of a poet professional.
This is where real skills are grandeur and profound.
Soupers, the truth expose.
A writer’s right shows.
Angstrom to a wavelength, the brain thinks and the mind depicts.
As a Poetess, here I throw it to the wind; that it is you with the *******.
To the Souper who asked for a rebuttal to his slam.
__________________________________________________________________|
Penned February 18, 2015!
Traveled long
I come afar
Guided by a star
Hear echoes of voice within
I am aching
from blues and bruise
Yet, I languish to cruise
Nothing to lose
This I choose
Afire you came
Bold brave but tame
You spun great change
Breaking me from woos
Melting winter, heralding spring
An oasis to my arid life
To each ounce of hunger
You're there my brave hunter
Basking into leaflets of wild
Invincible... Fearless...
Yet, love innocence mild
Like a growing child
Unto you I curled
No shrives I dive
Top of the world,
I wholly whorled
Visions revived
Missions survived
You and me, Me and you
Perfect Combination
Aren't we?
Weeps forgotten
Cries of joy aglow
Begotten bestow
(c) Olive Eloisa
1:26pm
June 09, 2014
Contest Name a poem you have not entered in a contest # 7
Sponsor Poet Destroyer A
placed 2nd... :)
Inspired by the poem of Tim Smith: "Cravings".... :D Thanks Tim.. hugs.. :D
" . . . I experience the ultimate thrill.
When all the noises around me are still."
Quote by _L Milton Hankins (1941-2022)
In memory of Milt who loved the Pantoum form.
___________________
I have been writing stories and poems since a young girl,
writing about my cats, teddy bears, my dolls and flowers;
love making my words fly and swirl, and twirl, whirl and unfurl,
in my cozy attic room- I could write my words for hours.
Writing about my cats, teddy bears, my dolls and flowers,
though, as I got older, I wrote deep poems and stories;
in my cozy attic room- I could write my words for hours,
writing of my grief, my life, thoughts- in all categories.
Though, as I got older, I wrote deep poems and stories,
my poetry is often sad messages to the world;
writing of my grief, my life, thoughts - in all categories,
like lost leaves fluttering wildly in the wind my words have whorled.
My poetry is often sad messages to the world,
and words pour out from my pen as a song or a prayer;
like lost leaves fluttering wildly in the wind my words have whorled,
and often nature poems and funny poems ... I share.
And words pour out from my pen as a song or a prayer,
love making my words fly and swirl, and twirl, whirl and unfurl;
and often nature poems and funny poems ... I share,
I have been writing stories and poems since a young girl.
______________________
November 28, 2022
Poetry/Pantoum/Writing Poetry For Milton
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1505-155-28
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
I dedicate this Pantoum in honor of my poetic friend
Lewis Milton Hankins
1941- 2022
Written for the Premiere contest, Pantoum on Writing
sponsor, L MILTON HANKINS,
This is a contest that will never be judged as
Milton, passed away on December 22, 2022
Submitted to the Premiere contest, 2022 Poetry Marathon, Mile 24
(poems dedicated to the Memory of L Milton Hankins)
sponsor, Mark Toney, Judged 01/22/2023
Second Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, 2022 Marathon Qualifiers Final Placement
sponsor, Mark Toney, Judged 03/04/2023
Twelve Place
In the fragility of dreams
Slowly withers with the complexities
Of life while also overshadowing
Flowers on tufts of whorled branches and leaves
Drowning bleakness in unforgiving world
An infinitude of grief, death has stolen
Whilst the imperfections human has claimed
Infinity of disregarded blithe
And the unforgotten echoing sounds
While dreams grow bonding loss souls on restless
Moonless indigo sky, no stars dangle
Insidious sleep a chance of finding
Fragile trouble soul disastrous defeats
Which still doth grow fragility of dreams
5/18/2020
Time ticks on
and I am its minutes
crafting the hour
of poetic germination.
No longer will I write words
reminiscent of willow-like catkins.
But shall bloom true poetic flowers
whose petals shall be whorled
scented words pollinated with truths.
And whose essence shall be colored
in peace, love, unity—all cupped
together—housed in a sepal of liberty.
And my Edenic poetic garden
will be an ebony vase
overflowing with bouquets of beauty’s
clever creations—cultivated
in the fertile black soil of my watered soul.
Beyond a sweet zephyr
whorled a scent,
something so familiar
amidst that breeze,
'twas like warm apple pie
sitting 'pon a windowsill
wafting delectable
reminiscence of long ago,
children's laughter
full of caramel & pepper,
petunias, summer rain
and hot cayenne spice
all delightfully refreshing
in a blast of fragrant air's
momentously blissed nostalgia
through the eyes-
the fire whorled sugar maple
speaks to the soul
non-traditional haiku
17 Sep 2016
The beautiful enchantress I call you or the revered Goddess;
So many sunk at your feet to death slow, by your beauty besotted
While for a holy task you surrendered to please an anchoress.
A mystic to human race; tales weird sprung in time uncounted.
Fascinating your hide and seek game are, played with night and day;
Science or magic, what explains this strange motion of yours?
Symbol of purity, yet you reside in the dirty ponds, at bay;
Which message of yours has remained to us under locked doors?
Whichever your colour, you always stand unique in this vast world.
You will always be to me, a mystery unsolved, a story untold;
A secret cries to be unraveled in intrinsic patterns you hide whorled.
A question unanswered, in mud sealed lips, those unfortunate hold;
Are you a biological complexity or some god sent messenger?
Gazing at you, by the ponds I sit hours, drinking from your beauty
An elixir unknown, my soul blessed with peace, unknown to a reveler.
I long to have you in my home but Queen you reign in your empire, muddy!
Date: 12/08/16
Contest: Each one of us has His or Her own Flower of Attraction
Rhyme scheme: abab cdcd efef ghgh
from antiquity of the Peruvian Inca mountains
'til today's unsheathed bladed Java buttons clicking
the numbers add up to incessant discounting counting
to sacrifice our own graven image sown sickening
if she floats - she's a witch and frankly must die
if she sinks, well, obviously she's sufficiently pious
when down on the bottom, we can't hear her cries
of sacrifice, still, very little can get by us
filed and defiled is all the better all the while
as the former digits click off of our palms
fingers and toes, complete legs fall away, as do
whole heads mounting kill count without qualms
virgin girls, citizen children, soldiers of play
their sacrifice is for civilization after all
us, uh, i mean the gods, won't have it any other way
they must have their place on our wailing wall
the altar so sacred, so blood red royal
C-4 strapped around plain white-robed torso
from handlers who assure they have the will of God
sending heavenward, pink clouded supplication - more so
for the sacrifice of the body than of the soul
robed theocratic surgeons who cut off our noses
in a perceived attempt to maintain their control
of those around them that might be opposed to
notions that they need not explain themselves,
or that God demands carnage for reasons unknown,
that their actions should beget peace in our time
that they shan't pick up, to cast, the first stone
that we all could be better humans I suppose
if we sacrificed our pride, instead of our fear
if we worked hard not to be taken for a ride by
admitting things aren't what they might first appear
dunno, but if there is a god for us to pray to
then maybe we could pray to not be preyed upon
and sacrificed for that bloody old world view
time to cook up some whorled peas - and move on
© Goode Guy 2012-08-02
Diving into the whorled
undercurrent of your passion,
a sizzling madness
greedily devours my aching need --
Caught in the under- toe
of your magnetic current,
my trembling body drips
in ecstasies within a water's bed.
Eagerly riding the tide of lust
through a liquid love,
I drown in your throbbing swell --
the moss, musk of a male's salty sea.
Waves of pure rapture explore
a heart, fancy ,and gurgles
unleashing laps from paddles
the circles of rolling intensity.
Rumours
plyed, garlands
whorled to shape,
veiled in chaste, she
appeared.
When does an outcome thoroughly blossom
through snow falls and brokenhearted sunsets?
Life provides inspiration of awesome
born adventures to sing with no regrets.
Hope, faith, love nonstop of acknowledgement
great seductive beauty and temptation;
recall religious impoverishment
always fearing committed relation.
God step back , applaud His created world,
an endless space unfurl a breathtaking
beauty nature's hands as energy whorled.
No fractured mirrored surface myth-making.
In the brightest bright of the heaven stars;
brokenhearted sunsets are waning scars.
1-24-2018
Poetry Contest:'Best Sonnet'
Sponsored By: Laura Loo
"Time isn't precious at all because it is an illusion ...
The more you are focused on time past and future-
the more you miss the now, the most precious thing
there is."
Quote of _ Eckhart Tolle
The question asked is time an allusion?
Time gives an order to events in this world,
we use the word time often in sentences;
there is the present time where things have unfurled,
there is the past with all the consequences.
And there is the future that has not yet whorled.
moments become the past in all instances;
each thought and each click of the clock is the past.
Have you had 'Deja Vu' of something long passed?
A fleeting recollection or feeling strange,
perhaps it is a conversation or place;
a psychic experience we want to change,
it feels odd and we try to hide it with grace.
Time- an allusion and often not arranged,
there is just the present for us to embrace;
the past is gone and the future is unknown.
But, what of the love lost that we mourn?
____________________
February 18, 2023
Poetry/Ottava Rima/Time's Relativity
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1526-208-18
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Deja Vu
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 03/02/2023
Second Place
It’s Autumn weather, geese fly by,;
Autumn rust,red,gold,so gay
Drystone walls edging fields,
Apples gathered,holly berries
Flash so brightly
Look like flowers
Sun shines sideways,shadows long
Of trees appear.I dwell among
Woods of gentle beeches sing
Swaying with the sideward wind.
See their roots, all intertwined.
Feel their geometry in the mind.
Look up now into the sky,
See the V formation high.
Geese fly home at end of day.
My heart is moved by patterned dance
In this peace and great silence
My mind widens like the sky
And in this moment I would die,
So I would stay with this still vision
Of geese set out on autumn mission.
Snails in rain pools slither near
My feet upon the terrace here
And look,upon their whorled backs
All the sense of life is packed.
And yet so easily Life’s destroyed,
When blind foot steps into the void