Long Swirled Poems
Long Swirled Poems. Below are the most popular long Swirled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swirled poems by poem length and keyword.
Every mother's prayer calls home
in this hut
morning smoke billows upwards
holes in the door and roof gasp
a mother's tear-streaked face
over the burning coals
empty clay pot
who will provide enough food
today?
Ahead, the wet dust on the paths
it's hard to tell whether it was last night's rain
or a drop of blood
but the remnants of water on the road
and the remnants of light in the vision
seep into the womb
becoming pus and blood.
Children fall asleep listening to stories
now they rub their eyes
to ponder
that there is no more fairyland
no wind
to carry them away
and if they try to stand
their heads hit the black sky
their eyes burn
their hands burn
their stomachs burn
are they roasting themselves?
A voice rises up
is it from the sea?
from the valley?
from the mountains?
from the storm?
from the wailing of many voices?
it continued to soar into the sky,
but in the trees,
the branches
and leaves remained motionless.
Smoke swirled like any other day,
only the mother slowly lifted her face,
tears streaming for a moment,
and the children peeked out again
—and again.
Atambua—Indonesia, July 9, 2026
Once you were the ocean of emotions.
Perplexed, perturbed, desires and hesitations.
Waves of tears washed away my crazy cecity!
In the sea of fog, you still there……
Beautiful but quite hazy!
Yah, no more crazy!
Oh yeah hazy, quite hazy!
Like tornado you swirled through my axons.
My love……now you don’t hound,
Ah, these serene dawns ……..u…..u, a great bygone.
Nah, you don’t hound!
What an ecstasy….nah, no more crazy!
Beautiful but hazy…….O….hazy.
Every mile, behind every smile…..hey you were chasing!
All the books and every page…yeh so scathing!
Fraying and scaling… …so bracing and refreshing!
Beautiful blazing………
No, no, not crazy……..lucent but so hazy.
On the trails, in the woods….creeping and screeching!
Your tactile touch…..that gentle smile….
In my dreams, on my mind………always...scorching.
Nah, no healing, no preaching was sooting!
Yeah, I was craving, I was longing.
Memories still remind, you come to my mind.
But now I smile…..loved you! Why…..why so ineffably?
The magic that broke the spell…..verily..
Better ways and the grace…….unshackled glide!
Dreamless nights _ aimless days….
……………………..Your thoughts were so confined!
Now, I stand with pride…so refined.
Yeah, you come to my mind, but now I smile.
Beguiled back again……….
I see you there, faded and hazy!
Through the torn surface with edges curled
I writh, through the never ending rift of light.
The torn sheath, its parchment colored white
beckons, surface fears squirm in angst unfurled.
With edges curled, adepts display the night.
I writh, diving inward laughing, almost contrite
through the never ending spiral, I am hurled.
Rifts of light on onyx night chose to reunite,
within the torn sheath a birthing infinite.
I writh, its parchment, a mere veneer, parts swirled
colored white,as dense as night, its content bright
beckons, bringing finer truths to all that's right,
through the torn surface with edges curled.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 7/31/13
Contest:GLIMPSES OF EPIPHANY
I had a special visit from a butterfly
Fluttering around me, then it landed nearby
As if it knew the mood I am in
Opening its wings, like my feelings within
It swirled around me, like a long lost friend
Touching my heart as if it could mend
All the old rusty pain that now shined in a flight
Hovering delicately in my sight
This butterfly gathered all of my dreams
And flew away with wishes in the sunbeams
Touching flowers as it said goodbye
Leaving a path of beauty, where I can fly
Heidi Sands
10/2/19
Placed 1st place in the Writing challenge October Butterfly poetry contest.
...What he saw there made blood run cold,
His sister naked in the light,
Chained to a bed, soiled and stained
Her stomach swollen and tight.
She was covered in refuse and blood,
Her eyes saw him but didn’t see,
She said no words, just babbled on,
And endless, painful mumbling.
A twig cracked, and he swirled around,
Seeing the scarred face of his foe,
Mays went for his pistol, Wainwright fired
And the thug stumbled back from the blows.
Wain kept firing, long after he was dead
Emptying his entire magazine,
He turned Mays’s face into a red ruin,
And let out an anguished scream.
The whole town was shocked by the affair,
By the sheer depths of Mays’s cruelty,
They left his body for vultures and crows,
A sent poor Henrietta back to the east.
It was said that her mind was too far gone,
She knew not even when she gave birth,
Spent her days locked-up, stark raving mad,
Until a fever took he from the earth.
The child was raised by an uncle and aunt,
Never the truth of his father to know,
But Wain never came back, after all he’d seen
He moved north to trap in ice and snow.
After what he had seen he couldn’t return,
Couldn’t buy into mankind’s illusions,
He married a squaw and lived in the woods,
Free from civilization’s delusions…
Maples were first at letting down their leaves they always go first actually.
Sycamore and oak were a day later; both let them go satisfactorily.
Their crispy waiting autumn leaves had been ripe for more than a little while,
But if they did not let maple go first, there would be a frown, not a smile.
Colorful eager leaves cascaded, sprinkled, floated, twisted, danced, and swirled.
They were like exotic Romanian scarf dancers with bound legs unfurled.
The pumpkins and squash sat rolling their jealous uncaring eyes.
They were always in perpetual grumpy moods. No big surprise!
A spider began making her way toward the barn gate.
The knowing farmer tried to stop her, but he was too late.
Her intricate web was already up, as fancy as any lace cloth.
A delicate piece of pure danger for any insect she caught.
From the house wafted delicious pumpkin spice and cinnamon smells
Perky pink nose from leaf pile turned west as by magic spells.
Vole friend warned the mouse, I would not go in there. No way.
The cat had an early lunch, and the mouse learned the hard way.
Written 9-9-2020
Contest Autumn Fall Rhyme Challenge
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
There is music for the ears and fragrance for the nose,
delicious foods for taste buds, touch of satin in a rose.
But for us, the many lucky ones who have sense of sight,
art visual surrounds us, to fill us with delight.
No sense of hearing do we need when in the presence of
God’s beauty found in nature and gifted by His love.
God also gifted artists with creativity
to enchant all of our senses, especially visually!
We see it in our fabrics and clothing that we wear
enhancing many body types - this from designers’ flair!
It’s in our architecture - awesome structures in this world,
in statues and in pottery from which mere clay was swirled.
Famous paintings in museums are well-renowned as art
so visually stunning that they touch a person’s heart.
Photography and videos and the movies we hold dear
entrance our mind and sight as well as what we hear!
Creators we were born to be, like God, whose artwork is
the finest we can emulate. The best we see is His!
March 2, 2019 for Line Gauthier's Creativity in Visual Arts
he came towards me in the darkness
as though just walking by
his eyes were large and luminous
and he wore a butterfly tie
and those butterflies were moving
rhythmically pulsing things
that drew my eyes towards them
towards their moving wings
and suddenly they were flying
I could hear the wind sigh
as they whirled and swirled
and I heard the stranger cry
and shiver and quiver and fade
then just a pile of cloth
was where he’d stood
and a large and luminous moth
an awesome yet
enthralling sight
was climbing away
up into the night
and I stood there bewildered
and fearful in that lane
wondering and doubting
if I were still sane
I still don’t know
to this very day
but that memory will
just not go away
these dark nights now
I never walk alone
the night is full of perils
for a being on its own
he’d come towards me in the darkness
as though just walking by
his eyes were large and luminous
and he’ d worn a butterfly tie
I can’t tell you how it all started,
That night when manic moon
Probed and punctured the pall.
I awoke hurtling through space,
Somewhere between ideation and shellshock,
Somewhere between vertigo and inchoate phrases.
I remember redundant circularity,
Premises tumbled into conclusions,
collapsing onto premises,
A colliding kaleidoscope of real and demonic terrors.
I pieced together feeble fragments of form,
careening, cringing, crying out muted,
screaming out silently in suffocation.
For decades or a day, I was unable to say.
Faces swirled by, studying me like a lab rat.
All their labels flew, but no one really knew.
Dumped at asylum’s door,
I was an indentured servant to delirium,
Where old drooling men were fed in bibs,
Where a nameless woman always danced with me,
Where another kept clicking a TV remote,
and a transgender angel spoke the sanest words.
The staff dispensed neural elixirs in Dixie Cups,
Switching most of my socks and underwear
With strangers.
Then, one random Tuesday, it all reconstructed.
Everywhere permeating petrichor,
Everything erected like Elysium, lush and dripping.
Speaking softly, I offered sensible, sentient sentences,
Words assembled the way mental doctors liked.
I walked in consistent, persistent directions,
They sent me home, my muscles still
Quaking from all the meds.
In the end, no expert dared speculate on these events,
The how or why no one really understood.
My normality now suits everyone’s comfort zone.
But to those who shun my type, beware!
Deviant delirium always languishes hidden in every heart.
Accepted for publication: The Opiate, Spring. 2024
I've spotted my first snowflake of the year
dancing on a breeze; it swirled in the air.
Autumn's practically over, I fear;
Winter is coming, and we'd best prepare.
Dancing on a breeze, it swirled in the air;
performing perfect pirouettes and twirls.
With a fragile beauty beyond compare;
I watch the first flake as it spins and whirls.
Performing perfect pirouettes and twirls:
a snowflake dominates the center stage.
I watch the first flake as it spins and whirls,
sensing others are waiting just offstage.
A snowflake dominates the center stage:
Autumn's practically over, I fear.
Sensing others are waiting just offstage;
I've spotted my first snowflakes of the year.