Long Swirly Poems
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THE FREEDOM OF NATURE
Methinks how the west wind
Blows and worries these trees,
Swirly leaves break-dancing in my court yard,
Speaking and humming the wind's tone.
With a beautification plucked from the arms of nature,
All the shades of green, red, orange and brown,
Starved leaves falling off, saturating the environs,
Screeching and sliding upon the sandy floor.
Unabated and unchained by the west wind.
Squirrels invited by the branches,
Butterflies ushered in by the flowers,
And the birds came by for shelter;
Nature is having it's free course.
And it all comes together as a piece of natural artwork.
Copyright ©19th October, 2020.
Written By: VMP and Lit-in-Eng (SSS2) Class RGFS 2020 set.
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I feel yellow and orange and swirls begin
Prancing and dancing, smiling with mirth
What about pops of white? My muse asks.
I shush her, because I am in a swirly mode.
Hot pink drops into my dendrite field.
She is all about herself, living her best life.
I have no choice, so I add her to my soul.
Friday has never felt so dazzling!
Silver? Gold? Purple? The majestic colors.
Would solid be appropriate? Layers upon layers of bliss.
My muse dares not speak, wondering where I am going.
I am all about checks now. They are always red and black.
Unsure why, but suspect it is due to my grandmother’s afghan.
My mother completed it a week before grandma died.
It was a crocheted beauty, which stimulates red and black.
I begin to paint in this memory, not recognizing the significance.
Glittery, happy, joyful dashes and drops
Complete my exuberance today.
I feel myself easily.
Living subconscious patterns.
(in memory of my maternal grandmother)
Your house huddled under low, mauve December dusk.
Negotiating the five ice-glazed steps, cautiously quiet,
silently twisting the key in the lock,
stealthy as a thief at midnight.
Invading your personal domain,
helpless secret-stealer, what other could I do?
A cold dissolution hung in the air,
a dead dust-light on once familiar belongings.
Switched to auto, my lonely hands
sorted a secret stair cupboard stash:
Lavender Spode and serpent-swirly Cloisonné.
Your must-speckled books had opened like orchids
but your ghost-gloves lay lifeless,
bereft of the blunt, practical hands.
Desolation looked out on the garden,
frost-frozen: the crumbling corpse wall,
the raspberry leaves clamped in their little ice-shells,
waiting for their summertime rubies, those jewels of July,
and waiting for you, your deft, natural touch.
Silence laid a stilling hand on quotidian objects
as I laid your life away in boxes.
I didn't hear your loneliness
when it pushed at the door, insistently.
Seroxat and Liebfraumilch kept you company.
Why didn't you persist?
What triggered the retreat back into yourself?
All through the hushed dusk of December and sleet storms of January
I lay with your loss, under spattering rain,
my winter fragmented, its ice-prism shattered -
my actions mere string-jerkings of the puppeteer Grief.
That neighbour has just banged his door.
Again yet again and yet again.
I, a one of superior quality, wish to beat
his barking bonce against the wall of his rathole.
But there’d be no grey matter
to dribble down the concrete.
An ugly slimy mush would not be excreted
from that crumbly, crinkly, brainless brainpan.
No brainbox there to squirt the grey stuff!
Oh, what do I experience?
A swirly-whirly precognition of a pleasurable
banging of that brain that isn’t there?
Do I not wish to tear it into shreds?
Funny how feral thoughts burst into one’s mind.
Again yet again and yet again, this superior
wants to beat and bounce that barking bonce.
(17 Sep 2024)
Max the Unicorn had a beautiful mane.
No one in the world had one exactly the same.
It had snowflakes and sparkles, it dazzled like mad.
It was pink and purple, and swirly like the head of his dad.
Max’s mother was a little more common and plain.
And his sister Marilyn was ugly, but she had a fine brain.
He loved his family, and especially Wild, his wooly pet lamb.
Wild had started his own loud, hilarious rock and roll band.
Your family is crazy his friend Pete the Bulldog told him.
Your sister’s boyfriend has a carrot growing out of his chin.
If you cannot say anything nice about Pete, don’t come around again.
Max said. For he was jealous he did not know Pete or his chin.
It was a dark and stormy knight
who entered the castle unbidden.
Questing to rescue the purloined grail
in the dungeon's depths still hidden.
He met no resistance, no guard or dragoon,
his way clearly lighted by blinding full moon.
His trail of tan breadcrumbs was quickly dispatched
by hordes of blind rodents, their tails unattached.
Creeping slowly in search of the missing chalice,
his intent was to cause no mayhem or malice.
A creak of a step in the bowels of the bastion
gave pause to the steps of good knight Sebastian.
At dank passage’s ending a bright light shone
on the golden vessel being held by a crone.
Her gap-toothed smile and greenish exterior
made the quester’s heart feel ultra-inferior.
Witchy cackles grated, “This sacred grail is mine,
I dare you to take it if you have any spine.”
Gathering his wits, which had fallen to the floor,
Seb brandished his sword with a howl and a roar.
“Hand it over or experience your own Last Supper,”
he growled as he lunged out and full-force struck her.
The wizened crone dodged the sharp oncoming blade,
in a sinister move with Seb muttering, “Well played.”
In a flash, the witch turned the knight into stone,
then calmly drank tea from the grail with a scone.
A lightning strike plunged the night into dark,
the castle dissolved in swirly mist and a spark.
Echoing throughout the eerie blackness of night,
the crone gleefully croaked, “Good night, not-so-good knight.”
Art deco is classy and sassy, chic and slick
Reminding me of that detective Tracy, Dick
With her square edges and her swirly q’s
Which no other art form could get confused
Art deco is a style that is classic and forever
I have tried to emulate it, do not get it right, ever
her sleek lines and her seductive vases and vials
can get this artist smiling appreciation for miles
Art deco is not easy to describe, but once understood
you recognize it instantly, as only a connoisseur could
I admire and respect her, she is a style of her own
Luckily, I have acquired a few pieces, they are in my home.
Flying Saucers, Flake, Bar Six
Country Style, Gobstoppers, Twix
Arrow Bars and Sherbert Dabs
Sweet Tobacco, Lucky Bags
Toffee Crisp and Dairy Crunch
Grand Seville and Milky Lunch
Beta Bars, Loot, Candy Floss
The mysterious chewing gum flavour loss
Golden Crisp, Nut Crisp and Fuse
Extra, Bliss and Trebor Chews
Caramel and Raspberry Ruffles
Drifter and Milk Chocolate Truffles
‘99’ Flake ice cream cones
Zooms and Fabs and Toblerones
Coffee Break, Bitz, Victory Vs
Cadbury’s Special Recipes
Swisskit, Gold Mine, Apple Jack
Tiffin, Feast and Caramac
Welcome, Skippy and Sultana
Nutty, Banjo and Cabana
Chewing Nuts, Cough Candy Twist
Butterscotch and Butterkist
Crunchie, Topic, Fudge, Mintola
Super Mousse, Crazy Joe Cola
Golden Cup, Fruit Flavoured Rocks
(The secret of) The Black Magic Box
Floral Gums and Cherry Lips
Olde English Spangles, Walnut Whips
Kinder toys encased in plastic
Necklace sweets linked on elastic
Butter Mints, Fruit Polos, Yorkies
Sherbert Lemons, Sherbert Strawberries
Bazooka Joes and Liquorice pipes
Lollipops with swirly stripes
Mint Cracknel, Taxis, long red laces
Texan Bars and Funny Faces
Winter Mixture, Rainbow Drops
Jazzies, Kit Kat, Pips, Ice Pops
Toffee Bon Bons, Drumsticks, Rolos
Amazin’ Raisin, Aztec, Mojos
Barley Sugar, Chocolate Limes
Daims that changed their name from Dimes
Jelly Babies, Jelly Tots
Milk Gums, Munchies, Mars, Pear Drops
Coltsford Rock and Anglo Bubblies
Sugared Almonds, Frozen Jubliies
Peanut Brittle, Prize, Ice Breaker
Dolly Mixtures, Old Jamaica
Kop Kops, Wine Gums, Laughs and Treets
Jap Desserts and whistling sweets
Fishermen's Friends and Hacks and Zubes
Pineapple Chunks and Cola Cubes
Everton Mints and Pontefract Cakes
White chocolate mice and jelly snakes
Refreshers, Teacakes, Swizzles, Pacers
Toffee Logs, Fruit Gums and Waifers
Rumba, Dipped Flake, T Bar, Tunes
Fry's Five Centres, Macaroons
Bars and boxes of Milk Tray
Milky Bar and Milky Way
This ‘Pick and Mix’ is yours to share
With all sweet lovers
everywhere.
Why does the swirly train of dancing spirits speak to me,
on nights when my voice grows weary?
Where does the pain of breathing lay?
I, the fever that holds strength and weakness in one bone,
shadow and light carving chaos onto hidden stones.
Tonight, I watch the swelling spirit speak,
in foreign neon lights possessing my need for sleep,
grasping onto this pair of lungs and rewriting heavenly dreams.
What does my blood know of the sky of fireflies,
glazed in colors of green,
when all the blues I’ve bled were left in a cerulean sea?
I’ve watched living pieces wilt on thriving trees,
yet the moon weeps for a thread of water
to fall on a silvery breeze.
Would you wonder where the earth would kiss me first,
soon after I rest six feet under its warm embrace?
When the limbs of the sun can no longer crawl
their way up my winding waist,
will your fire mutate through the silent soils?
Do the sins on your skin ache to speak of my heart,
while healing was never my piece of art?
So do as you must—if the clouds aren’t what the stars desire,
the waves will weave the clutter you conspire.
(This is a fictional poem)
I don't have any cigarettes to smoke.
I can't get laid because I'm broke.
I have no gas so I have to walk wherever I go.
I try to take girls out on my bicycle but they keep saying no.
I made some home made booze that I tried to sell.
But it made the first customer go blind so I went to jail.
My cellmate dunked my head in the toilet and gave me a swirly.
I thanked God when they let him out early.
When I got out of jail, I had no food to eat.
I was so hungry that I was nibbling on my own two feet.
I'm starving while my neighbor is as big as a cow.
I want somebody to either feed or shoot me now.