Long Whelm Poems
Long Whelm Poems. Below are the most popular long Whelm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whelm poems by poem length and keyword.
I whewed unto myself
I whewed unto who cares to listen
I screeched unto them
I warbled unto all
She is a beauty to behold
But beyond beauty
My dear country is suffering
She is suffering from . . . megalomania
My expected willing whee
Became my unexpected unwilling wheel
To which I wee unwillingly
At the sight of the whittle
Whence forth is my whet to Whelm
My willingness to willingly will my will
To my beauty beholding beyond beauty
My dear country is
She is . . . stealthy coquettish.
Alayande Stephen .T
26th September, 2005
2.45pm
NB-Conceptualised for Nigeria's 45 years
Independence Anniversary.
When the snout of lush abundance is full and flowing,
when all prey and creature-kind spill upon the verdant swards,
then it is that I worry night and day,
for the stoat, fox and hawk are at work,
they scythe in the whelm and nimiety, they hack and harrow.
The kits and chuckling’s are many, the light too bright;
for then the foragers forgoing fright, are palpable and open.
The long-eared nibblers, hairs on scattered rodents laid bare,
they scutter, skitter and twitch much in the open
greatly prone to be pounced upon;
their paltry pelts all unhidden, and being many,
and not running, they are huddled; yet not strong.
If this slew not ease, if the grabbers not falter,
if the singled-out dither, the glut not wither,
then the green snake will climb to where nestlings hutch -
they all so easily plucked and quickly snatched.
I worry for the wee brown birds; mottled shells still unhatched.
I fear a winnowing, withal a harsh hazard of gorge and sate.
I fret for the freshly delivered, the teeming,
the newly produced, all the bounding bounty
for those too easily found and so, arrived too late.
In the space between earth and sky
Ill embrace a cloud to linger and lie.
Above it all clearly I see
Sheds of tears. Tearing of clothes, all for me.
Why do they cry now? Why not then?
No shoulder was given. No praise from men.
In the space between earth and sky
Ill embrace a cloud to linger and lie.
A smile for myself, from whence there was none.
The end of it all, It has begun.
I drift towards the heavens. Towards the gate.
With a whispered prayer, I lesson the weight.
In the space between earth and sky
Ill embrace a cloud to linger and lie.
Breaking sound of silence. Eyes cannot see.
The voices all around, speaking to me.
There, a voice of comfort leads the way.
Where I belong out of the whelm, and fray.
In the space between earth and sky
Ill embrace a cloud to linger and lie.
The cries now gone. The tearing all but done.
A light is shown… Ive overcome.
Stop, smell the roses and take your time.
Drop your guard and open your prosaic mind.
Walk under a shower of fresh rain.
Look up beyond the common plains.
Up in the sky sets a big beautiful rainbow.
Take in the beauty, drop off your mental cargo.
Feel the breeze of the wind as it leaves no trace.
Soak up the rays of the sun beaming upon your face.
Lay out a blanket, in the middle of a flowered field.
Close your eyes, whelm up the smells it yields.
Nature rendered you into a peaceful slumber.
Enchantingly inviting you back into her chamber.
I peer quite nervously about,
to wonder at the goings on,
how much of what is said,
is speculation on my part,
and how this dwelling rose,
from a clouded past milieu,
tales of the apocryphal I’d guess,
imagination stirred off course,
uncanny gothic motto purblind,
blue ink mist curtain veil stoke,
vivid mind’s black night visual,
amulet of congested fantasy,
macabre plot on the strain,
what surreal restlessness within,
dormant interregnum cast,
yet one seems drawn toward,
that dim lit swirling sight,
nest for midnight dervish,
and other brazen species,
dare I enter from afar,
perforce I court danger,
when nosey to a fault,
but therein lies the trap,
to be fascinated is one thing,
to stray beyond another,
why would one be so tempted,
by an entity with dark omens,
superstition is a term used,
to smear that which is unknown,
it is however justified,
when carefully used methinks,
a shrouded raven perched,
stoic, solemn sage as sentry,
ravens circulating chimney top,
symbolic ghost appearing numb,
somehow I cannot summon,
pluck up that innate gumption,
to confront a crippling fear,
before it duly swallows me,
now I feel driven without rein,
zany impulse at the whelm,
enigmatic pathway underfoot,
reluctant step a heavy booth lurch,
shattered eaves, torn leaves,
giant concrete slab tumble,
frail broken window smithereened,
taut ghoulish splinters glisten,
I dash against elemental angst,
when peeping warily into the void
Why, my thoughts over whelm
Why, I'm still drowning in solitude
Why, I have the constant frown
Why, I'm always in such a mood
Why, I am now always whining
Why, I can't stand tall , be counted
Why, my cloud has no silver lining
Why, I feel so lost, bitter, frustrated
Why, I'm still on this rollercoaster ride
Why, I can't seem to find that break
Why, it's so long sense I've cried
Why, so much pain and heartache
Why, I feel so confused and angry
Why, I'm still searching for meaning
Why, I feel so vonrabal and so lonely
Why, I can never shake this feeling
People may not remember I wrote a big epic 16 verse called outside looking in well over last few months
that write that I scaped alot of recent poems Ive wrote come from that including this as I felt so many diffent elements in that at time
this again like a follow on from If I I wonder patterns WRITTEN BY MY SELF DAVIDSCOTT FEB/ MARC 2013
I don’t have a blueprint,
just this smudged version
of what she would look like,
an impression in a shop windowpane,
just as the light catches her in mid-thought.
To recreate, I must fillet an idea until
it is just a pulse, a blood surge,
a milky image of smoke;
I must work on her from the inside,
teasing out strands of mutual desire
from slim neck bones
and a tidal whelm.
My hands are palms outward and kneading;
a kind of questioning masturbation -
that is the gentlest way
to daub such imaginings into prayer.
Maybe I could chafe that conceit, like fresh
Virginia leaf between my fingers,
dunk her in a glass of Folonari Valpolicella
then place the wad between my gums,
chawing on it until she takes shape in my mouth.
No need to ever take her out,
she will disappear soon enough
into a space reserved only
for dwindling morning stars.
Perhaps she will suicide
on high-tension wires. An electricity
flaring her into a wind-blown gawkish appearance.
The sculptor in me leaves a fatal wink in this ideal,
one that will metamorphose into something
too fair for my skin-leaching hands,
too transient for still-life.
Then, when all is said and done,
she will simply remain this poem,
an on-going motif,
one that will surprise me again and again,
as I glimpse her once more
through a forever blurred shop window.
I am an active roosting red robin
I wonder? through secluded trees and dense vegetation
I hear waving blades of grass
I see the spiraling sunshine combining dew raindrops
I want to defend my breeding land
I am an active roosting red robin
I pretend fly away pass the third heaven
I feel most active during the day
I touch a song beautifully I chirp, I sing
I worry whom rides the skies on wing steed
I cry a silent song onslaught winter whelm
I am an active roosting red robin
I understand often I'm among the first songbirds singing as dawn rises
I say discrete units, often repeated, pauses and spliced together chirps tweets
I dream of universal peace and harmony
I try singing as dawn rises before, and last as evening sets in
I hope for joy fulfillment peace prospered like the sparrow
I fly among where angels dwells
I sing a song beautifully I chirp along Chirp Tweet
I am an active roosting red robin
7/24/20
3rd Place~Placement in Contest
I am a Bird - Personification Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Personification poetry form only.
In my alone ...when I'm alone always alone but yet not alone all I have to do is attend to myself breathe my own breath talk to myself listen to myself and relish in the fact that though I'm alone I'm not alone
Don't git it twisted don't be convicted it's OK that I'm I am not sadden nor relying on the masses I'm sociable yet I ain't over whelm my or your devices quietly I spill away alone with holding hands always with my father his hand removes me from the crowded judgments unimportant voices and riddle and rain down on and around me
Again my alone when I'm alone is in a mix of Jesus and The Father a Host of Angels covering sound exclusive from anyone everyone else my social contact is my heart Jesus God's first Within Myself I'm alone it's okay and I'm all right I am all right in myself and in myself I am all right...in mine alone
11/30/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
Loathe, an honest man must be,
to admit delight in the dark.
The fascination of blurred sensations ...
The quieting of the mind's endless machinations ...
As consciousness narrows to a single contemplation ...
like the gaze from a window in a warm, cozy house,
into a wild, wintry dance of snow.
Yet, I must admit this poison I drink freely
is tasteful to me beyond its mere taste.
And I avert eyes when I skirt the painful truth -
that I enjoy the way it subdues my mind and will,
the way it offers false comfort through temporary ignorance of responsibility,
the way it makes simple things brim with sudden significance,
as though seen for the first, or from the eyes of a child.
And there's even some part of me that wishes to see,
how much it will take to whelm over me.
With each sip, gulp, and glass, I dare liquid luck
to break my mind, my control, my genius - if it can!
Some genius it is who takes delight
in constant recalculations
of what it takes to dim his light.
5 September 2020