Long Whir Poems
Long Whir Poems. Below are the most popular long Whir by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whir poems by poem length and keyword.
Tried to write something philosophical
But the strain on my brain was immense
Heard something whir then POP
Thought to myself, “that can't be good”
Felt fine otherwise
But suddenly was able to complete
Complex mathematical equations with ease
Never ever been accused of being a genius before
But all of a sudden I was able to figure out
The meaning of life among other amazing feats
Then a vision of my Mummy dear
Who passed away in nineteen-seventy
Reached out and patted me on the head
And said, “I'm so proud of you, my son”
“Was just talking to Albert Einstein yesterday
And he told me they were preparing
A special place of honour for you up here”
Belted myself on the side of the head
To make sure I wasn't dreaming
I wasn't dreaming!!!
Nearly swallowed my dentures
Started coughing and sputtering and reciting
“To be or not to be, that is the question”
Now I know I've heard that somewhere before
“Whether 'tis nobler...” Shakespeare perhaps
Well to make a long story short
When I return to the site
Be prepared to greet a whole different Jack
A much more sophisticated Jack
One that will absolutely blow you away
With his new found smarts
One that you'll feel honoured to call a friend
And if you believe all of this
I have some valuable swamp land in Florida
To offer you at a very good price!
As is said, we are He, who we seek
Today, let’s find out together
Love beckons, we try to take a sneak peek
But fears and desires tether
Veiled remains The Divine Mother
Knowing not the way, we stop flow of thought
Resting in pristine stillness
Joy currents within rise, both cold and hot
Heightening our awareness
Kundalini consciousness
Sublime serpent at root begins to stir
Divine feminine awake
Energy centers in subtle body whir
Our spine does the shake-shake-shake
Trust us; our sanity’s at stake
Pathways three; Sushumna, Ida and Pingala
Snake divine makes up its mind
Upon path of least resistance, has a gala
Unless ego borne fears bind
Charmed by our heart, it’s touch is kind
Oh worthy lama, go beyond all opposites
Serpent’s Holy Spirit in disguise
Be bemused not by myriad composites
Now, ceasing to weigh and size
Allow divinity to rise
02-January-2022
The Snake Charmer Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Notes: A short overview of our energy (pranic) life force field
Kundalini is Shakti - the divine feminine, coiled like a serpent at the base of our spine. It is the kinetic aspect of God’s energy. The potential aspect is Shiva, at the crown chakra, correspondent to our fontanel on the top of head. Shakti yearns to reunite with Shiva and so rises at the optimal time, when mind-body vessel is purified. The energisation is felt as living magnetism within.
Ida is the cool channel, correspondent to left nostril. Pingala is the hot channel, related to our right nostril. Both these paths are serpentine, intersecting at the sacral, navel, heart, throat and third eye (between eyebrows), merging there to connect to the crown.
Sushumna is a three layered cylindrical conduit in the geometric centre of our body, joining the root chakra to the crown chakra. It is referred to as the energy expressway, rod of initiation or staff of power in different scriptures.
Buttocks push; breasts boast
through non-existent crowds.
A choreographed squall
above the whir and clunk
of loaded appliances.
Hispanic girls acting out
in a Laundromat.
Hips gesture, hands stab
and tussle with unwashed issues.
I’m distracted by the overheated hum,
can’t read the print
of my paperback. Words run
naked over yellow pages,
sweat and lay down
under a fierce fluorescence.
Skimpy shorts and gang-inks.
The porous sound of feral hormones
seethes over some slight,
branded onto a Facebook page.
They flop onto the slatted bench
produce a smart phone,
scroll through pictures,
moue and glower softening
as baby shots are thumbed.
Melting smiles, then
they hold up the cell for me to see.
When they get up
the backs of their thighs
are marked by the wooden seat.
Washing spins on.
I Asked Myself A Rhetorical Question...
Asper daily expounding fostering
inchoate manifesting mod
er writ writing quality,
solitary scrimmage tackling
undertaking, yielding whir
ring, sputtering, kickstarting, and
buzz-feeding at competitive, communal
crowed did metaphorical trough,
where household named author's
top New York Times best seller
tier, overshadowing under
rated genre bending, breakout aspiring,
story board qualifying,
opportunistic newbie man
use script artful dodgers
mere dust collecting drafts,
anticipating to stir infectious interest
incumbent - at mercy,
tripwire activating quint
essential key, which anchors print
ting projected uncertain
popularity first edition,
awakening, guiding, nosing
asymptote analogy steering
reader toward nascent
scribe, where paper
back writer wannabe,
toils away incorporating subtle
(hook, line and sinker) techniques,
(albeit apropos literary
ploys, a true test tum ment,
viz sophisticated gambits
to massage late tint
prestidigitation abra ca dab rah,
sine non qua cogent
see kant, and tangent triggers
modest mien fortified, exemplified,
and downplayed akin
to unassuming Clark Kent
in his cape ably nonchalant
transformation into superman,
and/or more pointedly,
some original heft leant
to set apart striking
poignant implement
exhibited by aspiring
writer daily revising,
albeit gal or gent
his/her uniquely obscure
trademark, but
eventually keen agent
assays non-boastful writing style
im prim mature print,
sans unassuming swiftly tailored
harried style seduces seek
curing sincere overnight reverent,
well deserved kudos
comically marveling
at thee most im portent
salient strengths, per
hops hue moored opulent
quality instigates
affinity toward nascent,
bar riddle be, bill leading,
bud ding scrivener,
not necessary alluding
to a hypothetical outlier
thus, any similarity between the
above statement and
a living person perchance named
Matthew Scott Harris
purely coincidental.
I miss so many things: the old pear tree, which once lived by the walk and the bees inside. The bees almost never stung, but made the most delightful buzz. The smell of the pear blossoms and the fruit as it rotted on the ground. I even miss the colonies of ants, which swarmed. You see, I chopped it down. Well, the bees stung my ex-husband, or, he was scared of the bees, or some such thing. The bees like the cat, knew more about the true core of the man than I did. Once the cat shat on his side of the bed, and pulled the sheet over it. Even then, I didn’t really hear nature’s call. I miss the rose bushes, which I tore out because of the June bugs. “Mustn’t have untidy, ugly, things around me,” fool that I was, and continue to be. I have almost eradicated the wild violets. Soon, even I will be gone. “Who will remember all that sweetness? Oh, the pear crisp with crumbled cinnamon crust on a Fall day, all gone.”
a mown lawn
stretches to the horizon –
a hedge clipper whir
The Rose Queen was a lesser villain than I. She was imaginary and I am real, or so I believe. “If you’d lived with Alice would you have played croquet with a flamingo club?”
First Published in Contemporary haibun January 2014
The little sails like paper boats do watch
the rocket skies of brazen hue drink scotch.
The whir of helicopter days surround
those tower twins, so strong, with lively sound.
They take for granted torch that won’t go out
but they forget to look inside and doubt.
Those happy times before the sky turned ash
were filled with shooting stars and mermaid splash.
The window stars, not one by one, but all,
do crash in September, its darkest fall.
Remember well, those freedom hues of past,
the clouds of jellyfish, we had a blast.
5/20/2021
Rhyming Couplets
Janice Canerdy
*Fireworks resemble jellyfish with tentacles
Ballerina barre bob, white stocking wings whir
Mushroom plume tutu trails translucent steam
Sticky foot pick ups signal patient Spring’s stir
Pollen swollen coconut tip tongues crop cream
Statue branches pop rabbit ears amazement
Magnolia ruby tuxedo tucks ruffle ivory shirt
Wasps whisper, biscuit sugar stored fragrant
Whimsical wizard voila Iced VoVo for dessert
Tinkerbell petals tender invite insects parched
Peter Pan aeroplane dive in opioid pond drone
Champagne flutes etch a marigold moustache
Bon voyage hibernate, heavy hive honeycomb
Buzz! Botanical I’m back!
20th Royal Jelly July
Mother Earth awakens, in subtle pastel hues
Aspen leaves flutter and quake, shaking off the morning dew
Morning stirs, and Hummingbird wings whir and trill, just out of sight
Columbines dance on a pine scented breeze, solely to their delight
Mother Earth enjoys the day, basking in suns glow
or splashing in the rain showers and watching flowers grow
Whispered secrets on the wind, ancient wisdoms to impart
keeping silent vigil, she hears them stir within her heart.
Mother Earth lays down to sleep, bright colors paint the sky
evening shadows blanket her shoulders, as she closes her eyes
Pine trees shush their lullabies, and usher in the night
the taste of dew hangs in the air, as stars begin to light
The gentle whir of the machine
pumps temporary relief into your veins.
It happens more than it did;
even yesterday.
You sigh.
The tight grip of your hand relaxes
I release mine and rub some life
into dead fingers.
You never held my hand before
when it mattered;
it was not what men and boys did;
you used to utter.
I lean over
and breathe gently
on your cold grey face
as I gently kiss your forehead;
another thing that boys don't do.
You whisper something
in your fevered sleep
words I wish I knew.
I murmur gently in your ear:
I love you, dad.
Your eyes open in pain.
The machine whirs again.
Your eyes close;
it's sad to think
that we are all sat waiting
for your last gasp.
'Writing Prompt - Breathe -' Contest Joint 1st place.
Published in the collection "It's Not Easy" by Poetry Choice
Guns, erupt in city street?
Shake the ground we love?
Poison, corrupt what is sweet?
Hear us, God above...
Fan out, troops; if we hold back;
Soon our fabled state;
Will of course soon fade to black!
Furies, flame, and fate...
Justice, an apology?
Yes, and when we're done;
Serene, sage, stability!
Warmth of setting sun!
I've been feeling tired of late.
Irritable. Maun.
Dust and dynamite, thy plate.
Hobo, rest on lawn.
Terrible and mighty?
Well, it's best to be.
Fanciful? Faux. Flighty?
Flicker, fancy-free?
Pillars, in thy courtyard;
What holds up the sun?
Fame and Fortune, life a-hard.
Anoint, choice. Dun. One.
How do we recover?
O sap, run down the bark.
Warplanes, how you hover!
Nighttime, scared of dark?
Inspiration! Fill each pen!
Time to think again...
Penury, plight, dragon's den...
Let us ask the wren!
Forgive what is not so bad.
Avenge what ye must!
Paisley, how ye match with plaid!
Iron, how you rust...
Family is everything.
Cement deep thy ties.
Challenger, in every ring?
Fingers, reach? En prise...
Roundabout the garden wall;
Scuppernong in spring.
Egg-shaped warlord took a fall!
Cockerel, sight a-sing.
Stifled by circumstance dire?
Send it on the wire.
Cold outside? Then light a fire.
Call thy dam and sire!
Anyway. That's life, young sir.
Helicopters whir!
Clothing may just catch a burr!
Lions bequeath fur...
All of it is small? And large!
Continuities strange;
Will ye sink the fabled barge?
Practice on the range.
Wisdom! Suffer? So it goes.
Eat well, O my crows.
Prosaic? Best hold the nose!
Dine with friends, O foes.
Abbot of the temple grand;
Every morn we stand.
Young and old, take by the hand!
Tomorrow: unplanned.