Long Whirly Poems
Long Whirly Poems. Below are the most popular long Whirly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whirly poems by poem length and keyword.
Patent leather shoes dance my song
They hop and skip, and slide against the sidewalk
I do not care about the cracks or breaking backs.
I am Ginger Rogers, tap tap tap
Fred Astaire is astounded at my dancing prowess
I twirl. I whirl. I am living the 1950's famous dancer duo's life
I am Ginger and I am Fred.
I am whirling and twirling my happiness.
"GET IN HERE IMMEDIATELY!"
It is my mother's voice.
My heart begins beating double time.
I check myself as I walk.
My dress is still clean.
My long curls have not been completely shaken lose
Then I notice all the wet grey speckles on my brand new lacy socks
Uh-oh.
Sunday School starts in ten minutes
And now my twin will be the pretty one.
I will have to wear the plain socks
without the lace
I can tell by my prissy mother's face
That she was not as taken with my
Whirlish dervish mud puddle dancing
I stick my tongue out at my more-like-Judy-Garland face
after I change into the horrid plain socks
Not dancing now
All whirly-twirly gone.
Died a natural death
Sunday school
Damn
Place of
Shame
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)
Now gather around, ye lusty lads, a tale I'll tell to thee
Of jealous Gods, monsters and ill-fated men who sailed the sea.
My tale is set in hoary times when fickle fate was by divine decree.
Then men were men who faced all odds, much sturdier than you or me.
It was the time when the Trozans fell, King Priam's pride was turned to dust,
Odysseus' ruse of Trozan Horse, made him of the God's accursed;
For Apollo's faith was crushed by heel of Grecian fleet,
And rape and pillage, with lust and greed, was rampant on the street
But fair Odysseus, with wanton fill, mindful of the weep and wail
With his Grecian hordes and a dozen ships to Ithaca did set sail
With hope-filled heart, with fair Penelope and Telemachus in mind
His course to fair Ithaca was charted and well and truly defined.
But fate, I did say, was most fickle-minded, and had deviously contrived
A fate which would try their grit and test how they fought, and survived.
And so the ships driven willy-nilly by the North Westers and South Easters
Drove them by predetermined chance to the Land of the Lotus Eaters.
The Lotus Eaters were a race which the world forgot in their drugged state
With food of the Nelumbo, of a species time forgot, but did their hunger sate,
And drugged their minds to exclusion of world, to family, and other cares.
Odysseus , abstinent was he,, dragged them back on board, with crew unawares.
Thence post-haste did the ships set sail and sighted fair isle with fatted cattle,
Fair game for stocking provisions, but first a Titan Cyclops they had to battle.
Odysseus, full of guile knew that force would lead to hapless naught,
So crept he in, midst cattle din, and there sleeping Polyphemus sought.
And there as the Cyclops soundly slept, blinded his eye, which was but one.
Polyphemus, Titan, unbeknownst to Odysseus, was Poseidon's beloved son.
With prideful boast Ithacan King, in derision his name did daringly decree.
Wild with rage, and dreadful pain, did Polyphemus call his father from the sea.
Deeply hurt at deceit and guile by which the Grecians blinded his offspring,
Poseidon did curse and said, " May stormy seas and whirly winds calamity bring"
So tossed about were the dozen ships, windblown and tossed on heaving seas.
With heavy heart and tired limb went they to Aeolus, the Wind God there to please.
~11 Jun 2016~
Many men came today to look at the old empty house;
I have been guarding that house for many, many years;
They spent quite some time looking at and touching me;
I heard them saying that the house was being demolished,
And a condo building would take its place. I can't help,
wondering what will become of me.
I started my life as a whirly bird seed in a wild forest,
And soon I grew into a young tree, one of many trees.
I remember them all, spruce, balsam, fir, and birch.
And some maple, like me, that was two hundred years ago.
It was wonderful in the forest; I loved cradling the birds,
And the squirrels and chipmunks were delightful.
The seasons changed me and in winter I stood proudly,
Stripped of my dress; snow and icicles on my branches.
Over time, my tree friends were cut down to make space,
For houses and streets, but I remained standing, waiting.
Soon a lovely house was built, and I have stood over it,
For one hundred years now.
I have seen many people come and go, and I protected,
And they liked me too. Finally, the house stood derelict.
For years I have been alone with only the birds and squirrels,
And sometimes cats and other creatures as companions.
I love the wind in my branches in the summertime,
And how the fall changes my veined lobed leaves.
Changing them from emerald to red-orange, then yellow,
Oh how the children like collecting them from under me,
And how I adore the feel of the rain and the snow falling;
I even have flowers of green, yellow, orange and red,
In spring, I send millions of seeds twirling in the wind,
And I pray they find their place in the earth.
Do you know that my leaf is the coat of arms of Canada,
And it is on the flag; I am a symbol of strength and endurance,
I am the national tree. But the men approaching do not care;
They do not care that I have stood for two hundred years,
And although, I expect it, the first cut is agony, and I scream;
I am screaming in pain as again and again they cut me.
Until I am lying on the ground, dead.
______________________
August 30, 2015
Poetry/Personification/Maple Tree
Copyright Protected, ID 15-702-654-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Peudonym.
Submitted to the Premiere Contest, Number 8
Sponsor, A Skat
Ninth Place
Seijaku – 8-1-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seijaku
Serenity abides with tranquility
Abiding in beauty
And deep respirations of satisfaction
Ready
Alert
Overlooking tangled mazes of overlapping obligations
Labyrinths of lists -
And atonal demands.
As the sun streaks past engorged calendars
In whirly-gigs of heavy-handed chaos
The shade of tranquility
Stretches out
Looming across the face of serendipity
With the breath of the rose
The whisper of sapphire jewels
Born from oceanic bowers.
In the shadows waits
The gift of each rubric solved
Pushing aside the tyranny of over committed -
In dawns, and Aurora’s ballet in neon slippers,
The spirit dialates,
As moonlight drips from feathery boughs,
Healed from epidemics of minutes
Swallowed by a never resting pendulum.
The poet arises, even blooms,
Ignoring the cataracts of frail dreams
When hurried footsteps and clouded hearts
Still race infected by chaotic delirium
Tripping over beauty’s outstretched boughs
To see – to notice -
To embrace
Lavender, gently waiting, with amazement.
“Nothing Real can be threatened
Nothing unReal exists
Herein lies the Peace of God”
from : A Course in Miracles
_______________________
aah, dear people, know Reality !
this path is no path at all, yet every
path lead heretofore, a surety
as alpha and omega swings
it swirls in whirly winds, calling
bringing sting or bling as Exalted
ignites every shadow stalling
narrow or wide in kind
blissfully fine ~
choose whichever path as way
to brook the truth from struth
testaments or wisdom books —
Void, though Heartful, material
and immaterial, holds no cobbles
tracks, sermons, gurus or mantras
quarks attune to All’s voiceless
unseen buoys ________reflect
oh, people, know Reality !
veracity lets you plunge so deep
dreams shatter, lids bleep, Awake —
to begin is breath within breath
under nostrils, mere observation
will energise, sing not vicissitudes
sensations within rising and passing
transmute without, like driblets in ocean
Release ! for on its own gently sows
as essence to dust bring pumpkins to
reap or lonely weeds, it matters not
Reverence triumphant above, below
integration of opposites rattles mettle
to burnish furnishes spirit, grid free
circular into pyramid, then merkaba
pentagon temples bare, pathless
path contains them all in stall
moving sanguine smooth, ungrooved
rise the wise who know that they
know, lean is fat, crown a hat —
all garbs we wear to aware, tear
in despair, seasons cycle ripe pears
withers, rebirth __spiral up, limpid
Exalted knows every umbrage
for it is His to witness choices
dwell present precious, surrendered
His Will kills not any mocking bird in
vain, sane is pathless path ordained
….reflect
oh monk ! we know we have
heretofore begun, virtues embraced
wholly our spirits will ascend, refine
all was chosen before we journeyed
on moving sands, dined, mourned
searching —
aah, dear monk, our living light within
unfolds steady ______we reflect (...)
by and by pure thousand petalled lotus
culminate — we nurture, imbue, exude
Reality’s path certainly is pathless !
________________________
There once was a great white
Who was looking for a bite
And there was a seashore town
That had smiles instead of a frown
Preparing for a 100 year celebration
With wind surfing racing
It took a whole year of work
And the great white brought a knife and a fork
Towns people started to disappear
And there was something out to fear
Politician Wells who had money to spend
And put up a nice plan that would be strong enough to defend
Off the wind surfers did go
With the shark wanting to feed on the show
They got through the netting
then proceeded to do some upsetting
All this mess
Nearly made rich man Wells confess
But he never shook in his boots
Until his whirly bird went kapootz
With a television reporter getting out of hand
it was up to the author to take a stand
With Vic Morrow who was on loan or borrow
Played the Quint style for awhile
The writer ended up the Captain Brody fighter
As they went fishing with chum that they were dishing
The action in independent film was not missing
It all ended very fast with a nice blast
While the author threw the punch
Before taking his golden girl out to lunch
Ecological Colonization -
"the action by a plant or animal of establishing itself in an area."
Each spring the pine trees become quite distraught
considering it a mere childish ploy
that neighb'ring maple trees without much thought
must litter the ground with their silly toys.
The willful whirly birds with tensity
find life each fall equally distressing
since pine needles have a propensity
for clutter by untidy undressing.
The hybrid elms propose a postulate
attempting proof that those who are living
with a roommate's rude failure to placate
must learn the pensive art of forgiving.
The plan was to establish parity
between the two trees, the maple and pine,
by having each tree speak apology
putting request for pardon on the line.
Sadly the prose from the trees went south bound
when a pedantic oak cast its acorns
like aspersions upon their common ground
and the gum shed its sap on the hawthorns.
Pecos Bill rode herd in the vast forlorn.
His quiet Paint gobbled buttered popcorn.
A tornado, in a fit,
Came for a whirlwind visit.
“Paint, meet Curley. His back I will adorn.”
Bill grabbed his rope and threw a loop with hope
And saddled the whirlwind so Paint could lope,
Leisurely grazing along
While Bill sang a peaceful song
Though the twister used top spin, Bill could cope.
Whirly raced north swift as antelope might.
Picking up barns, tossing them left and right,
Heaving a freight train five miles.
Bill hung on with joyful smiles,
“Almost beats chasing roadrunners at night.”
Bill rode that twister into a broke nag,
That lay city curbside limp as a rag,
A sadder, but wiser storm.
Where his horse Paint, true to form,
Whinnied by the nag, wanting to play tag.
A jolly sheriff saw Bill ride in view,
He chose at least three tickets to issue:
Parking in a tow away;
No emissions valve that day;
Driving a twister with no license too.
Tale Tales 1 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jeff Kyser
Date Written: 3/14/2022
Used Poetry Soup Syllable Counter
I started my life as a whirly seed in a wild forest,
and soon I grew into a young tree, one of many trees;
I remember them all, spruce, balsam, fir, and birch,
and some maple, like me, that lived two hundred years.
The seasons changed me and in winter I stood proudly,
winter stripped me of my green dress and put snow on my branches;
over time, my tree friends were cut down to make space,
for houses, but I remained through many snow storm avalanches.
For years, I was alone with the birds and squirrels,
and sometimes stray homeless cats hid in my leaves;
I loved the wind in my branches except in winter,
because in winter the howling winds whirled about like thieves.
My leaves changed from emerald to red-orange, then withered,
oh, how children liked collecting the bright colors from under me;
and how I adored the feel of the pretty snowflakes falling and caressing;
soon, the snow covered me in a gown pure white and feathery.
The men who came on a cold day cared not that I was a symbol of strength,
they did not care that I would have stood for three hundreds of years this spring;
and although, I expect it . . . . the first cut was agony, and I screamed,
soon, I lay dying in the winter snow and to my last breath of life I did cling.
Three hundred years wiped out in a few hours on a winter day,
the forest weeps each time an ancient tree is killed with saws and machete;
winter will continue and in spring there will be no trace of this old tree,
my last thoughts ... oh, what of the animals who took shelter in me.