Long Whirr Poems
Long Whirr Poems. Below are the most popular long Whirr by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whirr poems by poem length and keyword.
Turtle dove
Escaped
From the prison
Of your homeland
Each morning
Hearing you
Call early
Before sunrise
Comforts me
Knowing you
Are always there
Expressing
How you feel
I hear the
Whirr of your
Wings when
You fly away
I see the
Ring around
Your neck
The graceful
Shape of your
Wings
The beautiful
Round tail
So graceful
In flight
I long to
Join in the
Flight
Way up
High
But I can't
I am earth
Bound for
Now stuck
(Turtle doves once were tame and escaped and are now coming into our area. They are a
beautiful bird. I enjoy seeing and hearing them.)
Form:
Trapped in a chamber filled with sounds
of an angry lion's uproarious deafening din without harmonies
Without the harmonies of the human story
I have fled to sanctuary
Fleeing from a grassless desolation
Hidden in a concrete desert of knowledge
Where bare and naked truths dance
In passionless circles around our connectedness
A collective of clangor and clatter
Of screeching wheels and cogs that whine
In a lamenting whirr of chaotic terror
These God's of the actuality of corrosive composition
Directing our eons of feeling to what benefits progress
To the crushing coldness of a bleak and lifeless body
Then say we!
“What beauty do you speak of without passion?"
The perfect nightmare of neon
Seen through the glass eye of a computer
blinks from the components of unhuman cores
Where paint melts like dripping violets
From the wound of shattered silence it speaks
“All unnecessary creativity is irrelevant and meaningless
so arts shall perish from the inside of a machine"
Then say we!
"Colors are from the heart, music is from the soul and words touch are being human!"
But for now the piggish void consumes
The words, the brush stroke
The hand covered with clay
The fingers striking marble
Weaving the textures of the world
While the music played on
So not a single dream is heard!
Be prepared all you young'uns
The golden years aren't always golden
Looking ahead when I was younger
Thought, “what a fantastic notion”
Life would be a blast lounging around
Enjoying my life at its best
Sorry to have to burst your bubble
Coz here comes the real test
You wake up early each morning
Ready for come what may
But it isn't too long before you realize
You have no plans per say
Suddenly you've become very aware
You're not needed the way you once were
You still have so much to offer
But life has passed you by in a whirr
The hardest thing for you to get used to
The fact you're no longer the star
The world is still singing and motoring along
But you're not driving the car
So be prepared all you young'uns
The golden years aren't that golden
Enjoy life before the inevitable happens
When time passes by in slow motion
28th jan2012
By Sashi Prabhu(zeauoxian)
These wooden meant to for all season,
Blue painted motored boats beacon,
Us to calm green sea waters,
To sail on and that’s all that matters.
The calm green waters dolphin rides,
Deep inside when the tide subsides.
Eight pals and two sailors sailed on
On a boat with the rent haggled upon.
Two and a half miles have gone,
Into the waters we sail on,
Squealing and giggling in delight,
Adrenalin pumped up and over excite.
The motor the sailor cuts off,
Over and over with a bit of scoff,
The dolphins they say swim and are gone
By the dull sounds of the motor whirr &drone.
Waves they splash frothy sprays
On the bodies bathed in hot sunrays,
Shrills cries of joy erupt,
From us sightseers eight on a glimpse of dolphins seen abrupt.
The wet bath suits and sun tans,
Some with hand held beer cans,
Watch the dolphins frolic in the sea
Cavorting in graceful curves both she and he.
The sailor maneuvers you to the place
Of marine life ,pelagic birds his boat with grace,
The sight of these magnificent mammals,
Feeding and playing their bodies look coated with enamel.
The thrill so great just to watch,
These mammals is just top notch
This pod of dolphins swim away,
We watch through misty sea sprays.
Salty breeze seep in our hair,
Smiling sun shines on our burnt backs bare,
The dull sounds of engine power,
The enchanting sounds of rythimic waves in my ears still hover.
Little noises_a clock's tick bothered her
The truck with a loud muffler_wheels a whinning
Or the blowing of the heat pump's whirr
Silence sometimes comforts_flighty turning
Turning for hungry thoughts about others
Ideas, writings, truths, from the great teacher
Then the refrigerator cracks and smothers
Gone are the stirrings of the mind of this creature
Somehow the quiet of the day has slowly gone
The full rout has arrived with the slush
Of trucks_cars, roosters, crows, loader's backing brawn
Soon television will come on_peace, quiet are on their own
(:>Didn't go exactly like I had planned...
Poetic musings in the post holi-daze
Living downstairs from the centipede
one dreads the hours of waiting
for the “other” shoe to drop.
the bottom half of the moon smiled
grinning through the haze of dawn
soft glow casting soft shadows
across the glistening hoarfrost
sitting outside the homes
they once filled with joy
green brittle branches crack
under the weight of failed promise
wild spinning whirr of life’s impatience
shatters the silence of snow’s quilt
tosses the ice chips of “reality”
atop the warmth of hidden dreams.
“of what use are gloves
to fingers that comprehend
only mittens”.
In response to the question:
“How many ways up the mountain?”
Religions exert the inane belief
there is only one way up the mountain.
Opportunity no longer knocks.
It can, however, be downloaded.
John G. Lawless
Form:
I wish I had a twentieth of the confidence of
My muse name of Trixie sent down from above
If you want a picture, it is okay with her
She is always in pose position; self-confidence a whirr.
She sits by the beach thinking up new stuff to write.
I have tried to disagree, but she always wins the fight.
Her imagination prances in and out of my brain all the time.
She demands her own way, and it is usually quite fine.
She is petite and pretty, attractive to both women and men.
She claims she is tri-sexual, so that is where I must begin.
She is a lively little intelligent bundle of wow from her head to her feet.
She insists on her own way, and frankly, her way cannot be beat.
Once upon a time I would try harder to get my own way.
I would cross out and scribble and change words all day.
But in the end, it seems like I always relented, coming soon back
To the way Trixie wrote the poem in the first place
with full-blown-muse confidence I often lack.
Acoustic Shadows 4-8-26 Craig Cornish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Acoustic Shadows
As screen doors slam an audible footprint of sound
Echoes in phonics of ice in glasses
And tinkling bells of ice cream trucks.
The solstice ripens
Growing large in the splash of rainbirds
And telltale whirr of hummingbirds at feeders
As humidity buzzes, the breath of summer’s envoys
Sound out a boneless resonance
With chords that tease and tantalize
Alluring in fleeting notes hatching hazy inklings.
Haunting memories of a solstice oratorio renewed,
Veiled in the caress of a mirage,
Reverberate in noisy shimmers of Luna’s fullness.
Ripples of ghostly illusions speak in clues
Like bards of déjà vu
When sounds trickle down furrows of skin and soil
Leaving hints that foreshadow dusky shades
Recalling the hum of warmth in cold bones
And cues that foretell of the season of crickets.
Flitting and buzzing in a
playful, poetic dance
a whirr of delicate wings
crescendos and decrescendos
among a colorful carpet of
sumptuous, silky petals.
Daring drones speed dizzily about
barely resting, constantly competing
in a crazy chase for their sticky prize.
Swooning with drunken lust
they dream of its sappy sweetness
and long for its golden glory.
Insect tongues sip and suckle in tandem
greedily drinking with delight to the full.
Soon they whisk away with their
sticky stash to unseen combs.
And I wonder where they go
and how their delectable delight grows
in that hidden world that only nature knows.
Written on 9/14/2019
Monday morning sneaks through shack and grime,
Bullets whirr where drug barons plot their trade,
Gatas tread gingerly.wasting hours and time.
The spaza hums,mugs chime,Rooibos Tea in the lane,
Bambinos sidestep shadows,mae geri into dustty tins,
Old timers murmur incantations under the day's first pain.
Smog sprinkles from braai stands where mamtanies fry,
Pirated Kalashnikovs twinkle in the sun's first glare,
Yet souls beat steady,declining lies.
Klevahs shuffle,wallets empty,agrrements whispered fast,
Tiny tots peep through windows,hearts throbbing loud,
Even in agony,a tenacious hope holds steady steadfast.
Through shacks,mirth trembles,sharp but bright,
The day starts with grit,with pain,with dreams,
In this dream struggle, the spirit fights for light.