Long Whirs Poems
Long Whirs Poems. Below are the most popular long Whirs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Whirs poems by poem length and keyword.
Making Hay
by
Kevin Fairbrother
…
Gradually winter fades, spring has begun
The ground will warm up, the grass will grow
The winter rains, the spring sunshine, now for summer
This will make the grass grow and grow
…
The hot days with storms and rain
The grass is getting longer every day
Time to prepare the mower and hay rake
And make sure the baler is in ship shape
…
Plenty of grease in all moving places
The knives sharpened, bolts replaced
Machinery is ready for the harvest
Come December and hot dry weather
…
The disc mower attached to the tractor
Whirs into action to mow down the grass
Cutting the grass close to the ground, lays it flat
In the 10 acre paddock on the river flat
…
The paddock all cut in neat flat rows
Will need lots of sunshine to dry it out
A couple of warm hot days be ready to turn
Once turned another day be ready to bale
…
The baler hooked up begins to thump
As the pick-up feeds in the dry grass
The needle whirs and threads the string
The first bale rolls off the machine
…
Hour after hour the baler spits out bales
Soon the paddock is filled with square bales
The men move in with the flat tray truck
Load the bales with sweat and strength
…
The bales carted and under cover
The hay making machines now quite
The men gather around for a beer and a feed
The hay making done for another year
In the kitchen, pots clatter and pans clang,
The blender whirs as the kettle hisses and sings,
A spoon clinks in a mug, stirring tea,
While toast pops up with a little ding!
The cat purrs on the counter, eyes half-shut,
The dog’s tail thumps as it begs for crumbs,
The fridge door squeaks as I grab some jam,
And the bread squishes between my thumbs.
Suddenly, the phone buzzes with a ring,
I yelp and drop my toast—what a sight!
Jam-side down, it lands with a sticky splatter,
And the dog licks it up with pure delight.
Breakfast chaos, a daily dance,
With sounds that play a silly tune.
But in this noisy morning trance,
There’s magic in each messy swoon.
#Onomatopoeia# #OnomatopoeiaPoetryContest#
I Wait With Bated Breath...
(slack jaw froze mine countenance
when eyes blinded with figurative
daggers asper mistakes in original draft,
hence...this flood proof, fire resistant,
and fever reducing error free version.)
(yes...yes...yes, this rhyme
resembles a recent one of mine
from a previous time,
yet appropriating wands zone writing
haint no crime -
at least not yet!)
Okay bull heave me you,
at this moment
alm completely unaware
what the a muse zing
genie of poetic
inspiration will bring
possibly shelving what Calliope
holds in store for me,
meanwhile now
with impatience it ching
visa vis to discover
what this Earthling,
(albeit modest) will be amazingly
graced with pizazz, meanwhile aye fling
haphazardly, indiscriminately,
and jocosely blitz
krieg feebly attempting
to contrive ingeniousness emits
poetic prestidigitation in fits
and starts, sans "FAKE" wits
as this humble
human imperceptibly orbitz
around mister Sun,
(which about bajillion years
from now suddenly quits)
shining foisting misery,
where Nyx knocks
(paddy whack give
my dog a bone...) divinely,
knowingly and spiritedly visits
(believe me you) this trumpeting
stupid moron loser
forever doth taint
after this moment
(no need tubby saint
lee and suppress any quaint
gut wrenching chortle)
at what aint
no farce), nor literary feint
yours truly painfully,
sorrowfully, and verily avers,
he now lacks fire and fury
(as if nettled and docked by burrs)
nonetheless, which ambition
dust hanker mink thinks furs,
and foremost (Tom
morrow i.e. purrs
sues tha owl mighty,
where fame posthumously spurs
me amidst pantheon
of great writers
which dream dashed
into a million,
(no...no...no...not
bajillion this instance,
though good guess) pieces
abysmal silence replacing
(palimpsest like),
mine over active imagination whirs.
On a desk, heaps of books and papers lie,
A bundle of wires, a puzzling surprise,
An honest handmaid, a modest laptop,
That lights bright and clinches words at a prop.
With touch of the keys, it moves to and fro,
Though not a grand device, it seems to know,
With trace of the fingers, the links to chase,
Across the extensive digital space.
A tangled spread of cables of black hue,
Stretch on the desk, like a sleeping snake true,
A forgotten pen, a treasured note book,
On which some brilliant quotes and thoughts are hooked.
A wilful webcam watches, ever keen,
To capture lovely moments, raw and seen.
It eyes the thoughtless yawns, the pensive frowns
And nose, as oft user dozes around.
A printer sits nearby in dull silence
Until it`s asked to come in prominence
With woeful whirs and creaking printing sighs,
Beneath its multiple observant eyes.
At the desk, a fluorescent lamp one wields,
Illuminating this packed working field,
Holding in its sway in the creative life,
A spring of joy, a sober source of strife.
Though the computer desk is worn and old,
It holds unending stories to be told,
A hearty humble haven, strong and free,
The centre of the world for folks like me.
It is where one triumphs, where one may fail,
Where sublime stories start and journeys trail,
A loving laptop desk, set as per wish,
Is the seat and the source of endless bliss.
The songs of birds can be heard
send a message without a word.
Skeptics say they're just sound
others find them quite profound.
A peaceful call to nature's mind
from winged friends of every kind.
Listen with the ears of your heart -
"Kok...Kok...Kok..." Ravens passing by...
"Twe-u...Twe-u...Twe-u..." Robins about to fly...
Earbirding language from mnemonic sounds -
"Squeer...Squeer..." poke the Woodpecker way...
"Kyew...Kyew...Kyew..." what the Osprey say...
Hope for the rise of the Phoenix -
"Kee-yer...Kee-yer..." the Hawk meets his match...
"Pippit...Pippit...Pippit..." from the lively Nuthatch...
Circumambulating birds circle in ancient ritual -
"Tu-whit...Tu-whoo..." the Owl will do...
"Cau...Cau...Cau..." Crows insist to you...
Your song may be a trilling coo -
"Chirry...Chirry...Chirry..." sings the Mourning Dove...
"Chiddik...Chiddik...Chiddik..." Sparrows sigh above...
There is a call for your new beginning -
"Wee-zee...Wee-zee...Wee-zee..." a Warbler whirs...
"Toot-sweet...Toot-sweet..." the Bobwhite stirs...
Look for Lark, Loon, Grackle 'n Gull
listen to Quail then Oriole.
Cries, begs, rasp and wheeze
songs 'n sounds that seem to please.
Bird words of the inner mind
meanings within hard to find.
My love for words can create mental pain-
when they race around in my befogged brain.
I sit here dreaming- pen held in my hand;
mind burning aglow with ideas so grand.
Annoying but frank, these often don't meet.
The paper stays blank- my head whirs in heat.
May go on for hours- these frenzied word games
in seeking a crack to set free the strains;
spinning and whirling for clear words to find-
metaphor, imagery- meter combined.
What comes to mind has been said before-
needed are words to unfold and restore
old themes of nature and love redefined;
God above, ourselves, the woes of mankind-
of life and death- of sad wars and true peace.
These variant themes need a new release!
Burst open, you seed! Expose yourself bare
so I can soon grasp the words to prepare-
and push forth a poem through this foggy light
to offer a gift from my mental plight!
Staff Meeting
At my desk each morning,
over my first cup off coffee,
I call the staff meeting to order,
a gathering together
of my various bits and parts
that scattered in the night,
each to its own devices,
be they terror,
notes on that yellow legal pad,
erotic fantasy,
unrepeatable indecencies
uttered in an unfamiliar patois,
a mélange of whirs and clicks,
whooshing breaths,
mah jong tiles scattered in patterns
I don’t understand.
On mornings that don’t hurt
they settle gently
into orderly arrangements,
designs and lines of poems,
the fabric of my day.
Other mornings,
the more ordinary ones,
they reject my need,
become ash
that I scoop into the urn
of yet another
lost
day.
The silent hum of divine magnetism,
this morn has ignited the head ovoid,
heart, spine and all nodes in mind-body prism,
state of being-ness pure and unalloyed.
The tip of nose chakra whirs with vigour,
whilst the soul star node glistens on our head,
with toroidal heart as always demure,
looks to crown and third eye where bliss is bred.
All the vertebrae in our spine align,
fused together now as a seamless whole,
that thus though caged in form we feel divine,
radiating God’s light scriptures extol.
God’s hand, a disc of light, supports our back ~
Magnetised head to toe, we feel no lack
Down the Primrose Path
Beautiful and pleasant summer evening
away from the madness among the yawing
breath of brilliant sunset. Slow ease moving
lilac mood of twilight, welcomes me dreaming.
Lost in my steps, neglecting to listen to
my inner wisdom, knowing the view.
I had walked through mingling hues of colour and fragrance
of the sprawling botanical gardens, before in silence.
Under a shaded distance, on a wooden bench, I had sat
and watched people interactions, it got to be a habit.
A bit insane forgetting the through unseen
hush whirs. It flutters its looks among green
ivy's deepest hollow, while lamppost light
cast shadows in darken absence, till morning light.
To be lost in steps, led down through a primrose
path clutch, to many unspoken crimes among those
that have happened within, not one knows.
2/6/2020
Pick A Title, Vol 13 - Lyric - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
3. Down The Primrose Path
You unfold the mantles of paradise in my eyes,
As I, ambassador of beauty in curtsy arms, rise!
When I stand from the deck with awe and wonder,
I wish our ferry flies and soars high like a bird.
All charms I see are truths of songs I’ve heard,
As whirs of zip wires play like violin over yonder.
While I stroll the landscape to explore and wander
I’ve glimpse of the moon peeking behind a day cloud curd.
moonlight smiles with sun
as bright foliage unfurl
pirouette cold gentle breeze
adorn forest field
eyes dance on green lake to shore
sun-moon ballroom I sojourn
October 19, 2016 11.50am
Copyright2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
First Place
Contest: Three Style II (Couplet, Sedoka, Free Verse)
Judged: 10/22/2016
Sponsor: Poet Laura Loo