Long Woosh Poems
Long Woosh Poems. Below are the most popular long Woosh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Woosh poems by poem length and keyword.
The wind off the cold North Atlantic ocean
smells of piquant seawater on its breath,
agreeably pungent, brackish and moist.
The legendary Nor'easter off Newfoundland,
the bane of so, so many ships at sea,
is not a breeze with a soft, caressing hand.
It kicks and knocks and slaps and whacks and thwacks,
pummels and punches, pinches and pushes.
The stolid, sturdy imperturbable island
sits there and puts up with the abuses.
The northeasterly wind is very resentful
of its odiferous reputation.
At night, it simmers and seethes and smolders,
writhes and trembles, weeps and whines, stirs and sulks.
But, like the song says, the wind and sea smells
are "perfume to my soul". I stand alone on shore
and listen to the ocean's roar, wind's woosh,
and my mind decompresses, destresses;
this is my peace, my serenity.
I am home.
“Hey, look there Jim” the young girl said
“What is this old gate up ahead?
Now do you think we should go through.
I’m really game if you will too.”
We’ll have to clear these sticks away
and find the latch - what’s that you say?
You don’t think we should touch the gate?
What lies beyond might not be great?
Oh, come on Jim, don’t be a wuss
Rid this Gossamer with one push.
Then once we’re through, we’ll walk the road
it’s just your mind in overload.’
And as they heaved the gate it fell
releasing then the Ghostly spell.
A spell held bound until the day
this gate was opened by its prey.
But these two children did not see
Grave danger, when innocently,
stepped through that Godforsaken gate
and with this action sealed their fate.
At first, they heard a Groaning sound
and swirling winds whipped all around,
Then both were lifted oh so high
and drawn so quickly through the sky.
And with a thud they were set down
Inside a castle, dark and brown.
Grief-stricken, cold, and full of fear,
“Jim, what has happened? now we’re here”.
A voice they heard a cackle low
the witch appeared to let them know,
they’d live with her forever more
not going back to life before.
(1)
“Your days will now be one of toil
you’ll cook and scrub, the cauldron boil.
Oh, how I’ve waited for this day
For foolish kids to come my way.”
The girl said “Jim I should have heard
the warning in your spoken word:
don’t touch that gate, just let it be
I wish I’d listened to your plea.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, then fell
upon the witch, and broke her spell,
for witches cannot deal with tears
if splashed with one, their spell will clear.
And with a woosh away they went
back to the place were quickly sent,
behind that gate upon the ground
They both stood up, and looked around.
“Where have we been? I can’t recall
but know that gate must never fall,
So quickly we must go away
I’ll not go through it; on this day.”
So, if you see a gate ahead
Be careful now before you tread.
Take care with life, and gates you fell
don’t end up in the witch’s spell.
From the deck of our cabin nestled high in the trees is a great place I maintain
to ponder the meaning of life as you sit and watch the rain.
You see each raindrop gently falling…you hear the woosh of sound
and you realize not every raindrop makes it to the ground
You hear some raindrops hit the roof and from your unique point of view
you see the tree extend each leaf to catch a drop or two.
You look out over the railing…mesmerized at how the raindrops glide
to see some land on flowers in the garden with their blooms and petals open wide.
You see raindrops gather in the birdbath… and immediately you think
how the water will be waiting for the birds to swim in…or to drink.
If you listen very closely and through the trees you take a peek
you can hear and see some raindrops as they plop into the creek.
As you watch the rain continue….it’s inevitable…
a smile will cross your face
when you realize the rain’s only mission is to make the world a better place.
Yes, as raindrops feed the lakes and rivers…nourish each animal and plant
you understand they are sent to Earth to enhance…to nurture…to enchant.
And you begin to wonder why we were sent here…
perhaps it is easy to explain…
we are all here to live a life similar…to a single drop of rain.
I
one Fine-
morning when the garden was misty-
ethereal the beauty
birds mellifluous
brouhaha loud and donnybrook
a gang came
fluttering over the fence and
canoodled the flowers
sweetly
when the day was infinite serenity
the birds
lilting and murmuring
loud and donnybrook
and buzzingbees were buzzing
from jewel-toned and eye-catching blooms
oh
summer
and
the
sun-kissed
color-infused birdies
loud
and
donnybrook
II
here there
sweet butterflies
breathtaking
gamboling
delicate wings
always a-fluttering
insects
dilly-dally flip-flopping
hummingbirds whirling
a black cat licks
his lips
whiskers twitching
sneaky shifty
lissome fearless hunter
sneak-a-sneak
slithers
woosh watch out hummingbirdie
with your pretty wings
fly away fast
faster and faster
for the cat is a hunter
the cat hunts
the cat
quiet and deadly
go
dancing
hummingbird
hummingbird
turning
twirling
spinning
III
raven hair-tangled girl
gathering daisies
pansies
wildflowers
And drip-dropping petunias
in this sun-drenched garden
stops to gongoozle
and a butterfly drifts-
upon the gathered-blooms
________________________
August 15, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/Garden Rambling
Copyright Protected, ID 16-818-665-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
In the biblical Egyptian pitch-black of my bedroom
I take 40mg of melatonin and proceed to talk to the ceiling with hand gestures, for considerable time
The only evidence remains my leaden morning limbs,
(Vestige measured in a remembrance of the flesh)
the classic somatic cipher of the forgotten ‘night before’
arms that don’t bend right, bone-deep weariness signifying some sort of unbeknownst movement, silent attempts
The only evidence remains Friction with the atmosphere,
a sort of ‘woosh’ of the air slap
And I talk and talk to God, who hears my ‘wooshes’ like tackles and throws in a match,
judge among spectators
As he weighs down on my limbs and guides the winds every which way
So that friction is surrounding instead of guiding
Fervently yet stumbling, I ramble corporeally about having no wants
But the ability to desire
Red eyes, forcefully widened, held open by speculums
Last night I was sleep’s huntress
Chasing after my sustenance, threateningly following for sweet relief
Last day, sputtering engine out of fuel
Tonight I am sleep’s prey
My body, my enemy, bent on survival
pumping me full of adrenaline against my consent
The prey awaits in rest,
unless Enlightened
To The North Pole Of Course (Part Two)
The farmlands, bridges and countrysides woosh by in a rush
then vanish before my eyes at a hundred and twenty six miles per hour.
My mind is traveling at the speed of Donner and Blitzen. It goes through a magical hourglass only to nestle inside a cinnamon scented wagon that is infused with the clanking of fine china cups. A peppery scent of hot chocolate perfumes the air and lands on my palate, sweetly.
While I am being ushered forth into Christmas, I sift through time, backpedaling swifter than Santa's mistletoe kiss.
I hear his rippling laughter and melt like butter.
My extra sensory perception picks up the echoes through the halls of my memory
and I say to myself, " I think I'm going home, to the North Pole of course."
THE WIND
The wind moves like an eagle
Moving ever so fast in the air, man soars
Moving talons touching everything in its path
Like a man in a plane flying past obstacles
Triangular neck flirtatious as a woman flowing, blowing
Beating it's chest flashing it's wings traveling fast
Mouthing, breathing, speaking in and out of trees
Through the darkness the light and breeze
Like a gardener arranging potted flowers
Talons grasping holding on to stocks and trees
Flying through the air man traveling-swoosh......
A rush of atmosphere-swoosh......
Moving mightily all a drift moving as...
a quicken man falling/flying
Eagle soaring in and through swoosh......
All travels in airs woosh......
Everything as...
The Wind
08/30/18 ©2018
Personification Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:Tania Kitchin
I wake up at five each morning, I hear cock a doodle doo
my stomach’s gurgling but I won’t eat until I'm through;
as the horses need feeding on hay and crunchy carrot,
and I must give cuttlefish to Polly our screeching parrot
Pink piglets slurp as they suck milk from the sow,
The young calves are all mooing at Daisy the cow
Pitter patter raindrops fall, perhaps I will get wet
when I take my yelping pup to be neutered by the vet
I climb onto the tractor, the cold engine splutters as it starts,
alas I hear the woosh from the sheepdog as he farts.
Tim always travels with me to bark at all the sheep -
rounding up the bleating lambs, he truly earns his keep
Water gurgles in the gully as the tractor speeds along,
and the dawn chorus chirrups, I adore their morning song.
In the meadow bees are buzzing on the autumn breeze,
Ah ah ah atishoo, the golden pollen made me sneeze
When I’ve done my chores , bacon rashers sizzle in the pan,
Bess the cat purrs loudly as I open her ‘Whiskas’ can,
Then we’ll snuggle up in front of the crackling log fire,
soon I will be snoring, as forty winks I now require.
Onomatopoeia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
10/23/21