Quirt Poems | Examples


List of Member Poems

Wizard Wild

Voices in the head, play dead.
River, rib, rill, red.
Thunderbolts within the tread.
Gold, be made to lead.

Tornado, blue widening gyre.
Belladonna, byre.
Lyrics of the liquid lyre.
Orange funeral pyre.

Mandrake, when you start to shriek.
Canine, thy bad bane.
Feline, tremulous top teak.
Wading through green rain.

Paranoid, schizophrenia.
Thought-spark, white shirt hurt?
Lachrymose the languor law.
Arrowed, O black quirt.

Severance? Gone, thine own way.
Hell and Heaven, hay.
Doubt, dread, doom, dung disarray.
Away from me stay.

Coral reef, the legal brief.
Cases, caught a cold?
Cannabis, thy pressured kif.
Brown the grizzly bold.

Nanotechnological?
That means very small.
Mother Entropy, your call.
Sword, halve. Vine, vinall.

Tyrannosaur, how you roar!
Kill floor crimson gore!
Lava volcanic null door!
Wind up war before!

Premium Member Perfume Bottles

A perfume bottle’s shape and size may dictate what you buy. 
So pretty and so colourful all pleasing to our eye.
But then again it will depend on contents, and its smell.
A little sniff that we all take, is often how we tell.

Some perfumes that we really like, are ones we use each day.
A quirt upon our neck and wrist, is mostly where we spray.
Ensuring then we do replace the perfume bottle lid.
So, the perfume does not dry up, a crime we must forbid.

Our perfume bottles have their place, look pretty in a row.
So lovely that we feel we must, put them all on show.
But when the perfume does run out, the bottles rarely keep.
Instead, we buy another one, on special when it’s cheap!

Most perfumes cost a fortune, cannot believe their price.
Upon the shelf they beckon us, in bottles looking nice.
Designer brands, like Cartier, Lancome, Dior, Chanel
Attractive to our senses, they all have a lovely smell.

So yes, I do like perfume, many bottles I do own.
A perfume tragic I’ll remain; have even tried Cologne.
I feel complete, with a squirt, a different one each day.
Then replace the lid quite firmly, so I don't lose my spray.

Premium Member Gunsmoke

Gunsmoke 
9/30/2024
Miracle Man

Dodge City had a handsome blacksmith called Quirt,
who was played by a Hollywood actor named Bert.
With cannons for arms,
pared with his charms, 
not one person in Dodge City mistook him for a squirt.


Tuning William Blake's Whistle

Tuning William Blake's Whistle
by Michael R. Burch

a musical prophecy, after William Blake

I.

Many a sun
and many a moon
I walked the earth
and whistled a tune.

I did not whistle
as I worked:
the whistle was my work.
I shirked

nothing I saw
and made a rhyme
to children at play
and hard time.

II.

Among the prisoners
I saw
the leaden manacles
of Law,

the heavy ball and chain,
the quirt.
And yet I whistled
at my work.

III.

Among the children's
daisy faces
and in the women's
frowsy laces,

I saw redemption,
and I smiled.
Satanic millers,
unbeguiled,

were swayed by neither girl,
nor child,
nor any God of Love.
Yet mild

I whistled at my work,
and Song
broke out,
ere long.

Keywords/Tags: William Blake, prophecy, Orpheus, singer, singing, minstrel, ministry, hymn, troubadour, whistle, Satanic, mills, manacles, law, leaden, ball, chain, prison, labor, slavery, freedom, music, muse, song, poets, miracle

Orpheus

Orpheus
by Michael R. Burch
 
after William Blake

I.
Many a sun
and many a moon
I walked the earth
and whistled a tune.
 
I did not whistle
as I worked:
the whistle was my work.
I shirked
 
nothing I saw
and made a rhyme
to children at play
and hard time.
 
II.
Among the prisoners
I saw
the leaden manacles
of Law,
 
the heavy ball and chain,
the quirt.
And yet I whistled
at my work.
 
III.
Among the children’s
daisy faces
and in the women’s
frowsy laces,
 
I saw redemption,
and I smiled.
Satanic millers,
unbeguiled,
 
were swayed by neither girl,
nor child,
nor any God of Love.
Yet mild
 
I whistled at my work,
and Song
broke out,
ere long.

What Lies Beneath a Lie

I  have  harnessed  my power, 
And  I  have  unleashed  its full potential, 
I  am  in full control  even in rush hour, 
I  dare  not  tell  the  truth  for  I  will lose  the  control. 

Take  me  as  a bulwark, 
A shield,  defender and  guardian  angel  in  a  coup, 
Yes  I  have  all the  facts  in bank, 
I  dare  not  tell  the  truth  for  I  need  to  protect  you. 

I  have  worked  my head  out, 
Consequently  earning  irreproachable  complect, 
My  reputation  supersedes  my  mistakes,  no  doubt, 
I  dare  not  tell  the  truth  for  I  will lose  respect. 

I  have  created  a  slippery  slope  due  to  snowball lies, 
The  kind  to  make  an atheist  convert, 
A  disbelieving  woman believe  in bies, 
I  dare  not  tell  the  truth  for  the  sake  of  the  trend  quirt. 

See  I  may have  a  personality  disorder, 
So  the  lie  doesn’t  matter  to  me  anyway, 
I  want  it  to  be the  truth  recorder, 
I  dare  not  tell  the  truth  for  I  compulsively  lie  each day.

Man made money, 
Money made man’s  madness  reign, 
Conceiving greed  dripping of honey, 
I  dare  not  tell  the  truth  for  I  need  financial gain.


Old As Dirt

You know that you’re old as dirt
When your whole body does hurt—
You grab a cane ‘stead of quirt
And you’re just too old to flirt.

It’s when you have to trim hairs
From your nose and your big ears—
You’re sure that those creepin’ years
Has justified all your fears!

It ain’t that you’re gittin’ old
Or Father Time is too bold
Or the last crow has done crowed—
It’s sittin’ ‘round till ya mold!

But if time comes a knockin’,
Don’t let it be too shockin’—
Don’t take your tack for hockin’,
You’re jest rollin’, not rockin’!

So when you’re payin’ for sins
And seems your life never ends—
You’ll know just who’s your true friends
When they has to change your Depends!

Old As Dirt

You know that you’re old as dirt
When ever thang done hurt—
And you trades a cane for quirt
‘Cause you’s too old to flirt.

And when you have to trim hairs
From your nose and your ears—
You done knowed those creepin’ years
Has justified your fears!

It ain’t that you’s gittin’ old
Or Father Time is bold
Or that last crow has done crowed,
It’s jest sittin’ till ya mold!

Old sport, jest what’s the matter?
You ain’t no mad hatter—
You ain’t old, that’s jest blather—
You is jest gittin’ better!

But if time comes a knockin’,
Don’t let it be shockin’—
Don’t with yer tack go hockin’,
You’s jest rollin’, not rockin’!

So when you lose all yer friends
And seems life never ends—
You’ll know ya ain’t on the mends
When ya end up in Depends!

Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.

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