Shrilling Poems | Examples

Take Your Wildest Guess

Speak me your songs
and I'll reply with your bone's deepest chills,
your blood's chilling boiling point,
and your hearts shrilling aches

Plagued by Memories

This, is where it began
A scream
   Blood curdling
     An amalgamation of acid and iron
       Coagulates my blood
Mother
   Instinct seizes
     Heart racing
       Legs race faster
Thoughts race out of hand
   A gun to her head?
     No time for weapons
       Fists will do
Around the corner
   My eyes catch glimpse
     five golden corners
        two solemn eyes
Mother
   One word resounds
      From shrieking lips
        No
Over and over
   Over
     And
       Over
That word
   His badge
    Her sobs
      His gaze
Say one shrilling word
    Her lover
      My father
        My father
Gone

Unlikely Us

Shrilling seagulls spreading broad wings
are bound for another flight into infinity; 
unlikely us who perceive fear and adversity,
they know how to conquer boundaries: 
and as soon as daybreak begins, they don't wait
but venture further than hazy horizons
with a straight line that guides navigators
on their trail until they vanish from limited sight.


Was Columbus or Vespucci more fearless than bold seagulls?
Didn't they defy storms and pushed forward to match their grit?
Their zest for discovery never threw them into irrational wit;
they goal was to project a vison and turn it into daydreams.
Had there been voluptuous women to weaken their quest,
there would have been none to behold other than deep regret;
and unlikely us who fall for shallow desires and accomplish little:
we ignore seagulls and navigators that are brave and yet fragile.

The Crimson Sunset Arising Over The Wind-Swept Moor

No harmful or irksome thoughts
stir this mind to absolute madness,
and away from annoying, frequent sounds: 
only peacefulness soothes irritated senses;
I may fall asleep and dream 
in a state of false reality,
letting the fanciest fantasy
enter the bloodstream!

The crimson sunset arising over the wind-swept moor 
alleviates the mood of daily woes such as this murmur; 
the torrid day, unlikely a dry desert, gives into a cool breeze:
nothing is heard above and under but the shrilling of a geese!

All the joyous smiles flashed by others were missed by me,
and the craving was stuck into my throat unable to spit it out
and feel the relief I needed to carry me through a painless night;
firebugs aren't pretty butterflies, they glow and suddenly flee!

SOUL'S CRY

Soul's laugh soul's cry
Soul's live soul's die
But what of the soul's of trees
Sipping soil in which we bleed

Nature uses our body to feed
Colorful tears shed are leaves
Falling like a ballet in breeze
Whimsical dramatic blue melody

Trees that stand as nations fall
Despite wars in lands they stand tall
Hearing all our tales bittersweet
Fearing our own power in peak

Chopping trees down despite need
Shrilling sound of dying greenery
The soul's of men hang low
Hanging then during Jim Crow

Brown bodies lynched from branch
Trees do scream in this land
But we ignore, don't listen at all
Animals we are and sure to fall

If we don't learn to hazel hear
Trees that cry colorful leaf tears

It made me twitch

I didn't drink the brew
because it made me twitch,
and break out in hives,
every where I itched.
She cackled real loud, a
high shrilling pitch,
and hit the broom stick
with a switch, and flew
away in the sky with out a glitch.
Must still be the season of the witch.

Winter Magic

 
"Snow loves the forest and trees that he kisses them, sweetly,
covering them in a white blanket, whispering, sleep my darlings."

                                         Based on a Lewis Carrol Quote


A white swan in the falling snow,
bright birds on the branches clinging;
small birds twittering in a row,
the winter trees full of singing.

The cold forest wrapped in stillness,
from tree to tree birds are winging;
an eagle calls with a shrillness,
the winter trees full of singing.

And the white snow falls on and on,
the birds shrilling like a bell ringing;
oh, such a divine winter dawn,
the winter trees full of singing.

A white swan in the falling snow,
the winter trees full of singing.

A Golfing Wife

As a non-golfing husband I revel at tales
Of sunshine filled days chasing small balls,
Some in the rough others in sand,
All these brave girls fighting nature's pitfalls.

I hear of the times the flock of wild ducks
Hindered a drive that was perfectly hit,
And what of those trees that magically moved
With a subsequent shout 'I just want to quit'.

But then I'm regaled with feats of great skill
Such as the time a Birdie was made,
Out comes the flask, big glugs all around,
Magical moments that no-one would trade.

They say Golf's a passion a lifelong pursuit,
One day may be heaven the other pure hell,
Neither cool mornings nor that full midday heat,
Apparently stops that will to excel.

Yet there's one thing I notice each week,
Yes the real pleasure from playing the game
And what's not to like from those magical views
But without one's good friends the day's not the same.

So to all poor Golf widowers awoken by shrilling alarms,
Then never quite knowing what time we'll see our fair brides,
There's a much higher calling we can but embrace,
'Happy wife happy life' the true gift this pastime provides.

The Bridge Of No Return

Hundred steps I made
From soiled ground to the bridge of cursed shade

Three dungeons of heroic souls
Locked up over four hundred in shoals

Living souls of eddies drilling
Dying breaths of  bodies shrilling

Hidden story of men of courage
To die in Atlantic is sweeter than bondage

Eighteen hundred and three was the year
Freedom is the peal in every man's ear.

Sam Sends Smileys-Tautogram

Sam sends smileys,
Sheila seeks sobriety;
Siberian skies shed sadness!
Seven Swallowtails swirl,
sunset sets scenic shades:
scintillating, stunning, 
stimulating, sparkling!

Sordid sentiment stays sentient,
safeguarding searing sailing ships;
sailors sit still sipping scotch,
soaring seagulls start shrilling:
somber, sorrowful symphony!

Sordid sea swerves ship,
storm stirs subdued senses;
Simon strums strings...
sober Samuel sings!

I Love You For Being You

Ideas conveyed in trails of semantics
Or moving over horse and bars in gymnastics
Tumbling, rolling, scribbling phonetics
Reeling, shrilling, scorching like ballistics

Quibbling over ideas and reams of whims
Rattling odd stories of soul's whines and trims
Yours is the power over lines and grims
Absolution or redemption atop one's dreamed
  old gym hymns

Verve of My Nerve

History, forgotten element of man`s life
Adage of forgiving and forgetting
Messing and proceeding on the solemn assembly
Expunging and blotting life-long terribly
but carefully committed and covered-up tracks.
If at all the inanimate had ears and eyes
We would all be at ransom for our lives
If mistakes could be made up and rounded
up to significance of our lives
humanity would erode to miniature
weeping and shrilling at thoughtless and
careless indulgence
Swoon and sulking thoughts convergence
would lead to no hope
Thanks to nimble of days
For with each that passes, history is made
A shun to excavate stone age 
Quite momentous to delve in space age.

Terminal Reef

Like water…
fear seeks its own level
Rich or poor
it wades through our consciousness
Driving us inward
toward sirens of darkness
Shrilling the moment
—with lyres of doubt 

(Hereford Inlet: December, 2021)

Sleeping With Trees

booms of autumn, string a tremble
stomps of thunder, march in rumble
trampling the gallows, timber to knee
tips the scales, burdens a leaf

the harvest crown a true pale wreath
autumn demands, in shrilling sweeps
a colourful opus, unravelling seams
twisted, turning, drifts of leaves

a dancers gesture, stems the cascade
the amble luft and swirl
unravelling weaves of derelict limbs
perish in a silhouette, waltz of Eden

branches to twigs, fractured extends
root to spiny bones of finger tips
feed the reaper, sow to seed
a squall to sea, flows the current verdant need
 
crooked remnants of tangled feet
brittle bones, digging deep
light crawls wretched and weak
insidious looms, in places beneath

twilight, plows with shears to freeze
hollows the forest, echos of grief
ravenous grounds swallow every plea
pines the darkling, sleeping with trees
 



Terry D’Arcy Ryan

Cityscape Silhouettes

The sinful playacting of the leaders insists on
crowing over empty victories,
and words without being versed are cremated
on the despoiled landscape;
Elsewhere, night steps up on every toe and hangs fire.

All roads and lanes want bold footprints, 
it will not matter whose,
the wind’s shrilling summons convivial light
on the blurry faces and their doleful cries
struggle to reach far and beyond.

Under the shade of sodium vapour lamps,
bodies morph from poor to rich, living to dead,
the rush of blue lights distils on the discoloured skin
of the mannequins; the city scrawls and scratches
on the marbles of the palace and cenotaph.

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