Whirring Poems | Examples

Zen mode

cartwheels of energy
whirring, rotating 
within each cell
as a whole looping form
an enigma we do not analyse
for it is what it is 
an endless evolution
in divine entwined celebration

Fireworks

BOOM.
a puff of purple powder stains the pewter sky.
i sit, listening
to the whirring and fizzling
of the firey starlit, glistening
when the midnight clock strikes nigh.
a red light joins in the heavens high,
shimmering
and with a crisp, cool whistling
a tune as musical, magical as fiddling
that steals away breaths by and by.
when all is said and done,
and the burns in my retinas fade
when these make-believe stars no longer masquerade
little embers are here and there laid
riddled around, each like a tiny, broken sun.
when the conjunction has ceased to be fun
and each person begins to wade
through darkness thick and blood stained,
the embers are left to rot in misery made,
and the sky is left wondering in silence we spun.

June Bug

with the monsoon rains,
a green June bug came whirring,
to our living room~
my smart cat after playing,
gulped down this hapless victim.

Fake Out

I woke to a whirring hum—
not the low drone of memory,
but the sharp, electric flick
of a question with wings.

Languorous molten air,
a stone canyon furnace,
and there!—
a hummingbird—
head cocked—
beady eyes peering at me—
beak poised at the gate of my breath—
as if to sample my soul—
or wake it back to life.

It must have thought me
a flower on a barrel cactus,
faked out by my red bandana,
and seemed surprised when I stirred
but didn’t fly away.
What was this small
multicolored messenger
from the spirit world 
sent to say?

It hovered a heartbeat longer,
weirded out by my half-wild smile,
then zipped away sideways—
like all good mysteries do,
and left me feeling exultant,
and the day feeling brand new.

Beware the Ol' Schnozz

Beware if you find yourself in a dark dank place
You may become the prey of Old Schnozz Face
Don't bother spraying him with a can of mace
He's a Vampiric creature of the Mosquito race

I detest the sound of his buzz buzzing in my ear
When in bed, that irksome droning sound I hear
That long needle nose is a grotesque thing to fear
I'd put something in his bag that came from a pee'er!

"Mosquito Man, why do you bother wearing pants?"
His reply came across as more angry whirring rants.
If their needles break, can mosquitoes get implants?
He just landed on a painting, one of my Rembrandts

It's way past time for me to put this skeletal pest away
The plan I have in mind will put an end to him, I pray
I've been bitten and harassed for the last time today
I'm taking out the big gun to fry him with a gamma ray!

disordered

am i going crazy?
those words will consistently ring out in my head
like a bomb that has just struck land
sometimes it feels like you're walking on eggshells
forever i am labelled as i am unbalanced
unstable
my head is so loud
but so quiet at the same time

like the silent whirring of tv static
head-splitting chattering is buried deep within my brain
they are just parts of me
i am not insane
just disordered
i begin to disassociate 
and ill detach from this place
maybe soon ill function properly 

maybe you'll realize i am not insane
and just coping

how did i end up this way?

Mansion of Expansion

Thoughts are Swirling,

Wind is whirring,

Birds chirping,

Swarming.

The clouds are forming,.

I'm brainstorming,

There's a storm warning.

Lightning and Thunder,

Come to uncover,

Another wonder.

New concepts to ponder.

As I wander,

Through Possibilities,

Lying dormant within me.

Light flashing excitedly,

Waiting for me to see,

The Energies before me.

Thunder rumbles the Ground,

Crashing sounds,

Toss my thoughts around.

Existence and Reality,

How did I come to be,

Is something molding me?

Holding A Key,

I unlock the door.

Beginning to Explore,

More and more,

Straight to the core.

Soaring with precision.

get a clear vision,

Of the Mission.

Making the decision,

living in Duality.

Cells trapped by gravity,

Floating through a Galaxy.

Walls you cant See,

Expanding with me.

Standing free,

Staring into Eternity.

Home to infinity,

I search the rooms within me.

Life is Expansion,

We are The Mansion,

Holding the Keys,

To Form Realities.

Entering again,

Building a new frame.

It's never the same,

There to Claim,

When you enter your domain.

The Blender

The blender switches on,

The Clock starts ticking.

Stitching it's imprint,

Into Existence.

Each Instant,

Different.

Gears whirring,

Agitated, Stirring Emotions,

Splicing, Thoughts churning ,

Forcing Conforming,

To the vortex That's forming.

Conflicting Actions,

Unconscious Reactions,

Robbing Our Satisfaction.

We Keep on Running,

To the Next Attraction.

Unaware of the distraction,

Keeping us in Line.

Trapped in Times Design,

It Defines your day.

How Long you have to Stay,

Then Sends you on your way.

There's even Time to Pay.

Never Enough for Play,

So throw none of it away.

Attached to every move,

It fills all the Grooves.

Smooth and sly,

It slides on by.

Flying beside you,

Guiding, and Dividing,

Perfect timing.

The more fun we have,

Seems as it were cut in Half.

Yet an hour in sorrow,

Feels like no Tomorrow.

Your Faithful Companion,

A Wound mender.

Or your toughest Contender,

Keeping you in The Blender.

Zen mode

orifice at fontanel a whirring disc of light
the region around our third eye glistens
toroidal heart radiates glow of our Self
whilst enlivened spine with bliss beats aligns

wholeness of presence unified thus just is
alive and aflame in the effervescence of God
as rapture refrains continue to so renew
we remain transfixed in time dissolved silence 

through the sublime mists we hear a faint call
there are as yet earthy tasks to be performed 
we go through the motions in nonchalant vibrance
bilocating between noumena and phenomena

The Coming Andantes

you are flying on a hazy dream carpet —
floating up there, above these old streets, 
these ancient genuflecting pines and cedars,
rising above the sleeping dead on Broadway, 
soaring now through the white tombstones—
the low walnut branches that flail like hungry cats.
now the sudden rush out of death’s hand we fly,
whirring by faster than blood flow in a silver sieve,
in and out of the shadowed majesties far inside,
these soul itchers that foretell the coming andantes, 
here in this perfumed dreamland with only you, 
as we seep through the spinning pines and cedars,
the long extending blood rivers naked with stones,
of venison death and fish spasms in the final sun.

Mental Slippage

Echoes, thoughts thrown off-course
illusive as in "vision blurring"...
ennui, with nothing to reinforce
imagery. Silence disturbed by purring,
odd admixture of buzzing and whirring.

The mechanism of my brain

How do you sleep and so easily settle your mind? 
Isn't there a traffic of noise that's loudly whirring inside? 

How do you remember all those important tasks? 
I wonder how it feels to complete what's asked. 

How do you calmly listen and not talk too fast?
How does it feel to have friendships that last?

How can you plan and think of tomorrow?
Will it not overwhelm that time now, or will soon be your past?

How does a person show such vast integrity 
To be your true self without wearing a mask. 

How do you clean but keep it that way? 
If a person should visit on your messiest day? 
Do you not worry about what they think or might say? 


The workings of an exhausted ADD brain.

Footloose

Mind dancing,
missing steps, not much leaping.
Even so, good enough.

Long time backwards
'Brown Sugar' hip jerking stuff,
white bellbottoms flaring like Day lilies.
We were a floor for others to adore,
microcosms in a single frame universe,
eyes whirring, pinned to the air
with a none-stick-glue.

It was not true dancing,
you have to enter your mind
like a matador
to really step out of yourself
and into the boot clogging
beat of a singular stillness.

Still, even now
at the doorstep of all my unknowing,
I can dance across a mindscape
with a heel-clicking, tightly laced ego.

Good enough, and
better than just
rolling around
like a stone.

Oven and Supper

Hand of Mechanical Mayhem,
wrought upon the Ghosts of the Machine,
lost in the Whirring Cog of the Lunar Alignment,
where a Shepard’s Pie cooked in the beam of light.

Dinner is done.

Army of One

Alone I drift, a vagabond psuche, haunted by daughter's lifeblood and husband's self-exploded mind, a diseased landscape. Frantic fingers dance on the page as I conjure reason's faint glow, a desperate chainsaw whirring solace in the abyss. Bloodlust welts of fury scorch the script, a deranged catechism of hedonistic, as I shriek into the fray, my frame a torched earth, solar barren and bereft. Scum-ridden silver glares back, mocking reflections of futility, as I seethe venomous disgust, a reckoning’s reckoning, spewing forth vitriol to corrode the granite complacency. Specters of forgotten faces fragment, a ghastly kaleidoscope of doctored truths, as I screech at the echoing of a hollow existence, a funeral dirge for the self that never was. And smile at the reflection of who I am supposed to be, single-mother-effer's manifesto, don’t effing question she, you don’t have the piano fingers to come near my grace on the keys, I tie cherries with my tongue, have your berries blue by morn, my hands are a whole different story.

Sometimes I amaze even me — this is poetry!!

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