Whirrs Poems | Examples

Summer At a Riverbank

Summer arrives in golden light,
Mountains shed their snowy white.
The river moves with joyful gleam,
Shining bright in the sun’s beam.

Through rocky beds, she winds with ease,
Nourishing earth in tender peace.
Quenching the thirst of Pines and Firs,
Thriving the bushes around her shore.

Seasons shift, and colors grow,
Tree tips shimmer, blossoms show.
Daisies dance in meadows wide,
Sweet peas bloom with gentle pride.

Roses bask in warming rays,
Grapevines promise fruitful days.
Stellar Jays call, loud and free,
Swooping bold from tree to tree.

River whirrs in rhythmic sound,
Phoebes dart and skim the ground.
Gathering meals with steady flight,
Feeding their young in shimmering light.

A mink appears as dusk unfolds,
Gliding quickly through night’s hold.
The midnight bear roams wild and deep,
Claiming the land while others sleep.

By the river’s edge, my spirit sings,
Breathing life where nature springs.

Life is a Blur

    Life is a blur
      It purrs
      It whirrs
    ~ Puts on spurs

A Kept Ode

Lighthouse
shines reflective sea lapping
rocks plus skipping a house mouse.

Stoic
structured aperture aiding
scarred fought homeless heroic.

Sullen
elements outstretched expanse
points a critter to lull in.

Manmade
contraption whirrs about as
a little varmint evade.

Compass 
nils bearing takes point
unexpected practices.

Keeper
mermaid purged surging wave,
tempt failed, saves a dreamer.

profusion

purple profusion 
pine green supported....
hummingbird's whirrs

Stranger in a Strange Land

"I have been a stranger in a strange land."  Bible, Exodus 2:22

The compass whirrs.
North toward rock, south toward sand.
East toward ice, and west toward river.

Like a game of spin the bottle I take a chance on north,
run my hands over stone and pebble, 
the spine of life a twisting snakeskin, shedding.

The compass whirrs
as words and winds uproot me to the south. Dust ridden, 
arid. Earth sizzles, a roast overdone. My flaking skin 
drenched in sweated drought.

The compass whirrs 
as those years of crinkling sand dune heat melt 
somehow into eastern snow. You don’t understand 
how or why or when those summers became leaves that 
fall, became sleet upon which you slip, recklessly, helplessly, toward time’s

splash. The final plunge pool. 
Now, western waters offer a mirror, 
sometimes murky, sometimes crystal,
and still, the compass whirrs, as you realise

that strange land - your body.
The stranger - you.

Vanilla

Ice, ice, baby
You pour me over maybe
A straw to pierce the depths
Inhale the deepest breaths

A fancy glass all fluted
In milky joy I'm rooted
A scoop of whizzed banana
Tastes of pure Americana

The decor is all flashy
Just white and red, not trashy
All dressed up in your nifties
Time travel to the fifties

For teens on scooters suited
All sweetness undiluted
A jukebox in the corner
Soothes away all worldy trauma

Drop a dime to stick a tune on
Whirrs and clicks to drop the best song
Grab yourself a Coca-Cola
Dance in lights from the Rock-Ola

Gals all twirls and frilly knickers
Dudes in shiny winkle pickers
There's an innocence and beauty
As they jive to Tutti Frutti

How we'd love to travel back there
Leaving every burden and care
Just an evening sure to thrill ya
Taste of ice-cold pure vanilla

Oracle Voices

I’m Imagining a place where we make sense - the hot-chocolate 
safe-house where we’ll tongue wrestle, watch Gossip Girl reruns
and cuddle - sustained by love and Cinnamon Life cereal.

This dark, coffin-like clock in the corner whirrs, mechanically.
Suddenly a little yellow-clock-bird bursts, jumping-jack-like,
through a tiny door on a blue, tongue-suppressor diving board.

“Cuckoo!” it shrieks, to mock me. “Shut up!” I say defensively 
but it repeats, “Cuckoo!” like an oracle - an unfeeling instrument 
of adult logic.

She Is the Wind

She whips and whirrs, wild and wanton
Gaia’s grasses nearly come out of the earth
She is in a frenzy, stirring things up and away
At first it is scarves and paper plates, then there is an eerie calmness.

A quiet, deadly, silence and a black sky at two in the afternoon.
She is back, sounding like a freight train, choosing her victims.
She begins flinging cattle, logs, and sheds.
There goes the silo! Twirling up into the sky like a top.

On the Richter scale she is a four; and she is damned proud of it.
Which house will she take? She chooses her victims helter skelter.
Her anger and rage are in full blown whipping and swirling stage now.
She is diabolical, ruthless, unforgiving. She is the wind.

Flaming Autumn

A thrill of autumn debutant debrief 
with row on row of bushes blooming red    
releasing winds of change upon the reef    
autumn bids her hues of mournful reds ;
the bristle pinecone clings to scented pine
and dances in the breeze then all  around 
as trinkets fall abreast time after time  
the nutmeg earth rejoices without sound 
in gentle motion earth's rotary stirs  
fulfills the promise of a season's page  
October and November breezy whirrs   
find aim and turn their colors brown to sage 
as cooler nights attend our entourage,  
we welcome her by harvest's old adage.

I Await

Wide awake in the pitch of night   
is when they come   
drifting in and out dreams   
dancing between real and fantasy   

declaration sits within the heart 
and is always felt   
each time different but the same   
the longing oft remains   
and roams   
  
the thrums, the whirrs   
easing me off to you   
caressing those night time blues   
staring then stirring   
  
how can I await   
as time passes by slowly   
but surely   
you wait too

En Veranda

The succulent awaits the sun
That pink streak now rising
Stretched across a gray blue sky
It's magenta blossoms abiding

Change happens very swiftly each
morn, the sky's color shifts
Now sand like the ocean's shore
That constantly pitches and drifts

Oh! The stillness fills the soul
Colors flash upon a screen
Beauty displayed blesses the spirit
Like the world viewed in dreams

The roosters still rest enjoying
the cool, not a sound stirs
Songbirds rest within their nest
No dove arises with whirrs

An illuminating glow appears
Upon the wispy clouds
Palest pink upon the horizon
Master painter is proud

A red fireball sets the pines aflame
Dark silhouettes exposed
Fan brushed clouds etched above
Like spring's melting stained snow

The heat and humidity will 
flood the air~overwhelm
Great is the time spent in the cool
Within the master's realm 

Finis'

The Rabble

Raving gang!
Nation in a mirthful mood,
Whirrs of discordant triumph,  
Eyes steaming noxious passion. 

        Look about! 
Revelry boils over;  
Death in the embrace of a squall 
Eddies skyward; the stench chokes. 

        The rabble!
Itch for fun in filthy holes—
Slide down the slit of vipers. 
The wild stares, chilled in a pout.

        Look atop!
Gaunt vultures swarm in wait, 
Craning with graveyard muteness;  
Keen eyes, sharp claws, ready to pluck.  

        Joyous gang! 
Rainbow spray, deep emotions, 
Dewdrops glistening at dawn  
Awaiting the summer sun. 


© 2015  Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi

Indian Summer

Indian summer. 
Fierce days – radiating heat 
From sun, road and walls.

Still, humid nights when
Spent, I hunt elusive sleep.
Blessed air-con whirrs.

Cool dawn brings relief.
Face lifts to every breeze.
Autumn IS coming.

Bright skyscrapers gleam
Across the bay, dawn-painted –  
Gold, rose, mauve and grey.

Captive on sand-flats – 
A tree. Stark, dark reminder
Of the summer floods.

Mother Nature hurts – 
And heals us. But we are more – 
Like her, we’re starstuff.

Down At the Old Homeplace

Apricot sunrise that changes
Fast turning to gold
Whispy angels' wings dot a blue sky
Fog shawls the forest bold

Coyotes yap yap in the woods
One lone lookout crow caws
As the roosters crow the sun up
The sun wakes diamonds' awe

A glistening dew caresses all;
Lingers; kisses leaf and grass
Pecan's silhouette dark design
Crows caw increase with sass  

What a blessed morning 'pon the porch
A helicopter whirrs
Off at a distance, the sound of blades
Close by birds voices stir

Doves coo, crickets sound, birds chirp songs
As stillness encases
Not a breeze moves a leaf or twig 
Down at the old homeplace

Lazy Day

A lawnmower whirrs in the distance
My neighbor has gotten ambitious
The sun shines upon my head
As I sit upon my deck
I feel the warm rays soak into my skin
Am I tanning yet?
The bees are busy buzzing 
Stopping only to drink from sweet blossoms
Birds are calling happily
Back and forth across my rising lawn
Should I get ambitious too
And mow my growing grass?
I sigh
Not today . . . 
Not today

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