Whisp Poems | Examples

The Measureless Span

This little we have is a lifetime.
A day in the sun and the dark
is all this little we have.

If we blossomed at the speed of most flowers
hours would be the little we have.

A child is the span of the world,
a person, the whole of its history.

If we could catch just one moment
it would be a moment
that contained all that is or ever will be.

Tell your life-stories to the moon,
tell the world all that you have done
or not done. Name that story,
then watch it disappear
as a whisp of mist in sunlight.

Fiction is timeless.

The Seasons of Life

The winter snow and freeze killed everything 
I planted in the spring,
Rhododendrons, roses, Hawaii hibiscus
And the bougainvillea orange king.

Parsley, sage and thyme are gone, 
Peony and pansies too, 
The daisies died and I still sigh
For the loss of primrose blue.

No more azaleas or alyssum,
Passionflower or peppermint,  
The coleus did not last nor sassafras, 
And goodbye to rosemary’s scent.  

And all the leaves on the lemon tree
Look more like a weeping willow,
Sagging sadly as if begging madly 
To finally let her go.   

But Spring is looming ‘round the bend  
And new seeds await good earth,
To come alive in sun-filled skies 
And signify life’s worth.  

As all things come, and all must go
In a whisp of place and time, 
Like flowers and plants in a cosmic dance,
The seasons of life are Sublime.   

© Terrell Martin, 01/27/2025

Christmas Star

Christmas frost is in the air, 
the time to hold our loved ones near,
Some have been through hell and high water,
But my dear your demons we will slaughter,
Don't let their darkness take your light, 
Your like the star on that cold Christmas night,
That pulled the wise men to saunter, the beautiful whisp that I cant let smoulder, 
Let me be your shoulder and use me my love, as cannon fodder.
Arise like the glow of Christmas lights that we hang on our tree of promise right,
Love an hold what mean us dear, 
and never fear the dark that wanders.

When Pigeons Fly

Today the air is brisk and clear
     With a whisp of winter in the air.
As pigeons coo, sweet morning doves,
     Pitching woo like young love does.
And speckled dew upon the leaves
     Uplifting every part of me
From tip of toes to top of head
     Enthralled by all in this flowerbed.
Ashes to ashes, dust to rise
     Transforming 
Me,
     When pigeons fly.

                                © Terrell Martin, 12/12/2024

beautiful site I mean sight

.

                      i'm lisp'n
                 trip'n over mine
                       tongue

                     lip pip pip
                         slip pip hern
                       whisp
                       i mean
                        mine eyne whisk
                       excited
                         hern 
                          hip

double entendre'd hern

.

                          if
                     'gain my
                       upper
                        and
                       lower
                        lips
                    'bout her
                      twisted
                        slips

                    'tiz not her
                         legz
                   'tiz 'bout my
                       tongue
                         'tiz
                    'bout hern
                       limber
                       whisp

The Waltz of a Poetess and Endless Conundrums

She, suffered in angst and a deep loneliness,
As her jasmined poertry, was new and just growing.
“What good are my poems regarding truthfulness 
or honesty?”
Against seas of creative poems, puff-pretty, bright 
And glowing?

The icy, winter,rains came and gave her not a 
whisp of a warm answer.
Her soul and stomach did crave some reprise..
“No, no, rest, dear poetess,”….words whispered 
came in the form of a mystical soul- prancer.

Then..what to do, she most freely wept!
“Stop looking for readers of my poems?”
Is there a wondrous secret being kept?
“Stop, stop”, the laughing, winter-prancer said.

“Each poem you wrote once sweetly slept in
the soft bed of your heart.”
“Let it be go now….and like a newborn eagle..
alight with freedom and depart.”

Dedicated to Joe Maverick in Australia, on the 
loss of his cat, Tibbles.! Condolences.
Your kndness to me has always been 
appreciated! 
Huggs~Pangie

***Written sometine in my early years here***
1/6/2024

Alleluia, He Came

IF 'HE' HADN'T COME AND BORE HIS CROSS...I COULDN'T BARE MINE. AMEN.




Many concerns are on my plate

so many worries…tranquility escapes

I look to the right and to the left

but only find more troubling depth

In this vacant alley…I feel lost

like there is no end…just cost

Then, in a fragrant whisp, I’m reminded…

of a road, and barn…to which it winded

Light glows…from a heavenly candle

that slowly moves across…midnight’s mantle

My soul’s eye…follows its course

‘til it halts, beaming as a guiding source

From an ass…a tended virgin alights…

large with child…the hay a blessed site

A cry comes forth…awakening the world

for A Child is Born… a prophesied hurl

And as shepherds and magi rush to the scene

my shoulder’s yoke morphs…a peace…serene

The Joy of the Season which I had evaded

now enters my heart and I am elated

I hear a choir…of the heofon kind

announcing the Savior…of all mankind

Though my troubles are still yet the same…

hope, glistens horizon…Alleluia, Christ came!

 

Is 7:14, 9:6, Matt 11: 28-30, Lk 2:8-20

 

©jmsbell-12/05/22

Monotangled whisp

shed tears with no eyes spoke words but not wise - no one there just a disguise.

Heron In a Windy Blow

A Blue Heron unleashes itself from a
surfing wind and flowing sky.

Wings spread it rides, almost hovering,
as it seeks a nestled place to land.

There, the long reeds
have been hollowed out by its mate,
but she has gone to fish,
gone elsewhere.

The bird lands,
for a moment its long legs are buoyed
by the merest whisp of gravity.

The heron settles, folding its wings
like a cloak around him,
now as the wind ruffles its feathers
he seems only a scrawny effigy,
of the bird in flight,
a plumed twig planted in the disturbed shallows.

The pond ripples with silver whispers,
small fish dart, their heads
arrowing deeper.

The Great Blue
strides slowly to the shoreline
becomes a living statue,
a patient presence
amid the rushing blow.

That is when I saw
how the world is stirred around
by a stillness,

how an unmoving center
can turn within a heron's eye.

A Winter Tease

Snowflakes soft as a Kentucky breeze
Floating down gently in the frigid air
Settling on the barren limbs of trees,
White brush strokes on a winter frieze
A whisp of snow, an old winter tease 
Reminding us of our ski gear to prepare
Snowflakes soft as a Kentucky breeze
Floating down gently in the frigid air.

Written November 18, 2022

Dreams

I endure the trials of day
To embrace the veil of night
For only in my dreams
Can my world be set right 

With these hours comes insight 
Like windows to my past 
The sands of time suspended
And history be recast 

All that was once lost
Returns to within reach
And memories bring lessons
Tomorrow cannot teach 

Moments although fleeting
Reunite us once again 
But the void causes a tear
That mere visions cannot mend

Paradise interrupted 
By the entrance of the dawn 
Like a whisp of smoke in the breeze
Here … for a moment … then gone

The Poetess and Her Conundrum

The Poetess......

Suffered in angst and deep loneliness,
As her Jasmine poetry was anew and just growing.
“What good are my poems regarding truthfulness 
or honesty?
Against seas of deceitful poems, puff-pretty, bright 
glowing?”

The sweet,pre-spring rains came and gave not a 
whisp of an answer.
Her soul and stomach did crave some reprise.
“No, no, rest, dear poetess, “words whispered 
came in the form of a ballet dancer.

Then..what to do, she most freely wept?
“Stop looking for readers of my poems?”
Ah, a wondrous secret being kept?
“Stop, stop”, the laughing dancer said.
“Each poem you wrote once slept in
the soft bed of your heart.”
“Let it begone, and like a newborn butterfly...
alight with freedom and depart.”

          
                 3-15-2022

Safe Inside An Empty Pen

Wake up my dear. 
Speak, 
I need your soft whisp of thought 
so, 
I can write the muse of rhyme 

My mind is empty, 
but
I hear the whistling of the wind
trying to unleash the ties 
of  words trickling in my mind

1/4/2022

inspired by "Bed Time" written by  Victor Buhagiar

While Writing Up a Poem

When a poet is going to write up a  poem
Somehow alike a fish is going to take a breath
Breathings took with strength generate ripples
While  slight breathings would only whisp gas

Someone might think they are different entirely
How can you compare a poet to a fish
The fish makes  a piece only in shallow water
While a poet can do so even  in  strange trees

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