In the way you had led me
With raised expectancy;
Turn on wheel-turn, a breeze atop
For whose mood did heighten;
Country road, and road endless;
Still whooshed! Left idle when!
In angling off a new slant
On the world did him grant.
Up this way, that; reposed. Unspoiled.
Summer days did me steer.
Each wide vista, cow-grazed, coast-hazed
Opened out on ' Freedom'.
Once looked back on, is rolled back up
Whose mirage! Whose phantom!
As dark clouds dashed and clashed in the sky
Thunder began to boom and rumble
Sensing an impending rain, frogs started croaking
Cows stopped cuddling and began to moo
Soon pitter- pat came down the raindrops.
landed on roof tops with a heavy thud
they broke and cracked into tiny droplets
gurgled and gushed through canals and drains.
And joined the brooks that babbled,
merging with waterfalls that whooshed.
Along with the rain, came the roaring wind
as it passed, the bells clanged
windchimes whispered, wires on poles whistled
doors slammed shut and windows creaked
grasses swished and leaves rustled.
Birds fell silent and stopped tweeting
When the pouring rain came to a sudden halt,
The rattle was over with everything falling silent.
A father and his son
Spent quality time each day
Communicating, having fun
Through adventures and at play.
On one such occasion, his boy's
Leisure would never be the same.
He opened up his sons eyes
To the wonder of paper airplanes!
With a brand new sheet of paper,
They folded rather neat.
They whooshed their new planes to and fro.
Their joy pure and complete.
They made different types
And put them to the test.
This could last for hours!
Until they found their best.
Now the boy is all grown up
With children of his own.
They love it when he tells them
About the first paper airplane he'd flown.
And now he watches on
As his youngsters take delight
In creating paper airplanes
And thrusting them in flight.
Written 19th August 2022
I wonder how it will be ,
The silence as it echoes,
The waves slapping the ground,
The cold breeze dancing all around,
The trees as they whooshed and talked,
The Sun as it stitched a golden horizon,
Finally retiring from it's monotonous job.
What a magical moment it will be,
As an instinctive smile creeps within.
When stress and pressure be replaced,
By satisfaction and glee,
I wish I could experience this daily.
5/8/2022
wielded wits whooshed
perforating pouting pool
yearning yields pruned
vying voluptuous clues
dark drips dribbled
callous crest crippled
hoisted hanker healed
sumptuous syllables seeped'n
crumbling curvy creed
mystic melody moaned
cupped crescendos' clone
haughty rhythm robed
porous pasts punctured
meagre memories measured.
'20:03:28:11:33
Note: Dedicated to Jedidiah, King Solomon.
tactic torrents tuned
punctured pills puked
hoisted horizon hanker
tuning tiers trigger
felon fiends whooshed
wanky wind booed
bounty bills bruised
lofty lists cruised
dark drips drooled
sour syllables glazed
with wet waste
gaunt gores graced
porous pasts pulsed
vying gifts gulped.
'20:03:11:15:06
Note: Dedicated to William Blake.
I was all wet at first tumbling down
A tear from a cloud
It was getting cold but then I saw
A snowflake falling by me
My arms and legs became frozen
Twirling down spinning around and around
If I fall upon the branch of a tree
I will be able to rest comfortably
But if I fall on the road a snowplow
Will gather us all and shove us off to the side
If I fall on a car, we can all go for a ride
Until the wipers push us aside
If I fall in a river I will be whooshed away
Turning back into water drifting away
If I fall on a dog, he will shake me off
If I fall on the ground, I will melt away
Giving a fresh drink to the plants below
This one tiny snowflake putting on
A Christmas show delivering happiness
To all those watching me fall from the sky
How beautiful am I
We wrapped a long length of red holy cloth around
his body, slung him between two green bamboo poles,
and carried him to the edge of the Bagmati river.
We covered his cold nostrils with soft cotton balls and
placed six sacred beads of Rudraksha in his palm for moksha.
We lit a bunch of sandalwood incense and stuck their points
near his head. We threw a tong of rice on his chest and started
chanting mantras for the peace of his soul. I walked around
the pyre with a burning piece of wood and lit a handful of kindling
at his feet. The dry logs whooshed and the pieces of flesh
sizzled and spluttered. The flakes of ashes flew off and fell on our heads.
Later, as the sun turned red on the horizon, we left the burning
pyre to go home. The black oil lantern was hanging down from the wall
its faint orange light barely filled the balcony of my house.
Nearby, my small brother kept on expecting for Grandfather home soon
from the farm, with a bottle of baby pots, pedaling his rusty axon bicycle.
I wished so hard to be adult;
a fairy heard my wish and then
I whooshed through time and now I'm old...
but long to be a child again...
for Charles' if i could go back contest
She lies on the plush, green grass,
Gazing up at the starry sky.
It would rain today said the weather forecast
But the sky was clear and the ground was dry.
The wind whooshed past her,
And tousled her hair,
An owl called nearby but she did not fear
When she stared at the night sky, away went her despairs.
The stars smiled and beckoned
At her to come up and join them.
For she too was a star,
Shining brightly in the darkness.
She stood and pranced around in the meadow,
Her skirt twirling behind her as bunnies peeked behind trees.
She laughs into the darkness but the only sound that followed was he echo.
She inhaled the sweet scent of flowers as she danced with the breeze
Before she headed home
She took out a jar and filled it with silver stardust.
And every night she would remind herself
That she too was a gleaming, shining star.
We felt tiny,
Her hand in mine
Upon that strand,
Sundown’s rich show
Of indigo
And pink, lush hues
To darkness washed,
True pitch in which
Pale surf, aglow,
Whooshed, foaming in
‘Neath stars, aglitter,
So infinite—
Oh! flecks we were,
Mere motes until
My arms I wrapped
Around my wife
And, lost in love,
We shared a kiss:
Wide world, sea vast,
Eternal sky
Then faded all
To naught.
Sally Jane hung out the clothes
As her employer did upstairs doze
It was the same every week
Sally Jane's outlook was so bleak
An orphan child found in the lane
By the Reverend Parson Cane
He brought her to the parsonage
Her first job was to turn each bible's page
Hidden from view below the pulpit
Inside it's depths she would happily sit
Her next job was when she was a bit older
Carried milk pails slung across each shoulder
She whooshed the laying hens and cocks
And scaring crows as she ran about
shaking the hems of her frocks
When grown she had no permanent home
She preferred to live outdoors and to roam
As night fell a haystack, or in the winter a farmer's barn
On stormy nights that wetted the land
Sally Jane's cover was never planned
She arrived soaked through at any random door
They let her in and she slept on the floor
Now in her fiftieth year
Many village folk shed a tear
She had spontaneously combusted in John's hayrick
There had been no indication she had ever been sick
Her funeral was yesterday
Poor Sally Jane, it's a mystery.
There she sat, head tilted back in elegance
Pushed
By her father in her
Pink plastic chariot
Barely two years old
With golden multicultural skin
A crown of silken shiny curls
Framed her gorgeous face of regency
Style, heirs and grace
And she knew
She was fabulous
As she was whooshed past my
Car window
Off through the grey sordid concerete
As a bright cheery spot
Pushed by her proud, proud father
Gracefully
Picking her tiny
Button nose ....
The walking trail around the lake
crunches like a full bags of crisps
at a Fall football game.
The oak leaf refuse curls frost burnt inward.
The manmade lake still, motionless
a covering of snow cone slurry
drapes the depths.
Prepubescent boys lob mud covered
boulder bombs through the lakes sheath.
Babies born in Winters night
emerge enthroned in umbrella strollers
whooshed in cocoon-buntings by
proud twosomes through the Sping mud.
Jogging homemakers
with fish bottom white legs
hurl themselves round and round
the circular track careening past
young lovers who can’t unplug.
Missing the first kiss of Spring.
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.