"whirls" poems
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I alone can contend against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened.
Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your ******* smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
315.4k
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
69.3k
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because the last time I opened up to someone artistically they told me it was pretty dark and I should keep it to myself.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because I was raised in a culture that was anti love and pro meaningless *** I saw endless commercials about movies that glamorize a lifestyle in which your body is fulfilled but your heart is ignored and at that impressionable age I learned my heart came second but my allure came first and the less I cared that happier I would be and I carried that belief around with me the way I used to carry around a Bible as a child.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because of the time that I opened my father’s phone to reveal a family secret I would hold to this day against my own moral instincts unraveling miles of insecurities wondering if I’m not a good enough daughter or if he stopped loving my mother or if true love was never real and although I had been taught marriage was my purpose, it was what I believed would make me happy, maybe rings aren’t enough to stay in love and maybe people’s feelings change and maybe no one actually has a “one true love” and that this purpose I had been taught was really an endless wild goose chase that only lead to broken families and lost souls.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because sometimes I still wonder why I fell into an abyss of toxicity at such a young age. And when I say wonder I don’t mean a trivial ponder, I mean I contemplate every possible reason why the person who I once believed held the universe in her eyes would lie to my face, why she never kissed me in public and our love was always a secret, why she valued girls with blue hair but my blonde hair was not good enough, why I had to hide bruises from my family when I was still in high school or more importantly, why at the time, I thought I deserved them. These thoughts, this lingering paranoia that I am undeserving of healthy love, they muddy my interpretations of real life and distort reality and effect my relationships. My doctor would call these intrusive thoughts, my best friend would tell me they’re symptoms of PTSD, but I have come to realize that I’ve been burned and I am damaged and I hope to god I can recover.
But you,
Oh god, you
You can write this poem. You can be my safety net while I’m free falling in love. You can be the one to listen to my mental tilt-a-whirls, you can be the one that introduces my body and my heart, you can be the one that calms the storms in my mind when I’m questioning the love I’m deserving of. You are the one who makes sure I fall asleep in my bed after drunk nights, you are the one that still sees my value after acknowledging my flaws.
You can write this poem.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
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a cup of poetic tea
now becomes ready
when emotions simmer
on a flame dimmer @
with subtle swirls @
twirls and whirls @
added with words @
the aroma spreads @
strained out the waste @
the perfect taste
and here it's ready
the poetry ...the tea!
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
My legs are shaking as I step
Onto a frozen lake
In skates that are not my own.
He grabs my hands
and whirls me in a wide circle
I scream and beg for him to stop.
He leaves me for a while
to wobble slowly
on my own.
Then he returns with a shopping cart
And dumps me in it
To push me across the lake
At an alarming rate.
With tears in my eyes
I beg him to stop.
I know I am being jettisoned
Towards my death.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
When I was young
They thought I was a girl
My hair was curly
A head full of whirls
I grew up
Happy and naïve
Until others
Said there was something wrong with me
My hair was something that made me feel ashamed
I was a curly haired ******
And it was my fault, I was to blame
As I grew up, I learned about others
About those who weren’t me
My friends or my brothers
Not everyone had good fathers and mothers
They were hurt, too. Sometimes worse than me
Broken hearts, homes, and trust, sadly.
They were hurt by the ones they held closest
Not some passerby or stranger
The one that held them, raised them, and kept them free of danger
Who would sing to them by their bunk bed
Breathing lullabies, soft eyes, young soul to be fed
They were now broken, forgetting what it was to be loved
I learned it wasn’t my fault that they pushed
Because they too were being shoved
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
Down the stairs, my hands a shield
for incoming priority mail,
and trained for the way your body would
hug me closer with every exhale.
Your mother won’t stop calling.
Kind of like the week we spent hopeful
before they sent you away.
Kind of like me just trying to hear your voice,
always searching for something that’s calming.
The windows have
been open since yesterday,
and I heard the bird sing to its sky,
“I love you”
before it started to rain,
darkness swallowed up the sun’s sky
and wilted all our daisy-chains.
Rescued frames surround me,
reserved to tell your stories.
The breeze never fails me,
it carries your scent in flurries.
If I try hard enough, I could feel it
through my hair, and on my lips.
Every night the breeze
brings with it a solar eclipse
that soaks through my skin,
and intertwines with my blood cells,
going straight to the bones that
keep my body from further farewells.
Tomorrow I will build a home with
the words of your silent prayer.
My cracked walls will be painted with
your skin and the scent of your hair.
My new bed will be made with
old t-shirts you always used to wear.
If I could fit your eulogy on this page
I’d make sure to mention the breeze that whirls
through the center of my chest,
and my lungs that faithfully breath the air
that may have once circled your ribcage.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC
This cave is my sanctuary; cold, damp, filled with minerals and creatures.
I sit cross legged peering out through the crescent shaped doorway mama nature has created. I have never been more at peace than I am when I’m here.
The water crashes hard on the barnacle covered rocks beneath me. The mist from the waves whirls its way up to sooth my aching skin. The sea calls my name in the way that an angel calls you into the light.
At first it’s just a delicate whisper. The voice is so charming and playful that it begins to lure me in. As i begin to drift further, letting the voice carry my thoughts, the waves pound harder and the symphony the sea has written me rapidly grows in volume and intensity.
The tension becomes so strong that the sky starts to erupt. The clash of the clouds creates a prismatic light sequence leaving the sky looking magnificently iridescent. I sit unstirred, reveling in it's beauty.
The sea is now agonizingly screaming for me to succumb to its cool paradise.
For a while I just sit and enjoy the elegance of the symphony. Once the sky starts to lower its darkened veil, I know it is time to go.
I stand up with more certainty than I had ever felt before.
I slowly take three steps forward, embracing the feeling of the dirt in between my toes.
Two long strides, and then I leap. The thick foggy air caresses my body as it swiftly careens downward.
The symphony ends with a splash.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
Haw!
Rush to the brink of it all and bloop!
They who went first nod along knowing the same the same song
before it went dark and light combust, on the shore there was a shadow standing thus.
Hurry to the buoy and rippttt!
Frosty whirls consume like cream over coffee beans
when it the only the sweet crystals that remain at the bottom of the mug.
One two three and freeeee!
Now see that treasure chest folded in ivy and barnacles
still green in stench but precious for it is now hollow and willing to be full.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
The grass flickers, as the
Wind pushes it down, in
A gentle but determined
Motion, sweeping upwards to
Swirl the blue-grey clouds
Around the radio tower, before
Dissipating into the milky
Sky, which at this moment
Is the lightest shade of
Blue, an open innocent shade
Of blue, like an angelic birthday
Cake, the pinker clouds, whose
Graceful tendrils embrace the
Air, and dancing twirl across the
Peaceful summer skyscape
Down below them, the
Emerald stalks of corn stand,
Silent sentinels, awaiting the
Coming of the dawn, they too
Feel the pushing of the wind, but
Brush it off, over their shoulders,
And continue their silent watching
On the sloping sides of the hill, the
Growling pines, resplendent in their
Glimmering needles, reflect the fading
Light, off the clouds, as the sun sinks,
Beneath the horizon, and I watch them
Silently on my bike, the only thing
I can hear, is the swish of the wind,
And the hum and whirring of the
Pedals, as my bike and I, we glide up
The hill, and down the hill, and
Around the posts that are meant
To keep the cars from disturbing, this
Peaceful walking path
A while later, we crest a hill, now
Having past the town, I see the work
Of the persistent wind, the clouds
Now whipped into a curling wave,
Of pink and blue-black, spilling
Over the horizon, behind the red-roofed
Country houses, which are strangely
Reminiscent of those old, red, barns
Which would sit abandoned in
Fields of perpetual wheat, and,
Through the turning of the seasons,
Would rot away into timbers, with
No one left to remember, what
They were, or why they remain
Now we have ridden in a loop, my
Bike clicks as I change gears, to
Crest a hill and coast down, at high
Speed, between the guard rails and
The road, with the wind kicking
Up behind me and whisking an
Upcoming tree in to a fluttery
Flurry of leaves and branches, while
Below a stream cuts a field, and,
Skirting a pen, passes by a pinto
Pony, I think it was, that was just
Standing there, as we rode past,
Onto the cobblestones and around
A bend, the group splits, some going
A different route, but I want to come
Back the way I came, and I ride
Beside the highway, listening to
The chirp of the crickets and the
Hum of the wheels against the
Cold, pavement, while up the hill
The verdant pines bob their bows,
Up and down, waving, waving,
The crashing blue-black wave has
Rolled, on past the tower now, it
Is crashing down over the silent
Sentinels, and I watch quietly as
The wind rolls down the hill, and
Whirls some leaves, making the
Grass flicker in the setting sun.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
sometimes it’s not the world that is loud,
there’s no rain, no grey cloud,
sometimes it’s a storm inside of me,
where the wind is strong,
like a very cold breeze.
sometimes it’s the rain in my soul,
pouring emotions, telling me to let go,
sometimes it’s not the
outside world,
that is loud,
it’s my inner peace
that whirls around and
has been gathering war clouds
because sometimes
there’s too much stress,
to many thoughts, an excess
it’s not life’s best part
but sometimes
there’s a storm in my heart.
there are lightning’s, even thunder,
and I feel like I’m going under
but I better calm down,
there’s no need for me to drown.
I pick myself up, piece by piece
it’s not a fight without cease
there’s no need for preoccupation,
as long as I am, my own salvation.
- gio
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 1:07 PM UTC
A thousand tumbles takes a bottle in the sea-
a thousand dashes and whirls and swoops.
A million grains of sand takes that bottle in the sea,
to break apart, to come to me
in fragments like a snowflake fractal.
How many mermaid miles till she hands that glass to me?
For I've taken out my very-ness, for you.
- And my crossness.
My judgement and wrath.
I've taken out slight hot breathe
(for you to melt the ice on your whiskers.)
I've taken out my toes when they are reaching for yours in the cavernous blanket world through the forest of our lazy limbs.
I've taken out my righteousness
and my second guessing.
I've taken out for you (a surprise, I was going to surprise you!)
all the times you were going to be wrong to me-
and to wrong me...
taken them out to sea, you see?
In that bottle, pretty bottle. Broken now like too many vows.
I've taken out my knowing best and finding better.
I've taken out the half moon of your thumbnail as well
...I will miss that in my night sky-
(perhaps I'll keep that after all.)
I'll take out the complacency of holding your hand getting out of a chair.
and the mindless strokes
as you explain
my commonplace crazy
to
simpler minds-
I'll take out the very-ness of me, and the we-ness of us.
and fill a bottle with a the brine of a thousand tears from hundred slights not slighted quite yet.
I fill the bottle and gift the sea
with the softness of you and the brashness of me.
A thousand turnabouts it takes to reach you on the beach,
a sea glass diamond ring, engage me you engaging man-
and the tides tickles my feet in anticipation, marry me. marry me.
just a sea glass promise
for a mermaid bride
waiting for the sailor man to sing her sweetly with salt on his lips
Just a sea glass lullaby from the man who loves me so.
Marry me, marry me
And we drink sparkling water from a sea glass flute
and we drink all the us and we drink all the we
for sea glass could never hold a second in,
sea glass is far too vain not to shine in the sun fanning
your invite out in a spectrum of color that
a small child's hand creates when he holds it up to the rays.
Spills out all of my intentions
Spoiled child, loved child,
Spills out all of my intentions carelessly on the sandy floor for the tides to swallow whole.
My sea glass prism chucked unceremoniously back to sea
and me the mermaid bride left at her own alter...
But a seashell to your ear and her my wailing sorrow calls,
'marry me, sailor. marry me.'
sahn 8/5/14
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Where I worked, I was quite content
To help people was most relevant
My favorite was a young-little boy
Everyday held utmost joy
His smile was wide and missing teeth
Covered by curled lips acting as a sheath
His hair was once orange and red
Replaced by brown he said he wanted mine instead
He'd run his hands through his artificial curls
Excited he spun his two wheels in whirls
I'd push him down the hallway in his chair
His loving parents waiting to meet him there
They smiled every time they said goodbye
When the mother turned I could hear her start to cry
I took him back to his room
When out the window were stars and moon
Every night he asked me not to leave
I would stay there until he sleep
Most nights he'd wake up in pain
His tears for release a permanent stain
This boy suffered an incurable disease
All he wanted was a sense of ease
Multiple needles stuck in his arm
I.V. fluids doing no good nor harm
One night instead of asking me to stay
Instead he asked if I'd take him away
To a place where he could feel no hurt
A place where all was new and divert
I stood in silence within the door
A hesitant smile I gave once more
Go to sleep and when you wake
Somewhere new you will stay
That was the last smile I saw him grin
Before eager sleep took over him
I fought the tears as I held the plug
No more pain for my little bug
Questioning if what I did was right
But the young-little boy has peaceful sleep tonight
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
hummingbird boy
seeking
hummingbird girl
(seeking only a long summertime of hum
sipping dark red flowers and then some)
summer hummingbird
hummingbird hummingbird
hummingbird unfurls
hummingbird whirs
hummingbird twirls
twirling hummingbird
twirl twirl hummingbird
hummingbird whirls
whirling hummingbird
whirl whirl hummingbird
hummingbird pearls
pearls of hummingbird
pearl hummingbird pearl
humming hummingbird
hum hum hummingbird
hummingbird hummingbird
humming hummingbird
hummingbird bird hums
hum hummingbird hum
fuming hummingbird
fume fume hummingbird
hummingbird fumes
watching... waiting
for any hummingbird girl
humming hummingbird
hummingbird summer
Heard hummingbird’s whir
Within a bright summer day
A whir... now... heart beats
© 2019 Jim Davis
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though glass, it is rimmed with gold
around the cup, handle and even the
saucer. Skilfully painted chrysanthemums
of various shades; the vermilion horizon,
Spring's honey, songbird's magenta,
sangria's fine wine, a parakeet's breast
and the Aegean sea.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then, there are three sightly tea
caddies with lacquered wooden bodies;
one rosewood with red dancing fans,
one burr-oak with golden mountainous
landscape and one maple wood with
green bamboo. Ainhana gently removes
each of their lids by using the cloth, and
presents the pearls that were wrapped
in sun-kissed foil.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
She first lifts the rosewood caddy towards
me. I close my eyes and focus on the scent.
Without peeling back the foil, I know. It takes
me to the far distant Province of Yunnan,
past the snow-kissed mountains and rice
terraces to a very still lake. I noticed that
it began to bubble before a large splash
rose.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
At that moment, I meet the lake's Guardian,
the Imperial Wingless Dragon of legend.
With its wet emerald-kissed scales drinking
the sunlight. It's great body now entwined
in a wispy clouds as it stares at me with
eyes of liquid moons. Its tail crowned
with a peacock feathered eye-spot whips
around in the air, leaving an iridescent
trail of colours.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a great leap, he soars through
the air, trumpeting his great roar
that rattles the skies. Just as quickly
as he rose, he descends down with
a Pearl Moon in his brown claw. By
the stroke of its sienna-brown whisker,
the small Moon cracks, presenting me
it's contents, a long kept secret.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The pearls are the colour of seaweed
with streaks of yellow and burnt umber.
With earthy notes whirls around my
nose, along with some floral sweetness,
burnt caramel licks, dragon spice and
a wisp of apricot. Ah, so I see! One great
guarded secret that he reveals to me!
His best pearls ferment in the womb
of the Moons! Purified by the Star
Virtues of Elysia's Harmony!
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Wonderfully rich Pu-erh Pearls,'
I say, my eyes now open.
'My Lady's nose is as sharp as ever!'
'I just know my tea,' I chuckle, 'it's
very unique in smell and taste. I will
save such fine broth for another day.'
Ainhana nods, places on the tray and
lift the burr-oak caddy. I close my
eyes once again and my mind
wanders yet again.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
I want to tell you about time, how strangely
it behaves when you haven't got much of it left:
after 60 say, or 70, when you'd think it would
find itself squeezed so hard that like melting
ice it would surely begin to shrink, each day
looking smaller and smaller - well, it's not so.
The rules change, a single hour can grow huge
and quiet, full of reflections like an old river,
its slow-turning eddies and whirls showing you
every face of your life in a fluid design -
your children for instance, how you see them
deepened and changed, not merely by age, but by
time itself, its wide and luminous eye; and you
realise at last that your every gift to them - love,
your very life, should they need it - will not
and cannot come back; it wasn't a gift at all
but a borrowing, a baton for them to pass on in
their turn. Look, there they are in this
shimmering distance, rushing through their kind
of time, moving faster than you yet not catching up.
You're alone. And slowly you begin to discern
the queer outline of what's to come: the bend in
the river beyond which, moving steadily, head up
(you hope), you will simply vanish from sight.
3.6k
A warm hand pressed up against cool glass
Making a hot handprint appear.
The maker of the print lifted their hand
To study the unique swirls and whirls they left.
There is no pattern to the lines that created the handprint.
No precise angle of arches,
Nor perfect precision of patterns.
The transparent window displayed the differences,
Unique to only one person.
Sculpted at birth and remodeled over the years.
Recoding every hardship experienced by the hands.
Each line, arch and swirl different from one another,
All part of a life.
Each hand telling a different story,
Each story created by a different hand.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
Lightning flashes through the heavenly body
The storm rages through everything like a flash fire consuming all in it's path
It seems all the world must be caught up in the tempest that drowns out thought and sounds
Light playing across the darkness as the world tightens to a single point
Like a tornado it swirls and whirls among this storm of sensation and power
Almost like a cacophony it pushes every other thought aside
But such a force is the ultimate harmony
The darkness clears
A clarion call banishes the storm except for the tornado's tip
Eyes wide she looks up at him and hears the voice
The command that releases the storm's energy
*** for me
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC
And the wind whips the unsteady fingers
of rain
like the swirls and whirls
of ice-cream in cones -
melting on my unsteady fingers,
on a sun-stricken holiday
belonging to a place
in which I don't belong -
until the rain and I meet
in recognition
and open fingers
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
It’s pitch black again as you’re driving home. The wind whirls around the world outside, the radio static barely drowns out the noises in your head. When did it get so loud? Each thought screams at you. Reminders of all of the mistakes you’ve buried in the backyard. Did you forget what happened the last time you dug them up? All of the ghosts coming out to play. The skeletons in your closet morphing into bodies of the people you used to love. People who used to love you. People who have found warmer homes elsewhere. It’s cold this time of year but never as cold as it is beneath your ribs. Drives like this feel like forever when no one’s riding shotgun in the passenger side. The laughter now an echo from the back of your mind. When was the last time someone told you it was going to be okay? Or has it been so long that the word “okay” isn’t a feeling but a faraway place you uprooted from the day your mom stopped coming home. Trauma has many names but never this many faces. A deer jumps in your path and you almost step on the gas instead of your breaks.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
Rusted trailers file in,
carrying pop-up roller coasters
and tilt-a-whirls. A tall man, face splashed
with paint, trips in oversized shoes.
His drawn lips smile, but teeth do not show.
A ferris wheel spins in the distance, time
measured in each rotation, the carnival's only clock.
Perched on a saddle, a small tot
rides a stallion, tangling her curled fingers
in its mane, cotton candy stained palms
shaking the reins. The steed chained
to a central post, muzzled in silence,
frozen like his carousel brothers.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Lay me down
in those fields
of silken flowers
where the buzzing
over our heads
whirls us into
lightspun holy
my dress a metaphor
for loneliness
as you lift it off
and let it disintegrate
into the evening's
electric ether
your lips
undoing the tight
leather laces
that have held my
heart in place
until now
Now.
undo them
in unfurled totality
let my feminine essence
drip, in non-verbal words
onto your fingers
let my elements
light you up
from within
firebrand sunset
in molten metallic sheen
indigo lip of ocean
melding into crackling
hiss of earth
and humming
under this
dark rich loam
tiny vibrating buds
sprout from fossils
trilobites become
hazy with new moss
seething insects
lay eggs and spawn
feeling the bloodpulse,
that simmer of surface
in slick magnet energy
Curled stems of wild
poppies and zinnia
tie down my wrists
snake around my thighs
clasp my
tender-boned ankles
as if to open me
up even more
than I thought
my soul
could go
and I do not resist
for soon they will
accompany you
as you decorate my
deepest womb
with blossoms
filling me with your
soul's seed
your musk-scented fervor
nestled, subaqueous
into the root of
my sweet
deep
of
need
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
Gramophone records play
Scratch, play, scratch, play
Soft in the background, edging into me
Slow and easy, gentle waves.
Granny, play me La Wally again
Turning, spinning, round and round
Take me away on audio-pearls
Peace whirls me on a magic dance.
Pappa, hide the ugly monsters
Keep me safe in Noddy and Pat tales
I'd rather be caught in merry tune
Than in webs of yonder folk out there.
Momma, put on Golden Slumbers
"Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby"
Yes, I find my way homeward...
Gramps, sing me a Holliday song
The kind that lifts one so high
With Mammy and Pappy blessing all of me
Yes my happiness, I've got me own!
Dear Heaven, open windows and walls
Swirling, flowing its beautiful energy
Sore needed peace and beauty
That no eye can truly see.
Star Toucher, 02 March 2013
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Lady of dance so eloquent, Flamenco born from her wombs' true intent,
Castanets clatter, as tambourine rattles,
with excitement, accrued within whirls,
she prances and dances within circles, all flashing,
to reach her prince charming, was truly so dashing, her hair rolled up in a tight fitting bun,
As she swirled up to reach her finale, twas said,
she was here no longer, she was truly dead,
she deceased many years, hence past,
For every so often her vengeance she cast,
Prince so vain, found another sweet lover,
left her alone with her pain,
left her mark on the spot,
where her true love stopped,
Gave her no attention,
well too little to mention,
took her life with such a harsh knot,
when the moon is bright, on one sorrowful night,
She'd appear to dance for the crowds,
The watchers looked on, not terrified, by the sight of the tragic flamenco bride!
Copywrite, Olivia Kent 24/03/2013.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
The world around me swirled
My mind forevr whirls
I am stuck
Trapped
Forced to pick a side
I watch everyone fight
Lose their heart and soul
I am stuck
Trapped
Forced to pick a side
No one ever listens
I scream my cry, yet it is forever unheard
I am stuck
Trapped
Forced to pick a side
They insist
I refuse
I am still stuck
Always trapped
Still forced to pick a side
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 3:11 PM UTC