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Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Hair upon my head.
People say it’s beautiful.
To me, it’s merely dead.

Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Whenever I take a nap,
I look like lightening came down from heaven
And gave me a little zap!

Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Whether wind, rain, or snow.
Humidity is my enemy
I have a **** afro.

Twirly, whirly, curly Q
People stop and stare.
They ask me if it’s natural
As if they really care.

Twirly, whirly, curly Q
I think it’s rather boring.
You pay buckets to look like me
It’s so freaking annoying.

Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Girls tell me that they’re jealous.
But if they really knew the struggle,
They’d agree it’s rather hellish.

Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Straight hair would be a dream.
I’d brush and brush and brush my hair
And never even scream.

Twirly, whirly, curly Q
Alas, it’s here to stay.
But I guess that’s what makes me different,
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
We spread all over the continent
Your underwater girl event
So many times we
spoke curled up in
each other
I heard your getting
married to my
friend's brother huh?

Best friends acting silly
Girly- Goose rhymes
Girls with special
privileges


Like the magical tales
All the males get
better wages

And we are stuck
The unfurl girl
On fuel she got
The longer life eyelashes


The Gossamer
Pink Owl it's her
The Consumer Male
Play Bill

The pink lady fussy-Playgirl hat
The dreamer what's new Pussycat
Her body lined all sheer inside
the curtain's play pretend
he calls every time
Her pink slippers are on

Mystical time of men
Lucky Red dragons
* She Opens up pink for him
She's around all He's
Kitchen pink polka dots
In her Galley pink apron
He's in Las Vegas winning
the slots
Pink Mustang Sally
The dark magenta
Pink sugar pop
Mary Kay
Faraway Fay Dunaway
Powder Puff Maina Delray
Jekyll and Hyde
I'm certain I see him, Sir
She's in the Girl furled State

"It's a girl thing always
showing up late"

Girly whirly Artsy celebrate
Like a party pink
Gatsby
Impromptu
Pink pillow talk naps
Spinning bottle
Oh! her brassiere
Ginger
snaps

Girl gone Genie
in her tutu
The Girly gathering
Coffee and brunch Kong Fu

Whats up with her menu
Eye opener Pirates Carribean
Had her Jungle Jane meal
Those feminine smiles
*** appeal
A million stars of
masculinity the rough shave
Pretty in pink ladies
never behave

Girl's of pink pearls of
Mercedes
Let's bury the hatchet

Unfurl Girl Girl

Her Pink/Gold locket shines
Boys and Girls rocket
Spa creamy
The religiously told prophet
Easter Bunny Jack Rabbit
The habitats of the fervor my
Godly savor
The girl goes overboard
Femininity ****** creatures
not Saints we cannot be
what we ain't
      Gods
We got the girly features

Many people despise the rose crush
We are a naturally sweet  whole bunch

The pink feminine gift
Be careful in your
girly ways look to your left
Let us change our evil days
Unfurl Girl Girl her path to the right
Prayers become artificial
Materialistic Girl talk should be realistic

Animalistic our instinct ******
The girly specimen up to date
The sweet and so modest
She's the divine
A kiss on the hand
Confidential
Smelling all sweet

Elizabeth violet blue voice
She symbolizes
Grace so sweet the papers
For a real divorce
Wild untamed unfurled
All softly curled and loved
He looks at her the way
she looks now
But here to Eternity, she looks
amazingly well
Shes the girl-girl unfurl
He's handsomely tall she
is the Princess dressed frilly
Pink champagne ball
Their girly wishing well
who wants to tell?
Unfurl so many twists then body curl or the cheese curls but we are "Girls" having fun what we do best  the world turns but we are girls in swirls spinning twirls we do what we are told to learn? We love feminine smells of perfume and masculine smells of men perfect balance how we look at it remarkable gift we all have
RJames O'Brien Apr 2014
Curled hair Curled lips
Curled fingers & thumbs
Curled together
Curling as a sport was never as warm
Just me and a map on this little wood boat lost at sea
My view is nothing but the oceans serene beauty
I have no compass to direct me so I know I'm free
Left to wonder endlessly until my eyes get droopy

Thinking what is to come on this journey
I now realize the only one I can rely on is me
This boat is not sturdy and the waves can be very jerky
Teaching me that life has no guarantee

I envy the weather for being so moody
One second so peaceful and clear the next being so dark and whirly
Now understanding why mother nature isn't fluky
There are reasons for everything I believe that now very firmly
Circa 1994 Sep 2014
Whirly twirly dandelion.
Whafty whafty breeze.
Happy sappy baby face.
He's down on a knee.

Don't ***** this up.
Make her smile.
And if you're feeling brave
Ask her to stay a while.

And she will cause she loves you
But then you'll leave cause that's what boys do
To pretty girls
With pinwheel curls
On a windy afternoon.
Heather Butler Mar 2012
Well, what now, hey?
     I threw the dog overboard yesterday.
     The day before, the day?
Where will you go, hey?

I heard the orchestra-man play
The same way,
     Sanctum, requiem, asylum
All Latin in his French dog-eared play.

     Hear the monkey, playing accordion play
To the whirling whirly-whirly-ghig
     Tre dramatique, no? Today
I understand you're just as "tramatig."

I want to hear your Frenchmen play
Play ***** pipes play play
      In his dog-eared French *****-man
Play

But I cannot, cannot say
     Tears of joy, in hydrant spray
The Hyades triumphant rainbow stay
     Cough your little fears away;

Hear the Star Spangled Francis Key play
Frenchmen play, play,
Little piggies counted play
Black white keys with little piggle-plumps play

Atone-al, A-tonal---atonal tonal sounds as if to say
"Getting married here to stay"
       All alone and all today
      Settle down if for a day
And who will hear the trumpet play
When *****-man Frenchman say
"Where? Home of the free" and stay

Keep your hands away
Never want to        let you say
               "Hear me, hear ye, all you weary, weary dreamers
         But never left your confidence like Russell-rustle leaf-blown willow-white

You fill them up with seventy two pay
      Make a kite, to(k)night, allRight
      Thank god for the fleas in the right
Hairless creatures for to sway

I threw the dog overboard yesterday
The day before, the day
And if you'd wanted it to stay
You should've say, you should've say

But never let my hand betray
The vein, the line, the artery
Of arterial shells bombastically
Loquacious to a fault, this day

They say "You want another day"
They say "You never wanted say"
They say "You wasted every day"
They say "They say, they say, they say"

                   But e'er forget, ne'er forget
                   I'll despise you abandon heaven for earth to get
       And leave your money, your millions behind
       For mansions with my Lord to find

But in the ceiling never was a god to pray
Feliciano Naredo Oct 2012
The third moon brought forth from the shadow dark.
Gentle breeze freewheeled across the lakeshore.
Windswept was the air, in peace night was marked-
Unyielding stillness, blooming fairness more.

Silky pastel cloth, gushing curtain soft.
The window let in hushed waft soothing cool.
Fixed firmly on shore with poles planted stiff,
A pavilion meek light heartened the pool.

By the portico was a tree bent down
Whose white flowers bloomed lovely as a nymph.
Its jagged branches, lumped of golden-brown,
Delicately grown each emerald leaf.

Underneath its shades were cheery plantlets;
Pebbles hard and cold; red earth spongy ground;
Flying whirly bugs, glittering bead lets.
Fair maiden deferred, there then can be found.

Pleasing to the eye, that dignified dress
In white noble silk with fine needlecraft.
Regal as she stood, just for a mistress.
Mystic was her eyes, a soul was grafted.

Filled with potent life in her burning stare.
Profound as the deep, tranquil as it surge.
One may glimpse straight to, utmost one can't bare.
To its mysteries, one gave in and urged.

Verdant her hair was, hearty as it shone.
Longer than she was, white as the moonlight.
In her neck are chains, beads and shells she owned.
Varies in sizes, things that make her bright.
I really don't have any formal refinement in poetry making but I did my best. I hope that readers will like it.
Ben Jones Jan 2014
Moo-Cow-Butterfly
Not a happy lass
Stubby little wings
Superfluous mass
Four long stringy legs
Twirly-whirly tongue
Moo-Cow-Butterfly
Highly strung

Weasel-Emu-Rangutan
Fifty shades of fur
Quite the oddest vertebrate
To naturally occur
Burrows in the jungle
Terrified of heights
Weasel-Emu-Rangutan
Restless nights

Labra-Hippo-Jellyfish
Slimy furry blob
Genetic Engineering
**** poor job
Moping on the seabed
Can’t fetch sticks
Labra-Hippo-Jellyfish
Sink like bricks

Chameleon-Begonias
Origin unknown
Disappear rapidly
As soon as they are sown
Neither here or thereabouts
But somewhere in between
Chameleon-Begonias
Seldom Seen
Jack Trainer Jul 2014
Glistening crowds shuffle in detached cadence
Sweating long necks on a production conveyer
The boardwalk
Pungent saltwater and fried dough coalesce
Ocean meets carnival

Teen screams and seagull shrieks
A multitude of color variation
Red to black
A scent of Coppertone and Noxzema
To ease the pain of the vain and pale

Summer at Happy Hampton Beach
Arcade upon arcade
Clinking bells and whirly sounds
“You're a Winner!”, the mechanical voice screams
Summer fades as do the summer flings, until next year
S E L Nov 2013
I’d fling the sun far into your cut corner
and shove moonlight broadly onto your toenails
you would want for so little
as the oceans carry you to shores of your water borne desire

wicked is the world stream when high hopes pegged precarious
onto chalky lines that shift like changing clouds
and lend its kind illusory touch under the lee

end dashed like outcast mirrors whose use
is rod cracked like inside the core of acrid earth
where awaits hot lava in secret fissures to melt all ropes
to bridge so narrow a wing's gapped fluke

jerking maestroms circle overhead
inducing desultory plunge
finger pointing, egg-beating, giddy whirly whirl

a day will come as yet unknown
when soul rags are panel worked and hylic sheathed
when latticed treats, as American as apple pie
will fill that tabled sky decked with cirrus tablecloth

averted seeker squint feels that cat-eyed wonder
flattened insect on a troubled screen with translucent beauty wings
lets in a dry smile ***** of real life dust in heretical relief

rupture
        ventilation
bolt that flippin' door – shut out the ****** world – make fast the curtain sides
broach the unslotted gap you know is yours and proclaim it wide: open sesame!
gouge your way into me - till I’m fully plugged with light
caulk me with your fingers till my spine near cracks
spike my heart with currents from the milk rush of you
pierce my thigh strips and whip the whetted words out me
tap into the slinky slices of my pervious skylit want
there will be no occlusion as arches meet under shuddered pleats

no, I have precious little time or heart to draw cute sunshine panels onto your retracted sleeve
in that stead, I can really be just plain me
who’d  eagerly wrench pale-blue patches from the sky cloth
and steal in zest moonbeams from lovers’ eyes
and heartily fling the sun your way and rob its life-giving warmth
and gladly rip up torn foliage from its homes
along with pert petals from fickle floral parties

if only these were things you’d want
yet, well I know whatever be the pains
there waits little gain
feral feline will trouble little more
heart swing derision flies poor as sad plighted answer rings on
Terry Collett May 2015
The RICKARD'S coach arrived at the seafront the sight of the sea and waves and seagulls in flight and sounds of sea and gulls and waves on shore and Janice waited in the coach seat beside Benedict both gazing out at the view listening to the gospellers talking about the day and the plans ahead and one of them with one eye said not to wander off but to stay with the group and before we get off the coach make sure you are with someone it's easy to get lost on your own so stay with some one all day or a group of others he said his voice a drone to Benedict who looked at the sea and the gulls and also there is a fairground to visit One Eye said but stay with a person and do not wander off with anyone you do not know and the rides are paid for so no need to pay any money out he said the children on the coach buzzed like bees with excitement but Benedict sat and watched the beach the families the ice cream van the fish and chip shop the shop selling buckets and spades and whirly things that go around and around in the wind and so on but before we leave the coach we need to say a prayer and thank God for this day and for the weather and the sunshine and for the gospel church members who paid towards this day out for you One Eye said there was a silence and lowering of heads and closing of eyes and One Eye said a prayer and was ended with a loud AMEN which echoed the coach and maybe along the beach Benedict  waited until the the kids got off the coach one by one then he and Janice moved down the aisle as One Eye and another gospeller counted them off Janice straightened her red beret and Benedict followed her out onto the seafront pavement and sniffed the air and listened to the sounds of sea and gulls stay together a gospeller said to them we will Janice said excitedly taking hold of Benedict’s hand and squeezing it where can we go? she asked the fairground rides are over there the gospeller said pointing over to the side and we will meet for lunch at one pm meet here I’ve told the others and we will keep an eye out for you ok Janice said Benedict and she walked towards the fairground where there was a loud sound of machines going around and voices and screams and laughter and shouts they went in and walked around the various rides and stalls and Benedict said where shall we start? I don't know Janice said there is so much to go on and do but Benedict had his eye on the motorbike rides where small motorbikes could be ridden around a circular track I’m going on that he said looks a bit scary Janice said releasing his hand wait here for me then or ride on something else less scary he told her no I’ll stay with you she said and followed him onto the side of the track where a man was organizing the rides and kids want to ride on the back or on your own? the man said to Janice who looked uncertain I’ll ride behind him she told the man and climbed on the back of the motorbike Benedict was sitting on she put her arms around Benedict’s waist and held on tight then they were off around the track and at a given speed and around and around they went Benedict over taking other kids on motorbikes and now and then being overtaken by others then it was over and the time set finished and they got off and went on a number of other rides and stalls and kept together until it was nearly one pm and a gospeller said got to meet for lunch now and they followed the other kids back to the coach and waited until all had arrived and then they set off for a restaurant where a meal had been organised by the gospel church in advance and they all sat down and Benedict and Janice sat in two seats together and Janice said that was good I haven't enjoyed myself so much in years  and that motorbike ride was scary but I did enjoyed it after all and Benedict let her talk because she was good at it and he watched her how her red beret moved as she turned or shook her head in her excitement and her eyes bright as stars and her hands clapped and her fingers moved and he just listened smiling and nodding and he said maybe we can sit on the beach after lunch or go in the sea and paddle and see if there are any ***** or dead fish left by the tide O she said will there be? and will the ***** bite? and I best go to the loo as I think I’ll wee myself with excitement other wise and she walked across to one of the gospellers and asked and they pointed to a door at the back and Benedict watched her go and listened to the other kids and people around talking and laughing and thought of home in London and wondered what his mother was doing and should he take her back a gift out of the money she gave him if there was a shop that sold things he could buy he would if he could find something he thought she might like just as Janice returned a waitress brought the meals around and laid them on the table in front of them fish and chips O good Janice  said I like them I wonder if they caught the fish around here in this sea do you think they did Benny? do you? I expect so Benedict said although he didn't know and hadn't thought of where the fish had come from apart from the sea some place he liked it when she asked him questions as if he knew everything when he knew he didn't but it made him feel good and he looked at her and felt happy her being there with her red beret and fair hair and she like him was eight years old or more and she living with her gran and he not knowing what happened to her mum and dad and never asked thinking it best not to ask and he living with his parents and sister and brother in London and so different from the seaside with the sounds and smells so different and fresh and she talked of the beach and maybe paddling if they went in the sea he with her in case she slipped in and drowned and she didn't want to do that and of course he would he said and they ate the fish and chips and he looked out at the sea over the way and sensed her near him and was enjoying the seaside day.
A BOY AND GIRL AND A TRIP TO THE SEASIDE IN 1956.
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
Your cheek rested on my chest light
pressing the silence bright for a moment
in your dark porch feelings had weight
but I was reluctant to detach to speculate
about where we were and what we held
too secure to need to share talk at all
like the black cat blending into the explored
our world still unbound by word patrolled walls

the street lamp flickered with temptation
asking elemental questions on decisions
reason on or off proving only a distraction
illuminating your attractions from a distance

above us a curtain stirred
up against an open window
lulled by slight rain cloud
blurring the moon to slow
cuddle in love with a dream
seen sweetly on half show
to only a lonely lane
and me in the light kiss
you gave with all that's pure
from a girly whirly place
full of pink hats and allure
making the darkness shake
when I saw the look in your eyes
sure with what I couldn't mistake
as yet told only in storybook ways

I almost dared to try and speak
but you felt the twinkle of stars too
shyness fluttering your lashes
and passion escaped and flew
skies beyond intensity to catch
respite in what little sleep it could
before getting bedded by an au revoir
which l foolishly leapt into turning round
pulling up a collar against the late hour
leaving you a wave to hide my two minds
I notice you pull your curtains together

cold sheets made bearable
when you phoned
to see I was safe
to hear your voice
saved me from strife
and though not face to face
we spoke of what in our lives
was finally in place
behind your curtain of love

my fingers slid down the natural gradient
stretching the fabric all the more sensitive
felt as a soft moan might pad on a sheet
intent on some scheme or hunt secretive
by Anthony Williams
Jack L Martin Oct 2018
There once was a place
where the townspeople were formal
they made fun of people
who didn't act "normal"

The loyal, royal cow
didn't like
that the townspeople
wouldn't bow

The scary, hairy bear
didn't like
that the townspeople
would stare

The teeny, tiny mice
didn't like
that the townspeople
weren't nice

The swirly, whirly bird
didn't like
that the townspeople
acted absurd!

One day a wise old owl
came to town
and asked the townspeople
to settle down

The wise old owl
made a decree;
"The townspeople should be nice
to everybody!"

"There are people afoot
that act different than you,
but they are still people,
and deserve respect, too!"

The townspeople realized
that the wise old owl was keen,
The townspeople felt bad
that they were being so mean.

The townspeople's hearts
filled with love that was hearty,
and decided to throw everyone
a party!

Thr loyal, royal cow
liked that the townspeople would bow!

The scary, hairy bear
Liked that the townspeople would stare!

The teeny, tiny mice
liked that the townspeople were nice!

as for the the swirly, whirly bird....
the townspeople's friendship, was preferred!

The End
Jack Savage Apr 2013
Hello there, excuse me
Can you help me lose
A little of my mind
Or the rest of what's left of me
The losses won't get cut or cost us
Until we're tipsy from the *****
Gain the vibe,
**** feeling loose

Alone,
***** deep in a bottle of Goose
The silence got more violently silent
After I tossed Dumbo his noose
But I doubt these next five minutes
Will tell me some new news
So I guess it's safe to say
I'm safe in my own room
For now..

I hate celebrity status village idiots,
Not quip or quick enough to resolve
They're useless
Abandon them,
Like Kardashians,
They milk the useless gift they're used to
Middle class man Stan
He doesn't know what this world is
Doesn't even have the vocabulary
To specifically support the image
Meantime the whirly money's leavin,
What happens when that card's dead

This earth's caught up in it's own smoke,
Toking on the pandemic called man's hubris
No one has the courage to catch eyes in the mirror
They all take sides with Ustes
But I'm used to it
Enough already,
Let me sift switch-like for the verse before this

I keep all the bodies in the walls
So my neighbors won't hear me whisper
Plus I like the company,
At home ******, cold and lonely,
I hear the dead make great listeners
As I, myself, contently intend to directly suppress
The nostalgia deep under my the bed skirt
Lost in the esther's fine print, I'm weaker,
Steeping on this substance

ET can't call me
Caulkin's finger's on the beeper
But I'm not trying to kick it,
I'm home alone for a reason
Hopin dark thoughts don't surface
But if they do,
Hold hope that they're worth it
Creativity's no enemy of mine,
But that ****'s not good all the time
Waterfalls of tortured souls reek of paranoia

I won't deny real eyes,
That seek to see my life
Frankly, the story's kind of boring
They'd finally realize
It's all just lies and groaning
Now please,
Puff puff pass
That battle scar baggage back
To the man that wrote this

Kick back, relax,
But know which way the door is
Just slipped both pill's in my bird drink
Watch the ice animorph it
Overworked, shoulder's hurt,
Stomach light, don't deserve it

Man,
I wonder what's in the kitchen

Cupboard, give me Anagrams
Spit synonym toast crunch
Just found toys
Memories that left me
But cereal's for breakfast
IRS Jun 2010
Wriggled and wrapped in our safety suits
The Man tells us the sea is ten degrees
The Man wants his cargo to be safe
The Man wants us to come back

Single file managed carefully
A Man directs us to the tarmac
The big, birds, blades, beat
Secured, we hover lightly
Quick check, Straight up

Tiny farms with tiny fields
Checker an industrious quilt
Stone is torn from a quarry
For homes of busy people
A road rests on the countryside
A ribbon on a patchwork blanket
Houses embroider the hills
Where families pay their bills

Crawling along paved threads
Creatures scurry passed a hospital
With more important things ahead
First day back to school
Rush hour, late for work

We soar above the little land
And hold the blanket in our hand
The mansions acres sheared and preened
Sit pretty next to factory steam
From here the mansions just as small
From here the graveyard’s twice as tall

Hugging coast we close our eyes
The stuffing from the covered skies
Descends around our whirly bird
And only flutter can be heard
And from the window only sea
Until we reach our island, sleep.
rosey Jul 2013
A thunderstorm rushes in summer making us sheltered and hide away into our barrier.
Under drumbeats from the gloomed sky, we watch streams of rivers flow beneath our feet.
As the wind began howling, I look to see the world being shaken.
Have the rain being thrown all around us, twisting and turning as the wind dances with it.
There were flashes up above us, a symphony of sound,
From the roll of thunder.

We step outside and see the whirly world.
Hearing the claps in the distance,
We raise our heads smelling the sweet new air.
Bright flickering blots shoot across the sky, making a light show for the world and I.

Raindrops came down one by one, perfect diamonds shattering to the ground.
While I hide from the storm, the world opens its arms and sings along.
Where thunderclaps and lightning burst above is a symphony from the angels.
The heavens put on a show just for the both us.

As the final heavy raindrops played the last notes of the song,
The drumbeats rolled away,
The flashing stopped,
A hush of silence crept over the world,
The sun’s warm rays peeked through the clouds,
A new cord struck a note as birds flutter their damp wings while soaring through the painted sky.
The soft decline of sound that comes after the storm.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
.oh i don't know, why would i have a "problem" with christianity... where and whence it went into the new lands like some conquering reject... i'm all still hot & bothered that so few people read the counter mainstream: **** me... the atom bomb didn't wake them up, why would the discovery of the nag hammadi library wake them up? st. thomas' gospel: like... jesus playing chinese whispers with thomas, who wrote, after hey'zeus took him aside, told him something, upon returning to the other disciples they inquired, and thomas replied: if i told you what he told me, you'd stone me... back in hey'zeus' time... sure... social ostracism: b'ah b'ah black sheep says: wolf! the clown cries, the theatre burns down and everyone enjoys a night out... back to basics i guess: we're not talking about outright social ostracism... we're talking about psychological ostracicism: is it me... or has cogitans per se reached a zenith when it was to tickle the traits of calustrophobia... it's no longer ego cogito... it's... ego cogito: superego noose quasi- / semi- "thinking" and the unconscious id aspect of ego... whenever attached to "thought": short-circuits and goes into an epileptic spasm of: what to do?! what to do?! what to do?! *******: you have your new freudian pseudo christian trinity: mental gymnastics provided by the israeli co-op to teach you to count pythagoras via spaghetti curly-whirly... fun! fun fun fun! i once lived alone in my head, having only one body... now i have one body, but many paranomal "telepathic" insurgents living with me... who do not concern themselves with the concept of space... ego, head, toe, does it really matter whether a manicure is to be exacted? i don't like smoke, i don't like mirrors: i rather melt in the fire... i am the son, i am the heir... of a shyness that is criminally ******... probably the best lyrics in the world... i am human and i need to be loved, just like everybody else does... magic, par excellence... please... jesus basish died when it left europe, now a h'american resurgence... happy people happy sheep go to sleep without question... happiness is an act of levitation in terms of existentialism... and when it shatters... it's not a nervous breakdown... even on the scale of the individual... the fall of the tower of babel comes with the fifth horseman of the apocalypse... riding a ******* unicorn... well... he's actually the sixth... the fifth is already riding... ha ha... horseman... he's riding a donkey to the site of execution... who needs drungs when you can measure what the co-op convenience stores are selling as a liter of whiskey... they're actually selling 1.425 liters of whiskey... i measured the sloppy herring slitherings and salmon high jumps... see... the atom bomb was dropped... but the mainstream christian never mention my angst... the nag hammadi library is never mentioned... why isn't the unearthing of the nag hammadi library never mentioned? the hebrews are all over the discovery of the dead sea scrolls, their dissociation simulated with their 2000 year old the penance for unrightfully sentencing the prophet isaiah to be cut in half... and he was a courtesan (isaiah): so what?! did he speak truly? 2000 years of jewish history... summed up by the unjust killing of the prophet isaiah... lesson learned... the lawful killing of hey'zeus: well, 2000 years of masochism of willing converts to "appease" the god: coincidental shared "circumstances"... why am i not a christian? if love is what is and what is the cross: sorry... can i decline having a fetish for a latex ******* *** fantasy?! or... you know that story of the perverted dog? the one that is so ***** is latches onto your leg and starts to ******* you, imitating the **** of you with a curled hand to propose the **** itch-tight simulation? oh no... we hide the socially ostracised... so we wheeled out the retards for full display... and monger... the critique has become elevated... it's harder to pick-out the knitty-picky intentions of people who want to differentiate before the grand c.c.t.v. altar of the omni-unus watching via the terms: proselyte... pharisee... sadducee... baptist mongrel presbyterian... honestly... spew me all this post-atom-bomb *******... oblivious regarding the nag hammadi library... mainstream h'american christianity: honestly, with this amount of reading even atheism doesn't suffice! atheism doesn't suffice! the antithesis yet to be explored by the masses is my curriculum motus... mea motus vitae! h'america is yesterday... yesterday being late 90s early 00s... now it's a quasi-balkan paranormal export cultural affair of tarantula bit-frames of former convo... it's like watching a regurgitating boa constrictor snake rather than an ingesting boa constrictor with 2 weeks spare of waiting in smog for the next meal... why didn't i follow the catholic bureucracy and be confirmed? well... why don't mainstream h'american "christians" come out and say: yes, the emergence of the nag hammadi library is problematic for us... it's sure as **** problematic for me... and what will come later, and reach the mainstream... with be the sort of explanation associated to the clarity of depiction of a human face, as close as picasso came "close" within the framework of cubism... hellish contortions and exponential deviations... imagine how hellish the human face is depicted in cubism... now imagine that same face smiling: within cubism.

there you have it, automated phone service,
the pinnacle of the national health service,
the surgery got rated 1.7* (stars),
1 for the fact they exist, and 0.7 for the service
they provide; god almighty i hope you
don't fall ill in england these days,
it's like trying to buy a ******* turnip at
the butchers or fishmongers...
dial the number... a robot answers
'hello, thank you for calling the north street
medical centre... please note that we do
not deal with repeat prescriptions over the
telephone; please press 1 to book or cancel
a triage appointment; press 2 if you have a
query concerning a prescription...'
2...
'thank you, if you have an urgent query
concerning your prescription please press
0 to speak to a receptionist...'
0...
'hello, welcome to north street medical care
multiple choice questionnaire...'
oh for ****'s sake...
what now?
when was the battle of Hastings?!
1066                    yesterday               mm, maybe tomorrow?!
there i am with a simple need, just write
the ****** prescription and i'll be off,
it's not like i'm asking you to do 7 hours of surgery on me;
no wonder they got 1.7 stars...
there are more receptionists than actual doctors:
ooh spooky spooky ****** doo in the bag too,
ooh look at me, i am Microsoft word proficient,
i'm the cream of the crop... fair enough,
and i'm a ventriloquist in my spare time -
pour me a pint while you're at it,
my throat's dry from all the cursing...
because why the hell do you even have a contact
number for a surgery... if it just cuts you off?!
might as well return to the antiquity of using my
legs and seeing you face to face,
because that's what i seem to have to do...
go for a walk, come back with some poor somali
girl who walked 5 miles for a bucket of water.
Alone & solemn..
a sentimental probem..
resentment & hate, only fate..
breakfast morning, leaving mourning..
breathing overtakes, self absorbing..
Loving great & holding less..
Clenching more, feels depressed..
only person, feels like a juggle..
tearing heart, constant struggle..
so what if the worst really happens..
reoccuring, inevitably fastened..
I lose you & my happiness..
even through an easy mean..
I'll gleam through, a pleasant being..
so take my soul & stomp it out..
For it wont cast through everlasting doubt..
Then hate will rein & I will fade..
because truth will conquer & life will invade..
with whirly eyes, red & throbbing..
horrored ***** with their knees locking..
babies not a truthful sight..
with all infertile, feeling strive..
wondering what if all, succumbs to this..
exhaling bliss & inhaling ****..
So I'll blister for just one more lie..
humanity enduring the pain through time..
similar emotion altercations..
a lifetime of abomination..
reincarnated, into a new life..
a silly soulful prototype..
Ginamarie Engels Jun 2012
almost made it to the end,
picked up the phone,
you picked me up in your car,
tightly squeezed in your mason jar,
the crystals on the green grass have been cut,
blowing it all away out of the palms of my hands,
searching for the shake,
shake me into waves,
i want to be happy without my stuff,
simplicity is what i'm on my knees for,
what i'm envisioning on the floor,
the animals on all fours,
they are so beautiful in this never-ending whirly world,
innocence beats around the bushes,
hunger wants to be stufFED,
the mountains need to be shared,

come and share the crystals on the green grass with thee
i'll keep a promise you will love me
love me.
Anais Vionet Oct 2022
It was one of those gray but somehow bright-skied New England Wednesday mornings that made you sad for anyone who wasn’t there. Fall freshness demanded my attention, like a hungry pet, from every open lattice-window in our stuffy common room.

As I watched, for a marvelous moment, the world was a cartoon whirly-gig. Trees, writhed, animal-like, to be free of their multicolor leaves, shedding them - like bad blind-dates. The four-color debris was immediately drafted away on gust-streams, those invisible elves, and politely scattered in corners.

I’m waiting for test results today and time seems to be passing with vegetable slowness. In uncertain hours like these, some students armor themselves with alcohol while others indulge in religious solace. Not Leong and I. Leong’s a communist - it seems that communists grumpily tough things out.

I was raised a Catholic, so I rightly deserve whatever bad thing’s going to happen. In Catholicism, failure and guilt are accepted everywhere, like the best credit cards. Any success is automatically categorized as unexpected, undeserved, if not fraudulent, and above all, temporary. In fact, life itself is little more than an inconvenient test on the way to wherever.

“We’re living in the age of crisis.” I announced, agitatedly, to the otherwise quiet common room (where the usual crowd was attempting to study).
“Figured that out all by yourself”? Sunny asked, “You ought to go to Yale,” she added.
“Hear me out,” I say, as if anyone cares enough to stop me. “Our parents had their war on terror” I say, with air-quotes, “but we got a pandemic, a crazy President complete with insurrection, a faltering supply chain, a cost-of-living crisis, renewed nuclear war threats and the climate meltdown. It’s hard to study with all that going on.” I self-declared.

“It’s hard to study because I’m out of watermelon.” Sophie said, digging through the fridge.
“You aren’t anyone these days unless you’re battling a crisis.” Sophie noted.
“Your parents are ALIVE,” Leong said dryly, “I MET them and they’re going through all that too.”
“And are we (mankind) going to take any real, adult steps to address these issues?" I asked, looking around to see if my outrage was mirrored, “apparently not.” I sermonized rhetorically.

“YOU” Lisa said, shaking her head, “are a hopeless optimist - you left out a few crises.”
“WhatEVER,” I declared, “It’s still hard to study,” I reiterated, while distractedly chewing on a #2 pencil that Lisa had loaned me.

Later, we’re outside, taking in the semi-sun and reclining on our fold-up “better beach” lounge chairs. We’re off-and-on playing “That’s why I am like I am.”
“When I was in 10th grade, I had 22 detentions.” Sunny revealed.
“22! What for?” Anna asked, looking over at Sunny while shading her eyes from the sun that briefly pierced the clouds and decided to stab her fiercely in the face.
“Talking in class.” Sunny admitted. “Wow, THAT’S a shocker.” Lisa laughed.
“Shut up!” Sunny laughed, adding a ******* for emphasis. “I got those detentions on purpose. I had the love-jones for my English teacher, and she supervised lunch detentions.
I would bring in these lesbian paperbacks, like “Keeping YOU a secret,” to hold up and pretend read - while eying her, seductively."
Anna gasped, “Did she ever respond?”
“No,” Sunny said with a sigh, “My love was unrequited.”
“That was a lot of trouble to go through.” Lisa commented.
“Being gay isn’t that deep,” Sunny observed, adding the tag, “That’s why I am like I am.”
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Writhe: “to twist” usually in pleasure or pain.
Anais Vionet Nov 2023
I love it when Lisa and I take our show out and, on the road,
like this twilight helicopter flight, from New Haven to LaGuardia.
I’m so excited about tonight, it’s possible that I might implode.

The rotor blades started twirling, our luggage had been stowed,
the pilot asked Lisa. “Ready for takeoff?” Lisa grinned saying, “Let's go!”
He gave her a quick and crisp salute and the engine noise started to grow.

As we went wheels-up, the whirly-birds warning lights began to strobe.
Yep, It’s the start of November recess and we’re changing our zip code.

We rise like a balloon, at first, until the harbor comes into view.
The engines were screaming like jets, when the whole world turned askew,
I’ve done numerous take-offs like this, but it still feels like I might spew.

Above the rear cockpit window, there’s an air-speed indicator that looks like a clock.
With a quick turn over Yale’s campus, we’re going 90 as we steak over the docks.

As we ascend into the night, the twinkling lights of New Haven seem to shrink.
We’re swiftly gaining altitude, this quivering contraption, moves faster than you’d think.

As the red numbers settle at 260, the vibrations have all but ceased,
The engine noise is gone as well, as we race up, in the darkness and out over the sea.

I try not to think of the inky black water, how far we would fall and how quickly we’d sink.

Long Island Sound glittered, like fractured glass, under the waxing crescent moon.
The forever-blue sky was hosting a large, fake-star, because Venus was glowing there too.
That dark almost-orbit was prettier than the infinity-of-lights we’ll see on Park Avenue.
We’ll be meeting Peter’s flight from Geneva - a surprise - he doesn’t have a clue.

As the lights of New York become pronounced, so does my excitement that he’ll be around.
I’m sure we’ll get a moment of quiet intimacy at the LaGuardia international arrivals lounge.
Ginamarie Engels Jan 2013
This is what life is, we don't really know where we're going to go or where we're even going. It's an every second exploration and observation of the time that passes us by. This is what it is to live. We take part in making choices for ourselves which sometimes affect those around us. We have energy that the earth emits and energy, we emit. Movement. Our brains are like pieces of granola in a big bag, not one piece is exactly the same. So we watch life, take part in it, to try and form into a "person", we make this game of living worth our while but some of us, wonder, what is our purpose? How did we end up here? How did the earth form itself and progress into such a technologic, crime-infested, polluted, whirly world? Non-utopia. This place can be such a wreck, everything can be seen differently throughout each of our pair of eyes, or we may just have one eye, or colorblind eyes. Perceptions. I don't really pay attention or even look at every part of my body and study it. It's simply amazing to me how intricate each ***** and our entire body is and how our body is such a team, everything works together and if something goes wrong, we have our blood cells and other things that back it all up. It's incredible but, do we ever really wonder how we were even made? What the real roots are, not just our mothers and fathers, but way back when? We read the history books in school, when you first step foot into middle school, you take courses, you learn global history and social studies. You take a look at the A.C. eras and B.C. eras.
Ibycus Rachelae to my Armoured Vest
Inject onto me that addicting Spritz
Hoping, which my Muse from the Plym comes best
Return my Calls despite everyday Blitz
How Secret, should be that whirly-curled Tail
Twice length your Form cuddle your Evening's Wrap
And when she comes, promote your Heart's avail
Respond to your Tube; And lick-out the Sap
Green, red-banded, was it enough to lure
And bind essential fluids to your waste
Your slime's head recall; Sate potency pure
And bid her offspring from your pride at haste.
Listen, shy snail. Expose your Calciumed House
For her to Respect your True Feelings' douse.
Bill MacEachern Aug 2023
Boomers

Bottle caps were currency
Pop sticks were our props
Maple seeds
Were whirly birds
Spinning like a top

Hopscotch drawn on
Down the streets
Jump ropes tied to reels
Double Dutch was fun to watch
Especially for the girls

Quarters pitched against a wall
Closest takes ‘em all
We played that game
With baseball cards
Some lost DiMaggio

We grew up fast
We learned the ropes
And mostly on our own
We’re called the Baby Boomers
We’re "like a rolling stone”

Bill MacEachern August 13, 2023
Ginamarie Engels Jan 2013
This is what life is, we don't really know where we're going, it is an every second exploration and observation of the time that passes us by. This is what it is to live.
We take part in making choices for ourselves which sometimes affect those around us, we have energy that the earth omits and energy, we emit.
Movement.
Our brains are like pieces of granola in a big bag, not one piece is exactly the same.
So we watch life, take part in it, to try and form into a "person", we make this game of living worth while.
But some of us, wonder, what is our purpose? How did we end up here? How did the earth form itself and progress into such a technologic, crime-infested, polluted, whirly world.
Non-Utopia.
This place can be such a wreck, everything can be seen different throughout each of our pair of eyes, or we may just have one eye or colorblind eyes.
Perceptions.
I don't really ever pay attention or even look at every part of my body and study it. It's amazing to me how intricate each ***** and our entire body is, how our body is such a team. Everything works together and if one thing goes wrong, we have our blood cells and other things inside of us that will back us up. It's incredible, but do we ever really wonder how we were made, what the real roots are, not just our mothers and fathers, but way back when....
Twirly
Swirly
Whirly
soft as a willow wisp glides
Lift
Shift
Drift
Into the air they slide
The wind blows snow in curls of whirly swirls
Through frozen glass accumulation grows
This brick house a defense of stone, I know
Mercurial mood sinks down to near zero

And gazing toward the garden plants that stand
In flower beds turned into brownish graves
I reminisce the colors that they gave
Before their dead stem arms had black leaf hands

The poet in me frowns when sans the sun
Four walls, a notepad where self-pity looms
Death threats of tedium close in the room
Jack rabbit trapped without a place to run

The icy flakes keep crying from the sky
As ***** as the housecoat that I wear
No energy to even comb my hair
In winter trance keep watching life go by

Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2014
smokey basil Apr 2018
vision is all
swirly whirly.
everything is
thrown off.
perception and
proportion are
completely
messed up.

hand is reaching
seven feet away
across the room.
head is
the size of
five balloons.
wrist is
half an inch in
diameter.

i am
shrinking
but my
foot is
huge.
now i am
expanding
and i
and i barely
fit in
the bed.
the floor is
rising
and the walls
are moving all
around me.

get me out of
this wonderland
of lies.
it is too
terrifying,
too scary,
and i can't sleep
anymore.
i might re-edit this one in the future.
DBE Jan 2016
Well, I'm sure that I'm not on my own, as I sit down to type,
For here I am, awake once more, in the middle of the night.
Seems once my brain has had some sleep, it aches to be on duty,
Though I'd much prefer to take it back; my dream was getting fruity.
It knows exactly what to do, and wakes me up for mercy
By running worries through my head each morning at 6.30.
I've tried to solve them and return, but seldom have I done it;
My subconscious just controls the show as my independent pundit.

Have you ever stopped to wonder how your brain works on its own?
How it's up and at it all the time; there's always someone home.
And when your body's fast asleep from hours of being used,
Your brain checks out its ‘video store’ to keep itself amused.
For while you've got on with your day; done all the things you must,
Your dream crew’s written all new scripts and starred them all with us!
Seems that all your friends and family and people from your past,
Have all got lines and walk-on parts as members of the cast.

So the next time that you start to nod and thoughts become all whirly,
It's because your brain's previewed your dreams and wants to turn in early.
And when the show has run its course and you have won the day,
Before you can recall your bow it’s all been packed away.
Seems another dream has done its job and entertained the brain,
Which means it’s time to wake you up to live your life again.
And rather than a stomach-ache you're given mental torture,
Until you are forced to type a poem on the iPad your wife bought ya.
It’s amazing what sleep deprivation will pull up – sometimes it can be quite feasible.
Chui Choo Aug 2017
Dark, whirly clouds of grey
Smoky tendrils reaching towards the skies
The blue and grey interact
Creating a gradient, white to black
Adele Dec 2019
In this painting, her red hair was blown
In a gust
The behemoth sleeping buffalo mountain gaze
on her perspective, her face was not shown.
but this is her story…
When the south pole tilts, facing
The beam of light
People fly towards the sun and
That’s when Martina ascends the peak
against a raging snow in the north
There, she discovered mountain goats;
Grazing the empty twigs
She found a shelter in the tea house, fresh woods dropped
By a whirly bird to warmth the cabin that
Overlook the six glaciers.
Martina roams with solitude.
Running in the wilds
There is darkness and you can see her eyes,
Dims at night.
She is unbreakable.
The lynx spirit has been guiding her.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2019
one way or another is not the turtle's

whole story

I shall tell as I would, were I privy,
as I am,
to the reason for turtles at, in, of, on, under
all in all

and all we have in common, when we use
words
right, no se?

We, the gifted generation, possessors of knowns
never usable, undtil understand und ist nicht undone

unloosed, unlatched, untied until we forget

words of authority must mean
common, mean, golden-lean to good-ness,
life, per se,

se, y'know
a flow influencing the peace of a place
is a flow we may let go,

it has a smell, but so do farts and farts are always
funny, to the heart of a child

bubblin' bubblin' bubblin' in my soul, my unsould soul,

heir of wind's listening privilege. Poet, per haps,

singer say some, songs say others,
we, merest of mere promiserly whimseen sips

from the silver cup,
first class, exists, in real life, longer than in
mortal fantasies of fame in ones
own object
ification,

jest dropped in t'see what condition, my condition
was in and I for plumb sure got the message

settled, it is finished. Live with it.

Adapt. Fit to be tied, leads one to con-sider, really,
ropes and threads, and fibers

and stick to it ifity, re
al-izate
great minds think alike, just not in synch,
without a drum...

in the background, we got good ol' **** Feynman,
on the Djembe drum,
you can only imagine keeping perfect time
whith the flowing pulses of
intent
within withon withthrough withdrawn a tube

emerges and were we word bound,
once more,
assigned the chore of making peace
meal form sensible words up to the point, until,

the seals were broken,
nothing is hidden, by rightness, all is knowable,
unhide-able, and why

is that scary? Brave New World, admitting having seen

the savages view of savagery
at its mystical

old known
first tales told to each of us as we mature,
ripen, as seed we die, arize and be eaten,

AI AI OOPs cod-plat-if-icate-- yesterdaystodaysforevers

eat.

fecation perform. make of all gestated
mess
ages agone gathered round fires on winter's days,
to see who can tell the biggest lie,

-- was this not the culture of all children, once?

Did might, as in might be, make right, and the knowing

of the song, the story line intwined with all my
kith und kin
und naught be, yond m'ken, y'ken?

Kinda, sorta. Dribsndrabs. Parts 'n'pieces put to

gether gathering winds into a swirl

to explain why swastikas in their erstewelt significance,

wahrheit b'told, b'hold held
that

everything spins,
in a whirly gig fashion, we may commonly call
spiral formations of things

pineal formations, closely ob
served, say count the spaces between
the places where any seed
may
have been a tree,

look around,
how few pines can sprout, without falling

far from the mothering pine,
now,
gravity works on a fractured earth, but

squirrels and jays were intended to do the

shuffling of the deck, the scattering of seed,
in chance, on a smoother flown surface
than this dis-leveled message in stone at the bottom

of the sea we breathe and have our being in,
this bubble in ever
spark sta
static
tic
a tree form, a fractal twigging of everything
imaginable, into now.
Precisely, the moment you read this. That hapt.

Some said they heard thunder, I heard turtle stories,

all of them, all the way down. and back.
the husbandman who labors must be first part taker
Graff1980 Oct 2017
The way the wind works its whirly will,
the way the waves rush and wash upon
the sandy shore,
the way the stars burn bright with
atomic fire, such hydrogen fury,
the way the rain falls on any day
even the days which I make plans,
these things are beyond my control

The way I react to a verbal attack,
the way I chose to eat healthy snacks,
the way I build up what I lack
turning my weaknesses into strengths,
the way I treat everybody
as I strive to pursue
a better me
not a me who
is better than you,
is in my control.

— The End —