"whirs" poems
Enchanted by spring’s
rustling whispers
... whistles swirl
in the pungent springtime breeze;
steeped with a bedazzling
cadence
heart dancing
to a hummingbird’s
whirs
waves of breath,
of little wings waft,
whooshing throughout
twining honeysuckle lattice
a
tiny manger
beset of hidden gold
precious speckled eggs,
silver lining of smallest hopes
fruits of fruition
continuum beheld prize,
concealed in interwoven rootlets;
potently perfumed flowers
while away
the waning dark hours;
swollen full flower moon
waxing yellow,..
heavenly fragrance
sweetly-scented suckled nectar
the one with eyes of a child,
wonder ― hidden inside,
marvel in the light of grateful eyes
imbibing an unholdable moment's
spellbinding elixir
... poetry alive
air so poignantly perfumed
with blossom
moonstruck
by spring’s frolicking cadency
a reverent moment's
edifying intoxication
a sobering beauty that just is...
someone ... May 2017
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
The heart flutters,
It's pulses intensifying,
magnifying
the state of frenzy it's in.
The mind whirs,
It's cogs turning in abandon,
and yet delicately
Searching for an essence of normalcy
Occurring,
and all the while;
I've uttered no two words
For I am lost in the
delicate frenzy,
of the mind,
the heart
my fragmented self.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Delicate daisies ripped from the earth to create a beautiful bouquet.
An anonymous arrangement with no note; a wordless love letter.
A minor mystery is formed that sparks interest as people speak in wondering whispers
Trivial time in the day elongates stretching into ongoing hours
Subtly searching the faces of boys, young men with hearts and hormones
Who hope for love and romance, too embarrassed to admit their “feminine” fantasies
The sun sleeps, the moon comes out, and I put the daisies in a vase smelling their sweetness
A lamp lights the room as I change clothes, removing the shirt that matches the fragrant flowers
I slip off to sleep as a fan whirs, my breathing slows, and worries turn into deep dreams
I imagine a face, a person, to go along with those delicate daisies
My anonymous admirer
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 1:55 PM UTC
The fans rattling again.
It's not the only thing shaking in the darkness.
But it's making such a loud racket.
I keep it on anyway.
I'm afraid the silence will **** me.
I fight sleep like it's tangible.
You're always waiting there.
Just past consciousness,
standing in the shadows.
It's always the same.
Your backs to me and it will stay that way.
We're standing in a light rain,
the sun just faded.
I know every second that's about to happen,
yet every time it's like a new cut, over and over.
I say all the same words.
I say all different ones.
It never matters.
This story has unfolded a thousand times.
But it's different every time.
Sometimes I chase you.
Sometimes I scream.
Sometimes I beg. And curse.
Sometimes it's you instead.
You won't look at me
because hope is a deadly thing to give.
You know I'll always tell myself its there.
We all see what we want.
Especially when we don't want what we see.
Back in the dream, it's coming.
The part that will sit in the bottom of my soul.
Gathering weight, gathering dust.
You're in front of me,
but you couldn't be further away.
I'm on my knees.
A promise on my lips.
A disaster in my heart.
You step away.
One step, two, four.
Someone has been hammering my chest.
I'm awake.
Stuttered whirs of a broken fan.
The long length of the night stretched out in front of me.
It's only been an hour.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 2:56 AM 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
Twice the fool is the runaway
Who hides his trail, as he hides his ache
All bottle and pills, temporary sleep
Insomniac daze and cheap dinner meals
Static lies on a stationary screen
Radio chatter can’t feed the famine in me
The world is aflame
With no one awake
Sunrise slumber
I fall unconscious to the restless on midnight pavement
Breaking bones or breaking bottles
Selling skin or dealing dust to lost souls
Hearts tucked and folded from the cold
Future oblique
I dare you, predict my dreams
Late riser / never bloomer
Packs a bag, a change of clothes
To deadbeat joints, and dead end posts
Been as many years gone as daily cigarettes smoked
Bloodshot symmetry eyes
I see in every passerby
Like the whole city gone up and left their troubles behind,
You and I
We’re cerebral projections
Locked into motor whirs, recursive disintegration
Status acknowledged, clean cut
Black and white since day one
Mould breaker, you’re told you’re out of line
Gutter graves or veins, stay your place or fall behind
The only constant is the throne
You sit upon or come to view as your body’s own
The red light stare, blue flicker flares
Blare on your skin, like prisms, colour wear
Better to fade to grey than know yourself
For what you truly are, just a shade of catch and tell
Dire straits
No deviation
Full advance
Or desolation
Empty eyes
Golden restraints
I don’t want wealth
I just want change
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
Let us discover some new alphabet,
For this, the often praised; and be ourselves,
The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,
The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone,
And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,-
Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion,
Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.
There is an oriole who, upside down,
Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,-
Under a tree as dead and still as lead;
There is a single leaf, in all this heaven
Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig:
The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught
Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs;
There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom
Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.
The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly
Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock
Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail
Surveys the wet world from a watery stone...
And still the syllables of water whisper:
The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait
In the dark room; and in your heart I find
One silver raindrop,-on a hawthorn leaf,-
Orion in a cobweb, and the World.
3k
His shadowy brim tipped down and in
No face to place, no trace of chin
Revolver cradled loose and low
Cylinder whirs, chambers roll
Trench coat long, dark, and lean
Black boots gleam with choicest sheen
Right hand rested 'round bony grips
Left hand fans and never slips
Who are you?
What do you want from me?
Why are you here?
Your purpose is hidden
Your message unclear
Never a word muttered
Not even a sound
It's always the same
When you come around
Got to find my keys
Get out of this place
I'm weak in the knees
My heart's losing pace
Jump in the car
Pedal meets metal
Check my rear-view
For signs of that devil
At the stoplight
A peripheral glance
A sideways glint
A figure askance
Shotgun rider
A figment with a plan
The devil may care
But my mind made the man
©Jason Cole
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
times like this, the plenary moon
tonight wearing many faces,
the white-washed truant at bay
white-hulled still, the brim of the sky
to a full, on such a bright night leaving a trace
of say, prongs of fire on the kiln
the skin the soft breeze molests with a chill
flung from pinecone – the blackened spires of the
very heart of flame and the mullioned wood that understands
what the heat of placeness mints underneath
our skin – what silence remains a translation when the smoldering
remains are bitten repeatedly, aureoled in the moment of vital meaning.
we hear its threat, retained in clock-whirs
like a primordial word or the fluting of light’s bendable
rondure harnessing a truth we let in.
I fail behind the walled-up lip of laughter
because the weight of passing
is heavy on my back – like a bough dragged
by rainwater, or sound elected to drown:
the smell of poinsettia assaults,
lifting its slaughter against Kiltepan and Ambuklao,
past mountains lulled to sleep: the moon sleuthing
like a well-oiled machine. what do you hear?
we are aware of its full absence,
like that of our undulation after a fall,
or the wild sibilance of breath trying to utter something,
going back home with a song in between teeth,
without words.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
The ceiling fan makes a comforting noise
As it whirs gently, with the premonition
That winter is near
She sits up hesitantly, somewhat afraid
That there might be something there
She just woke up from one of those nightmares
She could barely control her breathing
Fear and anxiety painted in her eyes
She's almost used to it, or so she thinks,
Till it happens again
She begins to shake just a bit
Almost subtly
She doesn't want- need- to think
Any more
She switches on another one of those gizmos
Whiles her night away
So she doesn't have to sleep
She doesn't need to go back
To those **** nightmares
A chill runs down her spine
But she turns up the music a little louder
She doesn't dare to cry
Scared of being heard,
Scared of acknowledging
That which lies silent, looming ahead
In the darkness
She doesn't want to because
Once she does, it would be tougher
To tell herself that they
Hardly matter
That they are not premonitions
Of the future
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC
Eyes averted
Guilt ridden eyebrows
Dominate expression.
I loved her so much
But now she's ****** everything up
There is remorse in her eyes,
Regret whirs through her body,
But there is also a portion
Steadfast in what she did,
Because something has taken her away
From me and the world,
Swept her off her feet
Leaving a fullness in
Those highs,
My lows could never fathom.
I stare at her once more
Seeing something different
In eyes I used to love
And still love.
There's a hunger for
That adventure
I can never compete with,
The addiction reliable
In the way it holds her close.
And I turn away,
Hoping she'll try
To stop me from leaving.
Hoping I still mean
Something to her
But other matters toy with her mind distractedly.
Her next fix
Suffocates the ounce of love
She has left
For me
And I'm gone.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
The rusty car door creaks open.
Kicked it closed, but now we're trapped.
Up above, rain tauntingly quenches us;
Down below, a cliff brings sweet demise.
Two days since our food expired.
Our voices and bodies stretched thin
Tied to deflated clouds by silver lining.
The whirs of doubt tempt us to jump
And for a moment we invited death's warm embrace.
But a low growl, from stomachs and throats, and back we go.
Down our aimless journey
Frail as needles, we pierce every haystack,
Hoping above hope that we shall dine again.
Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 10:23 AM UTC
The evening news goes on
anchorman's hurrying words and frenetic voice trail on
could there be another storm brewing?
is his hysterical voice a sign, a warning?
a spray of the evening shower lightly wets face and arm...
it is not enough, though,
to wash away the uneasiness of the moment,
the evening news goes on...
It doesn't want to end, this long evening,
for one confused soul..mind is wandering
through the night, it is aimlessly exploring
it doesn't want to end, this long evening...
A record plays...she quietly listens
crystal drops from her eyes glisten
she hums along, with Eydie Gorme's
"As a Love To You From Me"
blending, with the cool wind that whirs softly
while looking at a distant moon so creamy
recalling past yearnings that have grown intense
alone in her house, she can not pretend
while...
a record plays...she quietly listens
Repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales
for, breath smells of coffee gone stale...
this sleepless soul, with a mind still straying
will roam further, til sun comes out tomorrow morning,
when her whole being, finally would be surrendering...
but until then, she still would be trying
repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales
The evening news goes on
it doesn't want to end... this long evening
to some tunes, she quietly listens
repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales
the evening news goes on...
(an old, unposted poem)
Sally
Copyright September 21, 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
Can't sleep
These dizzy thoughts
spinning ceaslessly
relentless
in a cup
Half empty,
Half full?
Who knows,
But in the end
the mad hatter will
still wish you had
never been born--
A very Merry Unbirthday to you
to me?
Indeed
Round and Round
they go
mixing colors, textures
emotions, thought
into this smear of humanity
A stain on the background of my mind
as it clicks and whirs and calculates
the options, the weighted possibilities
the electrical impulses zipping past
the smear of confused, muttled anguish
through it, around it,
but the shock cannot
seperate the colors
the textures, the emotions,
the thoughts
The colors melt into grey
various shades of unvarying
reluctant gestures
As the cheshire cat
smiles and laughs like
the cookie crisp mascot
cukoo for coooookie crisp
I hear its laughter
Chuckling madly
at the mad hatter and myself
the mad hatter sipping
out of the cup of grey
as he sings about my unborn nature
Unborn into the world of reality
of sensibility, of responsibility
WAKE UP
I snap back
I look around
and do not recognize
anything at all
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
Swirling colors without names and sounds
What is this madness that we have found?
Feet barely touching the sky and the ground
Looks like I'm Philosopher's ****** all around
See that great saucer up in the sky
Hear how it whirs like an insects sigh
Signal them down so they'll give us a ride
And we can all finally see what's inside
What do you hear by the full moon's light?
The chanting of shamans on the solstice night
Follow the drumming and join in their rite
I'd say it's our destiny, alright
We're now Eleusinian women and men
The greatest adventure's about to begin
The galaxy's huge, and we're off to the ends
But the path isn't up and away, it's within!
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:16 AM UTC
The blue sky, dotted with white clouds
The sun, in its last lap of race
The slanting rays gleam in crystal glow
Their beauty to the earth they bestow
As I stand and watch this lovely evening
I experience an inner glow of a deific kind
Elegant colors flow and fade
As the sun paints a paradise before me
The river lies arched like a lunar crescent
In my ears falls the sound of lapping waves
As she winds her course through verdant banks,
She speaks a language I can hardly understand
Without pause, she moves on relentless
Eager to join the ocean’s devouring embrace
Scripting the songs of her arduous journey
And chiming her anklets in soundless rhythm
There is a divine sweetness in the air
My exhalation blends with the cool wind
That whirs softly humming a mild tune
Birds get ready for their evening symphony
The twilight smiles and sends the sun away,
Obscuring manifold vistas near and far
Night quickly spreads its dark wings
It's time to make a move, homeward....!
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 5:59 AM UTC
Syncopated beat of bass
off beat to whirr
of conversation
bouncing around
xylophone ring
as cello claws
New tune, space, breathe
in autumns depth
drums rattle
military in sound
guitarist circling
hands implore
Long involved discourse
passionate corners
Pan pipe whirs
dances rebound
until bass sting
under scores
As Monday approaches
afternoon darkens
synth drags low
coffees ground
sky threatening
my cafe lore.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
I have had enough of people
Of life
I have had enough of the noises
We make on cue
The buttons pressed
The buzzes and whirs
That always fizzle
The righteous anger
And the bloodlust masquerading as fact
The hopeless treadmill of pleasure
And this glass of high proof alcohol
That disinfects my heart
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
She, in the room below--his floor her ceiling--
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. . . .
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night,
His watch--the same he has heard these cycles of ages--
Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.
The clock, upon her mantelpiece, strikes nine.
The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.
The world whirs on. . . New stars come up to shine.
His youth--far off--he sees it brightly walking
In a golden cloud. . . Wings flashing about it. . . . Darkness
Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.
Old age--far off--her death--what do they matter?
Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.
She hears slow steps in the street--they chime like music;
They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty,
Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn. . . .
He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence.
Far off they pass. He knows they will never return.
Far off--on a smooth dark road--he hears them faintly.
The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing,
Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath
Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly.
And death seems nearer to him: or he to death.
What's death?--She smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbows.
The last of the rain-drops gather and fall from elm-boughs,
She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings,
The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance.
A sparrow whirs to the eaves, and shakes his wings.
What's death--what's death? The spring returns like music,
The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight,
The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams.
The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure.
Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams. . . .
And death seems far away, a thing of roses,
A golden portal, where golden music closes,
Death seems far away:
And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers,
And spring returns to stay. . . .
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter,
And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die.
And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight.
. . . The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky.
907
The computer hums
while the mind hisses
with the words
being only the top
of the vastness
of the full unseen mind
which whirs
with activity
of an awake dream
which states
quite frankly
what is already known
and unknown.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 10:53 PM UTC
Hey.
This is my end-song, no more
I shut the book and it'll work
Just listen.
You don't know that I know
Or I think I know that you don't know that I know
Or I thought that you were, and you weren't
Whatever
That's over
But still all this backstage coggery
Whirs and I—
Tick tick tick, you're every time of the day
All our small talk twists the arrow in my chest
You need a friend more than I need you
So I'll go and confess to a jury of unknowns
This half-story they'll never be half-told
I'm like Sisyphus
Every ;) sends my heart
Tumbling to the bottom
Gods be ****** though
Fires rage within, whatever
You need a friend.
The End
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
Lying here beside you
Staring into the brush stroked abyss
My mind registers
And whirs
And composes
The words I'm overrun with
The stories that run down the sides of my consciousness
Like I ran down that hill in my white gown
Running from my past
Into our future
I ache with excitement and yearning to speak with you
Awakenings fresh on my ink stained fingertips
Bubbling on the tip of my canvas stretched tongue
Expanding and morphing their confines
Unrecognizable
Without meaning
Devoid of intelligence
Scrawls and scratches of a cave dweller
Somehow paired with a Greek god
Your smile
Lost in the hieroglyphic translations on the page before you
The conversations I long to have
Reduced to mere finger-painted pictographs
Where I lose your attention
Incapable of expressing your radiance
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
One morning I awoke, and the world was different.
It was too bright, too loud, too clear.
I wanted my soft lines back, my cocoon of muffled drowsiness,
But it was gone and I was exposed like a newborn kitten,
Mewling and weak and tender,
And it never faded after that.
Always I felt fragile, as if I were made of glass.
Inside I felt no strength against a fast, cold, hard world.
I reached for people, and they recoiled as I recoiled from them,
For each of us was repulsed by the other.
And so one day, I woke up, and I found my answer.
I took a bath in a swirl of red, and now I am here
In the muffled warm darkness,
And finally my head no longer whirs.
Do not weep for me, for I am finally able to feel safe again.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
At night,
when silence echoes
when all is dark and the summer sky is filled
with stars,
I sit up in bed.
I am an owl of the night —
a curious bystander who carefully watches
hidden from sight,
silent and still —
lost —
as a million daydreams cascade
with whirs of light that faintly flash with the numbing
drone of the television in the background —
blocked out by blips of symphonies
whirring and crashing,
forever spinning like a carousel —
jumbled and chaotic.
Alone in the night,
a mad carnival within the mind
would surely drive anyone insane.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC