"whizz" poems
Kiss tingle whizz fizz
Fireworks shooting hot stars
Lots of 'oohs' and 'aaahs'!
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
I live by the water,
This lake is my home,
My nymph is aquatic,
It doesn’t like to roam,
My legs are weak and fragile,
Walking I can’t do,
But my wings are powerful,
They carry me across the blue,
High in the trees I glide,
My length cuts through the air,
I speed above the picnickers,
They don’t know I’m there,
I’m a Yellow-winged Darter,
Sympetrum flaveolum to my friends,
Watch me as I whizz on by,
Down the river-bend.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:57 AM UTC
Life is all about fitting in.
A new day at school
Sitting amongst total strangers
for a good couple of hours.
The powers that be say
Do not break any rule
at any point in the day.
Following guidelines
is not that bad,
There are times
when one is sad.
But we have acceptance
and that is all good.
A new day at the office
Sitting with total strangers
For more hours than you know.
The powers that be say
Do not break rules
anytime, any day.
We all follow regulations
It is not that bad
But the time to go home
When the whistle blows
Makes one feel glad
Blood pressure glows
"Good day love?" enquires she
"Time went quick" replied he.
Better when I have acceptance.
Acceptance brings friends, laughter
Makes time whizz like a spinning top.
Brings hope ever after
especially when time starts to drop
Accepted into society
Where trust is the king
Acceptance in life
well that is a different thing.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
The wild duck startles like a sudden thought,
And heron slow as if it might be caught.
The flopping crows on weary wings go by
And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly.
The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by,
And darken like a clod the evening sky.
The larks like thunder rise and suthy round,
Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground.
The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud
With white neck peering to the evening clowd.
The weary rooks to distant woods are gone.
With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on
To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow
While small birds nestle in the edge below.
3k
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
Hammered on top, but never quite burst through.
Rain, guttering down in waterfalls of slime,
Kept slush waist-high and rising hour by hour,
And choked the steps too thick with clay to climb.
What murk of air remained stank old, and sour
With fumes of whizz-bangs, and the smell of men
Who'd lived there years, and left their curse in the den,
If not their corpses...
There we herded from the blast
Of whizz-bangs, but one found our door at last,
Buffeting eyes and breath, snuffing the candles,
And thud! flump! thud! down the steep steps came thumping
And sploshing in the flood, deluging muck -
The sentry's body; then his rifle, handles
Of old Boche bombs, and mud in ruck on ruck.
We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined
'O sir, my eyes - I'm blind, - I'm blind, I'm blind!'
Coaxing, I held a flame against his lids
And said if he could see the least blurred light
He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.
'I can't' he sobbed. Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids',
Watch my dreams still; but I forgot him there
In posting Next for duty, and sending a scout
To beg a stretcher somewhere, and flound'ring about
To other posts under the shrieking air.
* * *
Those other wretches, how they bled and spewed,
And one who would have drowned himself for good, -
I try not to remember these things now.
Let dread hark back for one word only: how
Half-listening to that sentry's moans and jumps,
And the wild chattering of his broken teeth,
Renewed most horribly whenever crumps
Pummelled the roof and slogged the air beneath, -
Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout
'I see your lights!' But ours had long died out.
2.5k
So
Sticks and stones
may break my bones
but words may never hurt me
Because
my heart is cold,
of ice and stone
sitting alone in a palm tree
And
words whizz by
and my steel heart lay stuck,
in this little brown tree
I
forever wonder if the
world spinning by
will ever stop to notice me
Maybe
I'm just lost and
in this cold world I'll find you
standing there holding a key
To
Unlock my heart
and spill my secrets out
out for everyone to see
Can
I finally get away
From being locked up inside
myself and finally be free?
Or
Am I just dreaming
Are you already gone
far away from me?
So
It's sad but without you
my heart's still lost,
cold and dying out at sea
Because
steel drowns
though, for now, I sit here
waiting in this little palm tree
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.
With malice toward none
The land of equality
Everyone the same
Just like you and me,
Unless he is black
Or some other non-white.
Then, not really equal.
No, sorry. Not quite.
The rules are laid out,
Not in the constitution.
To be okay in the USA
Is an ironclad institution.
You don’t make waves,
Or rise above your station.
A handpicked few white men
Are in charge of this nation.
The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.
So, don’t start whining
About equal opportunity.
That really isn’t for you
Only for the likes of me.
I’m a rich white man, you see
I control most of what there is
Which is almost everything.
Tell you when to take a whizz.
There are haves and have-nots
And you know which you are.
If you’re lucky you get to own
A TV and inexpensive car.
But other than voting for
The two parties we allow
You just pay taxes, that’s it.
Nothing else, not ever, not now.
The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
DONT DO DRUGS KIDS
O a sis, John cooper clarke.
Pink floyd, getting ****** in the park.
****** crack co caine.
****** messed up again.
Council estate, tmazipan,
****** taliban.
A paper cup and a ball of string,
Ive lost me phone I'll use anythin.
Trying to get hold of my man,
Thames Valley police catch me if u can.
Tried to get the monkey off my back,
fallen down and landed in the crack ..
between the pavements,
easy street,
walking round no shoes on ma feet.
Touch this and you'll get burnt.
Been 20 years and I still havent learnt.
Loosing teeth, bad legs, getting older.
Are the winters getting colder?
Global warming ... What the ****
****** ..coming in on a salad truck.
Chav pants, naff fkin trainers,
little going on ... no brainers.
Mental health, welfare state,
think your spot on, think your great.
Urban people telling how it is.
Fk me, took to much whizz.
Walking round, feeling fantastic,
look at me dancing,
pretty tragic really ...
Stupidly asked some bloke to dance,
now im in the back of an amb ulance.
A saturday casualty.
Its an average weekend for me.
Going mad, on a ******
**** you world,
No surrender.
(c) mandy rigby and p skez 2012)
(now 4 yrs clean .. can i get an Amen?)
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
I stopped.
My feet rested on the cool cement, and I listened.
Every tree, every bush, was whispering.
It started as a murmur, and grew.
Soon it was as if every forest in the world was talking, talking, whispering, whispering.
The voices faded for a moment, but it was not silent, for someone else was speaking.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
The rain was speaking to me.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
No, it was not speaking, it was singing.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Whizz. Drip. Drop. Whizz.
All around me it was swirling and falling and rising again to continue the song.
The trees had joined the song again.
Now it was as if they shouted their song with the rain.
Drip. Drop. Whisper. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Whisper. Whizz.
Then, in a moment, the heavens broke open and a downpour of music flooded the earth where I stood.
The music ran.
It danced.
It rushed under my feet and all around me it sang.
I looked down at my feet and saw they were moving.
I looked up and the world swirled around me again and again.
I was dancing.
The rhythm of the music moved me with the waters and I flew with it.
I whirled around and around and around.
My heart flew with the music.
Through the whispering trees, through the rain in the air.
I danced and danced, unashamed and unaware of the world around me.
And then, as quickly as it had started, it began to stop.
Drip. Drop. Whisper. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Whisper. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Whizz.
Drip. Drop.
Drip. Drop.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
*..and I drop the small pebbles of my notes
in cursive, words are writ of the silent-things
I never utter in the frown-of-day
on the surface of the lake*
1.
soft touches from the fingers of a southern wind
offers some surprise in the falling
orange-orbs in the sky come tumbling down
from the shaking sky
there's no time to run - - keep still, oh keep still
closer they come
and yet closer, they whizz by
close your eyes, they will pass
they will come, yes
but they will
pass
close your eyes
2.
have no fear
we are here
you've seen it and it took you a while
to understand
(we've been told to expect you)
3.
when she said the things with shaky-hand on your lake
it was right there.. beneath the surface, half a ripple away
she did not know
you could have put out your hand, even fingertips
to touch
you never did.. so, she never knew
didn't delve on
you kept silent (as you are now)
4.
how do you know the pines trees did not whistle sighs
at your temerity to keep silent..
or were you rendered almost insensate?
and surprise..above it all, the eagle flew.. saw
concrete patterns on the ground
but couldn't speak
it swooped down low and flapped on bold, so loud
and the surface of the forest-floor went crunch beneath..
approaching-steps
*but how could anyone know
when brilliance lay right there.. half-frozen
below the surface of beginnings
a mere fraction away from
you..*
S T - 17 feb 2014
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
STOP!
CROSS ON GREEN ONLY!
ONE WAY!
WARNING DO NOT ENTER PRIVATE PROPERTY!
NO TRESPASSING!
NO LOITERING!
VAGRANTS WILL BE PROSECUTED!
DEAD END!
Oooh my, can't stand this any more sooo...
...Felt a strange urge
in my legs
jumped into my car
wanted F R E E D O M,
craved F R E E D O M,
freedom away from
this imprisoning sign-city
Felt the true call of nature
Felt my natural urge to e x p a n d
needed my
ROAMING grounds
once more
Fled for o p e n country s p a c e s
where FREEDOM reigns
like, like refreshing droplets of spring water
BOLTED out of my car
where mother earth
cushioned my feet,
caressed me,
hugged me,
And go so far as to say,
even crawled into my jeans
and heard harmonious
chirping birds
Felt this strange twinge
in my calves
Ran like a deer
Ran into e x p a n d I n g o p e n s p a c e s
flight
Felt my legs take
practically off ground
Felt twigs, grass and weeds
gently stroke my ankles and calves
Felt country refreshing cool air
breeze my whole body;
and whizz
up my nostrils
BUT SUDDENLY!!
I trip over something,
it's a rusty large sign reading,
"KEEP OUT INTRUDERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
PRIVATE PROPERTY"
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
I had two lizards.
Their names were E's and Whizz after the Pulp song, which was apparently about drugs.
Lizards aren't like drugs.
They're just different.
You can't take a lizard to get high.
You could try it with the right kind of frog but licking a lizard just makes you look weird.
Plus if you tried to swallow one, it would get stuck in your throat.
Lizards don't like that.
Plus you'd get done for animal cruelty.
It's ok though, you'd have the excuse that you were smacked off your t**s on Lizard.
I looked after them,
But they kind of melted.
This was real,
Not drugs.
I hadn't tried drugs.
I hadn't licked a lizard.
Lizards aren't like drugs anyway,
but we've already covered that,
it's a bad analogy.
It was horrid watching them,
Think I over heated the tank.
I think it's kind of an analogy for life.
You can spend your life buying all the right food
Keeping the temperature just right.
But never enjoy your lizard
Too busy thinking about food and heat.
Or you can just get on with things.
Enjoy your lizards,
crank up the heat
see what happens.
I think life's better like that.
Not for lizards though.
Mine melted.
You've got to keep their temperature right.
It was a bad analogy.
I'm still single if anyone's interested?
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC
ever standing
body lithe, strong
trained to strike
too dashing for peeling paint
old verandas
slow-paced hamlet
waiting in country town
place to whizz past
road to tourist hub
how does his tale read
did he pay
for assault
struck the frame
holder of *****
spawning breath
cold fury
for scenes of his mother
thrown down
stain his every stance
grabbing mail swiftly
ahead of arrival
panther muscles
no more the crouching lad
shuddering
her screams
bounce off walls
as mother's body slumps
broken bottle scars
left to clean up the mess
as he leaves for school
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 2:06 PM UTC
The lady shuffles,
spindly feet across the wooden fence.
A blood red bug
flecked with dark black circles.
It’s as though a child
has painted her flimsy wings.
White marks
on her head like lights on a dark road.
Sunlight skulks up
to where she now stands.
I blink
and she chooses to whizz away.
A minute crimson blur
against the forget-me-not sky.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
I reflect with a projection,
when hearing
melodies of rhythm or
stronger
lower basses like guttural
voice chords, especially
in the dark or being on a waiting room
of a car ride,
whenever I want it or not
/
an endless dance or some
semi-tangible
image that twirls into
hot
red
rose
petals
even though
there’s no dress to whizz,
feet strong like Carmen Amaya’s
had no mercy for Iberian taverns’
dance floors of flamenco
/
watching that spectacle
always
from discarded collage views
/
of that accounting
and how no
voice is needed to direct
the melody a vector,
only let it be sung-thrung
through the heat rising
and orchestra listened to
completely, sharp motions in
the eyes of the crowd
or those who had ever considered
pondering on me like a philosophy...
Maybe such styles and asphyxiations
of rapid ragged jerkings of too sharp
notes in the air cutting
the atmosphere like a blunt knife
have got to me a long time ago,
stay ever more as visions to moves
audacious, and have been
chosen beforehand my vessel
without its decision to be turned
into something greater
in the collaboration with my own other dishes
to fit Passion.
Then - then - I always imagine - then
in all that how
any certain entity
would be looking at that,
taking it in from the outside
and what that painting of me
partly
will be made as
in their sculpted no flesh
eyes.
/
Thank you
Ladies, Gentlemen, Whoever Further
for attending
/
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 11:36 AM UTC
There is a monster in my toy box and he’s covered in purple fur.
His eyes are like slot machines and they whizz around and whir.
He makes me say silly things and he plays with our cat.
He hides the TV remote under the bathroom mat.
He comes out every night to read through all my books.
He tears the corners, he writes in them in crayon and just look...
When I try to catch him, he scurries far away.
Mummy and Daddy, I’m not naughty, I just have to say:
“It was the monster in my toy box, he’s naughty all the time.
You just never see him ‘cos he’s so clever with all his crimes!”
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
The banging sounds
seem to drown
out my thoughts
ricocheting back, a rebound
but amounting to nothing
disappearing like a person fearing
the truth.
It's unruly and forever fooling
the gullible and trustworthy
but surely they don't believe the lies
that people can change
but rather re-arrange
and it's strange
how time can fly
but I can't.
my imagination soaring
yet here I stand.
Man is my head spinning,
the thought of winning this race
against time and space,
defying physics
to try and mimic
a picture so perfect it's a vivid vision
but there's a division, a collision
where my desires are tired and sick of reality
clashing with their limits
that bind us all
until we're blind and we fall.
If only I could make myself fly
like my mind or time
whizz by in the blink of an eye
and hope to find
the peace and ease I seek in life,
with no banging sounds causing me strife.
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
Pressure has me blinded,
I'm consumed by shapes and sizes.
Beauty of the world is lost in a blur.
Numbers whizz round my head,
Just want to be a perfect ten.
No longer is it people I see,
just their shapes and sizes,
Where do I fit in?
Why, oh why can't I be thin.
Perfect straight lines or
Bulging lumps, soft and round,
I'm obsessed with my shape and the
Size of the shadow I cast upon the ground.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
The ladybird laughed her spots off
When the fairy of the party like never before
Approached her – she let out a false cough
Before opening her shiny red door..
“Are you coming “ asked the fairy fiddling with a wing?
“My spots are not on properly today, so I cannot”
Replied the ladybird lying through her back teeth
Why she had said that or why but then she had forgot.
“I have short term memory loss” said the ladybird
“That is it not the spots you see it’s why I cannot come”
The fairy was confused; she’d been up all night
And was not as bright and cheerful as some.
You mean that you don’t want to give it a whirl
Paint the town red and all that jazz, her hair was a mess
She picked up a bone from the floor to make her hair curl
And thought she’d visit the spider to get a new dress.
She called on the spider, her trusty dressmaker
She sat on a load of silk that had been made by the spider
She bounced on it and took a liking to it
And sweet talked the black creepy silk provider.
“When you look at me with those eyes, it sends shivers down my spine”
The spider shook a little with the inevitable quiz
“I need a dress to party through the night and more than that
I want something that stands out makes the wings whizz”.
The spider had no choice but to do as she instructed
He had fallen in love with the blue eyes that slept all day
She had began to spin out the thread like it was as easy as pie
Besides which it is much easier to give in do it to obey.
Once again the fairy of the party like never before
Was ready and raring to dance till the sun shone again
She frog marched her clan to the bright lights
The night was going to be anything but mundane.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
There was a young lady in blue,
Who said, 'Is it you, Is it you?'
When they said, 'Yes, it is,'--
She replied only, 'Whizz!'
That ungracious young lady in blue.
1.2k
Sorry, dude. I must admit
I find it more than pathetic
That you experience life
With sorrow about some of it
That you don’t have a drug
To take to help appreciate
Something that is amazing
And really needs no chemical
To help you exaggerate
What is really going on
And pretend it is better
Or somehow transcendent
As if water can be wetter.
But it is as if time warped
And I have gone backward
To talk to myself about it
And then zapped forward
To see what a saturate
What a wet-brained fool
I was back then, it’s true.
I was a tin-plated tool.
I measured my existence
One dime bag at a time
Giggling with stoner friends
About my forays into crime;
Selling backs of skunk ****
When nobody else had any
Good stuff or bad stuff.
And I was the one with plenty.
Walking through Hollywood
With stoner friends and flakes
Singing as we stumbled along
About life and what it takes
To satisfy *** hounds those days.
*** drugs and rock and roll
And pride in our half-witted ways.
Learning how to roll pinners
Of a buddy’s stash on the sly
While he was taking a whizz
And couldn’t ask me why.
Learning how to properly treat
The remaining sticks and stones
And confiscating the roaches
When the others left them alone.
That was the cannabis coalition
The Sativa Society at its height.
We worked in the daytime and
Got ********* most every night.
And sooner or later, on the job
In the bathroom or on the roof.
I didn’t think of it addiction.
I still needed further proof.
I needed to try to buy ****
From a government man I met.
Fortunately I bailed on that
Before adding one more big regret.
Life has gotten better since then
No more outside dependence.
I quit before the drugs became
The entire focus of my existence.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
And the question is, what would have transpired between Sandy and Danny?
Should their paths maybe not have wandered back into each other.
One hell of a collision, met face to face.
Sandy; cute Sandy, would she have settled with ****** Jo Bloggs?
Manic Danny, a soppy dude with heart of gold, around his revolution of teenage mates.
Did his life revolve?
Must of been his age.
Would Sandy still have been quaint, perhaps sickly sweet?
Whoever knows; after all Grease was just a movie full of teenage dreams and raging teenage angst.
Sandy; would she still have been a corrupted wild child?
What would mom and poppa think?
Gee whizz, if this were real; perhaps her parents , well they might have flipped their lids.
They rode out of the movie on a flying fairground ride, did they stay together, or was it never ever?
We never found out, the faithful audience.
For in Grease two, no mention of Sandy or Danny.
(C) LIVVI
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
The mid noon sky bleeds out; it bruises in flames.
Arsonists hold their gassers to my face.
In their grisly field of vision, I am a delectable
vapor, born to flit away.
Regard not the orange cones, nor the caution tapes:
these gates hold little significance to them.
(Then the other 'a-word' comes to mind: anarchists)
Prior to this, they had presented themselves
as chess pieces to fall in love with—little do they know,
I've an animus for them. As stupid as I may appear,
I know it's a game!
Unzipping out of incognito mode, they have unleashed
their razor blade. They whizz their wings.
Here they come, coming for me.
Here I go again: counting sheep,
blinking for one whole eternity.
Oh doctor! I'm in dire need of your vampiric syringe.
Swill my peaking adrenaline— at this rate, I'll go mad.
I shall never recuperate.
Mollify my entirety.
Teach me to rollick like angels do. I beg you.
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 5:30 PM UTC
Boom, whizz, chicka-chicka-choo
Spinning around through the sky
Lightning up the night
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
Hunkered down we pass the plonk
We can see Madame and pay
We shake her hand and thank her
San fairy ann she'll say
Sergeant copped a blighty
He'll be on his way
He's thanking god almighty
San fairy ann I say
It's hard enough to smile through this
When folks get blown up every day
But all the while the whizz-bangs miss
San fairy ann we say
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC