"whorl" poems
She fascinates men
like a fused corolla whorl
attracts birds and bees
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
By David John Mowers
Oceanus, Acheron, Styx and Gyges, Phlegethon,
Phaeacians lament, mourn the loss, Scheria, dissolved in froths.
Virgil’s tale, found correct, a land too good, a nation wrecked,
Nausikaa, burn the ships; their minds released, cool airy nips,
Below the wave, watery grave, submerged to bottom, fathoms by stave,
Fathoms some more, until the whorl, descending to, another world.
Through Omphalos, to Land of Sleep, awaits a beast, where time has ceased,
Darkness here, underworld, cold and frigid, below the whirl,
In solemn grave, souls released, judged and counted, by the beast,
Deeper than, the deep itself, past drowning fairies and dying elves,
Who did mourn them? Those golden men, magic mariners, Mino's kin?
What wrong was seen? What vice not true? What awful sin? What did they do?
One thousand years, first black age, Two thousand more, to find the stage,
Cast off Aries and cast Orion, to find beginning, of Golden Lion.
Man of Heavens, Beast agrees, Bull of Sky, Ox of seas,
Land of Punt, Land of Éire, Ogyges blue, hearts on fire,
All the seashores, all the mines, Tribe of Dan, from ancient times,
Port of Sais, Port of Thera, Port of Lagash, bygone era,
Sailor’s horse, Minotaur, a lyre is crying, strummed guitar, nation dying, abattoir.
Ochre foams to sanguine depth, there they rested, where Kronos slept,
He’ll never answer, he doesn’t care, we’ll never know, if this was fair.
Our hearts in sadness, hands on the gates! I curse you Poseidon!
. . .and your Sea of Fates!
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
even
the beads of your sweat
warp
from the intense gravity
of those dense but sensuous orbs,
making a gentle detour
like a river,
before flowing into the whorl
of your beautifully chiseled navel
© 2022
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 10:50 AM UTC
**via woodland trail, along deciduous dale
amid a rocky terrain, through geographic chicane
meandrous no longer, smoky waters beleaguered
upwelling they burble, in deep tracts they gurgle
hypnotic they swirl, then turgidly whorl
the rivers egress, from caverns sub-aqueous
bereft of surrender, outpours now in splendour
the Wharfe expelled from the strid.
... ... ...**
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
MA KING AME-RICA GRATE AGIN
( for Brian )
"Your mum's an alien..an...
ha ha ha ha alien!"
the children chant
and taunt.
I see through tears
their sneers and hated
etched upon
their features
like a mask they
could/couldn't take off.
It is like a thousand years ago
all over again.
The Age of the thing
called Trump
when humans were both
orange and stupid.
Now we have computers
built into each whorl
facts at our fingertips
with just a finger snap
we can call up what used to be
called videos
of the Trump thing
teaching humans how to hate.
I, unlike my sisters
am not green
except for
a slight greenish
hue every now
and then.
I am more the chameleon
and can blend in.
I have the necessary arms
and the obligatory number of eyes.
Only my mum and sisters
look like a lurid 1950's comic
"THEY CAME FROM OUTER SPACE!"
yet earth would not be
here if aliens( us )had not come
to save them from themselves
back when earth had entered
the Age of Dictators
as the history apps.
quaintly put it
Now is come again
the hateful hate
ma king Ame-rica
grate again
like a mind
grinding its teeth.
I'm sorry am
the English no good
and the spelling as well
we will
have to hide behind
our mind walls
that we had to build
to keep humans out.
My mother taking me
lovingly in her tentacles
stroking me and drying my eyes
and making tea
With a snap of my fingers
I bring up my favourite video
and a Kermit hologram
floats before my face
"It's not that easy bein' green!"
and I singalong like any human being
"...when green is all there is to be."
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 5:10 AM UTC
in the ***** of the silver waves
grew a single water lily
speckless and spotless
the colour of pure milk
a private bud, it lay unopened
till the night it blossomed
complete, open, a whorl of whiteness!
exquisite in its secluded state
it pondered sadly on its fate
alone –
awash with an awful ache
it looked upwards towards the great black lake
so much similar to its own address
with just one exception that made the biggest difference
like a mirror leading on to a parallel universe
another swirl of bright white flowered
not alone but surrounded
by many young buds!
how wonderful thought the lily
how cheerful that bloom must be
to live thus accompanied by family
so pining it withered
feeling unloved, unwanted
never knowing that from above
the moon watched wailing
“how full of life was that lovely flower
alas! alas! how I loved her!
never could I have the courage to tell her
she - a brightness lit from within
and i a mere rock
with no light of my own”
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
25.01.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
Awakened by the melody
of the chirping by the birdies
who beseech nothing more
but the fragrance the daffodils wore
around their silken petals yellow
and between their green sepals mellow.
Reminisce their time spent
under the magical snow bent
which ****** upon their existence vast
driving them to desert their casts.
Comes the harbinger of life, the spring
and they bloom with the soothing breeze
Each petal of the whorl curls
with stories of varying degrees.
Why though do they bend coyly
when asked about love?
Spring is Love , it's here today,
The Daffodils Shy away.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
I care not what the sailors say:
All those dreadful thunder-stones,
All that storm that blots the day
Can but show that Heaven yawns;
Great Europa played the fool
That changed a lover for a bull.
Fol de rol, fol de rol.
To round that shell's elaborate whorl,
Adorning every secret track
With the delicate mother-of-pearl,
Made the joints of Heaven crack:
So never hang your heart upon
A roaring, ranting journeyman.
Fol de rol, fol de rol.
2k
it's real easy to feel like
we've done it all
wrong
phenomenal fuckyes then
phantasmagoric fear ragers
perpetual pity *******
blood middle knuckle crush
regretful bets hedged
hunched frozen tongues
and pointy unsaids
but sometimes
with mind wide-eyed
and heart roots writhing
I've seen it
way differently
a vantage point
where pushpull face-plants
are winning lotto tickets
because maybe
we were kindling of yes
unable to keep it burning yet
and we would have fumbled it
far beyond repair
I'm fairly certain
our heartfelt invites
to instant cohabitation
would have ended
painfully
badly
traumas tripping
over hair triggers
in a 3-legged race
two smoking pistols
and four red feet
even Hello
seems too intense
to mouth
and from this
particular perspective
I can see how
every decision made in fear
led to whinging karmarang
tied with two strings
I daresay
one day we might
look back with a smile
that it went down this way
because the initial who
were not strong enough
to shoulder the immensity
nor surrendered enough
to float the fragility
of newborn carbon
gossamer whorl
in fact
I push all my chips
toward that
maybe there is
fortune in false starts
we make plans
but I bet The One
has better ones
so I'm pretty sure
we should sit down
and listen
for that breeze
to whisper
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
this is the golden tangent
slipping in the sinister land of
everything you ever landed
on the wings of our entire planet
left behind with every man who commands it
to live and breathe because of zed dog
look into the symbolistic meaning of z being the breathing
i live to end the simple dancing
necromancy of what is a tangent
before necromance this, ungrateful
and dried out planet
sympathy
and all that you gave it
has nothing lost in the pavement
i have nothing ever long in things
that is what i am in this whorld
not just to me
not just to you
i have everything that is left to have
this piece of sky
folding inwards
eat my favorite eye
in between yours
i am driving into the clouds running away from me
chasing always leading to the sunsets i remember
being there in the patient virtue of your hating
and what it have me the right to see hindsight in
I'm not a patient to this believing of all that is saving
I'm not a blatant worry to society
all those things are hidden here
in this hideaway drawer that you left open
bang your knee and remember the contents, and how they are broken.
leave this world like a patient embalming emblem
letting you patiently open the whorl pool of patient
what is the payment and grace of the spoken
for the hindsight of all those things that are left broken
so this is the river flooding over the burning bridge
this is the island , that is underwater, thanking the ice caps for growing
this is the row boat is which you gave birth to a baby, that someone is borrowing
this is the patience of all those that are waiting for you to get better
this is the road home
lets try this pipe and hope it goes to your favorite level
let the mushrooms that grant you breathe of fire, become flowers that are shinning even in the daytime.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:49 AM UTC
These pale little fingers
Are lavishly decorated:
Dried clay soil
Around and under jagged stubby nails
A pink crescent-moon scar
On the third one's second knuckle,
India Ink dried in drips and streaks
Deep whorl prints
Like no others- snowflakes, IDs
And slow to heal,
Painful to the touch,
These omnipresent little slashes,
Paper Cuts.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 10:00 AM UTC
Lessons : ( 1. ) Attraction.
( 2. ) Attention.
1.
Lessons of attraction
Teach that often
Little or none
May serve (one)
Sufficiently well
Deftly in fact
If well played to
Another party (one)
So similarly unclined.
2.
Attention (Ed) :
Every tilt and curve ............ (onetwo)
Every pitch and yaw ............. (onetwo)
Every flat and valley (ed) ... (onetwo)
Whorl is well deserving of .... (onetwo)
Entention (And) :
3.
Faith(ungh)divided(one-two, one-two-three)
(twoby twoby twoby)
to the hilt.
All Rights Reserved
James R. Morse, NYC 2012.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 1:44 PM UTC
I shall marry you one day soon,
To bring you to my world.
Then take you out to the hills,
To make love in the snowy whorl.
You might lose something,
But me you shall gain.
We'll make love under the moonlight,
You'll experience no pain.
I have a dream about us,
To bring new life to the planet.
We must become united as one body,
And one soul for this one love.
That one love will be our daughter,
Who we will kindle as our love,
Then we'll not deprive her of happiness,
We'll give her a sibling as well.
I am so sure that we'll have a daughter first,
Well, that's because I have a lot of love inside,
Such love for you and my future,
And we'll always thank the Moon for its love.
Jan 13, 2024
Jan 13, 2024 at 8:50 PM UTC
~~
*My two sides in the overflew
With ashes of universe
I then went to wind
With the whorl of time
You do not see me
Anyone else have indulged
May be History tells the truth
Again, can not say
Where is my existence
Thousands million years
which was washed
On the air
In water
Blood
Marrow
Changes in the pages of history
Interest
The clash
Dialectics
Who is going to look for the truth
Lying on the wind
Rode the wrong emotion
I lost myself
The known river
Seems unknown
The vast forest
The little free bird beside my window
Her song
Her dance
Does not want to play flute anymore
In
The mind
Soul
Strong wind of Strangers
The moment comes to pass
Era
Epoch
Whatever floats through years
Of her songs
Abstract tune
I who seek
The truth of the time
That flows into
The bottom of my heart
Draws a cosmic gravity
Yet waiting for a new Sunflower's bloom*
~~
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
Renegade crows
swagger ashore
lifting unlucky tritons
high into the whirling
wind, dropping them
to the rocks below
shell is rendered
to fine dust
revealing the mollusk
vainly hiding
in the fissured whorl
of what was once
Home
now a splintered chamber
with no exit
from which to squeeze
into the minute space
between falling
and breaking clean open.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
Broadwing whorl
Rise light through morning mist
Disaggregated flock among the trees;
Lift sun-drawn with the thermal
Plume and talon
To the cloud,
Swarm swirling
Hawks
Together through the shaft.
Fill the airy mortsleam,
Stream southward from the brim,
Pour pinnate spiral spilling 'cross the sky;
Defy dispersing magnet of the earth
Wing skyward down,
Flow river in the sky to nether lands.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 10:08 PM UTC
Breathing's barely bareable,
I'm losing this thing called control,
It's like a car-crash,
Like a whorl-wind,
Like the stabbing of a knife,
Through the black bruise,
On your broken heart,
That tears at your insides,
Flashback back to better times,
When I don't dream,
And you don't cry,
Pull me back to stable days,
And nights of certainty,
Fall out of time and make us right,
Pull the trigger and say good-bye,
Take me back: I miss you
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:38 PM UTC
Sole stars shine together in a nightly swirl
sharing light with the collective whorl as each wink in turn.
I am only my mother's son in this moment.
As is everyone a bright point in the lineage of our family,
looking up at a familiar heavenly mirror.
Even the heavens fade.
Minds reflect this godly tact.
Entropy is a fact that we fight
or are we acting?
Afraid to admit how warm the cold's embrace?
How law dictates we hold opposing states.
Clinging silence saturates space between bodies,
between sparks of life.
Fretful existentialism balanced by... nothing.
Whole galaxies begin, then submit,
when only a simple hello reaches me past the moonlight.
The dead quadrillions, beckoning. (More?)
Countless hellos overwhelm.
Connecting with the universe through metaphor is beautiful
but after all, we are only human.
Messy in our emotion.
The restless observer should practice patience, find peace
under heaven.
Stoic stars accept a proper pace of degrade.
Us people struggle
to fade with grace.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 10:15 PM UTC
Outside my door
Beneath the hum of the spinning machinery of the night
The mechanized whirl of the star crusted mammoth
She waters her blouse with a stranger's lament
Grievously mourning the separation of what is
and what could never be
Carried away pell mell by the picking magpies
of lowered expectation
And beneath the bluster of the ancient whorl
Cars hiss past my window to remind me I'm alive
Sunken beneath the levels of minimum expectation
At least the hollow men
Stuffed with straws and petty blows
Had a space with which to be empty
Their petrified corpses litter the books
Mammoth mausoleums of man
Does the moon not pale at their description?
But these monuments are cold and skeletal
They do not burn with youthful fury
They do not wipe her tears
They do not whitewash her fears
And neither do I
Locked away in the isolation of my own discontent
The lighter flicks helplessly in hand
The bones of those hollow
will not catch
And on each side of my door
The other half shudders
Broken by the weight
Of lowered expectation
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 6:40 PM UTC
Surviving ; not living.
This is the new world.
Losses and pain
We’re all stuck in the whorl.
Our world’s a little smaller now
Survivor population , as we call
But at least we are connected
With this one messy thread of a world.
So don’t you suffer alone
We all have someone, for whom we mourn.
Speak and scream and talk and cry
Just don’t keep it in
Or you’ll die inside.
Everything seems unreal today
Uncertainty being the most certain
But don’t let it go in your head
Because one day we will dream again
Its okay to be mad
Its okay to be hurt
Embrace what you feel
Even the deepest of wounds heal.
Jun 23, 2021
Jun 23, 2021 at 8:11 AM UTC
*Lost trains, cold souls,
Corona of love,
And hitchers unknown,
Distorted walls,
Selfless strife,
Regrets in a whorl-hole,
Pain reflects off life,
Like shadows against the walls,
Fear blankets an eternity of misery,
Emotions and tensions running high,
My future painted as if a canvas,
Loneliness for ever more,
On the cusp of lay down and die,
What of this life?
But a plaything,
For my demons to carry on,
To be trapped with in my self pity cries,
Lost life, lonely souls,
Corona of defense,
And hitchers well known.*
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
Sitting here in the dark
Afraid to go to the park
I might burn like a vampire
I feel like a wild wire
I'm alone in this cruel world
No one to hold on to make life easier in this twisted whorl
I'm scared I'll die alone
But really does it matter the demons say they will never leave me because their bad to the bone
Children grown and gone
I'm left all alone
I hate that the demons inside has taken over my body and soul
Coming in one by one threw the keyhole
I guess the demon stole the key that I had hidden
Where no one could see in the kitchen
The key holds my soul intact
Now I'm left with a key hole open for the demons to be let in whenever they want to attack
They come and go with out fear
While I lay here in tears
I wish I'd made another key
Then I could lock the door to my soul for keeps and be set free
The demons have captured my soul
Turning my soul into captivity in the black hole
I want to break free
But it's not in me
For this demon is to strong
I've lost all hope in beating this demon for now I'll play along
I'll lay here a bit longer to build up my strength
For maybe one day I'll beat this demon who lives with me day and night driving me insane
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
All is a graveyard
We stumble about upon epochs
of reverberating death knells
Living like leaves
upon one solemn tree
Enriched by ancestral spell below
Fallen
Not yet
Organics ancienter
-unknown-
That black-indigo before the dawn
Ground up between bedrock
Churned into an oil
We go because they went before
And we too will go
Gone from this whirl
The skull calls all
Either respond
Or don't
It does not matter
The worm is autocrat
Its dictate: feed
Excreting the creed
Again again
There is death
Then there's the sleep of Fall
Death's second self
As Shakes' leaves once penned
But the reflection of this
In this our complicated globe flitting
Is death's third self
A selfish giver left to leave
A self that is
Because of what once was
A flourishing
Sped forth by inner-whorl of seed
An intimate meeting of bodies
Being being
And been
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
In a world of a billion colors,
This world I imagine is full of wonders.
It is a warm place,
But yet snow falls lightly, caressing my face.
I feel as if I was floating in thin air,
I look down at my feet and notice that the ground isn't there.
As I stare into the sky,
It is not blue, it is lime green, and I am guessing that today, the clouds were shy.
The lime green sky was so clear,
It was then that the stars began to appear.
The stars were purple,
And they were not shaped like your typical star, they were in the form of a bubble.
My skin was no longer a light tan,
It was silver, and strangely reminded me of a can.
All of a sudden, everything was shining,
I was confused, I thought I could see the silver lining.
This vortex type of whoosh came upon my eyes,
And I felt as if it was ******* me in, I'm telling no lies.
What is happening? Can't I stay a while longer?
It is in this world that I wish to linger.
I don't want to go back to my world,
I don't know how I got here, was it in a whorl?
What if I can never return?
Then the vortex seemed to die down, my eyes burned.
I shut my eyes,
It was the only thing in my body that I was able to control, to my own demise.
When I was able to open my eyes again,
I awoke on my bed, in my hand, a pen.
A notebook was in front of me,
I saw only two words on the first page, so it be.
"Pure Imagination", nothing else was written.
It came to me that now I knew what to write; I was smitten.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 1:06 AM UTC