"whorled" poems
It is no night to drown in:
A full moon, river lapsing
Black beneath bland mirror-sheen,
The blue water-mists dropping
Scrim after scrim like fishnets
Though fishermen are sleeping,
The massive castle turrets
Doubling themselves in a glass
All stillness. Yet these shapes float
Up toward me, troubling the face
Of quiet. From the nadir
They rise, their limbs ponderous
With richness, hair heavier
Than sculptured marble. They sing
Of a world more full and clear
Than can be. Sisters, your song
Bears a burden too weighty
For the whorled ear's listening
Here, in a well-steered country,
Under a balanced ruler.
Deranging by harmony
Beyond the mundane order,
Your voices lay siege. You lodge
On the pitched reefs of nightmare,
Promising sure harborage;
By day, descant from borders
Of hebetude, from the ledge
Also of high windows. Worse
Even than your maddening
Song, your silence. At the source
Of your ice-hearted calling --
Drunkenness of the great depths.
O river, I see drifting
Deep in your flux of silver
Those great goddesses of peace.
Stone, stone, ferry me down there.
3.6k
the
human mind
is like a shell
the outer form
remembered well
hard and white
with boney tips
pink and smooth
around its lip
whorled within
subconscious hides
we cannot see
the deep inside
but place the conch
to your heart's ear
be very still
and you will hear
set it there
and let it be
you will perceive
your mind's own
sea
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/8/2016
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
Human, human, I know you are that smart
Decide what’s best, or when to fall apart
Like when to stop, or when to make a start
Why you’ve to stay, or why you’ve to depart
But since you are too curious of this world
Instead to stand you’ve stayed like firmly furled
You care not if your path now turns like curled
You trace them like a shadow that is whorled
Human, human, are you now feeling dry?
Are you bored of smiling, want to cry?
Do you feel now the need to sound like sly?
A disaster, you crave now, want to try?
Oh, here it is, the recipe you want-
A cup of fear will really help to daunt
A spoonful of insult or a fresh taunt
At night surely Achilles ‘ heel will haunt
Do not forget to mix a pinch of hate
More wrong thoughts for a glass you need to sate
Add jealousy and envy to your weight
Eat with greed on disaster’s perfect plate!
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
On the outer
carapace of it,
all seems ok
I am held
together by
single dry thre
a ds
like wire
and strips of
sinews
they keep me
tightly-wrapped,
a package of
molten powders
secret dynamite
waiting to
e x p l o d e in
exotic ticks
of clockwork
but one scratch
beneath the surface
reveals my
inner truth:
How I wish,
by those
whorled and spiraled
powers above,
for the gently fluted
forces of my being
to be parted
like sacred seawater
with my psyche
f l o a t i n g
just beyond
the zing of
my brain,
no rational
understanding
required
yes. I long
to be ever-slowly
unraveled,
layer by layer
cell by cell
until all that is left
are the platelets
pulsating between
this heart
and yours
each beat
betraying an
acute intensity
of how
I felt it,
this tender
electricity
that crackled
through and
between
our bones
from the
very
beginning
of
our quiet blaze
our pinnacle
our quirky
metallic
textures
our breath
mingling over
airwaves
in heated
fluidity
hotly drenched
in the iridescent
dust of our
star-marked
time
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
Morning was sudden-made as an onwardness of hills,
Meant for donning crusade in chainmail glistenings,
The sun visored in misty slats of cold steel,
To glimmer fusty through the godded grove,
A holy sepulchre, earthly-dim to its rafters of oak,
Where the forest-fall of sunlight shed its rosework,
And a red-breasted bird, its song-flight of dappled gleam,
And in the meadow, where colorful whorled the tale of Saladin,
Wayside flowers shook beneath the destriers' cloth caparisons,
A sunny fullness of vales for the crusaders' forest-heartened lungs,
And when this furthering of sights was sunken from,
Still an onwardness of hills to Jaffa like steppingstones.
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 10:11 PM UTC
I.
I want to walk out
into the ocean’s gentle swells,
and feel God’s palm
cupped around me.
II.
I want to step,
over the smooth, fluted stones,
and the whorled shells
of bright abalone,
to sink down
onto sundrenched
sea-ground
and close my eyes
to see my blood-red sun-lit lids
flicker and flash, as
shuddering net-designs
dance, threaded and lacy;
as they curl,
tangling across me.
I want to slide my fingers
through the slithering white sand--
the grains carved into
ivory ripples by the
currents’ deft hands.
III.
oh, I want to lie
and close my eyes
and feel the soft lurch of each wave
jerking overhead, its
strong tug like a kite,
watch the shining fish
scything past above,
and let each dancing point of light
reflected
from their scales
scar my pale face.
IV.
Oh, there is a howling, starving dog
that circles on the shore,
alone.
he’s keened his frantic misery to the
deadpan moon
for so so long
that no one listens anymore--
they gave it up long ago
and just sprawl, licking the dunes;
they lie and swear the grit quenches their
aching thirst
until they choke on their sand-covered tongues
and die.
V.
You see,
I want to see the moon rise,
quivering through
deep-water blackness;
listen to the dolphins’
ghostly shrieks and clacks,
and the whales’ deep, grieved noises.
I want to forget
the sound of human voices.
I long to close my eyes,
sink,
and never rise.
VI.
bright, irregular globes
flutter from my mouth
quick,
coruscating orbs
of prayer,
they shudder and
dart upwards
VII.
saltwater, salt tears,
ask Him if He hears
you gasping.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
His shoulders fascinate you;
Both mechanical and organic,
Soft, capable, broad
Like the horses of your youth and just as shy.
Invisible breaths and phantom winds caress the fine divots of your vertebrae:
Divots never loved by tangible lips.
Your skin bristles, hair rises,
Prickles come in waves down the limbs.
You wish you knew each muscle’s scientific classification
To give as a gift,
A mantra,
A prayer to whisper against his delicately whorled ear.
His eyes
Bottle green and limned with straw debris
They rest in shadow beneath sloping brows,
Lashes as long and thick as yours when you use lacquer,
Tunnels to the mind you idolize,
Panes through which you search for the pulse of his soul.
You think of his eyes open,
Think of what dreams are projected against their lids
At night, when yours struggle to escape the sheets.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
Dear Beloved Annabeth 14-07-1889
*I remember the day thee entered my splendid, unaccompanied realm
Thou awaited me outside the prestigious castle~porch
Casually leaned by the fence that was whorled around
by pure green stalks and fluttering light pink petals... Mmm the scent of daisies.
I was stunned by your presence in my oh so tedious existence
Dear me, thére thou stood in a maroon silk gown with a divine floral print*
How could I not get to know thee?
*My life~guardians where not much liking the thought of me becoming involved with residents at the vicinity of high repute, I lived in
But thou knew me ~ thou knew me too well ~ I felt so marooned
We had to, we had to become companions ~ without a friendship I would not feel alive
Thou were the only one to make me feel enthusiastic*
Ever since I met thee, I kept asking myself; "how was I ever so fortunate to meet such a queen?"
You are my Reign
Yours sincerely
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
I wonder once how it felt to love
Though as pure as a dove
Then you suddenly came in my world
Things in my thoughts whorled
The feeling when you're right beside me,
how funny I can't stand straight my knee
I was taken away by your smile
thoughts of you make my life worthwhile.
You're like the star on the night sky
I was so fond of them I want to fly.
Sweet and tenderly love they say
I love the feeling it makes me sway.
It's truly amazing what love can do
It'll surprise you out of the blue
but time flies and feelings fade away
Memories dont because its the only one that stay
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
sometimes I think,
sitting in the sad girl seat.
sometimes staring into clouds
into pebbled, light-footed blush
upon the abundant tortured sands -
there whistles hope through hair
and love past whorled ear.
Fate be not proud for thou art wicked expectation.
sometimes I think that thinking is too much.
**** me it will. like the buzzing of filmy insect wings
as if the pressure of that spectral pregnant light -
were the candlestick in the dining room
with Madame Sosostris. and april is the cruelest month
and depraved may and june and july. and august is just too hot
and september is lonely.
the snake gray seat and the sad girl eyes.
when the pine trees pass
in hundreds in thousands,
along miles and years
and sometimes thinking stops
and sometimes circles back
and I feel small and young.
There was a time,
when legs akimbo and arms
snaked soft, shelled tight, and snailed with hunger
were satisfied and glory held tight
all the multiples of content.
I was old with the heroism of
a mine-filled maze and melting wings.
the temptress, the knave, and the ******
I drew parallels with watery finger paint,
and words fell as if monsoon season
were rescheduled for february -
the cruelest month.
and I rode toward the land of adults,
the promised land for the moderately free,
triumphant in the high girl seat.
and sometimes I think
that truth is sad
like the day after Christmas.
is sad like the lost boys and
the glory never satisfied
and the sad girl eyes
mocked for their youth
forever dried to
the sad girl seat.
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
flowy, fancy and frolicky vibe
I'm on top of the world!
confidence furled
full support, no hint of a gibe
a certain move through your thick brain, imbibe
my cocoon I've uncurled
heritage whorled
natural elation, no Prozac prescribed
Yet, twirls come to a halt
my smile fades as you drone on
It's all my fault
learning forgone
emotional assault
I'm done, you won
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
I'll finally admit that I've lost my mind
For all around me I hear them say
That my sense of reason is much too kind
And that I need to keep it well at bay
I'm not good and I'm not bad
And I'm telling you that it's rather sad
To be this alone with a single voice
Reminding me that I've only got one choice
Paint the world with your darkened dreams
And show them what you intend to do
Prove that your world is tearing at the seams
And that all you need is a little happy glue
The voice, it tells me I'm not good
It rasps out gratingly that I should
Fall into its welcoming arms
And surrender to its familiar charms
But I know deep down who I really am
I'm a child still learning to take control
Of a life that feels like a strenuous exam
Still unwilling to commit my soul
So that voice, it tells me that I'm really bad
That I've seriously gone completely mad
But that's alright, because I am who I want to be
Everything that makes this person that is me
Paranoia within the world
Can only go as far as we allow
And our thoughts that have become so whorled
Are a raging phobia that will merely show us how
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC
i by nothing invincible life steal
and steal again
into unearthly frigid sleeping night
crux and crux 'pon,
and strange furious tumult of lust
whorled ear strains to catch
lifting my finger to scratch her
opaque stomach one frail sliver
of light, stop that murmuring
never endlessly mutters beauty
impossibly amorous careful wind
tugs sepals into the mute kisss
of dawn: colour more blindlingly supple
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
That fiery madness
lit her eyes
Entranced,
she let her body succumb
to my offering
of goddess drum music
I let it wrap around her
as she whorled
into my lap
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
Far FAR from the world.... WORLD...
whorled my world
HERE condensed here con CON
con-densed dying densed
a ho-HOme mmmme-me hewn in stone
Prison for prison pri pri pri sonnnn
here a drop of silence echoes
si lence sisisilensilensilense
pins pins pins dropped, trickling distant water
trick-ling
in the pud-dle a mud-dle cal-led li-fe
a cave home, far away from home, is this
a noise of thoughts, rushing past
a gorge of silence.
how it was meant to be?
consuming homes in deluge, after the rains,
trickle silences, replaying lives, screened
all around in silken mists
lightning bolts prising open recesses dark.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
I had a thought
a burst of inspiration
it whorled about my head
singed the skin of my ears
burned away the fringes of hair
---let loose about me face---
like ash flicked from the tip of a cigarette.
This thought multiplied
as many do, but even more this grew
taking up empty space, filling the heavens in my eyes
consuming me with a fire unfelt before, unknown to be felt--before.
Like pure energy it fumbled
crackling about the dry air, creating music's pure form.
Twisting, contorting--grotesquely beautiful--its tantalized me
ripping me with ethereal bare hands--until, my soul lay beating out
a glow in response to this epiphany, in a hand that was not a traditional hand.
This body moved
possessed of an inner passion
as these eyes watched detached as
my essence, received the violent creation in motion.
I feared it would burst and spill, letting go past memories
and that thing that will not come again, that nutrient that comes only once.
This body shook
the limbs quivered and tightened
in anticipation of a full soul ready to be received.
And when that hand, which was yet not a hand inserted
pressed, squashed, stuffed me back into myself my body felt light
despite--this immense entity housed within my flesh of skin, blood and bone.
When all had become quiet outside
I heard the music still, the monstrous song
that enveloped my ears fully, captured my eyes inwardly
until I fell backwards in a rapture locked in a battle I wished to lose.
This music slowly died
and with it my tremors stilled
until all that was left behind was but
the tiny ****** of a thousand angelic bells
hanging from the Bell-Trees of paradise's seventh node.
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 22, 2011 at 1:50 PM UTC
i look for peace and its pain i find
it blows my mind every time
few things ever change
the others are all the same
there is nothing we can do
just be real and I'll do the same
all these haters hate, and these jokers lame
all alone in this lonely world
slip into my high as my head whorled
escape this place; enjoying my flight
reaching for the stars
got me taking things to a different height.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
\\(=!=)/
where's the latent?
the unseen?
where's the mind
conceiving dreams?
the little man
behind the screen?
the ideas
in between
the leather cover
of a book?
it must be opened
for a look
where's the flower
in a ****
the tree within
a mustard seed?
it is there
that much agreed
where's the woman
In a girl?
the ocean in a
whorled shell?
there are leagues
within the legs
there are
eagles within eggs
there is
nothing that's for naught
behind the forehead
there's a thought
within a scroll
there is a chart
within a chest
there is a heart
within a matrix
there is gold
behind the eyes
there is a
SOUL
there is soil
beneath grass so green
look beyond for
the unseen
SoulSurvivor
2/16/2016
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
Are we God’s garden of wild flowers,
bringing fresh color into this World?
Can we find His fingerprints on us,
with divine patterns that are whorled?
With the coolness of His Holy Spirit,
there is a calming cascade of grace
that waters and refreshes our souls.
Under the Gardener’s careful embrace,
we’re given the individual attention
that promotes our spiritual growth;
He made the commitment to Humanity,
by the promise of Christ’s blood oath
for our everlasting Life in Salvation.
Though our days on Earth are limited,
no differently than the grass of Earth,
our innate potential is still unlimited
since we’re designed after His Image.
From the gifts we’re given, we can bloom
into the people He has imagined, with…
the lasting scents of Heaven’s perfume.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Psa 103:15-17; Matt 6:28-30
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
Shadower of the valley, dying of wisdom--
strung along since seven holes played
the Charmer's flute.
The licentiousness of your poetry, makes
days of worship drag along, inspiring
idleness in all its wickedness.
Leveler of leagues, unlikely elbows falling
together in deeds.
You freeze a whorled dance in the hollowed
trunk of a tree, to wait out the world you
impel.
Forever retiring to the terrible weight of its
foundation, having had the gall to drink its
basest, bitterest secretion.
Poison by any, and no other name...quenchless
blows by the scepter of you in deserted time.
As the truth be hidden in plain sight, so they
to you for salvation.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 12:22 PM UTC
If you speak of me in such oily vinegar,
then reply to me with joy subsequent,
I shall think of you as polar Cressida,
as she slalomed between bi-encampment.
To see your mouth forming my name-
Blisters peeled back so I may openly lament-
Of every rolling hill your fingers grazed carefully,
And every forged wanderlust you splashed upon my chest
Hellbent on spent days and evenings anew,
Lipped old promises freshly feigned undue.
Take me for bitter, and taste me all too sweet,
Storm whorled to ebb, still flow we accrete.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:47 AM UTC
Had it only been my feet
splayed across the grass,
toes gnarled and calloused
between soil and stone
before the clamping of my legs,
the fusing of my thighs,
the sealing of my buttocks
and tender-lipped ***
I could have held my baby son,
suckled him until he slept.
But black-growth swarmed my arms,
prickled on my hands.
My ******* crusted,
my milky ******* were taped,
tubed round and round
with strips of scaly bark.
Had they spared my face
the slap of leaves that clung,
whorled into my ears,
gagged my mouth
and lidded my eyes
he would have known my voice,
dreamt it rising from the glade.
But I flower with grief,
my blood-warm motherhood
sealed in a wooden tomb.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
The rain has washed the world clean
Rinsed each eye of its jaded smog
Wrung all disillusion from the leaden clouds
And brought back all the jewel colours
Birds are calling, bright feathered bells
Chiming one to another in poetic response
Happiness has broken out in a Waterfall of Sunlight -
Look! Oh look...
Everything is new.
My eyes open like curtains, fluttering
I am floating, drifting on cool air currents
High, so high above the brilliant world
Wish you were here, wish you were here
You’d see what I see...how it changes me
Tumbles me from Sun to Star to Moon
Polishes me with the laughter of children and angels -
Like a forgotten wish
At last come true.
Here, fear becomes a foreign language
Bitter doubt is an unknown land
The storm has ripped all the pain from the sky
I am free at last of yesterday’s darkness
Like the rain, if I fall now, I’ll land softly...
Curl deep inside the whorled hearts of roses
Nestle myself amongst layers of soft crimson velvet -
Be safe to rest,
and simply be.
Moonlight leads the way to tomorrow
The world turns peacefully through quiet hours
And the Stars keep their Vigil,
Guarding
all Dreamers.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
I had a thought
a burst of inspiration
it whorled about my head
singed the skin of my ears
burned away the fringes of hair
---let loose about my face---
like ash flicked from the tip of a cigarette.
This thought multiplied
as many do, but even more this grew
taking up empty space, filling the heavens in my eyes
consuming me with a fire unfelt before, unknown to be felt--before.
Like pure energy it fumbled
crackling about the dry air.
Twisting, contorting--grotesquely beautiful--it tantalized me
ripping me with ethereal bare hands--until, my soul lay beating out
a glow in response to this epiphany, in a hand that was not a traditional hand.
This body moved
possessed of an inner passion
as these eyes watched detached as
my essence, received the violent creation in motion.
I feared it would burst and spill, letting go past memories
and that thing that will not come again, that nutrient that comes only once.
This body shook
the limbs quivered and tightened
in anticipation of a full soul ready to be received.
And when that hand, which was yet not a hand inserted
pressed, squashed, stuffed me back into myself my body felt light
despite--this immense entity housed within my flesh of skin, blood and bone.
When all had become quiet outside
I heard the music still, the monstrous song
that enveloped my ears fully, captured my eyes inwardly
until I fell backwards in a rapture locked in a battle I wished to lose.
This music slowly died
and with it my tremors stilled
until all that was left behind was but
the tiny ****** of a thousand angelic bells
hanging from the Bell-Trees of paradise's seventh node.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 9:38 AM UTC