Tag Archives: The Sunday Whirl

Love Poem to Poets

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Love Poem to Poets

Who am I to judge you as you tinker with words…
reveal their bounce and loop de loop
from Heaven to brutal Hell?
May your poetry never end,
but instead stream in strings of metaphors ,
down that track from up to down
from brain to welcoming heart,
driving the truth to every corner of the world.

For the Sunday Whirl, prompt words are: judge tinker bounce loop heaven brutal end stream string track welcome drive

And also, for dVerse Poets, because these prompt words seemed to lead me back to your prompt as well.

“The Toast” for The Sunday Whirl

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The Toast

He never lost his swagger, even toward the end.
As life tried to break him, the most he did was bend.
When death twisted its cruel blade and his life met its turning,
unholy thoughts consumed me and set my mind to churning.

Will the dead rise up again in search of former love,
or do our dear departeds find more holy lips above?
Does past love wave its banners and proclaim itself in spite
of the fact that one love stays below, completely out of sight?

Love’s table where we feasted has found another host,
and though I hover ’round its edges and listen to the toast
of another bride and bridegroom celebrating love that’s new,
instead, my lover who once was, I lift this glass to you.

For the Sunday Whirl 762 the words are: wave turning unholy lips swagger lost dead rise twist blade feast edges

“Gasping for Air” For The Sunday Whirl

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Gasping for Air

No small potatoes are these dreams
that serve to rip apart the seams
of blessed sleep that drifts my mind
down roadways of a gentler kind.
Dread closes off my throat in fright
that I will not survive this night.
Prickles of fear cause neck to seize.
I run outside, seeking a breeze
to fill my lungs pinched off by fear
that my death is growing near,
shifting those stories in my head
to twisted tales of breathless dread.
I shift to hammock and cooler air,
breath coming easier out there,
my glassy eyes opening to
that stillness that comes into view.
Black night replacing former views
that now my memory eschews.

For The Sunday Whirl 761 the word prompts are:
runner potatoes road drifting twisted pinch glassy prickled neck shifted still

“Capitol Hill” for The Sunday Whirl

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Capitol Hill

He tolls the bell, this liar son
saying that the war he’s won.
He casts his spell, pretending that
the tricks he pulls out of his hat
are gospel truth as he finds fault
with saner men who try to halt
his lies and tricks and machinations
with news reports and protestations
that find him guilty of heinous acts
while he hits back with money’s power
as all around him succumb and cower
fearing their own loss of station,
fortune, job, or reputation.
“It’s fine,” they sigh, “and meant to be
so long as it advances me!”

For The Sunday Whirl #760 the prompt words are:
tolls spell inclined mind find sigh hit guilty fine fault liar 

“Guardians” For The Sunday Whirl

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Guardians

I spin the stick to kindle fire to dispel the chill,
risking the displeasure of that ghost who’s silent ’til
It feels the differing temperature with the waning cold
and moves down from the window ledge, wanting to behold
this human who alone would risk the ire of a ghost
without protection of a cross or a holy host.
I  softly hum a tune that the spirit doesn’t know,
then dig my fingers in the ground in an attempt to sow
new life within that sterile earth–softly dropping seed
to see what vegetative wonders earthly hands can breed.
I feel the spirit hovering and sense his threatening stare
until warm currents lift him up into the cooler air
above the room, above the town, to where more spirits dwell
who have been patiently waiting to send him back to Hell.

For The Sunday Whirl. This week’s given words are – kindle risk dig until differing chill spin waning ghost softly alone know.

Nightmares and Dreams for The Sunday Whirl

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Nightmares and Dreams

Sighs like sirens in the night come knocking on my dreams,
centered in those lost places that slip between my screams.
Curses from the gods, perhaps, that seep in beneath doors
to still true thoughts of peacefulness  and fill our dreams with roars
of lions and of cougars and other preying things
and all those fears of danger that each daily newscast brings.
Let our dreams instead be filled with thoughtful acts of friends,
that fill our lives with loving thoughts until this trial ends.
Our votes might end the terror, but what else is there to do
until true national sanity is restored anew. 

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle, the prompt words are: sighs siren knocking still centered lost slip doors true screams beneath curse

“You” for The Sunday Whirl

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You

We could share a lifetime in some connected place
and I would never lose my awe of your familiar face.
Years relaxing into it will seem a weekend trip:
mere hours to memorize your mouth––that classic upper lip.
Then when at last we’re in our home, I’ll have the whole of you
emblazoned in my memory with nothing left to do
but to enjoy the “all” of you, not  just your face and form––
that heart and soul and seed of you that creates your corm.

For The Sunday Whirl the prompt words are: lifetime share relax connect place last class awe home will years trip. (A corm is a short, thickened underground plant stem that stores starches and nutrients to fuel the plant’s growth.)

 

“Lost” for The Sunday Whirl Wordle 756

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Lost

The whole wide world feels hollow.
We trudge as in a trance,
those tracks that our forefathers
followed without a chance
to eye their lives and twist their fate
and get themselves in line
to test rare truths in vintages
like a rare old wine.
The wines have all gone stodgy,
the casks powdered within,
so we know not where we’re headed,
nor know where we have been.
]

The Sunday Whirl Wordle 756 prompt words are: wide line self hollow rare track twist eye trance trudge powder empty. Image created with AI

“The Stuff of Dreams” For The Sunday Whirl

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“The Stuff of Dreams”

The crisp day turns to creamy night that cushions us in sleep
and seeds our dreams with fertile thoughts that later we will reap
as poems or scripts or lyrics that will shimmer in the light
that’s been kindled to crush out the dimness of the night.
Sleep dusts our petty cares away and whispers in our ear
brisk new tales and sonnets that the whole world needs to hear.

For The Sunday Whirl, the prompt words are:crush crisp creamy script brisk dreams dust  seeds dim night whisper shimmer  (Illustration created with AI.)

 

 

Wish List, For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 754

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Wish List

Of course I have my limits, still I wish for something more,
and so I post a list on my refrigerator door.
But those key things I still want in life spill out upon the floor
from the future’s bill of lading where they don’t fit anymore.
Smoke rings from the fires of my dreams gone up in flame
fade into the distance of that future I won’t name.
Still silky thoughts caress my dreams of love and passion past,
and I give thanks for bygone lovers and memories that last.

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 754  the prompt words are:
limits list still bill smoke ring distant wish silky spill fit key
Image created aided by AI.