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Best Fling Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Fling poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of fling poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Don't stop! The most popular and best Fling poems are below this new poems list.

Last Fling by Haight, Sandra
Fancy Free Footloose Fling by Anderson, John
Fling Words by Maguire, Robert
Summer Fling by Inman, James
Spring Fling by Jameson, Sam
Holiday Fling by Adedeji, Bukola
Love Or A Fling by Lasarus, Emilia
Summer Fling by Fite, Jacob
Spring Fling by lawless, John
Just a Fling by Sieb, Ali

View all new Fling Poems

The Best Fling Poems

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The Universe of You

I have never seen a flower blush when I took it's hue and held it there a prisoner captive to my view. I have always heard the song that's in the autumn breeze playing taps in harmony with the forest leaves. I love the smell of rain that brings the springtime into bud and swells my love of nature into a teeming flood. I celebrate the cycle of the daytime into night and find an equal blessing in the shadow and the light. I've always felt affinity for all created things and surrender to the pleasure that their beauty brings. And though I could spent a lifetime sailing drops of dew I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you. I've often sat myself by gentle mountain streams and overflowed the dams that were holding back my dreams. I've breathed the scented forest on the mountainside and washed away my sorrows in an evening ocean tide. I've laid down in a meadow and debated with the moon and spent some quiet moments on the surface of Neptune. I got married to a zodiac with one of Saturn's rings then spied a super nova and went on a cosmic fling. I've run away to nebulae in galaxy brochures and bathed in scenes of wonders on distant planet shores. Every cosmos in creation could parade before my view but I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you. I've never seen a tree once withdraw it's shade and deny a creature the comfort of its aid. I've never seen any anger in the sun at noon when it burns relentlessly on the desert dune. At sunrise I take an oath to live with all my might and reinforce my gratitude each and every night. I could spend some hours riding on a crystal flake drifting wildly in a gale mindless of my fate. Many times I've been through trials of wind and rain and snow then sentenced to the splendors that the seasons show. And though I've searched throughout creation, I must say this is true I've never seen a universe as beautiful as you.

Copyright © John Wilowski | Year Posted 2012

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Starlit Diva

My mind has wings and wants to fly into galaxies where stars streak. Aloft on whispers and a sigh a hint of stardust on my cheek. Into galaxies where stars streak astral winds golden gives me flair, a hint of stardust on my cheek starlit d i v a with solar hair. Astral winds golden gives me flair through cosmic currents I do wing. Starlit d i v a with solar hair enjoying my celestial fling. Through cosmic currents I do wing aloft on whispers and a sigh. Enjoying my celestial fling, my mind has wings and wants to fly. ~ 4th Place ~ Contest: End July Premiere 2017 Sponsor: Brian Strand Susan Ashley July 23, 2017

Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2017

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I'll do some housekeeping today
Take my broom and sweep the clouds away
There won't be anytime for play
But if you come and want to stay

I'll share a sunset with you...
We can dream of rose and violet-blue
Taking my rake I'll draw the night blind
And fling the stars from the shovel to shine

Then pull the switch for the moon to light....
To glow on my place, this very night...
As we share the stars and time,
Come and be mine in the moonshine

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009

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Her reveries slant the compass of time: 1970s. Minefields now roar through blurred visions. She retreats into dots of space to live in the moment, as emotions fling to a gray sky. While curtains blow unceasingly, hours freeze. Again, love passes; leaves, while a young wife’s heart crushes in tears. 

bouyant clouds wander
in the expanse of night time
to gather shadows

There is delicacy in pain. Letters from Nam change the dark of winter to a glitter of December lights. As she sets the table, the flaming candle waxes through a kitchen filled with sweets and almonds . He is the breath touching musical tones in the quiet rhythm where carols are sung together. Feeling his presence,
she regales in a lone dance of fond remembering.

pines in crimson gold
waltz across the starlight
etching mellow notes

Somehow, a woman begins to droop beside a half-closed window. In the cold of duskfall, she longs
for her soldier husband, quietly. Then wiping her cheeks, she is refreshed by those who need her, now. In a joyful play with daughter and son, Aunt Jamie finds her true north. Such is the luster of more tomorrows, 

moon glimmers, dust fades
a balm of healing renews
fresh discoveries

For SKAT : Any Poem You are Proud Of Contest
Reposted 5/14/2016

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

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Leaves talking

As long as I can remember
I have been green and on this branch.
They tell me soon I will become tinged,
Glow bright red,
Burn orange,
Or shine like gold.
I can hardly wait!

And soon after I shall
Embark on that journey
They have been talking about,
And I am a bit scared.
A wind will come, they say,
And rip me away,
Fling me wildly into the air,
Whirl me around in mad dance,
Toss me, smash me,
Lash me
With rain
Before I crash
To the ground
All wet and ripped.

But maybe, some say,
On a quiet sunny day,
A tiny breeze, almost unnoticed,
Will gently pluck me off,
And I shall sail on the air,
Swaying to and fro,
And descend softly
Onto a rustling pile.

September 14, 2016
For contest: Leaves Talking
Sponsor: John lawless
1st place

Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2016

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The First Bloom

You wonder why, my love
These memories flitter in the hallways of my mind
Knocking on the door
of every room
Where I’ve hung
Do not Disturb Signs
For I don’t want to remember you
My Paradise Lost and yet….

Oh, you wonder why, my love
I still rise to open the door
Why I fling them open wide
When each memory comes calling
Why I let them come inside
And sit here at my table
While I play the gracious host
As I listen to each memory repeat
The love story I love most...

You wonder why, my darling
I sit in rapt attention
Dabbing at a tear
While I smile
A sweet smile of remembrance
As one by one
They kiss my cheek in greeting

They all sit around me
Each one vying for my attention
These sweet memory guests
Are there to make sure
The visions are ever fresh
And so one runs his fingers through my hair
I close my eyes
Giving in to his ministration
But he couples it with kisses on my nape
To keep me awake
For he remembers the times
When your fingers playing with my hair
Would entice my eyelids to close
So the kisses he keeps coming
Preparing me
For what is to come...

The other memory holds my hand
Caressing tenderly
Making love to my fingers with his own
Intertwining and releasing
Whispering in my ear
In husky whispers of love
And I melt
I melt
At the resonance of his voice
The memory of enticement
The Prelude

I gaze down to look into the eyes
Of the memory guest sitting at my feet
I see there the devotion
Of someone at a shrine
As he looks up into my eyes
His hands on either side of me
His palms caressing my legs
Kissing as he goes along….
They are preparing me 
For the memory that has been waiting at the door

He watches intently
My favorite memory
There just inside the room of my mind
Of my wildest fantasies
He has been here before
He has been here often
What nights those were
What days
When he would ravish me
Till I could hardly breathe
Fatigued and spent
In the aftermath of his
Love storm

Now he stands
And though I try to rise
To close the door
I’m held back by the others
Whispering all around me
"Let him in
Let him come in."

A smile plays on his lips
As he sees me weaken
His devouring eyes take in my form
I feel the heat of his gaze
As his eyes feast on me
In my revelry of love
And at his signal
The other memories quietly leave

I look at him shyly
As he draws the filmy dream curtains tight
Blocking out the light of reality
Blocking out everything but his entity
He walks over to me
Stopping to light scented candles
Stopping to make me feel
His close proximity
He is near

He looks down at me
Claiming me before even one touch
"I’ve come my passion flower
I’ve come again to make you bloom
Like that first time
That first time
You opened up to me."

And then he is here kneeling at my feet
Undressing me
His breath hot on my breast
His hands gently probing
His mouth tasting
His tongue teasing
His fingers...pleasing
"You are altogether beautiful"
He whispers 
And I can only sigh
As the memory of that first bloom
Comes alive in my mind
And he takes me again
Takes me
Like that first time
When I discovered
What it means
To find release
Quivering on the edge of
Suspended in time
As I give in 
And let the streams flow
Falling free
Like the tears that fall
Glistening on my rosy cheeks

And as I lay spent in the silence
Of my own dark and dreary room
Savoring the fragrance of my memory
My memory of you
My first sensual dawn
My first taste of the heady mix
Of pleasure and pain
I know I must rise
To close the door of my mind again
This time I will lock it
This time, I will throw away the key
But the memory of that first bloom
Will find a way
To visit me again….
Oh, my love
For I cannot forget you
And that very first time
You made me...

Eileen Manassian

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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Let laughter ring, for here comes Spring. With warbling birds we gaily sing. As wizened Winter turns and goes, March promptly puffs her cheeks and blows! The Old Man’s gone. . . we’re rollicking when next comes April frolicking behind spry March. Her visage glows. Let laughter ring. Then Spring a climax sweet will bring. There at the Maypole, in a ring, are fetching maids in pretty clothes. And bounteous the sun now grows as June appears; . . Spring’s had her fling. Let laughter ring! Jan. 4, 2014 (Here comes Spring: I know , I know, wishful thinking!!)

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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I Dreamed a Butterfly

I dreamed a butterfly in golden days when buttercups lay in the fields ablaze. It fluttered to my cheek, sweet love to bring. My heart was wont to burst and wont to sing. In breath of morn was scent of bluebell sprays. On blossomed blankets of the fields we’d laze, and into one another’s eyes we’d gaze, my love and I, as April had her fling. I dreamed a butterfly. Our bliss was as the spring, a fleeting phase, and brief’s the beauty of young lovers’ craze. As cruelly as a wasp, he left a sting - and all the lovely plans we made took wing, leaving mere memories of golden days. I dreamed a butterfly. 2/21/13

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

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Adieu Summer

Adieu Summer
cheeky red roses silky scarlet skirts sashay… final summer fling

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014

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I Hear Guitars a' Calling

I hear guitars a’ calling in the gloaming’s final fling when sinking suns subdue their flames and fairies take to wing as day departs, a yawning ash, beneath a dusky haze igniting one by one the jewels of midnight’s diamond blaze. I hear guitars a’ calling in the clouds within the skies, with tunes which trill like welling tears from somber misting eyes of misplaced muted homeless souls who drift alone in grief beneath the silence of the stars that offers no relief. I hear guitars a’ calling in the beat beneath her breast; their murmur throbs with passion’s pulse and sensuous unrest that rumbles deep in worried woods before impending storms and splits the air in morning meadows, ere the sunrise warms. I hear guitars a’ calling in the pitter-patter rain which summons with a soothing sound upon my window pane evoking bygone childhood dreams within a vagrant breeze engulfing me in gusty swirls down misty vortices. I hear guitars a’ calling in the waves on distant shores; they’re crashing out a monody upon the mystic oars of phantom ships within the dawn, like speckled caravels a’ sail on seas of raven wings to moonlit citadels. I hear guitars a’ calling in the morning’s reveilles; they’re pouring fires in the skies and burning up the seas, while waking flowers in the fields and setting trees ablaze, and closing one by one the eyes of midnight’s starry gaze. I hear guitars a’ calling in the deserts of my mind; they’re nullifying hollow realms that time has left behind, where pathless sands are blazing hot, the sun is set to die and weary hounds are panting faint’, their tongues hung long and dry.

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012

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After the interim

She met him in the interim,
 that space between endings and beginnings;
                                 a summer fling; 
a sowing of her not so wild oats 
          was all that it was meant to be. 
But he was so much more.

She found herself languishing
 pool side on his patio 
                  as long June afternoons
 dripped    like    molasses  into    nights. 

Sometime in July, 
her illusion that she’d had of independence
burst              like pyrotechnics in the sky. 
And oh, those nights they imbibed! 
Her nights with him   ran 
                            like the blood-red wine 
in the goblets 
by the trembling hands   of two inebriates. 
 But the stems of those goblets
 slipped quickly from their fingers, 
and love’s elixir 
spilled much too quickly
                              into tomorrow.

Along with the dry protracted days,  
she - like desert grasses - 
withered            as she waited. 
 always thirsting for the nights! 
But by the time August had arrived,
 she also had come to realize that,
 like the yellowed grasses, 
she needed more than passion at dusk. 
The nights, in fact, 
had brought her 
no less scorching    than the sun.
 And what she’d thought 
was more than she could want 
became              much less 
than he could ever give.

Some essential thing was lacking,
some need deep inside her
not being fulfilled.
In those long afternoons 
as she'd waited for him,
she'd come to realize what was missing.

By September - back in school -
she knew her ardor for him
had barely waned, 
yet still. . . 
she knew what she had to do.
And so, she looked to autumn's advent
for October's cooling winds
to sweep away 
            the remnants
                     of ashes in her soul.

For Laura Loo's Free Verse on Sadness (again) Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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Discomfort Notwithstanding

hanging in the air
humidity’s heaviness . . .
the river’s slow crawl

On the Mississippi lies the beautiful little city where I once lived. How many times I trudged up inclined streets; or leaning forward, red-faced and panting, pressed up slopes with all my might, feet on pedals of my purple Sting-ray bike, urging myself not to dismount prior to reaching glorious level ground! The damp beneath my clothing in those days was a given. Simply stopped to rest. . . sipping pop underneath a tree, I would often feel rivulets of sweat that  trickled down beneath my underarms, a surfeit which caused circle stains to appear beneath the arms of short-sleeved shirts or on Sundays, beneath the flowered dresses that I wore to church. However, despite the heat’s discomfort, it was summer, after all! 

counting down the days
until the school bell’s last ring -
a fling with summer

Released from stifling classrooms for vacation, I eagerly embraced the sun. . .and how I played! Kickball with the neighbors, visits to the city pool with my sisters and friends, bike rides to parks or into town, where I spent my allowance on records and treats, and hours racing eagerly through the pages of Nancy Drew books in front of a cooling fan - all these things consumed me. 

It was in the month of August, and more than a decade of muggy summers later that I found myself transplanted in a desert. As if thrust into a giant pre-set oven with a noose about my neck, I learned firsthand the meaning of “slow roast.” Here, in the new and different place where I've now lived most of my adult life, the heat can leave one with a burn like acid watered down, a deep sensation lingering in skin long after sun has left the sky. Perspiration may just evaporate before it has a chance to wend its way along the body’s contours. Discomfort notwithstanding, there’s no pain.  Acclimated to these summers now, I find that it is easier for me to breathe in August heat than it was the first time I’d ever encountered it. Released from stifling work, I go outside into the oven,  pen in suntanned hand!

sunshine reflections
so many summers have passed
writing till twilight

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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Famous Last Line

Original Poem - Dreams Still Grow

Once I felt the warmth of balmy spring...
breathed deep the scent of blossoms, fresh and pure...
I thrilled to sounds of songbirds in the air,
while sprouting blades of tender grass appeared.
Upon the dew, my seeds of hope were cast...
and dreams grew in the magic fling of spring.

Then later came the cold of winter's snow...
the scent of blossoms turned to musty dust.
Chant of restless wind soon filled my ears...
green tender grass, long grown, had gone to seed.

Still hopes lay buried deep in icy frost...
and bright, new dreams emerged to grow in snow.

Posted: 09/01/2015 for contest


New Poem - Dreams Have Grown

And bright, new dreams emerged to grow in snow,
for winter days are numbers on a page.
If body bends and mind is still aglow,
no reason to lay dormant neath the frost.
New hours, new days, new months to fulfill dreams;
continue on, each one a precious gift.

And winter is no time to dwell on death,
when life still sparks in every newborn morn.
So much to see, so much to do until
the time has come to know when done is done.

My hopes seemed buried deep in icy frost,
but bright new dreams have thrived in winter snow.

Sandra M. Haight

~2nd Place~
Contest: Famous Last Line
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 03/17/2016

Rules: Looking for a new poem, with the starting line being the last line from a previous contest entry. The poem you choose does not have to be a winning poem, just any poem entered.

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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A dance competition went horribly wrong.
During an Irish gig and a Highland fling song.

The gigger flung his foot out in front.
The flinger went flying, taking the brunt.

When the two crash landed in a heap.
The spectators gasped in their seats.

The flinger's kilt was around his head.
"I apologise for nay underwear" he said.

The gigger of course had breeches on.
His modesty preserved but his chances all gone.

For tripping the flinger he was the dismissed one.
So the Highland Fling flinger that was flung won. 

Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016

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The Summer Fling

A delight for female eyes was his gorgeous face and strong physique; His dark eyes lured them in, but his kisses left them spellbound. The beauty of his skin could but briefly hide his fickle heart. One summer he met at last the woman who could claim his heart - A lovely Aphrodite to match this young Adonis. With her wiles, she beguiled him, and his flighty heart then grew devout. From June to July, boundless seemed their rapture; how they loved . . . in brilliant fields of daffodils; on amber sand beneath the moon! By August, he was on one knee with a diamond ring in hand. Red anemones bloom in the garden where he saw her last. The Aphrodite he hoped to wed was someone else instead - Brawn and beauty are not all; a wise Athena finished their fling. For Deb's Sijo Strings Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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Of Lion Love

My feline bittersweet awakening
came decked with golden trim of flawless days.
A time it was to frolic and to fling
ourselves in grass, all afternoon to laze.

Together we were fearless, wild and free,
a noble lion and his lioness.
And sadly, neither one of us could see
that passion such as ours would evanesce.

Our error was believing that each kiss
could carry us. . . that love could multiply
or even match July’s exceeding bliss.
By summer’s end, our ardor had run dry.

A lion’s appetite can satiate,
and love - less noble then - will soon abate.

Posted 6/11/11/ Now used for the In the Name of Love Contest of Shadow Hamilton

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

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Mantle of summer, cloaked so bright Where flowers pose lending their grace. Along red vines as sun ignites My carefree notes that twirl, retrace The gleam of breezes dappling through On painted strokes with finest hue. How then can I resist The gush of wildness’ flow When come nightfall, hands lift To reach flamed moon aglow, Like vignette of night’s show... And tasting summer’s blaze Heated sighs I release, As blossoms now amaze With my notes that tease... One more dance While hips fling Of sweet romance; While through beats I'm a dizzy song! Contest:Who am I? Or, What am I ? Sponsor: SKAT

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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Copyright © Quondreika Cheatham | Year Posted 2014

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She has GONE

you know some people talk out of their a$$
to fill inside some deep unspoken need
and so they try to make their gossip pass
to let the demons out and to be freed

I do not know who's spoken ill of you
why would they so malign an angel fair
they fling malicious words, I'm sure untrue
and now you've gone, there's not a poem there

I'm sad, I'm sad, I'm twisted deep inside
You gave to many here the chance to write
the gates of membership, you opened wide
and now your name is gone from on this site

To those who know not what they do or say
Your words, your deeds have pushed my friend away

Eileen Manassian

I'm very sad because a very dear friend of mine has deleted her account from this site. This women has handed out PMs and Life memberships as though they were candy. She's intelligent, smart, and beautiful, and I'm gutted to know that some people have been unkind to her. This is a sonnet slam, if such a thing exists. I have not been told who the people who have spoken unkindly are...but it isn't the first time it has happened. My friend is above and beyond pettiness...She left quietly...but this is me being upset. 

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2017

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My Fun Custom Temporary Tattoo

Heart singing, I race through warm sand; then fling myself to the breeze! I take the leap from land to water, riding roller coaster crests. Soon my skin will wear summer’s ink. Written by Andrea Dietrich 5/17/2015 For the "Give Me a Sign" Poetry contest of nette onclaud

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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As chandeliers drip ‘round the hall
Bouquets' scent wafts through night’s affair.
In gown of lace she sways with flair
Until her man bows ,to enthrall
A glide of waltz into soft flight,
Where other pairs hope to find bliss
On firefly steps, perhaps a kiss
That her arms fling to breath’s delight.

In whirling turns, she lifts in style
And a roulette from dancing guests
Enchants the tunes of pleasure’s zest
While coy romance drifts and beguiles.
The violin presses a hum
As her glossed eyes casts on his face,
Igniting dipped waists to succumb
Within the fling of an embrace.

Ballroom Delights Contest

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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Whimsey vs Angst

~~~~Whimsey vs. Angst ( or-
 You Don't Have to Be Drunk But it Helps)~~~~

Words of whimsey from my pen flow,
while words of angst I bury below.
Which is me, you may never know
if it's only pieces I care to show.

Whimsey is as whimsey does.
So frivilous, happy thoughts buzz
around in my brain , as if it was
full of nothing but fluff and fuzz.

Writing of angst is not my thing.
Words of sadness, words that sting.
Whimsical words always bring
a happier mood, a fest, a fling.

So don't ask me for a sad, sad song.
It would definitely be wrong
to bore you with an epitome long
that saddens and depresses the throng.

Poetry of a happier time
flows in verses and in rhyme.
I'll pen you thoughts joyful and sublime
if you just pass the tequila and the lime.

Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2013

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Brother Told Us

Brother told us sometimes that he peed
sitting down with a good book to read,
but with his ding-a-ling
he was having a fling
when we spied on him.  Good book indeed!

Written 5/20/14 for Roy Jerden's Bawdy, Bawdy, Bawdy, Miss Clawdy Limerick Contest

By the way, from comments I am getting, I need to let everyone know this is simply a fabrication. My brother told us nothing, and we never spied on him. And our small bathroom shared by ten people would not have suited this purpose! hahaha

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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The Name of the Rose

Life was never boring
Selling roses from my shop,
You were invited to visit and
You’d learn men’s secret affections.

The first to arrive was the usual fare
A well-built hunk of a man.
Tall, dark and handsome that women adore.
Twelve orange ones, he asked.
Amazed I wondered what he had in mind,
Must be a new fling no doubt.
For orange means enthusiasm and desire.
He knew well the language of sweet buds.

A newbie arrived, so shapely and cordial
A lady I knew not I was sure of it,
As she asked for a bunch of yellow blossoms.
This feeling was so hard to explain
For yellow stands for many things
Joy, gladness, friendship, Welcome Back, 
Remember me, or ”I care".

Tommy, the shy one, tip toped inside,
As usual he chose the lovely pink.  
It was his way to say thanks and hope
That she will always believe in him.

A couple of coral ones, how abrupt Peter was.
He knew they meant desire never lasting love.
I’d rather he never entered my oasis
For all he deserved was arid sand not bliss.

Martin was next, and how he beamed.
It was love at first sight, said he.
So I suggested as I knew,
That a lavender rose would please her most.

My friend Elise had made a coup. 
So I gave her a bunch of mixed flowerets.
Peach for appreciation and white for purity.
Wasn’t Elise delighted that day?

It was almost time, needed to close shop.
When the outside door opened for the last time.
The lady I had seen early that day returned.
“You did not like my flowers?” I asked.
She nodded and then stuttering said:
“My mum has died.  Just one black rose please.”
I don’t know why a tear trickled down my face.

18 January 2016
A SKAT CONTEST Theme # 7 Colors
Placed 4

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016

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Ocean Versus Pool

Ocean Versus Pool The days are hot, the water cool, but unlike days beside my pool, the ocean lives a moving thing, with surf and sand it has its fling, and far out past the eye can see, instead of woods, the sky meets sea…delightful choice for me! © Sandra M. Haight 2015 All Rights Reserved ~6th Place~ Contest: Fibonacci Sponsor: Rob Carmack Judged: 03/14/2015 Syllables Checked: 1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015