Best Swags Poems
High above the quiet, darkened streets of January, the night wind begins to whisper secrets through my apartment window casements. Far below me lie four cafes, all in sync as they awaken from daytime hibernation to begin an evening ritual of turning on lights, welcoming thirsty patrons, discouraging lost polar bears, trying to survive.
Light bulbs hang in lazy swags, dripping evenly from the edge of each identical awning. Predictably, their glow travels as fast as the light itself creating a sudden and uninvited interruption of the Arctic desert landscape.
Sitting apart on their respective corners below, the cafes squeeze into a single pane near the bottom of my window. Leaning closer, I blow a hot and intoxicated breath onto the glass in defiance or retaliation, an attempt at immolation perhaps. Instead, my unused air lies wasted across the cafes on the other side of the window, in an irregular oval of futility.
I use a balled-up fist to wipe away the misty scene before it has a chance to evaporate and leave me alone, a desperate and inevitable disappearing act in the face of my curated isolation.
A Bagman
There he walked an unknown Bagman,
who camped upon the track.
So sad he seemed this Swagman,
his jingling billy burnt and black.
Yes mate he'd been away with friends,
crossed the sea at any rate.
The Somme so cruel brought deadly ends,
bullet riddled t'was their fate.
Up they'd rise and charge the guns,
to be cut down like the flowers.
To be shot dead backing Pommie's sons, (british)
or lay wounded there for hours.
If the guns they'd missed you just a bit,
when you got back in the trench.
Dead mates into the walls you'd fit,
with the smell of death, the stench.
Then he came home from the war,
so shell shocked and alone.
To face mankind no never more,
now the road was it his home?
Yet when they saw him on the track,
they'd say "there goes a madman?"
Three years of death no friends came back.
poor outcast brave old Bagman
My mums uncle Walter was an Aussie soldier who marched into the German machine guns 3
times, twice wounded he hobbled with a recently healed knee wound to his death.
Bagmen were first War men crazy from the WW1 slaughter who lived on rabbit and carried
their swags and lived as outcasts on the track... Don Johnson
January 22, 2024
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Divergent viewpoints can arise
Whilst triumphant variously savor
Glorious tune of achievement,
Gain glory as godly guile
Whilst booming into spring blooms
In fervor of zeal, vow faithfully
God bestows on them a swish tree
With a bountiful harvest
Its span is boundless
Akin to an everlasting ring,
However, clocks tick down
Daily weavings of divine honor.
Amidst lustrous obelisk
Unbeknown overall aesthetic
Sprawled across stars haze
My cosmic frame oozes to apex
I harness the strand in crimson
Widening warp and woof
Over that magnificent loom
Queries seldom yield effectiveness,
Sadness for their plight emerged
In bows and flowery swags
We ought to remember
Fetching a fresh format forward
Divine devotion developed.
We could detect tangles and flaws
Fairness shares justice and equity
The quest implies grace and faith,
A gorgeous layout with a top-ounce
We are haughtily proud,
Divine is eternally supreme
His work never stops, and
His weaving is always wise,
But we must remember that
We are an essential portion of it.
Let us embrace each day
As a raw opportunity to weave
A Halcyon design
With dedication and patience
We can grow the warp and woof
Over that majestic loom
Until we blossom, akin to flowers.
bake the goodies
bake the snacks
snack tray covered
snack tray to taste
taste the cookies
taste the candy
candy cane the tree
candy cane the swags
swag the tables
swag the doors
door bell ring
door covered with lights
light up house
light up tree
tree the ornaments
tree the Angel
angel hair the mantle
angel blare the stereo
stereo blast Rudolph
stereo blitz street
street sing quartet
street cover snow
snow slide the treats
snow blanket heat
heat up cocoa
heat up rum
rum ball sugar
rum ball eat
eat cookies
eat stuffing
stuff turkey
stuff stockings
stocking fill candy
stocking fill nuts
nut up the pantry
nut fill bowls
bowl over friends
bowl filled with punch
punch up pillows
punch up poinsettias
poinsettia up the window sills
poinsettia up the tables
table the dinnerware
table the nativity
nativity wrap with evergreens
nativity homage with candles
candle light every Christmas
candle dim after praying
pray for the ringing … Santa
Christmas brings peace … Savior
Billy Buttons
under the
Celery Pines
free verse
Billy Button's downy foliage
Burst open with large gold blooms.
Midst thousands of dandelion's green
Above, celery pines tip their plumes.
Grasslands wave contently in the fields
Missouri golden rods climb the hill.
Broom beard grass and buffalo clover
Send subtle earthy scents, cross my sill.
Mulberry's beckoning to the blue ash,
Creeping soft grass hides the jasmine crepes.
Water pond seeks dry nooks and crannies
As nature swags her majestic drapes.
All of nature is alive and full of romance
Kissed by morning dew she opens her buds
Her long silky fingers rustle all to wake
Bejeweling earth in vibrant colored studs.
Carole Cookie Arnold
2010<>
Twisted
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Horrie's words became confused and twisted
though careful people (like me) thought we understood.
What I could not understand
was his appearance -
that golden beard become unruly
and arms and legs so thin.
Another change was Horrie's girlfriend choosing,
a twisting of reasons why he chose -
a girl made rich for whom he said
strict poverty called out her tune.
I met her, a cheerful girl of twenty,
chiming in with kinky swags with chains.
4/12/2023
We scratched and scrapped and piled it together,
thin as cobwebs, like molted bird feathers,
spread out on the frozen lawn,
a gossamer frosting in early dawn,
a meager, stingy December snow,
hardly enough to foster a glow
from the Christmas lights candycane twirled
about the evergreen swags softly whirled.
A new sled from Santa's gift giving
was mine to enhance childhood living!
Why he did not provide the blizzard--
(He could have called on the North Pole snow wizard!)
we just did not know,
but to work we would go
and make a snow ramp out in the yard
about as thick as a worn playing card.
The rest of the story is not hard to guess;
my dad's in the doghouse, my mom in distress.
That snow ramp was built quite poorly it seems,
engineered from child wishes and misguided dad dreams,
and though for a moment, I thought I would fly,
at least, sitting here, I still have an eye.
Copyright, December 5, 2017
Christmas Rhymes Contest
Kim Rodrigues, Sponsor
Christmas fills the air
With scent of goodies to share,
Pinecones, poinsettias weaved swags;
Wishes in stockings and Santa's bag,
Kitties snuggle and puppy tail wags.
A Christmas Wish,
Shooting star across the sky.
A glimpse of Santa Claus
And Rudolph's luminescence red-nose,
Sleigh bells beneath twilight
Whispers and music on beaming lips,
Gifts and bows on fingertips,
Tiptoes, excitement what is in flight.
Santa is coming to town tonight
And the birth of Christ.
A Christmas Wish,
Shooting star across the sky.
12/12/2021
clouded omens across code
the objective fact of the atmosphere here
starves even the most modest
ambitions of fish outside their home waters
journey of yearning mundane
day-glow gradients of green
scales gasping
toward the summit
regret etched in the eyeball
a penumbra casting its subtle shadow
lips rest in swags of exhausted lassitude
beleaguered
by their own bland arguments
against the reality
hung above a feckless mountainside face up
blind to the gallows scaffold
too much air in the jagged aspiration
of escape
the breathless canvas of a departing day
As summer fields grow plump yet mild,
I dimly lay with swags of blooms
Outlined by duskfall I can feel ;
The heavens flaming realms beyond
Just when his ghostly light appears,
While all the flowers scent the wind
New moon bequeaths this precious hour--
For death and life to meet again
That without words, our hearts entwine;
And rose of morning floats to trail
Within his shadow, bright as love
Until I weep for time gone by:
Across the sky, he climbs afar
To leave a vow of dream’s return.
…………………..
Contest Form - B for Broken Wings
12/21/2016
*** * *
wishes for silk lamps
to soften all chilly nights,
promise of world peace
ringing wind chimes from heaven
and orchids flaming the lawn
A glow climbs our tree
laying a music box on swags
as I hear the song
of Santa’s joyous greetings
with sweet tunes dancing on bulbs
lamps will be my stars
while blooms will paint the path ways,
yet in notes ending
seeds of peace he cannot yield
for love is man’s choice
©
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Contest: Linda Marie’s Santa’s Surprise
By: nette onclaud
I never met a better fella
until I met Ella
Ella was finer than Esther
but stronger than Joshua.
She's gat crude swags
both in the way she sags.
Her mother who often nags
would burn masculine stuff from her bags.
Her handshakes are so loud
like a clap in the midst of silent crowd.
Her hair, always bound,
like ponytail and it makes her sound.
I suppose no speech or pen can reveal.
Hidden mysteries of the cell buzzer.
Whose sleek screes fit conjointly like a deal.
To boast about such a complex shudder.
A thin membrane that provides protection.
In order to shelter its swags inside.
The city is ruled by its switch section.
Yielding hurdles over today's worldwide.
While books about fable intend to sell.
Such a DNA change occurred by chance.
Each organ and nucleus in the cell.
A mind is warned to be behind the stance.
I shake my mind; dawdling was a mistake.
I note the book to read, needing a break.
Written: June 22, 2022
A Cowboy is.
Out on the stock route 10 mile days
Keep those cattle moving
He hopes there’s grass and water, prays
His seat he won’t be losing……..watch them yang yang horses
The cattle settle down at night
Bout midnight up they jump in fright
Camp is damaged, swags alight
You wonder why he’s boosing….drive you to drinking
You follow the tracks dodge a brown snake
Old horse does sidestep Blue
Grab for saddle monkey Jack does make
Then gets off the ground quick, too
Takes all day to find the mob
And a few strays on their own
The stock route has fences Bob
But numbers are right, I own
So we bring em to the rail head
And put em in a yard
And head for the nearest pub, Fred
Drink a few pints of fourex at the bar.
Don Johnson….Australia
Sea snake is most venomous then comes ol coffin head Taipan
who lives in Queensland Australia
2nd most poisonous on the planet im told, then comes Brownie 3rd
i've killed a dozen in my time in the Aussie bush, we have a short fellow called the death adder he will kill you too if you step on him.
Brownie is 10 times worse than a Cobra. So it gets the adrenaline pumping
if you fall of your horse near a brown snake
regards mate
Don
The air was damp inside the house, chill creeping through the walls
Swags and Tails with dusty eyes seep through the faded falls.
The garish group sat silently hands splayed upon a table square
Whilst the caller whispers low and weak, “Is there anybody there?”
They wait and listen in the dark then shake in startled shock
As softly as a black cat’s paw, they hear a muffled knock.
Just like a spider climbing up, their bodies crawl with fright
“Was that a knock?” asks Psychic Pat,“ ‘cus I’m sure it was alright!”
“But then again, I’M NOT so sure.” states Mr ‘Medium’ Albert Gore
“Ask again” hissed Mrs Graves. “Spirit if that were you, knock again, once more.”
The room seemed to grow darker. Mr Gore gulped back his fear
“I’ll ask its name. Is that you Mrs Smith? Speak to us. Your friends are all here.”
A voice rang out, just one word “NO!” It was a man’s voice deep and clear.
They huddled close, Pat rolled her eyes, “That’s not Mrs Smith our old dear”
Albert Gore coughed and called, “What’s your name, the man who just said NO.”
Even louder the voice boomed out “My name is Joe”
The letter-box began to flap, they could hear a shifting of feet
“Don’t know about you” says Mrs Graves, “I’m ice-cold an’ feel white as a sheet”
“What do you want?” said Mr Gore,“ you’ll have to be quick we’ve all bin here since five.”
The Spirit voice shouted, “I know! I’m Joe, from next door, ‘an you’re all blocking my drive!