Best Swishes Poems
The wind against the trees make a rustling
A sound unlike any other around
The rubbing of the limbs craft a bustling
It’s a subtle music which brings this sound
Even the lake near land has a ripple
The wind against the trees make a rustling
And the grass nearby swishes and baffles
And the wind seems to give a great panting
The water has another sound, bubbling
Sounds permeate all throughout this calm place
The wind against the trees make a rustling
Mountain sits mighty with sounds on its face
Even the light seems to speak of high marks
The scene enlightens higher than heartstrings
Sound is the number one part that embarks
The wind against the trees make a rustling…
Russell Sivey
Contest: 'SOUNDS'
Sponsor: FRANK H.
5/11/2013
A saddening song swishes subtly in the bitter breeze,
Mad mournful music meets me everywhere I move,
Like a dolorous dirge drumming through the dark;
Wistful winds wearily bring to mind stinging salt drops,
All energy expended in trying to make sense of this forlorn fusion
As a painfully pensive psalm is penned down
in the ragged remnants of war...
10/25/17
Hand in hand two sprites on a magic flight
with wings of crystal glass and fairy light
they flew, inside an abstract sky of white
wing to wing, one was nimble one was bright
Wearing taffet gowns of silky swishes
they were often flourishing their wishes
blessing all with benign hugs and squishes
tiny pixies, no bigger than mom's dishes
They were sent to baby rooms and wee ones
they shone like light from fifty golden suns
but every now and then they goofed all thumbs
and landed in a cabbage patch, oh crumbs !
they flew like Peter Pan and Tinker Bell
with magic wands to cast a spell, pell-mell
they scurried this way that and then oh well
they crazed it up and then they cast a spell.
Feb 26, 2023
Sponsor Eve Roper
Contest Name Nursery Rhyme
A tinge of gold revealed in sunset's blink
upon its face, caressed by foamed bubbles--
marvelous starfish, draped in pearl and pink,
lucent as fluid rails of ocean walls.
I stoop to claim the gift left there for keeps
and hold it to the sky flashed with moonlight ,
to revel in this sculpture from tide's leaps...
its disc gracefully twisting like a kite
where a belly swishes with the ebbing tide
leaving aqua-rocks to glint like dimpled foil:
a glory belonging only to nature, that I
toss it back to its mother, the imperial sea
Brian Strand's :LATE MAR 2018 PREMIERE CONTEST
little piper, little piper
oh how fast you skip away
as the morning tide crawls in to taste the beach -
briny swishes bring your breakfast
while you prance to greet the day
and they never seem to wet you
like you're privy to the chosen course of each ...
little piper, little piper
such a ballet you perform
when you twirl and pirouette your dainty feet -
darting in-and-out the sea foam
just to keep them dry and warm
all with perfect form and motion
so as not to warn those little things you eat ...
little piper, little piper
you're the bane of every clam
watching closely for their bubbles in the sand -
oh, the hermit crabs are missing -
each-and-each now on the lam
and the hot sand gently hissing
as you try to sate your hungry chick's demand ...
little piper, little piper
all day long your work persists
as your tummy and your wee one both are fed -
so with food enough to sleep on
'midst the creeping twilight mists
and as purple shadows deepen
comes the time to sing your little one to bed ...
little piper, now you dance in dreams ... instead.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Special 2 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
My child, a baptism took place when you jumped into the river for my sake—Ringo Bing
Just like her favorite character Alice she dresses
A young girl named Cassy sits bored by a riverbank
She looks into reflecting waters twirling her long tresses
A giant ladybug hanging onto a twig, has fallen and sank
Cassy jumps in, pulls with all her might on its wing
The ladybug's wing tears from all the water it drank
Swept up, she is thrown onto the ladybug with a fling
Flown far from the river, the ladybug thanks her for saving him
I’ll call you my young fair Alice, and you can call me Ringo Bing
Cassy admits to the current identity crisis she is in, one of seven
Ringo struck, by her inability to remember a poem of Alice’s adventures
He offers her a key and whispers, fits a door to the other side, heaven
Blurry swishes of gardens and trees, Ringo lands, fixes his wing and dentures
The door! In a panic realizes the key is lost, the one she’s clung to forever
Wormholes, galaxies, beaming showers, black holes, she now censures
Never needing the key at all the picture is clear, she sees stars of silver
The key a crutch, has held her back from the flow of the river
spirit grass
wind wanders through
invisible bison graze
raise dust devils that flirt with larks
buzzing insects in the air
swirl dip rise into the sun
swishes almost whispers
play around ears
not quite within range for words
ghosts less than clear
more than shadows, skydance
green blades reach
between the bones of children
grandmothers, mothers, wise men
sweet red blood fed the roots
a time ago
The seashore is seldom silent,
never mourning nor forlorn,
for relentless waves
called on the roll, roar in.
The play's cast of waves
cheered on by the wind,
stand up,
break into applause,
take a bow
and curtain call
together.
Whooping with delight
they crash, splash,
hiss and fizz,
peal endless
in crescendo swishes.
I see the eye of an albino deer,
facing east, as I face north
It is almost silent
The sky is an empty granite gray
His eyes match
the mimosa flowers
that feather down in a fluffy rain
around us, unevenly
He looks at my hazel eyes,
probably not seeing the color
I hope he considers me
as I consider him
It is 5:15 on the road.
We are sandwiched in by woods
in the fatigued heat
of a drawn-out Sunday in June
when even the cardinals are tired of singing
The buttercups
are a dusty shade of mustard,
too dry to stand up straight
The male albino drops his head,
after figuring me out,
nibbles the hot grass
and flicks his ears
His tail swishes away a fly
A hungry mosquito
mocks this moment
and won’t leave my ears alone
The oaks and pines stop swaying
as if holding their breath
There is heavy honeysuckle
in the air, and smoke
Someone must be burning leaves
I am close enough to see
the velvet blush of his antlers
He is a four pointer
I count the seconds
and try to find meaning
in this
A red-shouldered hawk
announces itself
and the porcelain king
scampers off
into the thicket
“Egads and little fishes”
Reminds me of my dear old mum
Covering her head uttering this phrase
Thunder made her come undone
Terrified by each electrical storm
Dear mum would nearly passed out
With thunder, lightning, and pelting rain
She'd cower in a corner throughout
Really felt bad, she was truly scared
Tried hard not to laugh at the sight
Of mum with her apron over her head
Praying hard with all of her might
Things that happen during childhood days
Stay with us as by us life swishes
I'll always remember mum's little saying
“Egads and little fishes”
© Jack Ellison 2013
Sand swishes between toes, pulls you toward peace
the palms fanning you, slowly, like a lover feeding grapes.
Birds peek shyly from the understory, sometimes hover
and chirp-nag you for disturbing their nest.
Every wave splashes me toward the permanent home
beneath the sea, crabs praying on life, tangs spitting
more sand, and more sand, its caught in my eyes
and I most doze, bake and doze, submerge, swim
until its only my toes realizing there is life, sand
edging up on me from every side, counting the lines
down to where there is an end, breath choked off
because all the sea, and sand, and prayers, and prey
can no longer get to me. I've walls of peace swaying
gently like a snake hypnotized before the charming pipe
to say come home, and know I'm always home,
always home, praying, praising, the rise and fall of sand.
Night's grassy fields furrowed beneath starry bait,
calls us to cast ourselves upon the straw,
above the Pointillist's daubs spark a hungry slate
to entice our soul while we chew our chaw.
Where we render ourselves like straw
we skew limbs and mimic far-off Orion,
enflame our heart while we chew on chaw
and drink ourselves numb on Milky Way ions.
Limbs askew we guard like Orion,
count falling stars and bargain our wishes,
drunk on Milky Way ions,
we battle mosquitoes with snaps and swishes.
Counting falling stars that grant our wishes,
we poll the planets and ignore Man's moons,
battle free of mosquito's little bitty swishes,
we hope for snipe, snipe and settle for morning loon.
Planet's poll finished and ignored void of Moon,
let's us cradle beneath stardust flaring Bourealis,
until our hope for snipe is settled by morning loon,
when we rise on frozen limbs heated by sun's kiss.
Heart cradled within stardust-flaring Bourealis,
mind drifting on Pointillist drape of hungry slate,
no longer wobbling on limbs heated by sun's kiss,
we're content night cultivated our star-mad fate.
Sheri Fresonke Harper
for Paula Swanson's Pantoum Contest due 12/10/2010
No Tigers At Home In Africa
Walking my tiger home alone I’m sure walking at last
home from home and beyond when I travel too fast
In Istanbul Hamburg St. Davids I gather my themes
full of life love creatures and poetry that redeems
Wild cats pussyfooting around mosques rivers’ cave
roaring of passion lightening loads that others enslave
Museums parks costal paths wild sun-blessed beaches
lagoons mountains orchards and metaphorical peaches
I make up the tiger in my mind as I go along persevere
sabre teeth drooling whiskers to magical eyes I adhere
With no leash and no collar no prescriptions restraints
I enter a world that matters swishes swirls and paints
Imagination mystical fantasy dreams aspirations and hope
all live in my tiger prism escape and have unlimited scope
I condense and reflect diverge ramble think and I feel
whether I walk the tiger or the lion is no real big deal
I contest the notion that reality exists has only one truth
form constraint rules regulation dogma I distract from to sooth
There fore in my writing life verse and poetry ends unshackled
by resting my tiger lion meter and rhyme freed but not tackled
04th August 2016
My Imaginary Restaurant
Welcome here all if customized hospitality is in your needs
My Restaurant- “Skyline Swishes” it’s name crystal board reads
Its a see-through double globe with deep-blue water in between
In it dancing dolphins; vibrant corals resplendent with their sheen
At the entrance, as you visit, a record of your mood is created
Does this for me, my mind reading machine “Metis” sophisticated!
If in pensive mood you enter, smiling mermaids swing you…
To the top-most floor to elevate your spirits to fresh and new
Awesome ambience, appealing aroma , delicious food and stew
Desserts with nuts overload and to sip the delightful brew
If in happy mood you visit us then more joy and cheer you take
Troop of robots who play the stewards, no scope for any mistake
First two floors of the three are yours to eat, enjoy and play
Your satisfaction is our prime motto, what more can I say?
Spacious lounge for all to relax, read or find some new pal
A pleasure-filled ideal soothing place to make a romantic call
A speck of dust you will fail to trace even with magnifying lens
By my wonder chefs, a treat to taste buds of your family and friends
All you do is swipe the table on the picture of dishes of your choice
In a minute served at your table piping fresh and hot with spice…
The recipes here are cooked with passion, served with smile and love
My hearty invite, do come and check to experience all that I said above!
29th September 2016
Down where the sun never shows
the wind never blows
the rain never goes,
where patent air pumped clean and fresh
slowly circulates.
In the blue-green neon light
a lone Jamaican, sad for the sun,
swish-swishes with a bristle-tufted broom
down the long bright corridors of tiles.
Gone are Betjeman's bronze electroliers,
gone like the trolleybus and EMBANKMENT tram;
gone are the sepia prints of Rayners Lane.
Sixty feet below Green Park
shop-girl, businessman and clerk
are swallowed whole by silver glow-worm trains
that burrow through the city in the dark.