Best Swiveling Poems
Sudden, as a bolt from the blue,
Came down a humming bird, tantalizing
Skimming down and darting up
As an ever revolving top
It reeled round and round
Before it alighted on a drooping flower;
That hung from a bending branch
In a corner of my front yard garden
It precariously clung on to it
Like a small pendent on a chain
A sight so cool, now so rare
That lighted up my dull spirits!
Once they showed themselves up
On almost every sunny day
Promptly after the monsoon rains
When the plants en mass in resplendent bloom
Oh! How I love this tiny bird
Not larger than a bumble bee
Dressed in a cloak of green and black
Flitting round on fluttering wings
It literally dances and pirouettes in the air
Before descending down closer to its target
Swirling, gliding n’ moving back and forth
As if unsure of what it should do
Finally with a terrific jerk and swiveling move
It hovers close to hanging blooms
Balancing itself sans any support
And draws out nectar with its long needle bill
When the zephyrs carry a sweet scent
It flits from flower to flower
And having enjoyed the ambrosial treat
It flies back, well satiated like a darting arrow
My eyes fail to capture its lightning move
As it goes whizzing through the lambent air
Quickly disappearing like a mote of soot
Losing itself in the vast expanse of the blue
Being less than an ounce of fat
So light, sleek and well streamlined
It travels faster than the speed of light.
In a fleeting dash, moving out of sight
Can any other bird rival it in agility?
Or vie with it in its simple grace?
How cute, this spirit of ‘disembodied joy’
This winged diminutive denizen of the sky!
,
We have our routine to perfection
Our way of saying I love you and
Wouldn’t want to live without you
We’re a strong solid team you and I
We are going to make it through this
Home is when I’m with you
The incessant flow of aches and pains
All those appointments and treatments
We don’t blow things out of proportion
Or make a fuss about how things used to be
We’ve moved on taking it one day at a time
Home is when I’m with you
Now when my arms wrap around you
Softly resting your head on the pillow
We simultaneously raise your legs
Gentle as a ballet that’s well rehearsed
Swiveling you comfortably in bed to rest
Home is when I’m with you
I bundle you in warm cozy blankets
Cuddle up with whispers well into the night
Pressed one against the other
Caressing the nook of your neck
Spooning you till one of us falls asleep
Home is when I’m with you
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~CAN'T IMAGINE~ 2020
Submitted on April 18, 2019 for contest VERSES OF METAPHORS 3 sponsored by LU LOO - RANKED 1ST
In tender light of pink sunrise
under a sheer, swiveling sky,
you rescued me on jagged rocks,
then from the haze, shined you and I.
This joyous place upon a strait
over the gently roiling sands,
is where our love rose on the winds
surrounded by salt-kissed wetlands.
Clear, cyan seas flowed tranquilly,
and in love's trance, I fell for you.
What started as my heart’s secret,
I shared with seagulls as they flew.
Waves surged and sprayed across the shore,
mist glistened and blew off the dune.
Then kindest eyes found love in mine
as tides swelled in glow of full moon.
Today, I count my days as blessed.
I am assured by faithfulness.
I’m lifted to your waiting shores
as glistening waves flow effortless.
My soul
is in purgatory,
settling in fading tunes
of suppressed silence,
swerving perpetually
amongst
smoky quartz silhouettes;
swiveling through
the
dimmed dungeon
to unraveling shadows
of yesterday’s destruction,
moving in s l o w motion~
rejoicing invisible
rainbow glows
in limitless devotion,
fugitively
resenting the shifting
season of faith~
I question the
treacherous torrents,
through
unorchestrated symphonies…
where do the tides of jealousy
crash and hide to grieve,
over untouched waves,
when it has washed
away compelling
wishes
lost in perfect storms?
For, sometimes,
when trembling
skies bleed black pearls,
upon these aching lungs,
I think of every
nameless ghost
that emanates
familiar fragrances:
convincing
my naive mind,
there’s no evil
even in darkness.
Although I’ve
seen tints of
turning leaves conversing
with tantalizing tears,
whilst this volcanic
heart is ransacked
and ruined,
d a n c i n g away from fears,
forging meaningless scribes,
in fragmented fortunes,
left as debris along the
forgotten fields of
rambling roses drenched
in remorseful rain.
And I stand in the
eye of cataclysmic cyclones~
exhaling the exhaustion,
as the wolf moon calls me,
above million
mourning mountains
in musical misery.
Yet, when cosmic curtains
sequinned with
scarlet sapphires
of midnight skies
drizzle drops
of hibiscus heaven onto the
pages of my poetic haven,
I sketch stars in the shape
of magical w i n g s..
across cursed horizons,
to soothe my
troubled thoughts:
as it’s all in my head,
the
demonic devils dressed
in dragonfly
dust to deceive me,
unaware of how
I’ve been
blindfolded by
the brutal lies
I’ve told myself
in alienated expressions,
that the normal
can never neutralize.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIoleidZAiQ
Miles away from home where the sun is on fire with yesterdays dreams
an Indian sari gown of silk and bead arrives bending the wind to its will
warm rain and saffron tinted skies caress gold eyelids and irises of old
Miles away from home the strings of my guitar recall Indian streams
and warm walks on the beach. A faint song clings to her ghostly figure
like a lyrical refrain, while a fading light begins to lose its shine ....
August smiles still simmer on my mind , I was a young man in love
with a Princess who cradled my heart to the rocking motion of the moon;
She took me to Saffron Hill, then flowered me with poetry, oh what a thrill
to be so close to the sun and not to burn from the throws of her quill ...
Miles away from home I felt the power of her light and then she was gone,
like the monsoon rains of India, she disappeared in September leaving me
to strum my sitar in a Cincinnati bar, watching neon lights light up,
I told it to old Fred , but he just smiled at me and handed me
a saving thread , "Son, you'll always have your memories"
and then, he handed me another Sangria, the color of her swiveling dress
August 3, 2020
The Golden Inkwell
I place a pulse inside my words
Stepping stones to the heartbeat of life
Like a canvas swiveling with colors
Dr. Rams words are better than gold
Sugarcane sweetens your tongue
Scented jasmine engulfs your space
Creations of imagery alive with light
Dr. Rams words are better than gold
As he reads with a total openness
Absorbing words that we have penned
Walking together across the page, we blend
Dr Rams words are better than gold
Accepting a writer experiencing the moment
He truthfully reveals the quality of their work
He encourages everyone to dig deeper
Dr. Rams words are better than gold
Carole Cookie Arnold
Let me describe to you...my face, how I look
Taken from my photo...on the face of my book
I have one crooked eye brow...the one on the right
It grew back that way...when I shaved it one night
The wrinkles in my eyes...are spread like a bare tree
As for hair, I've got some...and that's cool by me
The bridge on my nose...and to your accord
Looks like to me...to be straight as a board
Twas a hole in my left ear...now fully closed
Back when, I wore an earring...when I wore wholly clothes
My chin swiveled slightly...'cause I'm chewing on gum
In the depth of my cleft...there's a scratch from my thumb
A rough scruffy face...from a two day old beard
WHAT! There's a tag on my neck...now that's a bit weird
I just noticed it now...while observing my cleft
It's sticking out below it...an inch to the left
There's a scar on my lip...below my mustache
That I got while fishing...an accidental knife slash
My face as a whole...narrow, and thin
Been out in the rays...got a tan on my skin
Ugly, I am, nah...but some might think so
Their heads must be big...eh, what do they know
Handsome, am I...not to sound bold
A good looking man, from my wives...I've been told
The whites in my eyes...all blood shot and red
From staying up late writing...when I should be in bed
Good-Night!
Okay, this isn't completely true. The photo wasn't from my book, it's me now. I don't have one crooked eyebrow, I have two. I'm NOT cool with having just SOME hair. The bridge on my nose is slightly crooked. The hole in my ear is on my right side, my chin is swiveling, but not from chewing gum. I have no cleft, the scar on my lip was no accident. I have no tan, it's winter. I am not ugly, I am handsome (lol) My eyes are blood shot, but not from being tired. And it's 8:00 I'll be up for hours.
Besides that, everything else is one hundred percent true!
The Metaphor Of Your Face Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
11-22-2019
Secure within the mother’s womb.
Sheltered from all storms of life
Swimming,
Swiveling,
and
Sustained.
The countdown begun-
A wide world awaiting,
Eager faces looking,
Windows opening,
To
Colour,
Scent,
Sound,
Taste and Touch.
But,
Expectations shattered,
Exasperation heightened,
Execution begun,
Excruciation settled,
and
Expulsion confirmed!
Chopped to pieces,
Down to trash.
‘The most unkindest cut of all’!
Betrayal!
Horrid Betrayal!
Through aeons,
History repeats.
‘Am I my brother’s keeper’?
The Son of Man –
sold out,
with a kiss.
Et tu, Brute!
----------------------------
Placed Third
April.12.2022
U Choose Poetry Contest
Theme- Abuse of the Unborn
Sponsor- Anthony Biaanco
A dauntless dachshund was my darling dog.
He was charmed to chase the cavorting frog.
He always ran and romped with great agility ,
For sniffing and smelling mice, he had a special ability.
He was rock black in shade and was very bold.
He stayed loyal and lively and never grew old.
His swaddling gait and swiveling move,
Brought much joy. From life, all boredom he did remove.
Safeguarded and shielded our home with a surveilling eye.
Lazily loitered with us under the lulling evening sky.
His sparkling starry eyes shone with joyful delight.
He sought snuggles and cuddles as if they were his right.
Sad, one day, our darling dachshund for ever departed.
Dropping his doggy duties, from us, he silently parted.
The memory of the magical moments he gave, merrily stays.
A faithful friend who gave us funny and festive days!
The sun crashing through the windows.
The blue skies blessing me.
Joy awaits me, singing in each tree.
Each rose kisses my senses.
Soon a delicious breakfast shall be.
For another day of life, has been given,
Colorful as the pinwheel swiveling!
I ponder my endless lifes’ blessings.
Head bowed, thankfully!
I let go of those who harmed me,
And look out upon, what I can give!
6~7~2021
FALLEN TRINKET
Swiveling from her ears, dangling starlight. Smile
like a crescent moon, seared into his eyes.
She’s a Mona Lisa, with no fear of flying, slowly
gliding through his glasses ~ a sparkling, dear dove.
She’s soaring through the rainbow clouds. He hears her
joyous flapping, tears like sprinkles on an ice cream cone.
They touch his heart, her red lipstick smeared on his cheek.
The mere scent of her pulse, pounding out blue skies ~
the felicitous cheer of the heavens. She shakes
her head ‘yes,’ as one star falls near his knee, in proposal.
“C’mere,” he grins. They ignore the fallen trinket, as a
diamond appears, stunning the fairies, who fawn over
the rock, from their hiding places. “I love you, m’dear,”
Her hair tousled by sighs of the atmospheric zephyr.
Reflective years would bring children into the fairylight.
Generations would disappear after birthing shooting stars.
5/24/2021
I live on the frozen tundra where cold winds blow
I'm never bothered by the amount of ice and snow
The thickness of my feathers are deep at my chest
like a downy insulated coat that's better than a vest.
I'm busy keeping watch over my two mated hens
who sit on the nests we've built on mounded dens.
I've eleven mouths to feed, all screaming for food
at night I'm quite busy searching the neighborhood.
My golden eyes are keen so I can see best in the dark
When I dive for a morsel I never miss my targeted mark.
I hear something scampering beneath the blanket of snow.
It's a scurrying little mouse. Be right back, I have to go.
Another snack for my babies, newly out of their shells.
They think they have to eat when their stomach compels.
Now that it's quiet, I'll perch on a branch up in this tree
and keep a watch out for predators who want to eat me.
Hunting is much easier because my fur coat is purest white.
I blend in just perfectly with the snow by day and at night.
I can turn my head in any direction by swiveling it around
Until my prey approaches, I'm good at not making a sound.
A fox is creeping in from the North, hoping for some action
but my sharp talons will chase him away, to my satisfaction.
Excuse me for a moment, but I see an approaching artic hare,
a hardy meal for the chicks, my mates will chew to prepare.
There are humans living near by, in a log cabin over the hill
they leave meat out for me when they make a fresh kill.
I've no reason to fear them because they never hunt for owl.
I love living in this frigid climate where I'm free to fly and prowl.
__________________________________________________
January 31st, 2016 Owl Personification Contest by Eve Roper
Few years ago, I drifted on a wetland
swiveling through the pewter of evening
as contours of stately herons unfolded,
velvety the feathers white and ablaze
by clear Asian ripples of before.
Yet, from a visit today, my eyes follow them
along weeds..their poses now limp from a gray night
through rows of frail blossoms...now, these egrets
fumble along a marsh looking old; wobbled feet
throttling slow upon those once radiant plumes.
In quiet reflection, I imagine these birds' plight
amidst nature's environ with a future unknown...
How I weep for these heron's destination beyond
soiled grasses as I wrap my fingers in prayer,
relishing this instance where I gaze at an
avian beauty, wondrously aging inside my eyes.
Past, Present, Future Contest
For Nayda Ivette Negron 11/23/2016
It was dark...
I was on board
A running mind off the long board
A sleeping mind across the board
A winning mind over a long sword...
I saw children around me
Abducted, crying before me
Crippled, reaching out for me
Worn and disheartened, following me...
On the very same train I'm locked up
Children of innocent faces blotched
Can't imagine how we've all packed up
Can't see any window or door unlatched...
Children of ages five to nine with grime
Teens and adults aged twelve to nineteen
Befuddled and unnourished by torments of time
Soft bodies, bruised and mashed like gelatin...
I started walking inside the cursed train
Children, one by one, followed in pain
Following me like melted candles in chains
Growing up inside the unlitted train that drains...
Then slowly the runaway train stopping and halted.
As I reached the end of the runaway train
Faces of shamed lives wired with strain
An open door swiveling as wind blows the train
A new hope flashing at blown away-train...
Parents longing outside the train are in glisten
Each prisoner of runaway train freed
Me, watching the victims of the stricken
Redeemed and relieved of hearts that bleed...
I woke up... t'was just a dream!
Impromptu night journey into snowy
wood
Face laced with scarf; head covered
by hood
Sturdy mare blanketed; each foot
shod with stud
A swift nod, gentle tap instinctively
understood
Gallant mare plows forward
furrowing ice and mud
Chilled air quickens my pulse;
thickens my blood
The howling wind around the
swiveling sleigh doth whirl
Into onrushing faces stinging, icy
pellets hurl
Along path's edges glistening trees
their mast's twirl
O'er head stalking raven's
patronizing wings unfurl
The chortling wind, raven screeches;
my head hairs curl
Around the bend, loomed the
cottage of stately earl
I gathered the reins the careening
sleigh to abruptly turn
Acclimatized mare already my
studied thoughts did discern
Onto the swept, manicured lane
hopeful feet did churn
Beckoning lamp on distant doorstep
did intently burn
Already alerted, spry earl awaited
our intentions to learn
On arrival, our tired petition, lowly
station did not spurn
Inspired by Robert Frost's:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy
Evening