Best Swoons Poems
She is young and free, and most of her love lies in front of her
As the dawning twilight holds one breathless air under misted whispers
A sight she often looks beyond the vast land that always ends in the ocean
Upon the rocks driven by a seabreeze salted fragrance lingers
Waves and natural forces full of power draws upon sound and rhythm
Mixed echoes crying gulls rise and fall as they crash ringing home
To walk along the beach barefoot, she has time to be young
Reflecting back on each step forward petals of a sunbeam enters
Feeling divine happiness every second heartbeat without a special reason
Time begins to challenge the labours of the trodden path
Live it is to dare, nobody has gone in her step before
Standing upon the apex captivated by thought spiralling
Form a sculpture of wet sand, without being critical
Leaving an imprint under the shell where holds precious pearls
A way to expose oneself to something unfamiliar and unsafe
Petals of a flower dancing to a winds melody rings midnight bells
She dreams of love, with expectations and hope to be a queen
Under the starlight where a moon's cradle swoons her with a smile
A hand to hold, the first kiss ... a puzzling thought
Where memories are born a fire always burns regally sealed
A collaborated poem
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
08.06. 2017
(unrhymed couplets)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Sunflowers blush as petals creep
Along easels of meadow's keep.
Winter's arctic days now long gone,
That morn's fair promise trails upon
Breezes sweet , once an icy blast,
Engrave a kiss on spring at last
Cardinal swoons with trilled refrains
Upon leaves' edges like beaded grains,
For springtime is a godly rite
When heaven molds its prized delight!
.................
for Brian Strand
Touching fingers off
deep fire melting tips
sweetly burning brushes
inside warmly walls
Within four chambers
echoes whispering silently
softly desires warm when skipping a beat
Oh you talk the words
of the sweetest golden honey
intoxicating mead
The drunken spirit dancing
swoons just in thoughts alone
In what you said darling
I blame you smiling
you're a regal beauty
Whom I will kiss
hovering gently over your fingertips
softly holding one's vision
A flame left under the silver moon
dancing with you're shadow of my soul
one firefly beaming beautiful
In the night sky a light from you
shines in each passing new moon
takes a step closer
just to know all the right words to say darling
I'll kiss you till you're calm and then you would be mine..
or maybe i'll wait for the star
to shine upon that beautiful day
Music echoes through the halls,
climbing stairs, and gilded walls.
Our lovely lass discreetly swoons.
With longing eyes, she scans the room.
Young ladies dressed, in gowns, divine,
are coifed, and rouged and powdered fine.
Their dancing partners, starched, refined,
drink them in like precious wine.
A rhythm, now, she can't define,
has moved her toes in quarter time.
With her laced up shoes, she taps the floor
to violins, plucked strings, and chords
This debutant, is a lonely child
who spent her days by the river side.
Ann is a budding rose among the wild.
in a ballroom filled with bright bouquets
of hopeful, blooms, in vast array.
There is giggled laughter, beguiling grins,
and we hear the Danube waltz, play again.
Politely, polished, bright young men
gather flowers, twirling them
until their skirts sail with the wind.
She blushes, rouged, with charm, beguiling,
and hopes for partners, dashing, smiling.
She flutters a fan to cool her face
and closes eyes, a song embraced.
She sits awhile, with private dreams
She keeps her secret dream alive
Abides her time, and thinks it seems
a fantasy, she has contrived.
But then, she feels his gentle tap
He stands before her very eyes
and takes her hand, now from her lap
Deep in her magic dreamer's trance
Ann wakes, to look upon the prince
Who glides away with her upon
The ballroom floor, ......where they are one,
until the strike of midnight comes
_____________________________________________________
Fairytale Contest: Sponsor Alexis Y
Hometown: Riverside
Middle name: Ann
I penned a couplet for you today.
Rather, a quill manipulated
my hand and scrawled mendacity.
The misanthrope's who read the ode
applauded with flippers on.
Such insight. Such depth.
Mussolini meets Monet and
the Mephistopheles Mambo mounts.
Call me a scribe and I murder myself.
Call me a liar and I impregnate your charm.
I purposely dislocated my arm today.
Rather, your tongue severed bone
and flesh was torn from my shoulder;
a needed braised boomerang
to stimulate my poetic prowess.
Such clarity. Such wisdom.
Lenin leads Lichtenstein and
the Lucifer Lindy is launched.
Call me a poet and I gnarl my fingers.
Call me a fabulist and I bow to a crooked smile.
A jellyfish swam through my veins today.
Rather, the tentacles of a tyrant
triggered a fabricated Tanka.
Maudlin stumbles when I laugh alone -
more comedic when we cackle together.
Such simplicity. Such compassion.
Bundy befriends Berchtold and
the Beelzebub Bossa Nova begins.
Call me a dramatist and I gag upon reflection.
Call me a simpleton and your wishes are granted.
I solemnly yearn to expire today.
Rather, a fool fires in a fury
and a mannequin lies in his casket.
The curse you've driven towards me -
a combination menu
when a lone Woolf inconspicously
devours a battered Browning.
Such diversity. Such nothingness.
Stalin seduces Seurat and
the Satanic Samba softly swoons.
Call me a parodist and I choke upon perfection.
Call me a realist when I'm sleeping on nails.
HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY
Her hand’s swan-like dance,
ivory shadow puppets
romance. Hungarian rhapsody.
The musician sans existence
as emotive fingers move
imaginary marionettes
with splendiferous precision.
Drama drops onto piano keys
occasionally taking a gentle stroll
then in sensuous sway, sashaying
like an exotic dancer. The musician
plucks and plinks as if
with chameleonic charm, like an
angel playing a harp.
Her fingers fast walk the keyboard
then resound tremulous keys.
(The audience swoons, spooned
by a rapturous torrent that enters
the heart, strokes and kisses
the yearning flesh, like the taste
and feel of brandy, burning and
tantalizing in breathlessness)
The musician’s slender fingers
now strum along in gaiety, like
paramours on the streets of Paris,
Springtime in the air. Palms nearly
rest upon silent keys as if two lovers
lay back upon a bed with puffs of smoke.
Dawn’s crescendo, with peaks of happiness
reside upon streets of ebony and ivory.
Life’s serendipitous monologue begins
once more with foreboding or adventure
or both. Is there loneliness upon this crest
for what has happenstance brought,
are they star-crossed? Do we see the sun
and the moon racing through their pulse —
days of birth and mourning?
(The blond marionette in concert black
seems to be mesmerized or hypnotized
by the muse of music. She’s like a dream
on a performance stage. Practiced in
illumination of flame. She releases the arrow
and the audience brightens up like a chandelier
with clinking and brilliant crystal pieces)
Happiness once again but with ferocious fervor
sends the keys to a heavenly place - to ears,
to mind, to soul...a cheer of a great parade,
and then the shivering of climatic peak,
followed by a lullaby of dreams - we imagine
a newborn wrapped up in a life well-lived.
The darling gal still doesn’t give up the ghost
but plays and plays...can you hear the needle
stuck at the vinyl’s end...spending all love gives?
Only the Creator Himself can lift the arm and
carry the musician still incubating all her charm.
3/19/2018
Sorry, I no more seek your suns
Nor moons
Yes, your suns I loved very much
Your passionate sun
Around which my planets would run
Your cool moons
Shedding long leaves
On my glistening lagoon
I remember
All my swoons
From wine in your spoon
But your nerves
Went for new curves
It happens
Very often
Our rivers do not like the same course
Especially when you endorse
Flames of passion
And we are rivers
You developed a new craze
In a psychedelic haze
In that crazy spree
You started neglecting me
Initially I got lonely
Missed you terribly
My ocean frozen I was in a depression
Of the morbid flower
In pale blue showers
From the two windows
Morose under compulsion
For many a day, month and year
Irritation in the mug of bear
Tearing my spirit
Pulverizing all my lyrics
Landslide in Mirik
But again all rivers are resilient
If you stop its normal course
It gathers unexpected force
The remorse underlie
I grew seasoned without you
I was out of the bottomless blues
Though could not but reflect on the cues
In the morning dew
And sighed too
But I learned to live agile and alert
Brushing aside the frozen heart
Gave up on hashish
Cleaned the debris
Started looking smart
Now I have travelled a long path
No more remorse no wrath
No smokes of the aftermath
Now I understand
The diamonds of life
Love matters much
Especially in the flowers of touch
But when you ignore
It does not matter
I have got my poems of freedom
Your walls can never ruffle them
______________________________
23/11/2016
Note: Mirik is a Himalayan tourist spot in Darjeeling
She is young and free, and most of her love lies in front of her
As the dawning twilight holds one breathless air under misted whispers
A sight she often looks beyond the vast land that always ends in the ocean
Upon the rocks driven by a sea breeze salted fragrance lingers
Waves and natural forces full of power draws upon sound and rhythm
Mixed echoes crying gulls rise and fall as they crash ringing home
To walk along the beach barefoot, she has time to be young
Reflecting back on each step forward petals of a sunbeam enters
Feeling divine happiness every second heartbeat without a special reason
Time begins to challenge the labours of the trodden path
Live it is to dare, nobody has gone in her step before
Standing upon the apex captivated by thought spiralling
Form a sculpture of wet sand, without being critical
Leaving an imprint under the shell where holds precious pearls
A way to expose oneself to something unfamiliar and unsafe
Petals of a flower dancing to a winds melody rings midnight bells
She dreams of love, with expectations and hope to be a queen
Under the starlight where a moon's cradle swoons her with a smile
A hand to hold, the first kiss ... a puzzling thought
Where memories are born a fire always burns regally sealed
A collaborated poem
Anne-Lise Andresen and Liam Mc Daid
08.06. 2017
(unrhymed couplets)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
She of sweet kisses and lavender hues,
with wild loving eyes,
to melt in each orb of fire,
and dream too long....
Disguised to resist such wild love;
untamed as a wild stallion ---
she illumed this little darkling....
with her little light of love,
vast as the hope in her heavenly heart
That I dream her little dream,
and dance to the wanton moon in her eyes;
where the heavens alight a darkest night,
where my heart swoons in sweeter meadows,
I hold her as mine;
for all time, we are One,
in this red-wedded night,
unforgotten,
(She of sweet kisses)
It is not light that falls before these eyes,
blue as ocean's dream,
that allows me to see,
beyond such a simple breeze
where whitest whites make way
for jaded bliss
a brilliance brighter than my sun
or of your moon
it is honey that coats the tongue
but vision that makes one feel
gracing of soul
as Beatrice's special guest
honoured
it is no guess
pools of luscious honeydew pull
and I drown in the elixir
floating free with
petals of persimmon
the heavens call for our return
co-joined we shine bright
brighter than 10,000 stars
blocking out distracting light
letting our peace perform then shine
"What then I saw is more than tongue can say.
our human speech is dark before the vision.
the ravished memory swoons and falls away.
as one who sees in dreams and wakes to find
the emotional impression of his vision
still powerful while its parts fade from his mind -
just such am I, having lost nearly all
the vision itself, while in my heart I feel
the sweetness of it yet distill and fall"
Excerpt from Dante's Inferno
We wend through life with hopes of one true love,
Quite rare, such fits, that match you like a glove ...
A blend of souls ... divine inspiration.
Once heaven found you naught but in my dreams,
Yet now you're real, sweet angel, though it seems ...
This sacred gift ... divine inspiration.
Smooth tresses, golden silk, frame eyes of brown,
Those swirling depths where I would gladly drown ...
To love's abyss ... divine inspiration.
Oh moonbeams dance your dermis like doubloons,
The sweet price paid your form, as passion swoons ...
The carnal cost ... divine inspiration.
Each moment that I spend wrapped in your wings,
Means one less wasted 'midst those lesser things ...
A realm of you ... divine inspiration.
How long I've sought the truth of heaven's light,
Thus, now through you, dear angel, life is bright ...
One in our love ... divine inspiration.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Pick-A-Title Volume 14 - Tristitch" Poetry Contest, Edward Ibeh, Judge & Sponsor.
* The title and name I chose is "Afflatus" *
Ambient light flickers and I am home
I am home
a storm of rain,
soul drenching dripping down
in tears of molten gold
thunder strikes and in your heart I crawl
silver spoons, yet it swoons
still it swoons
as smiles kiss the sweetness
with every wanton touch
joy rests near the end but it is
love what comes to mind
what matters most of all
in the middle of our beginning
journeys sitting out on the line
a flight for fancy,
immobilty
put in motion,
listening closely
to sounds of the ocean
ships passing in life's vast vestige
freedom ringing in our ears
a celebration of remaining years
we dance the night away
cheek upon cheek
no punishment
for love is all we need
and truth is what we seek
moonlit sways and swoons
dance of muses
in the dark
submitted on March 31, 2018 to contest EARLY APRIL 2018 PREMIERE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
Written: February 16, 2024
"Be not careless in deeds, nor confused in words, nor rambling in thought".
Quote by Marcus Aurelius
_______________________________________
We remain drawn to places we recognize well.
A mirage of lovely sights where dreams swell.
Rumbling rain clouds—odd swirls—rise at the pond.
Whirling thrill, an ecstatic genesis, swirling beyond.
Standing face to face, level with the moon.
Do poets and stargazers witness novel swoons?
In fierce verdict, the moon has closed its eyes.
If the sun stops beaming, how will moonlight arise?
The clouds cover the stars, and ideas sparkle.
Moon may decode terms by light dots in partial
You may be a flame or a mirror; both emit light.
Yet a flame must endure, rambling as glass blight.
Never shall the sun set, nor the moon rise.
Now it's time to detect without any prize.
Return the favor to those who wronged me.
Pursuing revenge, this tale is timeless history.
There is an outcome to every deed.
We are bound by Newton's laws of flow heed.
Entrails broken down resolve the algorithm.
Gaze upon your rambling in the same rhythm.
Sample my gilded projectile—hear the blast.
That inspires fear and mystery—peace is the cast.
Witness the radiant beams piercing overnight.
That stumbles in the blink—of an eyesight.
They draw to ramble in the void space.
With shades of deep, melancholic grace.
Antagonism elicits rambling to grow and thrill.
A mute bird flies and glides in their quill.
Here is a short list of life's many stories. If we take the time and slow down and notice, there are stories going on around us all the time. Stories of life, death, happiness, anger, love and laughter. Real stories that have real meaning to teach us all.
Mommy pulls her newborn baby to her breast
The woman puts ice on her eye and cries
The little girl peeks over the pew as her mother prays
The man wipes the sweat from his face as he lays down his axe
The man slams the door behind him as his wife screams
The dog howls as they carry the old man away
Mother brushes the hair out of her sleeping child's eyes
Dad's eyes fill with tears as he gives her away
The old man slowly and carefully feeds his wife
The young soldier waves goodbye to his family
Grandma pats her husband's hand one last time
The old dog lays his head on her lap
The bride smiles and falls into her husband's arms
The man throws the hammer and grabs his thumb
Everyone cheers as grandma brings the turkey out of the kitchen
The little boy dances as he pulls the fish out of the water
The teacher looks at his watch as his student reads her report
Papa jerks awake when the preacher hollers
The young boy taps his head with his pencil as he takes the test
The toddler laughs as she runs away from her daddy
Mama rocks her crying child
The old woman in her veil and white gloves neatly folds her handkerchief
She watches hopefully as the chemicals slowly drip into her vein
The groom swoons as his bride is escorted down the isle
Father can barely remove his shoes after work
Mama lies awake listening to her sleeping family
The writer yawns and lays down his pen
7/24/19
Writing Challenge 3, July 2019
Sponsored by: Dear Heart