Best Swotting Poems


Premium Member In Every Garden

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undulating yowls 
both sides of my hemispheres
reverberates through the ears
sadness
rejection
continuously play
the mind longs for its most melodious display
nature sings in sweet harmony with every raindrop
amidst the howl of the gale
whimpering of leaves 
drives all the cicadas into their unpleasant sleep
sweetest warbles of the wrens
coos of other birds
flapping wings of butterflies 
the enticing smiles of every colorful flower
I can’t hear
sounds trampled by the laughter of the rolling thunder 
through monstrous work load
wreathed my freedom and hope
yet, I snuggle in the silence of my heart
listening
winnowing the throbs 
clearing head to dross
swotting
disregard the trifling thud
with the viewing of sunrise
reaching out the synchronizer of nature
it’s a comforting feeling
trickling and flowing like dew
from tributary down to the threshold of sweetest mellowed treble
tasting the most scrumptious spiritual beauty 
just within
in every garden
always
there is a beautiful music to be heard
but the heart has to be kept deep in silence
enough to hear it
and find joy
in life
in this world.



April 12,2014  2.20pm 



-sharing an old poem. this poem didn't earn any dollars or cents :))) It was just asked by one of our dear great poets and authors to publish it and it was also an honor for me.



Second Place
Contest: A Million Dollar Poem Contest #1
Judged: 6/12/2015
Sponsors: My dearest fave poet sisters PD and Skat
© Len Gasun  Create an image from this poem.

On the Highway

Trudging along thinking about the past
As the same old story is set to last
Plotting in my maps of memories pleading to the sky
As I’m lost on life’s highway just swotting at the flies

Once and a while there’s a Roadhouse selling happiness 
As I walk out the door I get it together more or less
The shimmering highway stretches out ahead 
Thinking all the time about what’s left behind instead

I paid my dues and I’ll take the ride
Leaving nothing except my foolish pride
For the world will turn and the wind will blow
And at the end of it all what will I really know.

© Paul Warren Poetry

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