Best Swung Poems
~Alice Sweet Alice~
*Like Sisters*
Everyday -- Holding Hands
Sunday Dress -- Pink Ribbons
*Alice And I*
How can they say she did not exist?
This Sweet Girl I Named Alice
The way she looks at me
-Her eyes tender green
A body figure I can't describe
Together we played hide and seek
We swung in ways no one could see
This girl with pretty red curls
Who enjoys the sound of pouring rain?
Together we slept under the same breeze
We carved our names on the same tree
Side by Side it Read Alice & I!
She whispered the day I fell off my bike
Alice Sweet Alice loves the way I look in red!
Every day I face the mirror
Alice puts her left hand on my right
We share the same identical scars,
Under the right and left palm.
The way she held my hand
Healed the scrapes in every fall
Beating from the bullies, she screams!
Again, Alice, whispers--- "Kill Them All!"
No one ever said a word,
When she stood by my side
Alice knew me in ways no one else did
She knew my eyes -When they cried!
Now I can't sleep,
Since Alice has fallen back into the abyss
Forever conscious in a self-hug
--- This is no dream, it is real!
The rage inside burns.
It took place the day she left!
Burning curtains
Empty mirrors
This Girl Named Alice spoke of darkness,
then disappeared
When I hear the sound of pouring rain
I stare at the shadows on the wall
Nothing feels the same,
I allow myself to soak in the darkness where it began.
My hair of red is not the same
These cuts are all that remain
The only clue in which Alice, was here!
Holding on to a stainless blade, I sleep
ALICE SWEET ALICE!
Please call my name!
Why do they whisper?
Why are they saying she never held a breath?
I know she is real, she exists
Why else would I let her cut my wrist?
This Sweet Girl
"I YELL FOR ALICE!"
Finally, visits again ---
But, who is to believe?
For everyone says
Alice lives inside my head.
By:)
I once heard the whisper of falling snow,
saw a spark in the eye of a coal-black crow,
felt the power and awe of a swift river's flow,
the older I get, the less I know.
My hair was once braided in golden cornrows,
by Jamaican friends in an island below,
a psychic once asked me about Jericho,
the older I get, the less I know.
The hot southern asphalt that scalded my toe,
the rope swing that swung us, to and fro,
Christmas Eve and the tree in the firelight's glow,
the older I get, the less I know.
Everyone's gone, but where did they go?
Why is my spirit sinking so low?
Is it true we reap only what we sow?
the older I get, the less I know.
©2010 DanielleWhite
I can't recall exactly when
Life swung and hit me on my chin
I"m ashamed to say, it knocked me cold
When I came to, I woke up old
While I was out, I had a dream
Of juggling on a balance beam
While jumping hoops, upon one leg
And one wrong move, cost one nest egg
Was it yesterday or the day before
I had it all but wanted more
When days were long and fears were short
Carouse by day, at night cavort
Yesterday, less was more
It must have been the day before
I wish I'd seen life's sucker punch
'cause now my memory's out to lunch
by Daniel Turner
To my terra of roots
my allegiance I vow
I wallow in your fruits
and to your flag I bow.
Dream not till wake of dawn
beaming sun light I wait
burst of glee of no bourn
the feels of the soul, sate.
Awe chills into my spine
as your Hymn in pride sung
for Home in peace I pine
and love never be swung.
How could my pen, you turn
in a fine rhyming word
as my quill longs to learn
inking with grace and verve.
One Halloween night when I was five
Rain pelted city streets, we stayed inside
Dad lit the Jack-o-lantern candle
Told us the tale of a famous vandal
One “Headless Horseman” in Sleepy Hollow
‘Twas Ichabod Crane he chose to follow
Crane ran breathlessly, was terrorized
(At this point my father’s eyes looked wild)
Thundering behind him through the forest
The hooves of a horse and a rider headless
Carrying a sword to strike Ichabod
(Dad grabbed a spatula, swung it like a rod)
Not just we children but our mother too
Gasped at the thought of Ichabod pursued
High winds cut off our electrical power
As in our kitchen three children cowered
Orange light from the pumpkin’s evil eyes
Showed Dad seemed to have dematerialized
The youngest, I felt something run through my hair
I screamed aloud in horror and despair
The lit pumpkin fell from table to floor
Darkness as I ran through the kitchen door
Leaping into bed, pulling up the sheets
Dad snuck into my room, whispered, “Trick or treat”
So if you think I am a drama queen
Please realize that it’s all in my genes
Happy Halloween!
Long before the whispers
fell down
upon your solemn shoulders
as with new day dew's droplets
dangling so delicate, so free
I heard all about you
what was resting within
your beauty, your vision's quest
speaking thru shimmering light
placed so magnanimously
right in front of me
slight touch, curls to the sight
enfurled in more than mystery
an elegant flow
blinking under seas of blue and green
filling deep into a guise
somewhat larger than you, than me
before there were tumbles and spills
where fingers adjusted heights
where hopes hinged then swung open
passions, that melted upon minds,
sated lips and springtime wishes
there were romantic vignettes
ready to be written, to be read
marked down in time, for futures
not to look past, moments holding hope
where hearts connected
and feeling felt would forever last
These days you're with me, everywhere I go
I know you're there, although you never speak
Just yesterday we waded Dogwood Creek
It picked me up when I was feeling low
Last night, out on the porch we swung real slow
Your being there enhanced the night's mystique
You fell asleep, I kissed you on the cheek
It was so soft you didn't even know
Today, we'll go to some exotic place
Some island where we've never been before
Escaping far away from this rat race
Just you and me on some secluded shore
Although I've never met you face to face
You're here inside my heart forevermore
by Daniel Turner
For This Is The Story, An Old Poet Sought Not To Miss
(Part One)
I've ate Eden's last apple, coveted Jason's* golden fleece
chained myself in caverns of darkness, begging no release
refused mighty crowns of power, fed myself painful feasts
crushed my beating heart, as if it were a ravenous beast.
I've tamed the lions of Serengeti, sailed around the Horn*
trekked unarmed, darkest jungles, where fiercest beasts are born
slain dragons with Sequoias, tossed Rock of Gibraltar*
walked in realms of Hades, spat upon its first altar.
I've outran Hermes*, sank my teeth deep into granite walls
sat beside Odin*, gave Thor's* first crown in Valhalla's* halls
wrestled mighty Minotaur*, its armored hide I ripped
stole the Nectar of the Gods*, laughed at them as I sipped.
I've shot Eurytus' bow*, killed Titans* with Heracles sword*
defeated dark Elf* armies, massacred Atilla's* first horde
swung Hammer of Hephaestus*, slept in Forest of Burzee*
trained Arminius army, taught them to show no mercy.
I've quenched Vesuvius fires, held lightning in my hand
flew bright skies over Asgard*, defended its precious homelands
swam with Undines*, feasted with beautiful Amphitrites*
fished with friend Ao Qin*, dragon king of the Southern Sea nights.
I've seen this world of fantasy, inked its splendor in words
sailed in its oceans of love and flown with magical birds
dreamed in its word-paradise and found true love's deepest kiss
for this is the story, an old poet sought not to miss.
Robert J. Lindley
Rhyme
original version written , March 9th, 1977
edited/updated today- August 9th , forty-one years later
Too long since smooth sapling skin
bent supple with the slightest breeze;
now stretched, fissured and furrowed -
bored, burned and bent -
sliced, scarred and carved, yet
I have lived wonderfully and fully.
Old limbs that once swung
a laughing child and sheltered
more than one forbidden kiss;
the only witness to many lonely tears
and, at least as many hopeful prayers.
Why pensive then, when so many
would desire my fate?
Perhaps those melancholy desires
for what was, when I stood not
quite as tall, when many
proud elders surrounded me,
wise and strong but now gone.
I will soon join them but
today a Robin tickles my brow -
a home for one more brood
and October will find one last shout
of crimson beauty ... I am still
proud.
It could have been a beautiful memory to write down
Walking hand in hand with mama
My long brown french pleats bouncing in the wind
My new red plastic boots ready to be shown.
Reaching high upon my tiptoes ...
I swung the large french brass knob back and forth
until my short chubby sweet nonna opened the door.
As soon as I saw her, my hazel eyes changed
into different shades of caramel swirl.
I am her first born niece, and her little girl.
It could have been a beautiful memory to write down
Running up those marbled tiles , gazing through the hallway
at the two dark giant iron knights . How I wish I could have been
like them , just as brave and wise.
In the busy kitchen I hugged nonna over and over again
I loved how her apple and cinnamon pies wafted ,filling Saturdays 'air.
I loved the teaspoon sounds , as the sugar in the coffee cup was stirred
It was a symphony , blissful music to my ear.
Next to mama ,in the dining room , on a padded orange rexine chair I sat
Playing snakes and ladders whilst I heard them chat.
It could have been a beautiful memory to write down
If I had not followed uncle Bob that afternoon
Along the long corridor we walked , to his room
At the far end, Inside, I was promised a delightful surprise.
The red velvet curtains He shut down. All turned dark !
The squeaky old door slammed . I could listen
to the fast rapid beating of his vacant heart.
I could feel him getting close , too close .
I could smell his stinking breath and feel his hand
It slipped hungrily , unbuttoning my innocence and collar shirt.
He pushed me down on my knees, head and face both pressed.
My lollipop lips too close to sour scents , I would never forget.
Everynight cold in my bed , I scream - Regret...
I do not want to remember, yet how can I forget
It could have been a beautiful memory to write down
But all I have is a blank page.
In that house of nonna where once I laughed and played
All there is are secrets , insecurity, my shadow and its shame.
Fiction poem inspired by Becca's contest against Child Abuse...
Not for the contest, but thanks for the inspiration.
Rising from the desert sand
was a shimmering mirage
of a thousand shouts
Heated winds of fanaticism,
intense and blowing violently loud
Shrill calls to blood prayer seethe,
breathing fiery invocations
of a perverted philosophy
Screaming death to the infidels —
a scarlet smeared mirror reflecting
black cloth covered savagery
Crimson prayers are the daubed untempered mortar
which cements the foundation of this shakily rising kingdom
Whet the glittering scimitar swung grisly:
Beheadings are the blade’s
propaganda recruitment shock TV
Desert crisis ... dreaded carrion claws of ISIS,
oasis mirage bathe the sociopaths in bloody bliss
Mutilated bodies floating upon the desert sea,
a raised dark flag boasts of a fleeting victory
Prideful utterances of unspeakable barbarity
Contemned caliphate mercurial rising ...
now descending quickly below the horizon
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
The sand castle rise to power was ever so brief,
a pirated religion kingdom soon to end suddenly
Taking hostage your own faith,
now the proselyte guards are
fleeing from the palace carnage
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
Innocent blood spilled in the sand
will be your caliphate’s undoing
Crumbling desert kingdom,
blood reap the harvest of your ruin
Let your prophets of terror and rage
shout a false sanctum call to prayer
Intoning not this one truth: God will surely repay!
Two teddy bears, named
Ted and Fred,
Packed a picnic basket with buns,
And home-made bread,
Keep to the path their mummy said,
So off they went, along the way,
Happy teddy bears were Ted and Fred,
We’re going to the woods’ hurray,
What a lovely, happy first of May,
Was this exciting warm Spring Day.
They swung their basket as they skipped,
They sung and saw fresh berries’
Which they picked,
Poor little Fred his finger pricked,
It’s just a scratch,
Big brother said,
But we must be careful, said Ted,
It’s going to rain, must find
A safe, dry place,
Fred began to cry, tears streaked
Down his face.
The clouds were building up in the sky,
Lightning and thunder way up high,
Each one pulled up their hood.
Brrr………… its getting cold,
Don’t walk so fast Ted, said little Fred,
I’m scared, are we so very lost,
No, Ted replied, but we must find
The path back home at any cost.
Big brother looked helplessly around,
Felt hopeless, for young brother Fred
Who wanted mummy, what if they could not
Find their way back home, what a dread,
That would break their parent's heart,
Shhh ……. Fred, said Ted, lets' find
the path, where did we start'.
Mama and papa bears began to worry,
They put their raincoats on,
And went into the woods, where are my
Baby bears mama cried,
Freddy and Ted.
Papa bear bravely took the lead,
Mama don’t fret said he,
We will find them soon you’ll see.
Both plump and slow,
Papa started to sing, I know,
Singing calms you down, join me.
The little bears heard their parents singing,
Excited, they began flinging
Up their scarves and hats, screaming,
We are over here, we are over here,
They ran into each other’s arms, so glad,
All were so happy, this picnic,
Could have ended sad,
For eventually no picnic was even had.
They all joined hands and sung,
As their voices merrily rung
Through-out the woods.
They got back home papa, Fred and Ted
Watched TV,
Whilst mama bear prepared supper happily,
She read them nursery rhymes in bed,
They fell asleep, she tucked them in,
Sleep well my babies, mama said.
These hands have known the joys of a boy’s youthful play
Also known the farm work that was required each and every day
These hands pulled the weeds from the fields where we toiled
Laboring under a blazing sun; leaving these hands rough and soiled
These hands held the hand of my lady as I asked her to share my life
Held her by my side the day she became my wife
These hands reveal the ravages; of weather’s savage breathe
Held a knife in the flowing blood; in a beasts ultimate death
Hands that held many a hammer; swung too hard; swung too long
Time has taken its toll on these old hands; hands that once were so strong
These hands proudly rocked the cradle as I watched my babies sleep
Held them closely to my chest to calm some hurt causing them to weep
These hands gently pushed a child’s swing; as my children laughed aloud
Held a daughter's hand walking down the aisle, made her father proud
These hands have known the heat of a sculptor’s flaming torch
Held brush and pallet while painting out upon the porch
Cradled my pen as I spread the ink in the poetry that I write
Ink that is sometimes spread well into the night
At any rate, a boy was holding a red balloon
Filled with helium, attached to a red ribbon.
Swirling and whirling without constraints
Having fun together they became fast friends,
Teasing the boy, balloon went way up high
Pulling away altogether seeking new heights,
Showing-off prowess, swaying random flight
Looking down to ensure, lad was all smiles,
Higher and higher the red dot danced
Getting swept away by a wicked day-storm.
And the little friend cried for he lost his toy
As no longer could he see it in distant sky,
But it swung back oscillating in a windy dive
When jumping with joy, the boy waved high-five.
One nasty commotion, one final good bye
As balloon burst to pieces in front of his eyes.
Happily, the lad received an identical red balloon
But unlike his friend, it refused to fly or bounce.
That's when the child noticed first time in his life
Difference between a friend and one who is not.
January 22, 2018
Poem of the day on 1/24/2018
HM: Brian's Choice 6 Contest by Brian Strand
The cabin was stood there, its door was ajar
The owners were out but they couldn’t be far
She was so thirsty she needed a drink
Did she wait outside... well what do you think
She pushed on the door, ‘Is there anyone there’
I’m just a wee girl who has long golden hair
She thought to herself there is nobody here
But there on the table three glasses of beer
She stood there a while her hands on her hips
That beer looked refreshing and she licked her lips
One glass was small, it was gone in two sips
Another so big it had double hand grips
She couldn’t resist it she drank that as well
Then eyeballed the middle one, oh, what the hell
A medium glass which was just as well
For she felt her bladder was starting to swell
She went to the loo she was now feeling rough
She heard a door creak and a voice that was gruff
She knew what came next, it was more than a hunch
She knew there was no such thing as a free lunch
And so pretty soon she was pinned to the floor
And paid for the drinks, perhaps a few more
But ‘loving’ for beer? She wished she was dead
And then the big glass fell right on his head
He let out a groan and was totally zonked
A lump on his head from where he’d been bonked
She needed some help, there was no-one about
But Goldilocks belched... and then she passed out
The front door swung open and three bears stood there
What the heck’s going on asked a shocked Mummy bear
Daddy bear grumbled, both confused and mad
And Baby bear said... Who’s under grandad