Long Swales Poems
Long Swales Poems. Below are the most popular long Swales by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swales poems by poem length and keyword.
It was a fortnight and two days ago
when my spirit set adrift with the summer breeze;
wandering the four corners of this earth
trying hard my curiosity to please.
Searching out the very meaning of life
while wearing holes in the soles of my shoes;
my curiosity ever seeking the truth,
and still my thoughts wander back to you.
Summer breeze fills my sails
billowing against the sky of blue;
guiding me across life’s uneven swales,
and leading me right back to you.
I miss the softness of your warm caress;
I long to hold you in my arms;
to feel your tender lips on mine,
and share in the magic of your charms.
Summer breeze fills my sails
billowing against the sky of blue;
guiding me across life’s uneven swales,
and leading me right back to you.
My darling I will never leave again
no matter how the summer breeze may blow;
you are the very meaning of my life;
for eternity I will love you so.
Summer breeze fills my sails
billowing against the sky of blue;
guiding me across life’s uneven swales,
and leading me right back to you.
August 4, 2018
In scratchy swales emitting Clorox gas,
Matador houseflies cross paralyzed eyes;
A kaleidoscope scene where jagged glass
Cracks beneath footsteps of love’s promised lies;
Forgotten by choice through hell-flickered sight,
Confusion screams at a dead mobile phone,
Gripping slick sanity ever so tight,
Un-stabled by speaking to Nothing’s tone.
Tormentors nearby prepare their escape,
Entrusting blindness to suffocate truth;
Black swans are they, drinkin’ ‘shine to undrape
Wounds nearly healed from a vi’lated youth –
A normal day in an abnormal cave,
Where hatred rules whipping peace claimed its slave.
What lies ahead, I do not know,
But I will confidently go
Along this rough and tumble trail
O’er mountain pass, dank, boggy swales,
To scale the heights, be brought down low.
Though ‘twas ordained so long ago,
I find there is no cause for woe;
Nay, joyfully I look to scale
what lies ahead.
I may befriend a would-be foe
To sanctify and flourish, grow,
Or stumble over some travail,
Cry out in need, or badly fail,
But I know all is apropos,
what lies ahead…
—————
For the Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Written on 06/06/2022
At Sea II
The start of an ocean voyage starts like life; fresh and new
And best served with a brew
The shoreline disappearing from view and star bright
Replacing the street lights fading fast into the night
The seas are calm in that cove as you leave a safe haven
Moving past that beacon with an escort from a raven
The gulls fly overhead their wings spread wide to catch the breeze
And the shrill of their screech fills the air as they escort you out to distant seas
Soon we are alone in an ocean, no shoreline linking safety
There is comfort and a strange sense of calm and serenity
But as time passes and the storms roll in
Rough seas are a sure thing
The waves pound the sides of our boat
Swales high and low remind us we are quite remote
There is no way to swim to shore and a long way to the ocean floor
We say a prayer for all on board and listen to the roar
Our thoughts turn to those back ashore, family, friends, and others galore
And through it all there is hope that we are not a dope for being on a boat
As quickly as gale force winds came they are no longer found
And the smell of ocean air fills our lungs as we look around
Maybe getting there is worth the wait
To make that journey far and wide we shouldn’t hesitate
Instead of cowering inside and avoiding the ride
We should embrace her like a bride
And then it is there for all to see, land I say with such glee
Safe harbor has returned to me
Andreas Simic©
Beaches are where breaches adorn like brooches
Waves curl up to breach the surface of sea,
Then break, plunging headstrong to broach on shore.
Wales and dolphins breach off the beach with spit and spurt.
Crabs and worms breach the sand with holes and borrows
Waves and ripples crease the wet sand with furrows
The surge of tide erodes and reworks the inlet channels
A beach is a shore breached and broached in dynamic equilibrium and flux
Eroded, exposed then sand deposited, accrued and hoarded
With sediment piled up in reserve in dunes, hills, swales and shoals
Birds breach the sky and pierce the scenery
Footprints broach the serenity of beach expanse
Beaches - breached and broached are designed to cope.
Written: May 6th, 2026, for contest sponsored by Sara Kendrick
1st place contest winner
*****************
Soft silver sky-foam shimmered as I strolled,
seeking a sly, star-stitched secret to behold.
A sprightly breeze sang stories through the trees,
its sibilant sighs designed to soothe and tease.
I met a saffron cat with a mischievous gaze,
She sashayed past with svelte, superior praise.
The sunset spilled its syrup on the well,
a molten gold incandescence cast a spell.
Somewhere a seraphic laugh began to swell,
so sweet, a spell only stars could tell.
The swales grew soft beneath my wandering feet,
each step a sacred syncopated beat.
And in that scarce scene of dusk’s caress,
I felt the world spinning into happiness."
Written: May 25 for a contest sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
3rd place contest winner
*******************
Line of inquiry:
"This form of dust is by God energised
wherein we are living light housed within
How may this truth be realised
show us, oh monk, how to begin."
*******************
I — Valediction of Authority
This dust is not moribund,
but rumbustious with breath—
skyfoam rising, fogscape shifting,
each speck a spark of sprightliness.
Why wilt your whiter
at a monk’s behest,
Or wade within,
the weight of worship?
Buddha was flesh,
a wanderer of earth,
his catharsis his own,
not a crown for sequacious mouths.
To worship him is a mondegreen,
a nugatory palaver,
a meretricious catchphrase
for those who prowl
in officious dogma.
No viceroy of sanctity,
no ersatz jewel of salvation—
only a human,
finite, quondam,
like you, like me.
Bridge — From Authority to Soul
Yet the skyfoam does not pause—
waves continue unabated,
clouds drift in chiaroscuro,
reminding us: truth is not bestowed,
but discovered within.
II — Realization of the Soul
See the cowslips bending in the swale,
petioles redolent with carotene,
ants dogged in their labor,
wisteria climbing with gregarious grace.
All proclaim: sanctity is not decreed,
It is ubiquitous,
woven into the weave of being.
Oneness is not a god’s decree,
but the soul’s halcyon colloquy,
Atman is identical to Brahman—
a selcouth catharsis,
A veridical ataraxia.
So let us not abase ourselves in acrimony,
nor coddle nugatory hubris,
nor prowl in truculent objurgation.
Instead, let us woolgather in halcyon swales,
pernoctate with skyfoam and cloudscape,
until burden evanesces,
and the soul, amaranthine,
limpid, radiant,
is realized as Brahman.
As fortunes wax and wane
In life’s large swells and swales,
We try to ponder and remain
The person who, in youth, prevailed.
But our youthful views have changed,
And our existing needs do not entail
What, when young, were hopes retained,
Leaving our childhood dreams still veiled.
Though life created who we are,
We, as people, made key choices
That made us follow fateful stars
While ignoring more pragmatic voices.
And while our souls did ebb and flow,
We went where were forced to go
And searched for truths so we would know,
What lies beyond fate's plan bestowed.