Long Swallows Poems
Long Swallows Poems. Below are the most popular long Swallows by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swallows poems by poem length and keyword.
Exhaling petals in the time of need
I keep replaying the blossoming of gardenias
by pushing buttons on my remote control
with painful fingers - reminders of lost wings.
The mini blinds are broken so I peek
Over the sterile walls mutilated by wrong turns
I hear you calling me on a disconnected phone
I'm fine!...and you? - followed by a timid silence.
Accidental spring brought us back together
In a building where daffodils smell of chloroform
And angels lie flat on a recently emptied bed
As I watch windows cry in endless raindrop dances.
It's so much life outside I feel I suffocate.
I see returning swallows through your candid eyes
As panicky sirens make your heart pound in my chest...
This accidental spring we'll finally be... forever.
For Laura's "Recovery From Life" contest
Oceans Deep With Love
A sharks love poem, like a deep dive into the ocean, my love for you is like the ocean floor, it's dark and full of mysteries, but beware, just like the ocean my love can be dangerous, are you ready to take the plunge? Then be ready to dive right in for a love that is unpredictable and wild as the ocean waves, hold onto my fines, once we swim in these waters there's no going back, we will make waves with power of or love, my fines will scare any enemy that tries to ripe you from me, your grasp it so strong holding onto my fine, your eyes look scared we enter in darkest of waters and caves of life? Unshore of what's at the opening on other side? The darkness swallows us your scared with fear but now I am there to protect you, we begin to see strange lights, lights from strange creature's and fish? But it brings hope that darkness will not fully take us, the light is always in front of us? I swim harder through the end of the cave, the coral reefs as they shred my skin off my side's to get to the light we see in front? Your eyes light up wondering if love is truly this beautiful in the end, and to feel the warmth of the water flowing through my large gills making you feel protected being so close to me, life couldn't be more beautiful of the site ahead of us, we crash through the end of the cave, back into open water's, a calm came into your heart, a relief of its over, you let go and drift in front of me looking into my dark black eyes, seeing the scares from the adventure that lead us here to the end, love conquering all we made it!! (Oceans Deep With Love)
August dog-days
gardens parasol
....bedecked
picknicing wasps
wander unchecked
tidelines explored
on a rockpool beach
driftwood stranded
bleached
hammock sleeping
'neath a halo'ed sun
a signal
from thunder clouds
curtains of rain
turn day
.into night
august gold
becomes monsoon
spider's web
where fruit appear
days of moisture
lie ahead 'til the
end of year
fading poppy pods
steeple the scene
where grasses sway
&winged ants fly
in the benign heat
to blur the sky
then
thunder becomes
a welcome storm
swallows start to pack
& begin
to say good-bye
Old Owl Witch was clever, courageous, cunning and wise
She attracted owls, lightning bugs and fireflies,
She wanted to attract dragons, unicorns and bats.
But this was not to be; however, she did get some cats.
Which are your familiars? She was asked by the dumb.
Any good witch knows you are never limited to one.
Old Owl Witch had secrets and potions and spells upon spells.
She lived in the forest where the conniving troll lover dwells.
We never see her on Halloween as we go house to house.
But sometimes we see her owls dive down a terrified mouse.
The rodent is shrieking as they travel with their prey divine.
We have heard she swallows gray mice up sixteen at a time.
She spilled porridge down her tutu
As she drank her mug of wine
Sank it in just three swallows
And then she wanted mine
She wore a pair of dirty ballet shoes
Practised plies down the stairs
Played the prima ballerina
With her ill judged airs
She caught a plane to Greenland
Because she though it nice
To drink her sloe gin
With fresh frozen ice
The very very last time that I saw her
She was doing long handstands
Riding naked on a surfboard
Off of Van Diemens land
I thoroughly cleaned and aired my house
Changed every lock on every door
Hoped she got the right message
Don’t come round any more
Sometimes I thought I might miss her
Bur then I quickly shook my head
Switched on the television
To watch a soap instead
She spilled porridge down her tutu
As she drank her mug of wine
Sank it in just three swallows
And then she wanted mine
confusion overtakes you
as the fog swallows the leaves above
leaving wind soundless
when you boil the sea
rain falls
and yet you ask why
as a child
shocked by thunder
hiding like a rat
gnashing your teeth
on wood and wheat
seeking a retreat
death comes for your kin
like anthills in a concrete mold
boasting of great strength
yet in this moment eternal
the fear and confusion ever so swallows
and remains is the sound of fear
in statues of your kin
mouth agape
as if to ask "why?"
when patience is rewarded with pain
and violence is rewarded with silence
what do you have left?
open your mouth
and ask me again.
try not to swallow your tongue.
The clouds are turning blue;
the grass awaken to the first heat.
flowers smile at each other:
daffodils, sunflowers and the like.
Morning glories awake, stretch their petals lazily
swaying to the morning breeze playfully.
The cocks are already crowing accolades
to the ONE who made all things.
The mooing of cows, among the cattle
clashing their horns, sounding like spears in battle.
The chatter of sparrows, the cawing of crows;
the crowing of cockerels, the twittering of swallows
all cry for the heavens to awaken.
Then the sky becomes tingly bright red,
orange; and the sun bursts out in dazzling yellow,
spraying the world with rays of hope, joy and laughter.
The birds burst forth, and then,
it sounds like morning in the Garden of Eden.
Dew sparkles like diamonds on the blades of grass
all creation rings with songs round about
to the God of all flesh, Creator of all things;
without whom nothing would have been possible.
And then, just as the morning deepens,
Moving caps are seen above the tall grass, going towards the fields.
She yanks the line!
She’s hooked me good!
Reels me in
To her hood.
Yanks me out
Of my skin.
Reels me into her sin.
That inner need,
That’s what sets us free
To feel so deeply and
To be in love… again.
I’m her one and only yanker.
A real time kitty spanker.
Spinning tales
Hook, line and sinker
She lifts me up wiggling in the air
And licks my stinky sphincter.
She’s the one who smells real phishy.
A feely dead head ringer.
Patchouli is her middle name
While she gives the finger.
She’s taken all my money
With her silly games.
Sure, her first she says is "Honey."
My head is buzzing -
It can’t be mine!
She’s descaled my mind.
Fileted my soul.
Cooked me up
Into her fold
I find...
I’m flopping on the ground,
Squirming uncontrollably.
She gurgles and she giggles
While she swallows down
My Taquila-soaked worm.
It's dead December, we're getting nowhere, ready
for vaccine like a starving tribe shoved from behind
under the bridge, kicking some dust along the way.
A hand holds my arm, hoarse voices coaxes
Life's swindler races to the moon, go to its amusement park!
Is this real or my imagination, girls with mini-skirts, open blouses
giggling by the shore, tossing their suntanned bodies around.
A warm breeze adds to their childish delight. A mother duck's teaching
its toddler how to swim, and kids swarming the ice cream bicyclist
who demands them to line up but they rush forward screaming, falling.
I stumble on a diaper and run to the ocean to clean, that's where the senior
boys hang out and, occasionally, a boat approaches and some hands wave
at the crowd. The sun stares them down, the sand swallows their long shadow, and the tide swings them back and forth, showing traces
of oil slick. Sunburned, I jump over a dune, a crumpled book drops from my pocket, Sonnets of Love, a bearded old man picks it up and reads
It's a sunlight in the darkness, and its name is love. O love, you cook no more fervent. Do not fry my feelings on a cold grill! Is love the only thing that keeps us apart? Yes darling. Thanks heaven.
He's calm and peaceful with a contemplative face speaking generations,
life whirls before him like a movie reel in an outdoor cinema, maybe he was a
forest firefighter, who jumped from the planes to put out the smoke, or worked at a convenient store, where he got his supply of cigarette, or a bus driver who always greeted you with a cheery smile. He points to a woman slumped to a chair, "that's my lady, used to be quite a gal, but is now just happy to be around." I shudder when I think of the moment, when death
keeps them apart. Before that happens, he must thank her again for her many kindnesses.
You have led my course through fractured lanes.
Your groaning ballad my only light.
Kill blessings from stained lips safely float our steps.
Where would I be without you Michael?
Crow mother lies broken at our hand.
Eyes, lips and tongue smeared on stone.
‘You are just like me,’ she bleats through shattered teeth.
Thank you feathered protector, my septic pedagogue.
Poisoned Papa gags as we grip him heart in hand.
Oesophagus glove binds wrist, forearm and elbow.
Pushing down to Hell, void swallows his crushed vena cava.
Dislocated mandible squeals leaving the path clear and final.
A baptism from a splintered bucket washes away our rusty halo.
We have built a fine church you and I.
Can you hear me Michael?
Are you there?
From Father’s secret chest, blades, saws and spikes are repossessed.
They are now our beautiful burden, our sanctified implements.
Ground and honed to a steely whisper that will glide down to the bone.
Beyond the door you beckon to me with your silvery, distant song.
Night air sears through our lungs like freezing ammonia as
Shifting constellations light our winding passage through London.
From Threadneedle Street to Guthrun’s Lane all dreams are devastation.
We select a lost tenement as a playground and trudge through stinking mud.
There is a family within – Mother, Father and Son.
They are the fruits of our maledictions.
‘Cry no more little one,’ his voice congeals in my veins.
Soon we will be clean, huge and stinging.
At my touch the door yawns like the prelude to regurgitation.
In the darkness soiled, saintly fingers caress a razor.
Taut, ablaze, locked.
Tonight we will sculpt what we never possessed and love what hurts the most.
We are Destroyer.