Long Swimming Poems
Long Swimming Poems. Below are the most popular long Swimming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swimming poems by poem length and keyword.
It’s like swimming on a sea of glass,
Trying to get rid of my past.
It’s like breathing on the moon,
A repetitive doom.
Haunted by the guilt,
Paralyzed by shame,
These dreams I have
They’ve now become
A sinister game.
Rid me of this era,
Rid me of this maze,
Images that are tightly coiled,
A contaminated glaze.
Forgotten mysteries
IV know all too well,
A face of angelic deception
My own personal hell.
Where is the cemetery?
Where are the pits?
Tattered pages on my life
Are buried in its midst.
Burn the bridges
Scrape the sky
I cannot fester in all these lies.
Rain clouds form
Washing the ink
This time I will let them sink.
By: Sabina Nicole
It’s a game that began when he was young.
Apparently it was something he just had to know
He and his Dad were watching the clouds when he asked,
“Daddy, where do all these clouds go?”
“As they’ve move across the sky…how cool would it be knowing
Where they all end up…where they all are going.”
He remembers his dad sitting up…this innocent question making him proud.
“That depends”, he said, “it’s different…for each and every cloud.”
“You see that shark up there?” he said pointing…
”The one that’s moving in slow motion..
I imagine he’s swimming in the breeze…on his way out to the ocean.”
“That angel is heading off to heaven…see how his wings are flowing…
and see that devil over there…I think we know where he is going.”
“And now it’s your turn.” His dad said, “Set your imagination free!
Take a look at all these clouds…and tell me what you see.”
“OK”, he smiled, “I see a dragon!”…then his eyes got big and bright
“He’s flying pretty fast…and look! Behind him is a knight.”
“See that big cloud over there? It looks just like a ship to me.
I imagine it has a crew of pirates…and they’re heading out to sea.”
And from that simple beginning a life-long game was born
finding elephants and horses…castles…and unicorns.
Watching clouds float across the sky…moving fast or moving slow
finding shapes and forms and faces…and imagining where they go.
Today his memory drifts to that day so many years ago…
When he overhears his son ask his father…
“Grandpa….where do all these clouds go?”
Pondering the thoughts of nameless enemies
dying to show their face
yet too afraid to be revealed
I forgive & heal from all rocks thrown with ill intent
for I know their time is at hand
Absorbing all the pain that was heaven sent
was all part of the plan
so, I'm comfortable swimming in the tears
for these waters of life have released
me from my fears
I continue to surpass & transcend all stones
sent in my direction because I go with
the current so it was time well spent
But who needs the 2 cents of this faceless gent
who wears & disposes of all masks?
My 6th sense tells me they are just a part
of the present game in a sense, or past
not knowing with whom they play with or against
All asides aside, I can see their role for it
has been played by many in the past & that's ok
My script doesn't contain any of their lines for
their words fall on deaf ears & they're too
blind to see the movie from my eyes
Why would they think they could ever move
me when I'm composed of a mountain of greatness?
Fakeness is real & so is the underlying hate
they embody for real
What I embody is more than words
can explain
so trying to paint THAT picture would only
be in vain
My rain waters all plants & seeds and the
monsoon we bring
floods the minds of sunken ships
in lost places
Am I the only one that sees their misplaced
aggression just looks silly
like clown faces?
The December sun fought
to shine through the golden clouds
and reach the frozen trees
under a bright marigold sky;
even the evergreen shrubs
were covered with frost
as on those Autumn mornings.
No ducks were seen
swimming in the murky lake,
it needed them for some harmony;
an occasional gust shook
the firs drooping branches
by letting frost fall off
and it fell like small icicles.
All the boats remained fastened to anchors,
no hurricane or storm could ever make them go astray;
summer's evenings were delightful
seeing them row along the lake's solitary banks...
I recall with melancholy the boater singing
an allegretto song with his baritone voice.
I sit here in the park amidst a carpet of green speckled with buttercups and daisies
A pale blue sky above ceilings my room as I close my eyes
as I open my ears to the Summer sounds surrounding me
Buzzing encircles me as bumble bees in picnic mode
collect the rich nectar from the sporadic yellows and whites
To my left in the distance I hear the distinct sound of children playing in the parks
swimming pool
Shriek's that would cut glass are consumed by the vast expanse
Water splashing resonates through the air as if carried on the Summer breeze
Chimes appear from the distance as a frenzy of screams shout
Mam, dad it's the ice cream van
Suddenly a quietness descends as I picture children and adults
licking their ice cream nectar like thirsty hungry bees
To my right I hear the distinctive grunts of my daughter and her friend
emulating Flushing Meadow on the local tennis courts
The odd yell of congratulations from watching spectators breaks the scene
As I turn my head again in radar like fashion I zoom in on the aviary where gorgeous
budgies are kept
I can picture their greens, yellows and blues through my closed eyelids
This little community chirp endlessly as they flutter in organised commotion
Delights of aw echo across the flower beds as they are absorbed in my
consciousness
Modern man interrupts this tranquil scene as metal birds noisily
roar overhead whilst bodied engines reverberate reminding us of the mechanical
world we live in
My own little world this Summers afternoon comes to an end as my daughter and her
friend return with vociferous tones
I open my eyes as normality returns
We gather our belongings as we head of home listening to the cacophony of modernism
Say it once again! Just for the sake of feeling,
remembering a feeling's name- swiftly now,swiftly now,
let me,like a dolphin stroked by swimming speed,
escape the weight of all I am,
learn the lightness, loving brings.
Let dawn's conquering colour spread its embrace-
a New World Hope around all the human that I am.
For all I am is spiritual being
learning truth and wisdom, peace and loving.
If I see God's light in passing, my self will sense it.
Godly nature, spirit's depth of seeing
impresses His carefull thoughts and meanings
in wisdom searching hearts,alive and revealing.
See it once again! Say it once again!
This is the stuff some hearts are made of,
remembering just for the sake of hearing
a feeling's new name.
23/08/20
I drown within your eyes divine,
love shall ever make them brightly shine,
your eyes shall ever sing love’s glory,
ever a part of love’s own story.
Oh, my beloved, the love in your eyes,
t does lead my heart to paradise,
within your eyes, I see love’s dream,
they shall, forever, shine supreme.
I drown in their song,
in their wonder, I belong,
swimming among such visions of love,
your eyes lift my heart so high above.
The glory of your eyes as they gaze into mine,
captivating, with a Heavenly shine,
in my dreams, you shall ever be,
your eyes shall ever bring Heaven to me.
__________________________________________________
her ethereal gaze tucked me into nirvanic waves
tore me asunder amid quixotic abyss and seraphic throe
I harvest pearls from mollusks in swimming oysters
strip it in kaleidoscopic iris fiercely fleeced mote sand
pearls evolved into a sumptuous elixir necklace
a seashell conceals a jewel-like hair as dark as obsidian
pristine girl with a pearl necklet and mellifluous voice
with her smile flings delicate pearls
her eyebrows cling to me beckoning me near
abrim with tears cleansed her azure iris
I tidied her sylphlike trail some sobs stuffed a cup
It soaked roses threw daffodil pearls bit jujubes with hail
hence my previously sealed heart thawed
a phoenix in its zenith sweeps me to skies
In a cosmic splay studded with stars I dwell
her wispy eyelashes distract me from her gaze
she eviscerates dumbfounds me with dark detritus
may my love ram-raid and induce her to ponder again
Outside was our go-to place.
We had homemade playdough.
Tiny play rolling pins.
Betsy Wetsy dolls.
In the summer we were outside
Picking vegetables all morning.
But the afternoons were for swimming.
Either in the lake or the public pool.
Marbles was my game in autumn.
I was good at it.
Good at jacks too.
I collected a lot of marbles.
On rainy days I created my own paper dolls.
Barbie came out when I was nine.
We got them for Christmas that year.
Our aunt made clothes for them.
She taught us how to sew and that was fun.
Troll dolls were popular when we got to sixth grade.
We made bunches of clothes out of felt for them.
There was a pattern and we had it!
Twigs and sticks were made into little grass huts
In the back forty during spring.
We also found a stream and made it wider
Naming it singing river, back down by the cotton wood trees.
We played “The ghost is out tonight” in the summer evenings
With six or ten neighborhood kids
Our parents laughing on the porches over nothing.
Such an innocent life. Such a wonderful innocent time!
She’d kept the pewter dusted and displayed
since 1959.
A verdigris had leached out of the urn nevertheless
She had been hard on him, had forgiven little,
but felt much closer now.
The television became a corner coffin,
its screen a penumbra she often spoke to.
She had interred it in 1974 after Nixon left office
“Disgraceful.” She had said both to his ashes, and the set.
A part of her husband remained to dwell with her;
the homunculus felt like a much-chewed jaw-bone
rattling in the urn.
She began to dream.
His tweed suit walked from its closest,
to make love to her,
sleeves caressed sensitive pockets.
When she awoke she smelled of mothballs,
Brylcreem and Old Spice.
The television came to life;
the blue monochrome face of Nixon appearing -
he was crying.
his permanent five o’clock shadow damp with tears.
“Sorry Mabel.” He said.
“You should be.” She retorted hotly,
yet her heart skipped a beat as the screen died.
She was troubled.
She broke the glass front of the TV
placing her husband's urn inside.
The urn grew greener as if it were full of Ohio River water.
She saw herself as a young girl swimming;
the river as refreshing as a lime phosphate.
The urn glimmered as new images surfaced,
a tenderness gnawed at her.
Her late spouse teased her with fingers
plucked from her own lap.
He brushed her lips with threads of gray.
Her bitterness
become a speck she kept in a jar of Pond’s facial cream.
“Just in case,” she thought.