Long Swing Poems
Long Swing Poems. Below are the most popular long Swing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Swing poems by poem length and keyword.
In our establishment, we have great drinks and beer.
Many patrons come to our place for a good time here.
On weekends, there is some great live music from a band.
We have the best dancers since American Bandstand.
However, occasionally things get out of hand.
That is when our platoon of bouncers takes a stand.
When folks become inebriated and indiscreet,
we swing open the doors and throw them out in the street.
We may get rough, and open doors with their head.
In that way, they will have to go somewhere else instead.
The bottom line is we run a respectable joint.
Have a good time, but behave yourselves! You get the point?
Creep of extremism leaches in bloodstream, numbing
Route of innate thought unpenetrated, retains nothing
Sacred to the self, - stiff agendas pose as omniscient
Obscures own findings, carves our fragile opalescent
Ignores the phosphor we all hold, outlooks pertinent
Absorbs with proffer of doctrines contract penchant
Squashed compulsion, thwarted inside tight quarter
Squeezes dry the yearn for a gyrated circuit's quaver
Penance is a method administered by axiom rations
Ranks routinely recant individual's intuition ravishing
Shrouded rigmarole causes comprehension to shrivel
Oppresses pirouette quick swing of our mind's swivel
6th March
Trip the Trap
~
Framed by affections,
unlocked, waiting...
weathered of vibrant
thoughts and dead bolt
delusions
A portal of desperate
desires and relinquished
pain, for the light
through my cracks and crevices
now shines
My heart is hinged…
eternally by brass pins of endless dreams,
tightly fitting into
the perfect grooves of
your love
Twist with simple ease
my handle, dull and waiting
for the sheen of you
ever bright, glowing
to polish me, to make me
new
Open me, swing me freely,
so smoothly I move
allowing the morning breeze to sift
beyond peep hole shadows
creating a passage
so that I may walk so deeply
into you
10/16/2019
Birds open the dawn with an offbeat show
Drop a many colored cherry at my window
I pick it up and look at it with a great surprise
It is purple, white and blue, -- with vivid eyes
I hardly guess it signifies my most precious gift
That would give our flat mood quite a high lift
Such things happen only once in a blue moon
When you see a host of kicks coming too soon
At noon is born the pearl of our conjoined dance
Fair, dimpled, thick hair, -- we look on in a trance
A daughter, la hija, fille, our ‘meye’ in Bengali
A sun is smiling seated on the ripe strawberry
It brings a beauty tide in the entire household
Every inch of hectic hours goes lovelier manifold
Baby cot, feeding bottle, medicine, swing, lullaby
Toil for bread, -- time flies in the blink of an eye
Gradually grows the baby, -- into a brook-like child
Nice view of growing girl sometimes a flower wild
In the shade of teachers, parents and grand parents
Unfolds her study, personality along with merriment
Old leaves drop at home, arrives drought and flood
Adaptation flows in deep, -- in the maturing blood
This is time, life, world and family all on the move
Mirth mingling with tears in its every groove
The tree is old and laden with many a sound of soul
The offspring is now a sunny lady focused on her goal
________________________________________________
February 18, 2016
The Edmond Fitzgerald was a tanker bold, twenty five thousand tons
of cargo, she held in her hole.
A crew of twenty seven sailors, a captain and a mate sailed the stormy waters
of a Michigan Great Lake.
She cruised out under a clear blue sky: they stood on the decks
as the waves slipped by.
They saw the sea birds turn away and saw the flags flutter
and the tackle swing and sway.
Sailing in the haze of the coming night, dropped her tug at the last buoy
light, trimmed her speed and headed for the south, took the wind on her bow
and a bone in her mouth.
Her radio was warning danger when came the first morn, from
out of the northern waters roared a winter storm.
The first of the season with rain and thunder, with her hole full
of cargo, she threatened to go under.
Fearful was the squall that struck her straight away and bowed
her down to her waterway.
She rose and fell on foamy swells that swept her deck
clean in a roaring hell.
The sailors below and no time to dress, she clashed and clanged
In her tangled distress.
She wallowed and floundered in a deadly death roll and
broke apart at the number six hole.
It took only minutes for the storm to take her down;
not a trace of her passing was ever to be found.
The Edmond Fitzgerald was never to be seen again, a testament
to the power of a Lake Superior wind.
“Be happy in the moment that's enough. Each moment is all we need.”
Quote _ Mother Teresa
As time brings glee days,
As we sojourn on bloom ways,
Let’s treasure the clime,
For it's a fleeting sublime.
Life is a stage of variant entities,
They come in subtleties,
It’s a walk across meadows,
Nightfall brings the shadows.
Happiness is a choice,
A punctuating voice,
A light that can be reflected,
As gloom can be deflected.
Like a child on a swing,
Away from life's other wing,
We can walk oblivious of gloom,
Permuting our desired room.
May 24, 2023.
Writing Challenge - B Quotes - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
”He is a Poet”, It was said of him.
And so they sought in proof a poem, made alone for them.
A tome for all the ages, every eye, and every ear.
Words of witness dedicating prose, to those would hear.
So he complied. Rolled up his muscled sleeve of thought
and pounding words like blacksmith sought, to swing them to his side.
For what is poetry but words, like cattle in stampeded herds,
or formal, business-structured, Oh so neat,
every word and every sentence measured to complete.
Why, he could write for days on end, make poetry, or just pretend,
as long as everything would just combine,
to give the folks their simple endless rhyme.
But this is not a poem, as It has no heart.
True poems come, not on demand, but as with art,
they are created by, an inspirations’ spark;
then guided by one's passion to their universal mark.
For what is poetry but prayer, holy in its plea
to set the heart of every person soaring ever free.
These words… these very words he wrote. He wrote for you;
that you would know the beauty in the moments shared, so few.
He could not give more love to you, than you already own;
if he might open all the hearts and souls of angels shone.
He could not add one ounce to all the joy you might allow
within each heartbeat, where we hear, the voice of God somehow.
A voice that whispers to us all, the word we need to grow,
"Love", the only word, a poets’ heart need ever know.
there's a faint hum
in the pipes
as if everything is waiting
for something to occur
outdoors,
s overhead
g like a damp linen
n
a
h
the gray sky
neither raining or clearing
t r a p p e d
in the quiet transition
between seasons
he sits on the floor
where sunlight
once reached him at 3'o clock
watching particles of dust suspended
in the still, lifeless air
tiny worlds
that could no longer fail
the stove clock was set,
ticks steadily
moving the hands forward
nevertheless,
everything else remains
u n c h a n g e d
his coffee turns cold
in the mug,
a dark mirror
skimming the surface of the morning
to move would be to shatter
this fragile, glass a blown equilibrium.
he'll remain here...
an unread line
on an open page
waiting for the wind
to determine which direction
the door should swing.
(Dedication: For Ann)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meet sad and sweet with feisty flair,
Yes my love knows fond cheer that comes.
Opt happy streets where joy thrills air,
Words work to show how feelings sum;
Now my heart feels such lovely chimes.
Voice lives reason as good times swing,
Ask touch to heal life's painful rhymes;
Love hurls seasons for everything,
Embrace dear heart deep loving bliss;
Note floral wreath of scented hues,
Touch ever starts caress of ease;
Ignite the drift of poignant cues,
Nearer than breath, lovers know fest:
Etch beyond death love's lasting quest.
Leon Enriquez
14 February 2016
Singapore
Poets at Play
I played with words today –
They called to me
“Come out and play with us!”
Childhood companions
Building rhythms like treehouse forts –
Playhouses of analogy -
Crafting rhymes that follow the leader
Into mud pie irony;
Playing peek-a-boo with synonyms,
Hide and seek with inspiration;
Coming out of hiding places in stanzas
Stacked like pick up sticks;
Patty cake in anagrams –
"A tacky pest" like little brothers –
Jumping out, to yell “Surprise!”
In the “punniest” personifications;
Slide down the metaphoric slide
To allegories of apple trees;
Swing back and forth with double entendre - sky high in the sky;
Hang upside down from “jungle-gyms” whistling alliteration
Hop scotch acrostics
March in meter to rock, paper, scissors -
Wondering what to wear and where I Spy anagrams;
Building up London Bridge, falling down in metrics,
To stand like statues of frozen tag
With your friend assonance
Taking sides like antonyms in games so like red rover
Chasing similes with smiles, to kick the can down the road,
Duck and run in duck, duck goose;
Measure feet in a leap frog of a blind man’s bluff;
Time to come in – come in free verse for the day,
Simon says now writing right just as fun
As a cat’s cradle at the end of my word play.
4/7/20