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12.5k · Aug 2010
Matching Bands Of Gold
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
Along with matching bands of gold
and the blessings of their Lord,
Two hearts begin a journey,
their hearts, were destined to unfold.

And the blessings of their Lord,
will see them through hard times.
Their hearts were destined to unfold,
entwining as flowers on the vine.

Will see them through hard times,
the respect they afford each other.
Entwining as flowers on the vine,
teamwork will keep them together.

The respect they afford each other,
as the honeymoon grows cold,
teamwork will keep them together.
Their faith will see them through.

As the honeymoon grows cold,
two hearts begin a journey.
Their faith will see them through,
along with matching bands of gold.
9.8k · Oct 2010
Skeleton Puberty Sucks
Paula Swanson Oct 2010
The rat smells the air, squeaks in alarm and runs off.  
Black boots come into view.  With the sharp tip of a sword.
I crouch in the dark, behind the bins of *******.

The boots walk on by.  The sword, poking into corners.  
All the while, eyes of glowing red, within deep sockets
of a musty old skull, scan for signs.

I look at my hands.  The festered and rotting flesh.
My bones showing through.  The stench unbearable.
Glad my nose fell off last night.

The timing was off.  It was just a little sneeze.
PLOP!  Right in my gruel.  
Every one at school laughed.
Skeleton Puberty *****!


And now, Dad is mad.  Just cause I waxed the hearse
and didn't use "Ear Wax".  You could hear him rattle
all day.  What's wrong with the "Toe Jam Wax"?

Wait till I catch sis.  She went and showed mom my
mags.  "Raw!  Boo To The Bones".  I'll bet dad had
mags like these when he was a teenager.

They have good stories.  The pics are just a bone-us.
I think it's safe now.  I'll just sneak into the house.
Just sit and look innocent.

How did you find me?
A whole trail of pieces?  Sheesh!
I know.  I'm grounded.  Not for the wax job?
The Mags!?.
Skeleton puberty *****.



My Halloween offering for Oct. 12th
8.1k · Aug 2010
A Bicycle Built For Two
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
If you want to see the country side,
You could use any mode that you choose.
What better way than a bicycle ride?
No need to hurry and miss all the views.

Side by side you could ride on your way.
But, there is just something missing when you do.
For a leisurely romantic day,
may I recommend a bicycle built for two.
7.7k · Sep 2010
Windmill In The Wind
Paula Swanson Sep 2010
As the windmill turns with the wind,
the storm brings much needed rain.
With each drop, renewal begins,
relieving the parched land its pain.

Sweet water of the Earth, life's essence,
within the wind, the windmill drinks.
Storing the source within a pond,
bringing the desert from the brink.

Noses catching the scent of rain,
wild Burro's enjoy their play.
Turns the windmill as the wind blows,
clouds block the sun, blessing shade.

The land breathes a sigh of relief.
Life is given back once again.
The clouds empty themselves of rain,
as the windmill turns with the wind.
7.5k · Aug 2010
Infidelity
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
The journey of a tear drop,
heralds a wall broken down.
Having held back the feelings,
that once started, cannot stop.

Heralds a wall broken down,
infidelity arrives, lost trust,
that once started, cannot stop.
Happiness, not love, but lust.

Infidelity arrives. Lost trust.
Confusion of what you feel.
Happiness, not love, but, lust.
You are on a spinning wheel.

Confusion of what you feel,
spawning hatred, when you loose all.
You are on a spinning wheel,
you are destined for this fall.

Spawning hatred when you lose all,
having held back the feelings.
You were destined for this fall,
the journey of a tear drop.
7.1k · Nov 2010
I Welcome Winter
Paula Swanson Nov 2010
With cooler nights and soft warm days.
quilts for the beds, days breeze welcome.
We say goodbye to summer's blaze.
Gold, orange and red are my Chrysanthemums,
as fall doggedly leaves the desert kingdom.

Soon will be gone, the light weight jackets.
Leaves, will finally, dance from the trees.
Goodbye to all the Farmer's Markets.
While I warm my hands round a cup of hot tea,
powdered sugar snow, in the hills I see.

The bird bath has a coat of ice,
small creatures go off and hibernate.
My home is redolent with baking spice,
red berries in the bushes, so ornate.
It's Winters time to dominate.
written using the Quintain format.  unique rhyme scheme of  ababb in each Quintain stanza
5.3k · Dec 2010
I Got Fudge For Christmas
Paula Swanson Dec 2010
Sung to the tune of:
I'll Be Home For Christmas


Oh, I got fudge for Christmas,
from my daughter-in-law.
I whined and begged,
til I got my way,
and I'm not sharing it.

Ooooh, Thanks for the fudge for Christmas,
I will repay this deed.
It was suppose to be homemade,
but she bought it all from See's.

oooooh, I got fudge for Christmas,
and you can count on this.
By the time, I eat it all,
it will be on my hips.

Oooooh, I got fudge for Chriiiiiissssstmaaaasssss
I'll be seeing it in my Dreeeamms.


Dedicated to Tammy,
My Daughter-in law.
4.6k · Feb 2011
Ice Cream
Paula Swanson Feb 2011
Hair, the color of ripened wheat,
with the sun shinning upon it.
Eyes, so clear a green,
shot with gold, as to be jewels.
A smile that reaches her eyes
and casts a glow from within.
Five tiny fingers grasp an aged hand,
with the delicacy of fine porcelain.
Two small feet, lively tapping,
in an excited tempo.
A Grandfather walks, stooped,
along beside her, with pride
evident in the smile he affords others.
His hat, a dapper angle,
upon his head of snowy fringe.
His one hand held by hers,
while in his other, a few wrinkled bills,
held aloft as a trophy.
I stop and watch their approach.
I watch as they pass beside me on the path.
As the two, young at heart,
head for the colorful, ice cream truck
parked at the curb.
Another shot at Free Verse
4.5k · Oct 2010
He Knew How To Impress
Paula Swanson Oct 2010
We sat at the table, waiting for our number to be called.
Their pepperoni pizza, was our most favorite one of all.

Our number is announced, George is carrying the pizza back.
When close, he decides to act, as though he  trips in his tracks.

In slow motion, that pizza, slid so smoothly out of the pan.
George's eyes got big as saucers, he saw the folly of his plan.

There I was in my new outfit, that cost half of my paycheck.
With pizza, upside down on my lap and sauce splashed on my neck.

Amazingly calm, George scooped the pizza up in his hands.
Melted cheese, stretching and stringing, from my pants in gooey strands.

He stood there patting and pressing the pizza back into shape.
That poor pizza looked just like a badly, bulldozered landscape.

It lay there sort of twisted, pepperoni all to one side.
Crust pieces stinking out of it, like a saucy red mudslide.

Then he sat down across from me, silently as if waiting.
I must have looked like a blonde fish, sitting there, just gapping.

Then a chuckle escaped my lips, as his eyes raised to meet mine.
He looked just like a little boy, who just got caught in a crime.

I'm surprised we didn't get kicked out for making such a fuss.
'Cause, next thing you know, the whole place is laughing along with us.

We couldn't stop, there was no way we'd been able.
Not while upsidedown-lap pizza, stared at us from the table
4.5k · Aug 2010
Moonbeams Tickle
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
Moonbeams shining down
effervesce upon my tongue
Tickling my soul
4.1k · Oct 2011
Sweet Death
Paula Swanson Oct 2011
Sweet death, have me tarry not,
greet me, for comes the morn.
Cheat the sun, that I may sleep,
complete as if ne'er born.

Entreat, do I, your embrace.
Defeat my heartbeat this night.
Meet me mid a last dreaming,
secrete this soul from sight
3.8k · Jul 2010
Grandma
Paula Swanson Jul 2010
Tears
and rain,
sit upon
my eyelashes.
One shows my pain, one washes it away.

The grey clouds are one with my breaking heart.
Shedding their pain
in tune with
my souls
cry

To
accept
that Grandma
is leaving me,
is easier to say than to live through.

Each slowing beat of her heart pierces me.
My second mom,
my best friend,
dying
now.

Her
grace and
wisdom will
stay with me still.
I am, today, the woman she molded.

Touching so many, giving of herself.
Angel on earth,
soon to be
going
home.
This is written in the poetic form of "Tetractys"  The scheme is a syllable count of 1,2,3,4,10...then reverse the count 10,4,3,2,1 and so on
3.8k · Jul 2010
Little Tiny Jellyfish
Paula Swanson Jul 2010
Little tiny Jellyfish,
You look like gobs of snot.
Then I went and stepped on you
and found out your not.

Little tiny Jellyfish,
your kiss really hurts a lot.
Next time that I walk the beach,
on snot I will step not.
3.7k · Jan 2011
Raven's Mist
Paula Swanson Jan 2011
Dead dwell beyond the Pale, in quick silver mist.
Whispering eternal, within their sleep.
Waiting patiently for Raven's angelic kiss,
for their souls, upon Blackbird wings, to sweep.

Whispering eternal, within their sleep.
Now entombed in stone, cast by their sins.
For their soul, upon Blackbird wings to sweep,
the long journey of forgiveness, now begins.
        
Now entombed, in stone, cast by their sins,
accounting for their life and of deeds done.
The long journey of forgiveness, now begins.
As Raven waits, with blessed, cold steel gun.
   ~~      
Accounting for their life and of deeds done,
so close to Heaven's gate, yet denied.
As Raven waits, with blessed, cold steel gun,
to release pardoned souls, once sin enshrined.
      
So close to Heaven's gate, yet denied,
along the shores of mist, boiling cold.
To release pardoned souls, once sin enshrined,
steel shot will kiss stone, breaking its hold.
                        
Along the shores of mist, boiling cold.
As upon cruel rocks, of shore, she roams,
steel shot will kiss stone, breaking its hold,
to allow their souls, at last, to soar home.
      
As upon cruel rocks of shore, she roams.
Waiting patiently for Raven's angelic kiss,
to allow their souls, at last, to soar home,
dead dwell beyond the Pale, in quick silver mist.
~
~
This poem, in Pantoum form, was written for a contest in which a picture was posted and we had to write our interpretation of it.
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
The music thumps, the walls jump,
she pole dances against the jamb.
Dust rag in her right.
polish in her left hand.

House is hers for a few hours
to fulfill a fantasy.
Bump and grind it babe,
the vacumn whiiiirrrs away.

Shake that *****, strut that stuff,
transfer clothes in washer to dryer.
Wearing faded blue jeans,
kick that leg up higher.

Beds are made, bunnies dusted,
she cat walks looking demure.
Practices a sultry pout,
wiping spots from the mirror.

Work the shoulders, drop to a deep squa,t
then stick the **** up in the air.
Family is due home very soon,
straighten her clothing with care.

Greet the kids with hugs, husband with kisses,
getting  dinner to the table.
While news plays in the background,
her life is happy, solid and stable.

Dishes washed, kids off to sleep,
taking my husband by the hand,
this housewife leads him to our room,
where her stripper soul takes command
re-post.  Oldy but a fun one
3.6k · Nov 2010
Simple Toys No More
Paula Swanson Nov 2010
Just as a boy grows into teenager,
he is bound, to one day, grow into man.
I think it's when he is just five years old,
he becomes a demolition fan.

At that juncture, it's all about the tools.
To dismantle what works perfectly well.
They may begin plastic at the start,
but it triggers something in their cells.

A teenager will start with something small,
a lawnmower, dirt bike, then on to cars.
Then as he ages and gains life experience,
the quest for tools is written in the stars.

It starts with a simple set of wrenches.
Then moves on to socket sets and ratchet.
Not just ASE, they need metric as well.
A tool store is a veritable banquet.

Metal worker, wood crafter, mechanic,
Plumber a welder and electrician.
Wrapped up in a testosterone package,
needing a new tool for the next mission.

Watch as his eye light, when reaching for a tool,
that's new to the market, sitting on display.
It's no longer about simple fun in an old cardboard box.
It will be tools from now till his dying day.
3.1k · Jun 2010
Grandpa's Hammock
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
Every year it was brought down from the garage rafters.  Green metal frame and
springs, green canvas with white fringe and a little green pillow.  It was laid out, hosed
off and erected.  Grandpa couldn't have done it without us grand kids.  He said so.  It
was placed in a spot of honor.  Just a couple of feet from the picnic table and in a spot
that was always in the afternoon shade.  A folding T.V. tray was placed next to it to
hold cold drinks and snacks.  Within a few days, the grass under the frame would be
brown and dead.  The grass at the sides of the hammock would just be plain gone.  
Scuffed away by feet, as we kids sat on the edge and swayed side to side.

After mowing the lawn, washing the car, or doing any other chores needed, Grandpa
would go inside and put on his "Hammock clothes".  This consisted of a pair of Bermuda
shorts and a ribbed tank style Tee.  White socks and brown sandals completed the
outfit.  Once dressed appropriately, he would head for the hammock.  The first "sit" of
the summer season was always a bit touchy.  One had to get use to the hang of it.

There he would stand, next to the hammock.  Cold drink in his one hand, the T.V. tray
forgotten.  His slightly bald head and stick thin legs already slightly sun burned.  Slowly,
he would start to lower himself.  Reaching back with his free hand to grab the edge of
the hammock.

Note**  of course us kids, grandma and mom would all be spying out of the corner of
our eyes to watch this ritual.

Then came the "Grandpa Sit".  Grandpa would rock slightly forward and back on his
feet.  1-2-3 and ....SIT!  A few wobbles.  A couple sloshes of his lemonade.  All of us
yelling  "Whooooaaaaaa".  He would sit there on the edge of the hammock, holding
himself steady with one hand on the edge.  His feet firmly planted on the grass and his
other hand holding his cold drink high aloft.

Now, the sandals needed to be taken off.  One of us grand kids would run over and
help take them off.  Tickling his feet as we did so.

So far, no damage to life or limb.

Ah, but he was not yet fully on the hammock yet.

Now came the "Swing and lie down" move.

Slowly, grandpa would reach behind himself and grasp the far edge of the canvas.  
drink in his other hand still held aloft.  O.K.....1-2-3...SWING the legs up and quickly lie
back.  Let the hammock come to a stop.

Where's Grandpa?

On the ground on the other side of the hammock soaked in lemonade.

Summer was officially started!
Paula Swanson Jul 2010
The number you have dialed has been disconnected....
No one is here to take your call.
The reason why, is because you disrespected.
The last time I trusted you, I can't recall.

I don't know why you even phoned.
Unless it was just out of habit.
You must be alone, with no one at home,
for this you can take all the credit.

The number you have dialed has been disconnected...
I would prefer that you never call again.
I've moved on, but I'm not feeling dejected,
It's time for my new life to begin.

You can swear once again you will try changing.
Even promise, that you'll always be true.
But once you hang up, a new date you'll be arranging,
You'll no longer be making my heart blue.

The numbeer you have dialed has been disconnected...
That is what the recording kept playing.
But, I heard clearly to me, directed,
all that my love wasn't saying.
2.6k · Jul 2010
Daffodil Sprites
Paula Swanson Jul 2010
Wasn't all that long ago,
I stood within the glen.
I beheld a giant Daffodil,
atop a ten foot stem.

Over top the petals did,
come to my ear music sweet.
Curiosity did send me up,
climbing those ten tall feet.

Reaching the top I did peek
and see a wondrous sight.
Each one playing a small flute,
five in all, wee little Sprites.

Upon seeing me they did cease,
the music that drew me there.
In harmony they spoke out,
"It's about time you got here"!

That they knew me, did surprise.
That they were waiting, even more.
When one did offer me a flute,
I jumped through a magic door.

Suddenly, I did change.
Was tiny, with gossamer wings.
I wore a gown of moonbeam dust
and could make that flute sing.

A band of sisters, six were we.
Playing music that makes you sigh.
Within a mystic Daffodil,
atop a stem ten feet high.
2.5k · Sep 2010
Pearls Of Wisdom
Paula Swanson Sep 2010
To write a poem is a treasure hunt.
Diving deep into the depths of your soul,
searching through your minds twisted alleyways.
Rummaging among flotsam and jetsam,
for that one pure gem that outshines the rest,
that starts out as a diamond in the rough.

Poetry is akin to opening a chest.
Spilling the jewels to flow over the page.
Each reveal, the precious stones take on life.
Mingling and coalescing into a crown
to be worn with pride and majestic joy.
Kaleidoscopic endeavor,
offers up a piece of yourself, you share.
2.5k · Oct 2010
Homemade Jam Memories
Paula Swanson Oct 2010
The sound of thick bubbling,
with the smell of fresh blackberries.
The stains upon our fingers and clothes,
all part of my homemade jam memories.

Growing wild along the roads,
the brambles tall and thick.
Pails and buckets overflowing,
eating our fill as we would pick.

The kitchen, busy as a beehive,
those tasty berries getting mashed.
The "Women" all worked together,
young or old, we each had our tasks.

Four generations, making jam.
"Puttin' back" as it was called.
I still remember the stories told
and the laughter from us all.

Not just a smile does it bring,
a calmness pours soft over me.
A giggle will well up time to time,
at my homemade jam memories.
2.5k · Dec 2010
My Purse
Paula Swanson Dec 2010
If, entrusted were I, with a magical purse,
one that held what was needed, but not monies curse.
One that neither bulged, nor would ever be empty,
so when I reached down within, there I'd find plenty.

A handful of tolerance, I would pull each day,
to pass out to those in need, I met along the way.
I would take a fist full of hope, to toss aloft.
Scatter it among the throng, letting it land soft.

I would enter into the turf of gangs and their wars.
Trading peace for their guns, so they would **** no more.
I would go to Washington, there I would invest,
two handfuls of honesty, perhaps ten, would be best.

Charity, I would share, with those who live large.
Help them to give some away, so no one need starve.
I could change so many things and alter many lives.
But, I could also do harm and make so many cry.

As it is so easy, to think one self's above,
to take control of lives, forgetting about love.
So for myself, I'd take a bit to keep myself humble.
So that I and my purse, never, ever stumble
2.5k · Dec 2010
Christmas In The Desert
Paula Swanson Dec 2010
Our snowmen, they're not made of white,
they're tumbleweeds, rolled up tight.
No top hat upon his head,
a cowboy hat sits there instead.
His face and buttons, tree ornaments,
boots and lariat, his accoutrements.

Saguaro cacti with lights wrapped round,
illuminate the landscaped grounds.
Old horse drawn wagons get the festive touch.
With lighted garlands, packages and such.
Porch rails glow with colored lights,
Christmas trees in windows, warm the nights.

Our little town gets all decked out.
Then we gather along the old parade route.
Folks on horseback with ribbons and bells.
The horses know the parade route well.
Marching school bands play Christmas songs,
trucks and tractors carry carolers along.

Floats abound from businesses and groups.
Braving the cold, the Christmas Cowboy Troops.
We all stand up to clap and cheer,
as Santa, as usual, brings up the rear.
Waving his red cowboy hat, in a horse drawn sleigh,
Welcoming Christmas, the Wickenburg way.
Happy Holidays to all.  Wishing you the best this Season has to offer.
2.5k · Aug 2010
A Brief Recess
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
A Lawyer stood squirming in court.
He said "Hey there Judge, be a sport".
"You just haven't got a clue,
what my new underwear does do,
for my briefs, grant a recess, so short."
2.2k · Nov 2010
Mask
Paula Swanson Nov 2010
They say the eyes are the window to the soul,
peering upon our inner being, as it were.
Upon my deep reflection, my breath it stole,
as there, within, my true self was captured.

Peering upon our inner being, as it were,
affords one, the chance, to see yourself in truth.
As there, within my true self, was captured.
I could offer no defense, against the truth.

Affords one, the chance to see yourself.  In truth,
it reveals all the lies I have lived under.
I could offer, no defense, against the proof.
No longer can I live my life with blinders.

It reveals all the lies I have lived under,
stripping away the mask I show the world.
No longer can I live my life with blinders.
I will show what lies behind these eyes of emerald.

Stripping away the mask, I show the world,
upon my deep reflection, my breath it stole.
No longer can I live my life with blinders.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul.
________

Note  Depression forces one to don the mask
of normalcy.  For the world makes you feel tainted
when you admit and show yourself, as you are now.
2.2k · Jan 2011
Ten Ballerina's
Paula Swanson Jan 2011
~~ Ten Ballerina's~~fingers dance

                                   Across the keys~~entwined for romance ~
~
1.9k · Aug 2010
Perception
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
A Heaven to one
can be Hell to another
All is perception
1.9k · Aug 2010
Little Bugger
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
A gnat did fly up my nose,
on purpose, I must suppose.
He set off a pet peeve,
as his wings made me sneeze
and I ***'d into my clothes.
1.9k · Jun 2011
Grandpa's Bird Houses
Paula Swanson Jun 2011
Scraps of lumber, a touch of paint,
with love, became a home.
To the smallest of the birds,
that to our yard would roam.

In his basement workshop,
Grandpa would spend hours.
With his hand saw, brace and bit,
no use of electric power.

At each rip of the saw,
I'd hear that familiar sound.
I'd watch as sawdust drifted,
like pixie dust, to the ground.

With blackened nails and hammer,
he'd assemble the bird houses.
Then he'd paint them brightly,
adding curliques and flounces.

A bit of wire in a hook,
then hung in the Pear tree.
Filled our mornings with the song,
from the Finches and Chick-a-dees.
1.8k · Sep 2010
I Am Cosmic Dust
Paula Swanson Sep 2010
I am made of ancient cosmic dust.
Atomic nucleus and particles.
By the solar winds, I have been ******,
to be a part so astrological.

Atomic nucleus and particles,
moving along near the speed of light.
To be a part so astrological,
my mass and numbers are not finite.

Moving along near the speed of light,
gathered together by gravity fields.
My mass and numbers are not finite.
Look up at night, a star filled sky I yield.

Gathered together by gravity fields,
forever in mans mind, a mystery.
Look up at night, a star filled sky I yield,
forever to a mans soul, a fantasy.

Forever in mans mind a mystery,
by the solar winds, I have been ******.
Forever to a mans soul, a fantasy,
I am made of ancient cosmic dust.
1.7k · Aug 2010
Pretty Is As Pretty Does
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
My Grandmother had a sage saying,
she would regale us with, many times.
With various nouns for exchanging.
But, the meaning rang clear like a chime.

"Pretty is as pretty does".
If, as a diva, on of us girls was heard.
She would hit us with that saying because,
she knew actions spoke louder than words.

Being of a religious nature,
she deplored and showed her discontent,
of those that would shout out their own praise,
then would go about doing ill intent.

"Christian is as Christian does".
Grandma did guide us down that path.
She drummed into me that saying because,
she knew actions speak louder than words.
1.6k · Jun 2011
The Devils Spit
Paula Swanson Jun 2011
Oy!  Boy!  You there!  That's no way ta be tyin' a knot.  Do it like the one next ta ya.  Thats right.  Now pull that tail tight.  Thats got 'er.  Be yer first time ta sea boy?  Aye!  I can tell.  Yer a bit unsure of yerself.  But don't you go worryin' 'bout that.  That there feelin' won't be stayin' with ya fer long.  No.  Not fer long at all.

Come on over and sit by an ol' sailor fer a bit.  Whilst I mend these here sails.  I gots to be gettin' 'em done in time afore we set back ta sea.  Why you ask?  Why boy, don't ya be a knowin' where we be?  We'll be needin' full sail and not one yard less, to get through these waters tonight.

Well, I'll tell ya.  See this here port?  Where'n the Capt'in went off to be makin' deals?  Why, we be at the very bottom edge of a slice of water called the Devils Spit.  What's the Devils Spit ya be askin'?  Oy!  Your still wet behind the ears ya are.  Why, I can count on me nine fingers and what's left of me toes, the number of men what's not heard of the Devils Spit.  And I be all out of fingers and toes to be addin' ya to the list. So I best be a tellin' ya.

Here.  Have a seat and hold on to this here end of sail edage for me.  That's a good lad.  Comfy?  Good.

Ya see, the Devils Spit is a nasty bit o' sea.  Shaped like a triangle.  Connectin' three ports.  Why, it's no bigger'n this on the Capt'ins charts.  But out there...lad, it's vast.  Vast dark and frightenin'.  Course I see the sun a shinin'!  But I'm talkin' 'bout night.  Deep night.  When the moon is high and full.  Like it'll be when we sail tonight.  Cause, it be night that brings up the dead.  Now listen up whilst ol' Tips Slived here tells the tale.

Aye!  The tortured souls upon the waves, do dance and call from watery graves.
They call to other pirates that be, out livin' a life 'pon the sea.
When ya sail within the Devils Spit, you take yer chances with the rest.
Fer they rise up, as ya near their eternal tomb. Ta beckon and wail, out in the gloom.
They have eyeless sockets. Aye! Tis a gruesome sight.
Plucked out by the ocean scavengers bite.
To have those wraiths look t'wards yer ship, marks it fer death.
You'll not beat their grip.
Thier spectral forms of festering rot, once be pirates, one and the lot.
Each dead soul picks itself a victim.  Then SWOOPS down on the decks ta collect 'em.
They be dragged, kicking and screaming, beneath the depths.
But Davvy Jones, these souls he won't accept.
A pact was made 'tween the Devil and he, fer those taken here within this Devil sea.
For the pirates chosen by the dead, are taken deeper down, past the sea bed.
To wail and burn on the Devils spit.  To be fed to his minions and his pets.
Then their souls belong to he, that claims this triangle of the sea.
A pirates soul be the blackest kind.  A more murderous bunch, you'll never find.
So now, ther be a full ship more, of tortured souls to settle scores.
With their ship sunk past the bottom, there they stay til the Devil calls 'em.
Up to dance 'pon the waves, to take other pirates to thier graves.
So when you sail with the full moon lit.  Sail not into the Devils Spit.


Now Lad.  How's that for a bit of an old salts tale?  Good one ay lad?  Here, hold this bit of sail up while I thread this here bobbin.  Higher now.  That's a good lad.  Ha! Ha!  You'll not be feelin this way fer long.  No.  Not long at all.


Hey! Boy!  yes YOU!  Your the only boy here 'board ship be ya not?  What are ya doin' over there in them torn sails?  Don't I be givin' ya enough work ta do?
Talkin' ta who?  We have no hand 'board this ship by that name.  Besides, there be no one there but you.  Take a look a round.
Boy?  You alright?  Your as white as them sheets there.  Ha!  Port sick are ya?  But, don't be worrin' lad.  We set sail on the tide, to do us a bit 'o piratin' on our way to the next port.
Now go check on them skull and cross bones.  make sure she's ready ta hoist when Capt'in calls fer 'em.  Yes. sir, white as them there sheets he is.

MEN!  Make ready ta sail.  Tonight, we sail through the Spit!
1.6k · Oct 2010
A Pantoum Journey
Paula Swanson Oct 2010
Blind through the heavens I seek
For the star that bears your name
There within my heart I keep
Eternally loves soft flame

For the star that bears your name
Guides me with loves sweet call
Eternally loves soft flame
Does hold me close and enthralled

Guiding me with loves sweet call
To stand by your side as wife
Does hold me close and enthralled
This bond together we call life

To stand beside your side as wife
Brings to me a joy untold
This bond together we call life
Nothing manmade can unfold

Brings to me a joy untold
This family we have raised
Nothing manmade can unfold
That which always does amaze

The family we have raised
There within my heart I keep
That which always does amaze
Blind through the heavens I seek
1.6k · Jun 2010
Oleander
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
Love cautiously, the Oleander,
from a distance, behold its blooms.
For within its vibrant grandeur,
death's brew does certainly loom.

Profuse clusters of pink, red and white,
are not for your table setting,
Let them be a backdrop delight
for desert landscape planting.

Lush, evergreen, they grow year round,
wild, tall, with abandon.
Or prune them down, so they stay low,
a hedge with blooms embolden.

A poison beauty without compare,
The Oleander draws attention.
Thriving in the dry desert air,
Touch?  Remember warnings, here, I did mention.
1.6k · Jul 2010
Pinball
Paula Swanson Jul 2010
Sssttttuhhp....clunk.

Plink..plinkplink...flip, *****, ****, plink.
Donk, donkdonk, plink, doink, ****.
Flipflap..****, plinkplink, doink.
Doink, doinkdoink, whirrrrrr, buzzzzzzzz ****.

"Oh ****".

Sssttttuhhp....clunk.

Plink, doinkbink, flipflap, bink.
Twirrrrrrrrtwirrrrrrrr, twirrrrrrr *****.
flipflap.....clunk

"Oh....Man"!

Sssttttuhhp....clunk.

P­linkplinkboinkdoink...flip...bonk shhhupduuuup.
****, doink, *****, shuuuup.
plink, ploinkploink, **** doink.
booooouuuuupboooooouuuup...*****
flipflap...clunk

"Shoot"­!

Sssttttuhhp....clunk.

plinkplinkplinkplink, doink flipflap, bonk, *****, twirrrrrr.
doink, *****, bonk, wuuuuuup, twirrrrrr, puurrrrrrrr.
plink, ploink, doinkdoink, purrrrrrrr, shuuuuupshuuuup
plinkplinkplink, doink, flip, doink, flip, trrrruuuuurrrrp.

"YES"!  (shakes machine)

TILT!  TILT! TILT!

"NOooooooooo"!
1.6k · Aug 2010
Crimson And Pink Pearls
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
In a faded dress she wore, of crimson and pink pearls,
on her pedestal she sat, parasol, she did twirl.
Though age may have faded plumes and placed lines on her face,
she refuses to give up on dreams of silks and fine lace.
She knew that her lovers, would be coming back to her,
to once again, furnish her with jewelry and rich furs.
Through the years she waits, her mind slowing slips away.
Insanity took control, while vanity takes sway.
As her lovers did marry off, or just died away
and her peers morals, of fidelity, won the day,
less and less, she was in demand, as a paramour.
Vanity and ego, sealed her fate for evermore.

Vanity and ego, sealed her fate for evermore.
Less and less, she was in demand, as a paramour
And her peer's morals of fidelity, won the day.
As her lovers did marry off, or just died away,
insanity took control, while vanity, takes sway.
Through the years she waits, her mind slowly slips away.
To once again furnish her in jewelry and rich furs,
she knew that her lovers, would be coming back to her.
She refuses to give up on dreams of silks and fine lace.
Though age may have faded plumes and placed lines on her face,
on her pedestal she sat, parasol she did twirl.
In a faded dress she wore of crimson and pink pearls.
1.6k · Aug 2010
Good Chocolate Crop
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
Bountiful harvest
evidenced by my waist line
Good chocolate crop year
1.6k · Feb 2012
Twilight Eyes
Paula Swanson Feb 2012
Eyes the color of twilight hours,
looks down from a canvas throne.
Captured for an eternity,
her languid form, in repose.

Queen of all she surveys,
within these crumbling walls.
Moth eaten Brocade, silk spider's web.
Marble stairs and dank halls.

Once the matriarch of a dynasty,
that lived beneath this roof.
She still exerts her own will,
as watches, uncaring, aloof.

She is within the very mortar,
that binds these ancient stones.
Her blood is on the very air,
that chills you to the bone.

The floors and she are now as one.
Listen!  You can hear her footsteps.
There within the mournful wind,
hear her laughter where she once slept.

The ballroom still hosts soiree's.
Muted music of bygone years play.
While in the South Rose parlor,
you can feel her pull take sway.

She will conjole and pout,
until you agree to stay.
Then she'll lead you to the cellar,
where all her guests must pay.

These windows, on a stormy night,
show shadows walking by.
Tattered curtains fall into place,
while evil hides from prying eyes.

But do not feed the impulse,
to enter and investigate.
For within these walls, her spirit dwells
and for fresh blood, she lies in wait.
1.6k · Nov 2010
Simple Toys
Paula Swanson Nov 2010
Their hobby horse carved from wood.
Upon metal frame and bouncy springs.
Kept our boys on the trail of good.
Rounding up outlaws and wild things.

Hot wheel cars and yards of plastic track,
racing from living room to kitchen.
They'd chase after their cars, then run back,
over and over, I should mention...

Tonka trucks and a pile of sand,
under the pear tree in our back yard.
Each one operated by little hands.
To get the boys outside, was never hard.

Forts made from sheets hung on the clothes line,
or in their bedroom if it would rain.
Turned an adventure out of lunchtime,
or "Boys Only" club when the girls came.

Blocks of wood cut different sizes and shapes,
dumped out onto their bedroom floor.
Became odd alien landscapes,
strewn from bunk beds to closet door.

Just an old ratty cardboard box.
Dented pan lid for a steering wheel.
No need for stereo or remote door locks,
as their first car, it was a steal.

So much fun, no batteries needed.
No computer generation.
Active minds cleverly seeded,
by two boys and their imagination.
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
Just after the Bar-B-Que and a cooling swim,
there is just on thing I want, on a whim.
Light and oh so soothing on your tongue.
A Parfait Cake with just a dash of ***.

Start with the bottom of a single layer cake.
Placed within a ring or on a parfait plate.
Then smother with sliced berries, firm and sweet.
Oh!  This is going to be a real treat!

Next heap on the pudding filling.
*** flavored vanilla is best for what we are doing.
Top that with cold fresh whipped cream.
Just a little more, go on, no one will scream.

Now gently place on, the top half of moist cake.
This is the crucial part, I should state.
After decorating with more berries and more whipped cream,
sit back and enjoy this dessert dream.
1.5k · Jun 2011
Embracing Death
Paula Swanson Jun 2011
Beyond yon roof, of sod and thatch
Beyond yon door, of wood and latch
Beyond the reach of man's morals
Beyond yon hedge of thicket Laurels

Dwells a creature in forest veil
Dwells one, that lives, beyond the pale
Dwells, who takes victims with care
Dwells, who with, blank eye does stare

Watch, it does, from beneath the moon
Watch, it does, from shadows bestrewn
Watch, it has intent to bespell
Watch and feel its brace impel

Whilst, I hold, dreams sempiternal
Whilst, I invite, days be final
Whilst, I take last, sweet breath
Whilst, I embrace my lover....Death
1.5k · Oct 2010
Once Willows Wept Not
Paula Swanson Oct 2010
I now know why the Willow weeps
A tragedy of love it's memory keeps
For once a young man and a young maid
On tender grass beneath branches lay
Though pledged by birth to another
From clans they hid to be together
Thus the gentle Willow was their choice
Meeting beneath, till love they could voice
The Willow held these secret lovers dear
So would lower it's boughs when they drew near
Then tucked away in the Willow's womb
Could lay as one, yet this love was doomed
For jealousy lurked within the Pines
Spying the lovers thus entwined
Behind their curtain of slender limbs
He swore the maiden would yet be his
And so it came to pass one day
As the maiden softly maid her way
To their Willow deep within the glen
She saw the branches did already bend
Timidly as she did draw near
A sound of sorrow met her ears
Parting Willow branches to look within
A dampness did touch upon her skin
The Willow was shedding sap laden tears
For the young man in death was near
It was an arrow that had been used
A potent poison it's head infused
The maiden now blind with grieving mist
Removed the arrow, held it clenched in her fist
Whilst cradling his head he drew his last breath
She did plunge the arrow into her breast
And so it is that this is told
The Willow's grief could not be consoled
For unable to stop what had befell
The young love it had hid so well
With it's will broken as the lovers lay dead
The Willow, it's branches, never again spread
And because it is the memory it keeps
it is to this day that the Willows weep



Featured Poem on Poetry Soup, April 4, 2010
Paula Swanson Sep 2010
I wrote and read this poem at my grandmothers funeral.


While growing up, Toni; Steven and I
saw our Grandparents sacrifice,
so much of their own lives, without a fuss.
Along with our Mother, they did it just for us.
Though Grandpa he was called, he was our father
and in Mom and Grandma, we had two amazing Mothers.
We loved them with the clarity of a childs heart,
in each one of us, they became, so much a part.
Sadly, we have gathered together here today,
to say our final goodbye, to a wonderful lady.
Grandma was tough, she was stubborn and oh so loving.
She had about her, that special something.
That had every child in every neighborhood,
calling her Grandma, whenever they could.
I remember her ready laughter, at our antics,
and her guidance, by the seat of our *******.
The countless batches of cookies baked.
For each one of us, every year, our own special birthday cake.
The delicate Barbie and Troll doll clothes she made,
the big band music, on the stereo, she played.
The fragrant roses and brilliant dahlias, tended with care.
The home canned pears, who with the neighbors, she shared.
Then we grew up and though with Mom, we moved away,
Grandma and Grandpa, stayed in our thoughts every day.
Our sister Kristi was born and added to Grams happiness and pride,
then as if by magic, the years just flew by.
The four of us were having children of our own,
when Gram would hold them, her face fairly glowed.
Gram saw her great grand children grow into yong ladies and men,
Then came along some great, great, grandchildren.
I was always amazed, but never surprised,
how Gram, through the children, came alive.
Gram's whole essence was that of pure love.
So I firmly believe she has placed herself, in charge of the baby angels above.
She holds them in arms, that once embraced all of us.
She, herself, is held now in the arms of Jesus.
She is looking down upon us now, with a love untold.
Within her angels wings, she does now, all of us enfold.



In Loving memory of Margaret Sanford.
1918-2010
1.5k · Jun 2010
Sweet Grandparents
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
They ask, "What's the sweetest thing that's happened to you"?
I would have to reply, "It started when I was two".
That is when I, Mother, sister and brother,
went to live with our Grandpa and Grandmother.

They both sacrificed, from that day forward,
working long, hard hours, always undeterred.
To give us a home and happy memories.
It couldn't have been better, for Mom and us three.

Mom worked evenings at the Sears and RoeBuck store.
Grandpa at the publishers, working on the printing floor.
Grandma changed jobs to the school cafeterias,
so when we were home from school, she could be near us.

Grandpa was our dad, in our hearts and minds.
Growing up with two Moms was a terrific time.
Yes, living with our Grandparents was a special world.
I grew up to be a very thankful girl.

What's the sweetest thing that has ever happened?
It started when I was two, and has never slackened.
1.5k · Aug 2010
Hair Of The Dog
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
As my Precious sits on my desk,
shedding and watching with interest.

I take a drink from my cup.
A hair sticks to my tongue..eew yuk.

She is pleased with herself and wags,
her tail, hair flies off like flags.

They are small, black and everywhere.
Making patterns on all of the chairs.

Little drifting smiles of hair,
residing on my clothes without care.

This much hair from a small Chihuahua,
it's not possible, no not at all.

It's not as if she's going bald.
But then, Kojack, she could be called.

Oh look!  You have some hair that she's shared.
I'll take care of that, you wait right there.

I'll just run and get my  trusty lint roller.
Better yet!   I'll get my leaf blower.
Just a bit of fun to clear the mind.
1.5k · Jan 2011
Translucent Pearl
Paula Swanson Jan 2011
A single translucent pearl,
drifts down a wizened cheek,
from eyes where dreams still swirl.
In a body weak with age,
The mind paces it's cage.
As memories still speak,
a single translucent pearl,
drifts down a wizened cheek.

The bloom of youth long gone,
yet remembered is its song.
From eyes where dreams still swirl,
as memories still speak.

A single translucent pearl,
drifts down a wizened cheek.
This is written in a form called a Sonnetina.  The rhyme scheme and refrain lines are very exacting.
1.4k · Jun 2010
Men And Thier Bar-B-Q's
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
I think that a Bar-B-Q is an extension of a guys manliness.
Or manhood.
Now before all of you start disagreeing with me,
listen to this blondes logic.

When a man goes to purchase a grill
There are many factors a man has to take into consideration.
And they are, in this order, as follow:

1. Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid

2. The size of the grill

3. Rotisserie?

4. Accessories

5. Bar-B-Q covers


Let us take each consideration in turn.

Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid.

Propane men:

Some men want instant gratification.  Twist a **** or two, push a button here and instant heat.  Give it a few minutes to build to the right temperature and BAM!  In with the meat.  Once done, turn a **** or two and walk away.  No muss.  No fuss.

Charcoal men:

Other men are more inclined to take their time.  savor the experience.  They enjoy watching the flames build and turn into a glowing bed of meat searing heat.  When everything is just right, they gently place the meat.  They stand gaurd over it.  Tending to it.  Every once in a while poking it to test if it's ready.  These same men will sometimes sit snuggled around the glowing embers afterwards.  Watching the heat fade and cool.  Then they will ask their woman they had served  "How'd you like your steak babe?"

Charcoal Fluid And Men:

Some men should never be allowed near a Bar-B-Q that requires something to stimulate the flames.  It always ends in disaster and or injury.

Size Of The Bar-B-Q:

O.K.  Now this is a touchy subject for most men.  It has been known to cause envy, jealousy and has broken up a marriage or two.  Men think bigger is better.

When buying a Bar-B-Q , a man thinks about; cooking area, the possible need for side burners, portability, and the all important factor of presentation.  That's right.  How will it look to the neighbors and guests?  Will they be properly impressed with it? Also, can it handle the extra meat when company comes over?  Heaven forbid it should let him down and make him look foolish.

Rotisserie:

This is an important decision.  Does having your meat spin make it better?  I think that this is more of an individual decision.

Accessories:

Now we have reached a critical point.  How to accessorize.  Of course, every man needs the right equipment to ensure success.  And all of the tools need to have a long reach and be durable.
Tongs, fork, knife, spatula, basting brush.
Some men even splurge and go for a flavor injector.  Now that's a man who cares about his meat.

Bar-B-Q Cover:

Finally we reach the last consideration a man has to make.  To cover or not to cover?

Men!  Always, with out fail, should cover.  It is for their own protection.  And it shows you care.

Thank you.
Just in time for the summer
1.4k · Aug 2010
Turtle, Turtle, Turdle
Paula Swanson Aug 2010
He made a request for dinner,
the stock, I started to simmer.

As my husband watched his T.V.,
I gathered the herbs I'd need.

A pinch of this and a tad of that.
Then I went in search of the cat.

I called hubby in for his meal,
he sat down and began with zeal.

But, soon he stopped and just stared,
at his soup, which, I didn't share.

he scooped up a piece of the "meat",
then got up and ran from his seat.

Over the retching, he did ask,
"Why did you add the turtles' ***?"

It was then that I saw the light.
I hadn't quite heard him just right.

I explained the big chunks of ****,
I thought he had said Turdle soup.
Paula Swanson Jul 2012
It was a lifetime ago...just yesterday,
when rain fell softly upon my face.
That spoke to me of younger years,
with all my innocence thus encased.

I could feel the rainbow...just out of reach,
all the colors of moments passed.
Where truths were lies and lies believed,
countless, as grains in an hourglass.

I can bear forth the torch...yet not burn the eyes,
to scald away truth's stench and decay.
Why can't we hold to the dreams of youth,
that was a lifetime ago...just yesterday?
1.4k · Feb 2013
Penny Serenade
Paula Swanson Feb 2013
Dancing outside the saloon,
they toss pennies at his feet.
On his harmonica he plays,
a tune, off key, up beat.

On his head of sparse grey hair,
he sports an old top hat.
His tattered coat of tailored tails,
frames a frayed and worn cravat.

On a thin frame the tux does hang,
his pants, held up with twine.
You can't help, but to think,
he is from another time.

Come rain or shine, he is there.
Tip of his hat to all the girls.
He gives a nod of thanks at each sound,
as round his feet, the pennies swirl.
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