Paula Swanson

Paula Swanson Jun 2010

Oleander

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.

Paula Swanson Jun 2010

Bury Not I

Once it was, they thought me dead.
But in a coma, I lay instead.
I could hear the plans they made
and how it was to rest I would lay.

Its the burial that I fear.
That there be no ones ear to hear.
When crazed, I scream, scratch and claw,
into the coffin wood, from my fingers blood draws.

Unable I, to move but a scant few inches.
In total darkness my mind unhitches.
drowning in my own tears I quake.
Gasping, preying, begging, promises I make.

Yes, its the burial that I fear.

So it is that I vow,
I will come back somehow
and haunt those that throw the dirt,
upon my coffin, when I'm alert.

If you want peace after my demise,
cremation it is, would be most wise.
For then it is my spirit sets free
and that I truly am, dead as can be.

Paula Swanson Jun 2010

Sweet Grandparents

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.

Paula Swanson Jun 2010

Wanted: Perfect World; Last Seen: In My Day Dreams

Perfection is but a day dream away,
I usually go there at least once a day.

When stress in my life gets to be too great,
I sit back, close my eyes, breathe deep and wait.

Slowly the scene behind my eyes does gel,
a scenario I know all too well.

Once again I am thirty-nine, pain free,
there never occurred this back injury.

Here in my arms I hold my first grandchild,
without pain in my legs and back screaming wild.

Then when she is two and yells "Gamma, run",
off I go, joining in, I'm having fun.

All my grandchildren can run up to me,
hugging me deeply, wrapped round my knees.

Piggybacks, peek-a-boo, tag and jump rope,
all these things I can do in my day dreams of hope.

My sons come up and give me big bear hugs,
I am able to reciprocate that love.

At our sons wedding, with my husband I dance,
without giving that cane a thought or a glance.

No scars across my front, nor down my back,
titanium bars and screws, I lack.

I can swim, twist, jog, laugh with life and bend.
I wish my perfect world, when I open my eyes, wouldn't end.

Paula Swanson Jun 2010

Soul Of A Stripper, Life Of A Housewife

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

Paula Swanson Jun 2010

They Don't Know

My tears do fall as rain on glass,
as when storms beat against the pane.
Heart held shrouded, torments of the past.
Life offers nothing which I can gain

Somber pall envelops me now,
my mind wrenched from the door.
Never know just when or how,
I'll find the key upon the floor.

Hidden among thoughts scattered about.
Beneath self worth and loathing.
There the key lies molding, rusting, with doubt,
while those around me, remain unknowing.

Paula Swanson Jun 2010

One Patch Of Earth

The battlefield long now cleared
of corpse, blood and gore.
Belay the epic truth they tell,
knee deep in history and wars.

Dead stacked like cords of wood,
burnt on unsanctified fires.
Log by log of rigored souls
sent the flames up higher.

years later make shift morgues sat 'bout
to hold the fallen heroes.
Kept in dungeons and deeper colds,
till springtime thaw for burials.

Those that live on to build
and keep recording life.
Never thought once and all
war would end their daily strife.

So it goes, axe to sword,
Cannon to machine gun.
Scud missles to nuclear.
Who will be left to say they won?