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Kida Price  Jun 2014
Mood swing
Kida Price Jun 2014
As a child I would play
On my mood swing everyday.
It still new
And hardly frayed
It would take me up and back away.
If someone pushed me up
I'd say
"This is such a beautiful day!"
And if some stole my swing from me
I'd sit and pout
In childish melancholy.
A few years passed
And my mood swing stayed.
I stared at it but hardly played.
I'd sometimes think
"Maybe today
Will be the day my mood swing breaks."
My mother's tears
And my father's rage
Would make my mood swing
Lose it's sway.
My brothers and sisters would look away
While by myself
On my mood swing I would pray.
"Please just push me up again
Make me smile
Be my friend."
In my teens I never glanced
At the swing
It being rusted but not collapsed.
I used it for another wish
Like hanging with friends
Or sharing my first kiss.
The slightest breeze could push it now.
I never had to be in the seat.
In memory I'd see it go up and down
And the ground would never meet my feet.
I gripped the chain
And laughed and screamed
My feelings were transfered
Into that swing.
Then I changed into my adult like skin.
So grown up
I thought I knew everything.
My mood swing was for childish work
And I'm too big
Too much of a naive ****.
I swung myself
As high or low as I'd command
Thinking I had the control all in my hands.
I figured all who we're passing me
Would assume me swinging high
Swinging free.
Unknowing that my mood swing
Was swinging me.
Until those times I'm swung too low
My feet would catch
My adrenaline grow.
I fell so many times,
Looking back on my method then,
It's wasn't as easy as it was at 10.
Of course someone was helping me.
Now my swing is jerking me
It feels too small when I sit in the seat.
I don't go as high now like I used to be
I can only move if I kick my feet.
My mood swing made it so long without defeat
But I have awhile to go
And I'm not confident as it squeaks.
What if my children want to play on it someday
And I give them my swing in disarray?
I've long forgotten how to play
On my mood swing
In the way.
Sky Dec 2016
Swing high, swing low
To the different birds I say hello
Then monsters come to devour the pretties
They grin and show me teeth full of flitties
Swing high, swing low
A demon pushes me onto a spiky pillow
Then cotton candy softens the blow
and turns to blood
Swing high, swing low
I really do not know
Why the female body causes so much distress
When the moon decides that it's time to fertilize
Swing high, swing low
There are no seeds to sow, so
please, hormones, just leave me alone.
Marian Jan 2014
Childhood memories of yore
Drift through my head
As I watch that old tree swing
Many a Summer ago
I would swing there as a child
But now I am a grownup woman
But my children swing there now
Lovingly I watch
That old tree swing
And memories fond
Fill my mind
Like the rustling breeze
Making that tree swing
Rock back and forth

* * * * * * * * * * * *
My Mother is dead
And now as we fond children recall
How she loved to swing
Upon the tree swing
That is not there anymore
The tree was cut down yesterday
And the swing was destroyed
Vanishing with the swing
Are the happy golden memories
Of many happy days
Spent as children
Swinging upon the swing
That is now destroyed
Along with our Mother's
Childhood home

Just a random poem that I wrote in my notebook and copied here!! (: ~~~<3
Also, this is inspired by my Mom's childhood home that had to be destroyed
a few months ago!!! ~~~<3
So, here's the inspired poem!!! (: ~~~<3
Please enjoy it!!! :) ~~~~<3
Purcy Flaherty  Mar 2018
Purcy Flaherty Mar 2018
Some folks pluck a cherry and some folks poke a peach.
I like to choose the far out fruit that others fail to reach!
I’m a *******;
I like to swing from tree to tree,
I’m a *******;
Would you like to swing with me?
We could go out on a limb, tie up Sue and Jim,
If you want to swing then come and swing with me.

We can swing all night and could swing all day;
Till the birds and bees come out to play!
Just sing this song and swing along with me.

I’m a *******;
I like to swing from tree to tree,
I’m a *******;
Would you like to swing with me?
We could go out on a limb, tie up Sue and Jim,
If you want to swing then come and swing with me.

We can swing all night and could swing all day;
Till the birds and bees come out to play!
Just sing this song!
and swing along
with me!
A cheeky ******* song!
Will Storck Sep 2010
I played on a swing set today. It had to be the first time since I was twelve.  I didn’t even mean to, by that I mean it was an accidental event. Well, I mean I don’t want to say it was fate or something, it just sort of happened. Like when you hear a story of how two high-school sweet hearts meeting for the first time except it’s doubtful that you can achieve the same level of satisfaction from a pair of cold metal chains connected to a polyurethane seat. Well maybe, but you most likely would have to be sick in the head or something. I’m getting off track.

I was waiting for my friends in the park. They were running late so I had about a half an hour to ****. I noticed the old rusty rundown swing set, and I wanted somewhere to sit for a second. I was listening to some music, something by Modest Mouse I think, and I noticed, and I mean really noticed, I was on a swing set. It was nothing special by swing standards. It was old, that was a fact. It only had two swings left: one made for kids younger than three and the other for everyone else. Unfortunately I’m twenty.

Things started off slowly. A slow, steady rocking then I was swinging about a foot back and forth. I couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time I swung. So I thought, what the hell, I’m not doing anything too pressing. I kicked off and started pumping my swing.  I don’t often experience a sort of tangible nostalgia but I sure love it when I do. I was splashed in the face with times throughout my childhood, if you could call what I had that, when we would try to swing as high as we could. Of course we didn’t know about the limits of gravity and universal laws yet, we hadn’t quite hit that brick wall just yet. But that’s what made it so much fun; our ignorance of what governs our physical world made it that much better. Had we known what was to come back then, we just might have told Newton where he could stick that apple.

So using my previous knowledge of kindergarten physics, I was swinging like a pro in no time. It was exhilarating. I closed my eyes and lived in motion. Each swing was like the ****** of a rollercoaster. Colours streamed across the dark sky under my eyelids. I saw blues and purples like Day-Glo brush strokes. Sometimes they exploded with brilliant oranges and yellows. I removed my ability to see for just a moment and saw my own personal firework display.

I remember when I first learned how to swing. It was during recess one day at kindergarten. Everyone knew how but me. Imagine how that plays with an ego. I’m not sure how I exactly learned either. I just sat on the swing set on the playground and just swung. Kind of like how a duckling has the intrinsic knowledge of swimming. I swung for the rest of recess. I felt like a god. I was the master.

I stopped moving and rode the pendulum out. When it all stopped I opened my eyes and welcomed myself back to reality. Back to gravity. Back to responsibility. Back to life. It’s funny, for just a second, I stepped out of my life and truly lived. But back here, with my feet planted in the sand, I still remember my first swing. I remember the feeling, the achievement. It’s for that feeling we fight in this world.

We all are just learning how to swing.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
"Swing is the mythical moment in rowing. When the energy an oarsman puts into the boat seems to perfectly propel the hull forward, when the crew moves in unison and the boat slides over the water, when the output seems to generate more energy and a grueling pace seems infinitely sustainable, a boat and the rowers aboard feel "swing."

Swing is trust.  Trust that you can do your own and the boat will fly because of everyone.  The moment of swing is the moment seared into the memory; a moment to be relived in recollection."

Swing I know.

Swing is when my
living words
fall and flow so fast,
they complain, to me,

Keep up, Keep up!

We are in unison in a moment,
forever sustainable, forever lived,
and forever relived,
a myth created,
a recollection
collected and preserved,

Swing low, sweet poet,
Comin' for to carry us home;
Swing low, sweet poet,
Comin' for to carry us home.
The swing comments re rowing have been in my "poem to write" file for years. Tonight it wrote itself in seconds, swinging.
John Doe  May 2016
Red Tyre Swing
John Doe May 2016
on the red tyre swing
we swung
in our red tyre dreams
we sung
songs of red
then we began to swing and swang and swung
till the tired red sun shone
throughout the world of a red tired toddler’s mind  

the redness spread with tired red hands
and consumed every inch of our tired red skin
and there
under the red tyre swing we sat
swimming in the muggy air
inhalations and expectations of teens
waiting for a life of red faced busy faced love traced excitement

and then
we sat under that red tyre swing
an old couple looking out
our fond red tinted memories of tyre swinging joy
on the red tyre swing with our red tired limbs
and gray tinted minds with hair that once shone
with joy and laughter
and now here we lie under the red tyre swing
with the same tired red sun
tracing across the skin
with grey skin hair
and eyes
and we close them looking skyward past our red tyre swing
into the red eyelids that are all that remain
of our youth
the only unaffected view
for a couple of youngsters
aching to ride our red tyre swing into the red layered sky
at the sunset of our lives.
Marie-Chantal Sep 2014
Sway of a tree, rope hanging down.
Swing, crack, swing, feet graze the ground.
Scruffy old shoes, laces like the rope,
If only you had known that you still had so much hope

Pill Popper, made you feel.
You needed someone to know that this pain was real

Swing, crack, swing, go the branches above you
They called out with the wind and begged you not to
Mutated in the brain, lay the mangled secret
And it whispered to you softly *Keep it, keep it, keep it.
g clair Mar 2014
Minding our own
barely making it rhyme,
it's all coming out
there's dust in the drought
but the rain comes in time.

Nothing held back
I've got nothing to say,
let it roll off my shoulders
puts less your mind
and it's better that way.

(hum or sing chorus)
All I wanted
            with you, babe
                         All I needed
                with you.

And isn't this nice?
you like hot tea on ice
thank you, yes, I can follow directions
so please don't think twice.
And isn't this great?
we can stay out real late
watching millions of sparkling stars
while you're lickin' that plate?

Bridge---( can you hear it?)

I said nothing at all
it's that horse in the stall
my foot fell asleep but I'm not gonna weep
I can drag it or crawl.

Now the wind's in the trees
and your hand's on my knees
and the warmth of your breath on my neck
puts my tired mind at ease.

All I wanted
        ­with you babe
                         All I needed
                with you.

Minding our own
making it rhyme,
it's all coming out
and there's dust in the drought
but you rain comes in time...

Distracted, it's true
idle chatter won't do
Better nothing to say
put the music on play
and be quiet
with you.

All I wanted
        ­with you babe
                         All I needed
                with you.
A daydream, then a poem, then a song....someday a reality.
Asphyxiophilia Aug 2013
I don't know why I went to the park that day, to be honest. But it was as though the idea was contained in the center of one of the anti-depressants that I swallowed that morning, as though it was released into my bloodstream along with the rest of the ingredients that usually bring me a sense of peace (on good days), as though it bloomed like a vine that weaved through my capillaries and consumed every part of me. Once it took hold of me, I couldn't rid myself of it, so I succumbed to it. As soon as the bottom of my sandals made contact with the soft dirt of the playground, goosebumps rose to the surface of my skin like every memory bursting through my subconscious. The last time I was here, my shoes never met the ground, because you carried me on your back like a child and set me down gently on the tire swing just inside the entrance. I walked slowly towards the swing, envisioning how we must have looked that day. My hands clinging to the chains supporting the tire like they held tightly to your heart strings, my legs kicking from beneath me as though I were splashing in the waves of every ounce of love that poured from us, and my hair flowing in the breeze with the same ease that we existed in each other's presence. Your hands pressed against my back and pushed me higher and higher, and although I was swaying several feet from the ground, I had never felt more safe. I could hear your laughter from behind me and the soundwaves wrapped around my chest like a parachute that I knew would carry me to safety. I felt drawn to the swing once again, so I lifted my legs over the tire and wrapped my hands around the chains once more, rocking back and forth slowly. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel the rythym of the swing throughout my entire body. But my meditation was interrupted by a familiar sound that seemed to be gliding upon the invisible fibers of the light breeze that was softly kissing my cheeks. The sound wrapped itself around my head and entered my ears, filling them. I opened my eyes to see several shadows walking in my direction in the distance. The trees overhead were offering them a cover that they slipped quietly beneath, but within seconds, they stepped into the sunlight and I caught my breath. You were among them, and your head was tilting back in laughter, and your hands were moving gracefully in front of you, and your feet were walking swiftly as though you weren't wading through a swamp littered with my memory. And that was when you saw me, and if I hadn't been looking right at you, I wouldn't have noticed the slight twitch in your smile when your eyes met mine. But you didn't miss a step, you never did. Not even when you wrapped your fingers tightly around my heart and then shattered it into a million pieces. I couldn't remove my gaze from you, from your graceful and unaffected presence. I couldn't even register who you were with because I was so focused on the way your tongue slipped effortlessly in and out of your mouth. And if I wasn't mistaken, you slightly lifted your head in my direction as a nod of recognition, but you kept on walking. And I kept staring, because I always seemed to be the one clinging to something that was already gone. But it was in that moment that the vines in my bloodstream dissolved and I suddenly felt free from it all, as though it was my purpose to revisit the place I have replayed in my mind a thousand times only to replace it with a new memory. And it was in that moment that I realized that all you would ever be from now on is a memory, an empty tire swing swaying in an invisible breeze.
Arlo Disarray Oct 2015
Tales told on a blue bird's wing,
reveal the truth of the old, wooden swing
He sits in an oak,
and he grows on a string
When you look in his past, you'll see when he was king

The children all swung in the air over grass
It was green and pristine
and it grew in a mass
But the jack-'o-lantern smiles grew new teeth far too fast
Soon, the old, wooden swing was a thing of the past

All the grass grew much taller, and soon turned into weeds
And the old wooden swing only swung in the breeze
Not a child who smiled, no more sets of skinned knees
Now the old, wooden swing felt useless in the trees

Alone, he sat waiting for the kids he once knew
But they had their own lives, and the swing turned so blue
He was lost in the sky as they shared the same hue
And the swing said goodbye when he finally flew
when I was growing up, we had this old swing that my dad made for us. And after we'd all grown up and moved out he was going to write a song about it. I'm not sure if he ever got the chance before he died, but I was inspired by his idea. I love you, Dad.

— The End —