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Olena Y Sep 28
Barn swallows swarm in the nests near the ridge of the roof – they never fly away for the winter because summer in that garden is not ruled by the calendar.

Pears always ripen there, sweet purple grapevines are covered with wasps and apples fall right on to the table…
Here I will always cut flowers into bouquets and make wreaths of dainty mummy’s dahlias and cosmos…

I’ll always collect my herbs and press them to dry in an old book. I just want to preserve my memories…

…how our kitten caught the lizard and how I plucked her to safety. How I held her small body in the palm of my hand and studied the patterns on her skin. How still she was…resigned to her fate. This time you’re in luck, babe. I let you go to the warm cover of the well… you disappeared just like that…will you survive the winter?

I can already feel the coolness of autumn and wrap myself in a blanket to sit down on the porch to sip my tea.

I do the same things I have done so many times in my life…
...ever since you showed me how at midnight Ursa Major and her baby bear walk around our roof, how a salty, starry road leads south and drops its stars in our garden…over and over again in a circle…

The only thing I am sure of now is that shooting stars pay no heed at all to our wishes – they just burn up in the atmosphere and leave no trace behind.
A Dedication.
to My Father
James Rowley Jul 27
The lights smiled as the road stretched for millennia
I refuse to entertain them, to persist forever.
However it tells me different, that I must go
To where I am needed most, I follow
The crumbling walls, betraying its host                                   
It has been long since I journeyed this way.
Footprints, of some kind, lined the path;
Whatever it was that made the mark
Might it have searched for meaning deeply?
But in the end it began to fade, and I heard
The tall nettles, scratching the mighty concrete;
Blue-crested Swallows too joined in on the harmony
So Discordant and so Soothing, for a fleeting moment, but
There was no respite given as the moon watched me stumble;
Her eyes pits of nihil, devoid of hope, yet mesmerizing.
There is no telling when I can return to my happiness;
Why Must I be so lonely, in this plane of mild?
The isolation appears stronger, I am afraid
That I may grow insane with the wild.
feedback would be appreciated
Tatiana Jan 8
Swallows get caught in your throat
trying to escape the cat.
Feathers are ticklish,
the cat's grip is vicious,
is this how we've come to say that
the cat got your tongue,
the cat got your tongue,
because you thought
you could swallow winged lies.
The hunter inside
always finds its pride
in the throat where the swallow choked.
© Tatiana
Rohan Press Sep 2018
red-breasted swallows chase
love on our
grave. She piles the earth, spoonful
by spoonful—

I see a torrent of brown
in her hair,
I see her dancing in the early
morning light.
i found something when we were apart.
Simple Aug 2018
01
If Death came up to me,
I would embrace it and say

Thankyou.
because maybe I've reached my lifes peak, so I want to give back
Rohan Press Aug 2018
swallows fly in
fractured patterns: i stared
at the canopy

i bellowed your name
and sobbed; my dog
licked my face

faraway: i know your voice
rumbles with music.
this is for ellie, the girl i've never met. ellie rowsell: i've fallen head-over-heels for you.
I will go where the swallows go,
following orange sunsets and
amber wings.
I will search for bottled letters,
written in the dawn of future,
for something more than bottomless worry.
I will go where the swallows go,
sleeping in the marshes' hollow,
I only hope for tomorrow.
My lungs may burst as I cover my nose and mouth,
I give my strength to the waters now.
With its will; I could too, learn to fly.
I will go where the swallows go,
because where they lead, I do not
know, but it's something better than here;
a being to cease my
fear--
Swallows are a meaning of love/hope
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
Paul Jones Jun 2017
Hour by hour,      the morning sunrise
steals the night away.      Swallows, please shut up.
05:10 - 14/06/17
State of mind: restless; over-thinking

Thoughts: from thinking - about anything that will distract me from the swallows.

Questions: none

Notes: part 3 of 3
Jim Davis May 2017
resting upon porch
swallows sipping pond's still glass
She brings mint juleps
Ma Cherie Jun 2016
I found a dead bunny
in my yard yesterday
his eyes were still open
But his body was still

I crouched down beside him
to admire his Beauty
and his fur still matted
from where it had been  chewed

I didn't feel sadness
I admired his bravery
I've seen lots of his kind
lately here in my yard

They're sent from the heavens
from my native ancestors

The Raven, the swallows & the two turtle doves...
They are all the....
...reminders
of a God's Burning Love.

I gently picked up
that long sleeping bunny
his little front legs
just dangling straight down
I made him  a bed made of mossy fresh Earth
to return him back home
......without even a sound.

Cherie Nolan © All Rights Reserved * 2016
I'd just like to add that this poem is the truth. I have seen all these creatures lately which is quite unusual for this are of Vermont... it is not as rural. And as many of you might have guessed,  I am of Native American ancestry. With a bit of French and Irish thrown in for good measure (my name of course reflects this :) So while my beliefs in my God might be different than yours- I believe that our God is listening and is the same. Really still so surprised at what is coming out. Have not been doing this long at all. Thank you all so very much for being so supportive.
& and may our lives  be blessed no matter what we believe. - XO
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