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Rohan Press Sep 11
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 25
If Death came up to me,
I would embrace it and say

because maybe I've reached my lifes peak, so I want to give back
Rohan Press Aug 12
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
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....
of a ***'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 *** might be different than yours- I believe that our *** 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
Derick Smith Sep 2014
The swallows and sparrows
dance on the cool morning breeze.

They rise and fall;
         float and stall;
         soaring, diving, fluttering
and all the while chattering—
         not about days been,
         nor days to come—
         but the present moment;
         their current joy.

They trust the sun to rise at dawn,
the moon to appear in the even cooler twilight air.

The swallows and sparrows
      (dancing as they do on the cool morning breeze)
worry not about tomorrow—
for today will have troubles of its own.
This is my life at times; the embodiment of Matthew 6:26...
Wass Apr 2014
Delightful march
breathes in on the sound of the swallows
chirp, and in the pungent scent of lemonade.

Daffodils brave the curtain call
and splash in yellow fountains which
powder the grass canary
and rich caramel.

Boughs of cherry trees burst
once more with indulgent,
fatuous blossoms of sugared coral,

Their marbled paper florets billow
in the gusts rising and falling like
the flocks of starlings.

The future is close, wide and happy.

— The End —