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Carmen Jane Sep 1
Busy like a hummingbird
In a hurry all the time
Your beauty it's captured
Barely, but after, you're gone

You smile and you feel
Like the beautiful swan
Who used to be the **** duckling
Now the compliments are on

You're not used with them
You take them all in
You drink this cup too fast
And you forget priorities…

You're drunk on them
You want even more
And you stretch your wings
Yet you dance on their songs

You visit many flowers
My little hummingbird
You don't see they wait for you
As  they've prepared their gardens

There's someone for you
Who can give you the world
You'll miss it, I am afraid
As your too busy to rest...
A composer
of the stars,
& astronaut
of dreams,
the unsung
swan of the
night, who
draws the
paintings
of her
thoughts,
the clouds
of dandelions
fields forever
in reverie,
her sigh settles
the seas of
lilac dreams,
as music
plays, she
enjoys the
indigo hues
of a bohemian
way of life,
and every
person
on this
earth is,
in their own
way, an
eccentric
of their
own hue,
upon the
painting of
life in the
microcosmos
to the lights
beyond, one
possesses
the traveler
in the chest,
a seeker of
the secret,
unrevealed
revelations,
a hidden
lover of
truth,
a flower
always
in perpetual
rebirth,  
the secret
dancer
of the
night,
musing
upon the
wisdom
of how
every
human
holds the
aubade
within the
intricacy
of their
silver
scales,
in the
deeper
tides
of eyes
meeting
to become
one in the
balladry
of being
within each
other’s gaze,
for eyes reveal
the drifters,
who sail in
the ocean
of words
and catch
her star-dew,
where she
hears the
hidden,
secluded
symphonies,
they reveal
the lights
of their
own as
time, the
mysterious
one, flows
her fabric
and they
grow closer
to one, she
watches
upon them
unfolding,
as she
opens
her wings,
they close
their eyes,
when two
had once
seeked
to be other
than the
truth of self,
from their
chests are
opening
butterflies,
they awaken
in their
cocoon,
awaiting
the voyage
to the
moon,
the poet
sits by his
window,
and softly
sung “all of
what the
eyes see
in bloom
is poetry”
Berenice Jul 7
Elegantní Lebed

On Vltava waters
I saw a Graceful Swan,
Peaceful and modest
Full of quiet confidence
She looked like a Fawn

I fall in love with her
From thousand miles away,
Frightened of thoughts
My crazy mind created

Swan spread her wings
To save me from darkness
I was one step away from jumping,
She embraced my sadness
And it felt like a heaven
Invited me to her secure haven

She patiently waited
Playing down her strength
Showing me a way to the calmness I crave

Above Vltava flow
In my mind I see
Gorgeous Swan dances
Twosome with Firebird

6.7.2019
To O.
Nigdaw Jun 26
A body in motion
Translating sound into
Action, stepping bowing
Then momentarily,
She flies.


A perfect, graceful sight
Muscles taut, try to keep
Pace with a mind, that
Not even gravity
Can corrupt.


Her torso sculpted by
Dedication, passion,
Anger and pain, so that
She may perhaps go on
To fly again.


Floating through the air like
Water, black and sombre;
But she dies in the end,
Old age clipping her wings
Into submission.
Some days, the pain without you
Exceeds what I can handle
Honey you were the light of my life
My eternal burning candle
And the flame grew dull with every thing I added
I was stupid to do that
And to be honest, relationships? I'm bad at it!

I often feel a slight pain on the surface of my heart
Who am I kidding, it runs deeper than that
Where do I even start?

I wish I could be with you each dusk and dawn
To see you there with me, beside me
There you were, and now you're gone
Danielle Witt Feb 23
She came floating in
Her presence felt by all those around.
She tosses her hair and teases her fans.
This past love of a love of mine.

Dances from place to place
On the affection of her loves,
Never looking back
Not believing in mistakes.

Feathers of turquoise and emerald
She holds her head high,
For she is a great peacock
The past love of a love of mine.

I am but the swan in the lake.
A body of white, a beak of gold
Some say graceful, other say gauche
Though I have found my Neuschwanstein.

Everything I am is for him
So now I am sure
She will only ever be
A past love of a love of mine.
Navigating the morning migratory commute
      Mother Luna, Venus Magus, Jupiter Rex
      and little cygnets of pink appear
            —just for her

She hums a few notes
      from her Hildegard repertoire
             in memoriam
      to a mostly recycled paper cup
      organic hand-roasted coffee, fair trade
      brewed by a kid, her favorite barista
      because he can quote Albert Camus

She soars on a plain of existence
      Alto Cirrus Allegro
      where gods kibitz in several languages
            —at once
      on topics that span the gamut
      of not-so-trivial pursuits

My Pen, at her desk, preens her brand
       though this is the season of her last days
       an executive where money
            is unapologetically—God
       where women are hens
       recognized holistically
             as the large fleshy area
             that surrounds the ******

It's difficult paddling upstream
      in that sewage
      when you are a swan

That's why, I, her Cob who surely,
      surely by true gods that fly
               do not deserve
      such a precious spirit feather as she
      calls to her, waddles my mating dance
            —just for her
      spreads my wings
      to flap scents of sky in display for her
      cranes my neck to honk
      across interstate traffic
            and elevator gropes
      to bring her back here—home
our pond of still water
for LoML
eng jin Apr 2018
The wetland is in its daylight beauty
the calm water mirrors the still blue sky
upon the pond among reeds and cattails
are two elegant, wild white swans
mysterious and graceful, reflecting
the charm of Thailand and her people
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
Painting shades of blue
the tinted clouds
over the rainbow
jumped away.

Now it's a diving black swan
somewhere down the all
clear lapis lazuli blue sky.

Only one is left behind
wish I was with my butterfly!
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