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Amanda Jun 2018
I am a dandelion swaying back and forth
A windswept soldier, started a seed
Stretched towards sun, looking like a beautiful flower
Inside I know I will always be a ****.
When you look at a dandelion it can be seen as a **** or a wish
Bardo Mar 2018
Often I lie awake at night
just listening to the sea
uninterrupted in its chant
and in its undying task,
full of the whispers of Time
swaying back and forth inexorably
touching upon eternity,
surging against, then subsiding
rolling continuously onto the shore.

Often I lie awake
listening to this animal untamed
roaming free,
this ghost resting easy
under the shade of immortality.

                          II

The sound of the sea
it fills my dark, my staring room,
it haunts.....it caresses.....
like the phantom tides that roam
   through ear shaped shells
     onto forbidden beaches
        in endless dreams
             faraway.
A ghostly interlude. The 'ear shaped shells' would be a reference to the whelk shell, when you hold it up to your ear you can hear the sound of the sea in the caverns of the shell.
Poetic T Sep 2017
Old rocking chairs sways
       in the wind of
                              yesteryears.

Collecting fragile memories
      viewed over silent
                              contemplations.

The world moves on
                       but memories
                viewed sitting here
Poetic T Jul 2017
Paper rainbows were hanging
lucid on the breeze of my reflections.

But then my emotions collected
in pools of stagnant regression.

Negative echoes only hung now,
a noose of happier times swaying.
Poetic T Apr 2017
I hear the rustling of the leaves colliding upon
the others like a bumper car ride but no one is driving.
Voicing in motions that they are moved silently.

I envision the swaying, like the crest of natures
wave coalescing like feathers in flight anchored
till the season ebbs there dance to a fall.
AB May 2016
Moving left to right,
Hips sway slowly,
Hair brushing one shoulder to the next,
Eyes closed and lips miming the words
She hears in her head.

We all wish those words were ours,
That our creativity made her move that way.
But they're not ours,
She's dancing to someone else's song
Crystal June Mar 2016
The time is exactly two forty-five,
And I’m out here alone
Below the February sky
Just trying to find a way to feel alive.
-
You know what that’s like?

I got my headphones on,
Dressed to un-impress,
Playing my current favorite song
With my hair all in a mess.

And you’re on my mind again,
Like an imaginary friend
That I just can’t seem to grasp.
Are you fiction, are you fact?
-
You’re everything that I lack.

And I’m in a place that I can’t describe,
Swaying to the music
At two forty-five.
The longer I’m alone,
The longer I’ll survive,
So I’ll dance the night away
Beneath this February sky.

And then the cops drive by
On this cool February night,
And you’re still not in sight -
All I can see is flashing lights.

And they stop and ask if everything’s alright,
Ask how many drinks I’ve had this night.
I just keep swaying and sigh
Because I’ll never get it right,
-
And all of this is just a waste of their time.

So I say,
“Sorry officer,
I’m not drunk,
I’m just psychotic.”

And they look into my eyes,
And much to their surprise,
I’m simply sober, and alive
Below the February sky.

Then I take their hands and pull them with me,
Although they can’t hear the song,
And they try to fight, but I don’t let them,
I just laugh and sing along.

The time is roughly three o’five,
And I’m being detained
Under the silver moonlight.
And the February sky watches on…

I guess you’ll never know quite what it’s like,
No, you’ll never know what this feels like.
When you get pulled over by the cops, you can either get upset or get inspired. (Though, to be fair, I got a little bit of both.)
RW Dennen Aug 2014
Ancient trees of majesty
   why reach your arms in excellency?
Why skim the clouds and pierce the stars,
    to stand so bold as warrior Mars?
Why be a thing of children's play,
     and watch the scene where lovers lay?
  Why touch the hearts of young and old?
      Why change your leaves from green to gold?
   Why dip your arms in pools below
       and float your leaves as falling snow?
    Why whistle tunes on winds of high
         why whistle tunes as winds go by?

     I waited from dawn to dusk you see
     for these ancient trees soon whispered to me

      We grasp the day
      We grasp the night
      We grasp the fowl on earnest flight

       You give us  breath which we repay
            we mold your health in loving way
        We climb these hills and mountaintops
             and spread our green as greenery crops
          We house these creatures in wooden shacks
              and feel the cut of the woodmen's axe
          We watch the peace and wars go by
               and suffer pestilence without a cry
            We dance and sway on winds of old
                to tell our stories far untold..

This is a lyrical poem which can be accommodated by
       Enya's "The memory of trees"
Author of poem is--RW Dennen of Hello Poetry
Thank you kindly
This was my first poem written around 1965.
I was working for GOOD HUMOR on an ice cream truck.
I worked in Merchantville and Pensauken NJ.
On my lunch breaks I would awe at nature because I ate in
wooded areas best way to digest food around silence away
from the hustle and bustle...
Colleen Brown Oct 2014
When two people, so different in taste, look at each other from across the dance floor, a secret sparks out of their eyes like electric rays of romantic notation. Words have yet to be exchanged, but the slow steps towards one another make time slow to an unearthly crawl. Those dancing are nothing more than hues of grey, for the two ash-stricken lovers cannot see more than those they are attracted to. Hearts pound to a rhythm that can no longer be found within the upbeats of the swaying samba. As she longs to be in his arms, he stops only inches in front, his breath caught in his throat. The increasing amount of love being released from just his simplistic gaze makes her want to run as far as she can. With him of course, though it is not a realistic approach to the turmoil surrounding their troublesome secret. A secret that increases as he gently slides his fingers against her cheek, resting the palm of his hand on the back of her neck. Feeling the contrasting temperatures of the cool evening and her racing heartbeat, her head begins to get foggy with the vision of love that is shortly about to engulf her every fiber. The kiss, so gentle and sweet, brings back the times of innocence that was not thwarted by the interruption of time and changed lives. If only they could run away…
I feel like discussing the movie that inspired this would desensitize the raw emotions behind it. Nevertheless, it is The Great Gatsby. The movie that has my feelings wrapped around every line, regardless of how many times I've seen it.
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