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Irene J Apr 10
Somewhere beyond the sea,
lay a no man island.
Hidden with a mystery
no man dare to reveal.

The sound of the waves
keeps on sweeping me away
from the land,
taking me to somewhere,
with no destination.

And then I know.
Somewhere beyond the sea,
there is hope,
with a hopeless dream.
23.03.20
Jon Thenes Mar 2019
I create the floor
Through the act of sweeping
Within
I unsleeve  my shelves of their volume
Of their heavings and will
I now welcome an unskilling
To the task of a swept floor
I unmake myself
Thorough  point
And attention
lila Feb 2019
i was at work this evening
sweeping back and forth
back and forth
and back and forth
...12 times
mind plagued with compulsions,
ocd, anxieties
i hear the whispers
muttered by those who think
that u were the one
who did this to me
wow, u really drove me mad,
drove me crazy!

but back to the scene at hand
i hear the opening notes
of that band
i know and that song
that became so comfortable and
oh so familiar
...zz top, sharp dressed man

i’m taken into a trance
this image of you smiling on this couch
oh so deceiving,
yet so inviting
i give in and sneak a glance
of you
playing your own one man air band
drums and guitar
with you’re long hair flying everywhere
like a crown around your head
...before those toxins turned your hair
as thin and frail as you

there’s a tug at my heart
and it hurts a little
what’s this feeling?
i haven’t felt this towards you in a while
but it comes by sometimes
hand in hand with that deceiving smile
for a fleeting moment
...i miss u?
before i remember
what lay behind
that venomous grin

then i’m angry
for once not at you
but at myself
i hate you!
i hate you
i’m supposed to hate you
right?

i didn’t know what to feel
before i felt that familiar sensation
a heavy weight in my chest as
my heart rate speeds up
and i have to pull myself back
into reality
quick! before i lose control
thoughts spiraling around me
focus on something else
anything else!
anxieties, ocd, compulsions
maybe it’ll ease the weight on my chest
i grip the broom in my small, sweating, trembling hands
and begin to sweep
back and forth
back and forth
and back and forth
...24 times this time
1/22/2019
The afternoon heat hung like a rising fever.
The old iron gates of the school yard wait to swing.
My feet planted near the outskirts.
Sweeping the sticky hair from my face,
alone I wait.

Chocolate melted in my pocket.
Minutes turn to hours.
A gallery of photographs has passed me by.
Panic snickers, searching for your face.
The waiting, the patience,
feeling more like a punch, than a verb.

The chocolate now a sticky ink, staining my pants.
I feel a voyager aboard a lost ship, floating,
hoping for shore.

Sudden without warning,
you grace my sight,
slow motion, near the gate door.
In one swing, you're here.
The wait long forgot,
hung on your beautiful stare.
Prose poem, using a random collection of words.

chocolate, voyager, gallery, sweeping, warning, iron, swing, old, planted, ink, fever, gates, punch, hung, pocket
Julie Grenness Mar 2016
Now, it's our time to  laze,
We've reached our Autumn days,
Chilling air, smoky haze,
Russet and brown, golden days,
Leaves descending,
Time for sweeping,
Bulbs for planting,
We head for dormancy,
Grey skies, no more sunnies,
Heating on, fleecies adorn,
Every day, a nippy morn,
Winter warmth already?
Yes, comfort food keeps us steady.....
Now it's our  time to laze,
These are our Autumn days.........
Feedback welcome.
The other night as I swept round a fire
I noticed the cruel end,

That abandoned mane of straw
With no handle on it

Tossed, deserted, ablaze under the unrelenting roof of sticks
Lit to burn these fallen limbs and warm my cold self.

Ignited, I can see
That all things end and live

Again like my mother does
Her arms outstretched, chasing me through the kitchen

To pull into her warm embrace
A young boy, pretending to help.

— The End —