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#swallows
With a bit of mud upon their peak a pair of tiny birds ventured into our abode. I asked my mother, tinged with excitement “Mother! Why have they graced our home?” “To craft their dwelling,” replied Mother. My childhood routine altered— to oversee the endeavors of those winged beings and witness the splendid nest they shaped. Then came the day when Mother uttered, “The swallows have birthed their offspring.” Swiftly, the fledglings matured, mastering the art of flight and on one uncertain day they soared away from the nest yet didn’t return. My heart echoed the emptiness of the now-deserted nest. Mother sighed and shared, “It appears, the fledglings have departed their nests.” Weary of my persistent inquiries regarding the rationale behind their departure Mother, one day, responded with irritation— “Their progeny has blossomed into adulthood they’ve left the haven of the nest bound to their mates busy crafting a new abode afar.” I rushed to Mother clasped her in a tight embrace, and with resolute tones, proclaimed, “Mother! I’ll never make another home! I’ll stay forever young!” -०-
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Jun 7, 2025
Jun 7, 2025 at 12:03 AM UTC
The Descendants
The nest with swallows: a squadron squeaks and swishes -- down onto our cat.
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May 25, 2022
May 25, 2022 at 3:42 AM UTC
[ The nest with swallows ]
A swallow pair appeared fashionably late to legitimise the charcoal incense burned in honour of escaping carpet and the same ****** curtains Other birds stuck with us through the **** but as they are chubby, drab and common, love’s taken for granted The sign of these slick interlopers with their continental drift makes us giddy and all a-flap at least til the bite of autumn
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May 31, 2021
May 31, 2021 at 4:02 AM UTC
Swallowed
MONSTERS Sitting still in devastating thoughts, flowing through like a sparkling light ocean that burns as hot as the sun. Piece by piece, months, weeks and days go by, the monsters within awaken. All humans are monsters and all monsters are human. Has the sun set to sleep, the crying demon arise wandering in a peaceful sleepy mind of mine. Mistakes, heartbreaks, loneliness, pressure makes my monster what it is. The mistakes, heartbreaks, loneliness and pressure the creature that haunts my darkest thoughts. The piercing pain is a giant whale that swallows me hook line and sinker. Aboting my peaceful coexistence My monsters lies patiently ahead waiting in ambush. The sabre-toothed monster kills me day by day. What is your monster? -KADRI. M. A. -
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Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 2:04 PM UTC
Monsters
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.
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Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
My immortal
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.
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Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
The Wild
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.
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Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:43 PM UTC
Swallows
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.
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Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 7:38 PM UTC
i didn't mean to leave you, but the clouds moved by so beautifully, and the birds—
If Death came up to me, I would embrace it and say Thankyou.
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Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC
01
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.
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Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC
ellie
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--
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Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC
Swallows
Hour by hour,      the morning sunrise steals the night away.      Swallows, please shut up.
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Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
Dyad - 55 -
resting upon porch swallows sipping pond's still glass She brings mint juleps
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May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
Mint Julep Haiku
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
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Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
"I found a dead bunny"
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.
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Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
About Tomorrow
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.
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Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
March