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"swaggered" poems
The mysterious stranger rode into town with nonchalant style, And entered the saloon for a drink and to stay a short while. Our Hero wandered over and gave a quick glance, And thought to himself, "this fools got no chance." But he quickly realized he was the fool as he looked the man in his eyes, He saw no fear, no angst. The man was Death in disguise. For this man's lost everything, he truly had nothin', This was our Hero's most dangerous test, so he'd better not be bluffin'. Without another sound, not a whisper nor a word, The two men swaggered off to the towns gathering courtyard. For what seemed like an eternity, they stared each other down, Not sure who's peacemaker would deliver the final round. Then as quick as flash, the two men finally drew, And from each piece's barrel, smoke and fire blew. With cold fingers wrapped around cold steel, There was no other single feeling to that of death that could ever feel so real. When the haze cleared, our hero grinned, but then fell to the ground, The young man's life ebbed away with one last fleeting sound. The Mysterious stranger, with a subtle laugh, eyed his bloodstained cuff, And said, "well kid i knew you'd give me a run, but you just weren't quick enough." Soon the crowd could tell who had found there little town, This man was a legend, but when it came to calm life, there wasn't one to be found. He's said to have taken at least 50 rounds, all ripped through his chest, But no one could ever lay him out, he was unfortunately the best. Day by day, his life went on, but to him this was no life, For every day he'd **** to live, to survive another hopeless strife. The Legend rode away, but the despair he left still lingers, This is his reality, the tragedy of the gunslinger.
0
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
Tragedy of the Gunslinger
The mysterious stranger rode into town with nonchalant style, And entered the saloon for a drink and to stay a short while. Our Hero wandered over and gave a quick glance, And thought to himself, "this fools got no chance." But he quickly realized he was the fool as he looked the man in his eyes, He saw no fear, no angst. The man was Death in disguise. For this man's lost everything, he truly had nothin', This was our Hero's most dangerous test, so he'd better not be bluffin'. Without another sound, not a whisper nor a word, The two men swaggered off to the towns gathering courtyard. For what seemed like an eternity, they stared each other down, Not sure who's peacemaker would deliver the final round. Then as quick as flash, the two men finally drew, And from each piece's barrel, smoke and fire blew. With cold fingers wrapped around cold steel, There was no other single feeling to that of death that could ever feel so real. When the haze cleared, our hero grinned, but then fell to the ground, The young man's life ebbed away with one last fleeting sound. The Mysterious stranger, with a subtle laugh, eyed his bloodstained cuff, And said, "well kid i knew you'd give me a run, but you just weren't quick enough." Soon the crowd could tell who had found there little town, This man was a legend, but when it came to calm life, there wasn't one to be found. He's said to have taken at least 50 rounds, all ripped through his chest, But no one could ever lay him out, he was unfortunately the best. Day by day, his life went on, but to him this was no life, For every day he'd **** to live, to survive another hopeless strife. The Legend rode away, but the despair he left still lingers, This is his reality, the tragedy of the gunslinger.
Continue reading...
28
With the curves of her body, Ten thousand men could fall. A vision so sublime, Swaggered into the bar. Oh, her perfume! Her perfectly painted lips! The hypnotizing eyes!..... smote the drooling regulars. "Guarana". She ordered. "No **** Amarula on my bill" Offered the usually quiet Baba Jemo. "And a pack of Guarana to take home" Added 'Fisi' Johny the local mechanic. With a smile that could melt Antarctica's ice, She accepted the two stooges' offer. Just as they were marrying their stools to her's There bounced in a striking gentleman "Sorry honey, i was caught in traffic. Can we go to a better pub?" With Amarula on her right hand, A twelve pack of Guarana on his left, They legged it out holding hands, Leaving my silly two thunderstruck, As I handed them the bill.
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Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 6:29 AM UTC
The Bill
It could have been a pleasant Monday. We sat outdoors and ate our sandwiches. It was crisp October, and we were on a dig. Earlier, we had used the transit to measure teepee rings from the nomad Cree tribe that once lived and loved here. You'd found the marker stones. I'd found a stone tool. But now we sit having lunch in the tepid sun. I looked at you and saw a young man who swaggered with false confidence. You wore an army jacket,though we were just 16. Your hair was red, and a little curly. Your eyes melted me, -robin's egg blue. I looked at your hands still holding the paper and I saw between the freckles on your wrist a blue vein. Without ability to stop myself I touched you there. And then my mind whirled. For the first time- suddenly, I was in your blood, your heart, your mind! You were just as jolted as I was, and we have never been the same. 40 years later. We write on your birthday. You ask about my mother. Do you ever say my name?
0
Mar 15, 2011
Mar 15, 2011 at 2:01 AM UTC
Reflections on Stone Pile Hill, Rimby Alberta, circa 1970 Archeological dig.
As I sank in my raging sea, you were my rock. I was at my dead end, when you swaggered into my life. You said I was f....ing hot, game on! I am a true heart...no game. As I sank in my raging sea, you were my rock. Oh how I loved my rock. NO ONE stood a chance in my heart. There was only room in my soul for my rock. No one even got on my radar, you were my rock. I loved my rock so solid, so real, so strong and so loving. My rock the only place I could rest, where I could finally breathe. How I loved my rock, so many sharks circled me but you were my rock. and then... My rock crumbled. Left me alone, left me lonely, left me forever. My rock left me flat on my face in the dirt. I was a game, a joke, an option. My rock was never real, and I am alone in my sea of tears You are my rock no more...
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Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
My Rock
lens is ancient and crusted with a film of old blood of the skies and liquidy fragments of soul that fall from eyes souls that brush up against the glass again and again: the woman with hot black nest of hair and strange greyish (bone grey flesh) that was my muse in the winter of nineteen when she swaggered between warm pockets, smoked in her t-shirt and apron- blades of wind carving out of her a masterpiece woman with brown brown riverstone eyes, settled in bruisy crescents. woman with the stones (petrified ghosts) that swung heavily from her neck, my muse in the spring of nineteen in the trees heart wrapped in musky fabric and feet wrapped in leather. god she was beautiful:cloaked in the reddened husk of shrinking sunlight, hands curled around my every word muse in the summer of nineteen. man with ruthless, undefined lips, long body charcoal smudged by a sweaty thumb edges nonexistent neverspoke of evil never heard of the brand of love i made came and went without a sound- flock of blackbirds, oceanheave, death parting her lips
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May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 7:48 PM UTC
shrine
I can not forget the very first time i set eyes on you. My heart was in a whirl as you mov'd closer to me. Enchant'd may i have been, yet modest and true. If i, wanton and impolite as i be, should have a fancy for 'ee, I could have for my own eyes caused such a great pleasure. For you were such a fair sight to the modest eyes. Nay one man's eyes missed 'ee as swaggered. J'ining the crowds, proud o' yourself med 'ee have been. I miss those fair days, ol' Marygreen, by the weather spoiled were we. 'Twas i to seek 'ee, my being heart-tender, hurt to hope. I oughtn't to hope for God's grace as you whisper'd my name, Yet 'twas only what had troubled me. My dear Sue, thine anger upon me was wanton. As swiftly raged at me, unto me being surpris'd. I love thee, may not i unto God be made a saint. Had i determined my course of action. I could have been tolerable unto thine eyes. My heart to pledge as of yore, yet torn and misled upon your path. Alas! Don't 'ee charm-veiled come to conquer my heart as to setting about planning another journey not to be done. Before God, and angels, though cast into agony, 'twas me unto whom you came when dark. My Sue.... My dearest Sue....
0
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 8:24 PM UTC
Susanna (repost)
Caught a glimpse of my childhood hero As he strutted along the path today. He created pictures from words Made this world come alive, with A magic that has never matched. As he swaggered past me today He looked old, tired and grey Snippets of songs, floated through my mind, Stirring long forgotten memories Made by the man I saw today, long, long ago. There was a touch of aged slowness in, The walk of the man I called hero, What had happened to the, man I remembered As invincible and beyond question In that childhood world of mine? And then I saw a wink, a twinkle, A spark of dancing magic and That mischievous glint, In the icy clear blueness of the eyes, Of the man I am proud to call my childhood hero. © Nick Strong 2014
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Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
My Childhood Hero
There was a tree by the river. There he used to stand alone like a rover. Touching the water with such a longing. Emitting his true love and feelings. Last leaves of autumn were falling. And he breathed the sweetness of the air as he swaggered along the river. He said his grace as snow started to fall. Like a million stars of silver. I found his footprints in the snow. I followed him among the blackening trees into the forest. I saw him standing there by the water and i had always known. Among these trees, by the river he wanted to rest. He turned around and stared at me for a while. He walked closer toward me and smiled. I felt happy as if i had caught a hare with my own hands. He carried me on his shoulder as he ran. I felt his hair on my face. I felt his heartbeat as we raced. I felt such a child's whim. I felt myself in him.
0
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 8:41 AM UTC
An Old Sketch of My Friend (dedicated to the memory of our dearest friend Paddy)
(The first one, Marian...hope you like it.) The Lady sat on the ledge of the fence elevated, higher than the rest unreachable... from left to right She glanced, observing, waiting... action was about to begin: the chosen two sashayed in, from both sides of Her majesty... if only looks could **** they would have glared at each other to death they teased, then swaggered, emitting sounds of arrogance, soft, becoming loud to scare, to ensnare... The Lady sat, still waiting, until a winner is proclaimed... the teasing and the noise was taking too long, she thought... She, who was above the rest yawned, and was quickly deciding... slowly, she stood, stretching legs, curling at the end then left the ledge while the two protagonists stopped short of wounding themselves... they looked at each other angrily, frustrated... it had been an empty, useless fight the two noisily meowed, purred short of sparring enthusiasm wasn't there anymore.. they went to their own sides of the street Her majesty, gone to another place entertaining two new protagonists disgusted with the first two... choosing her mate was far from over. Sally Copyright 2014 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
The Lady
I can not forget the very first time i set eyes on you. My heart was in a whirl as you mov'd closer to me. Enchant'd may i have been, yet modest and true. If i, wanton and impolite as i be, should have a fancy for 'ee, I could have for my own eyes caused such a great pleasure. For you were such a fair sight to the modest eyes. Nay one man's eyes missed 'ee as swaggered. J'ining the crowds, proud o' yourself med 'ee have been. I miss those fair days, ol' Marygreen, by the weather spoiled were we. 'Twas i to seek 'ee, my being heart-tender, hurt to hope. I oughtn't to hope for God's grace as you whisper'd my name, Yet 'twas only what had troubled me. My dear Sue, thine anger upon me was wanton. As swiftly raged at me, unto me being surpris'd. I love thee, may not i unto God be made a saint. Had i determined my course of action. I could have been tolerable unto thine eyes. My heart to pledge as of yore, yet torn and misled upon your path. Alas! Don't 'ee charm-veiled come to conquer my heart as to setting about planning another journey not to be done. Before God, and angels, though cast into agony, 'twas me unto whom you came when dark. My Sue.... My dearest Sue....
0
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 6:34 AM UTC
Susanna
I walked or sauntered or dashed or stumbled, no... staggered! or swaggered, or was it stepped, no... I jogged or, bolted, no stomped or slid no... hopped! or was it skipped no hop skipped and jumped... or sauntered! no i said that one, it was swaggered! no.... I stampeded or dogged or shlepped no bounced or was it... I stamped or ed or rolled? no strolled! haha yes Strolled! no... I stalked that was it or was it followed no no it was sojourned sojourned! sojourn? no it was galumphed or marched, no charged... aha sauntered! no! ****** it was ambled or slogged, trounced? or tromped, no rambled, yes I rambled on! no no thats not right, I plodded, trod no tread! no strided, thats not even a word, sloped, no... govereetted, or persnicketied, or skreed, or preened, no no no none of that is right.... I sauntered! no no, swaggered! no was it promenade? prowl. no patrolled, parolled, no no thats way off... I trekked, trudged, no fudged, no dogged! like george! he dogged it all the time, no I said that one, slogged or sashayed no trooped, no perambulated, or moseyed? or hoofed it? no it was definitely sauntered, no no it wasn't sauntered it was a dawdle, no lurched, or hawked, no stopped, no no it was definitely movement, thats it! it was a movement! no no no that can't be right I paced, yes i paced back and forth and thought about life for a awhile.... no no that wasn't it either it was really more of a strut, or a saunter, yes saunter! no swaggered! no no **** you words.... I wandered or was it roamed, no limped, gimped! no... minced.... or no yes! minced... wait.... no it was a hike, yes I hiked up a mountain with  friend of mine, or was it climbed, no no thats not right... I slandered, no.... pandered! no... I meandered, haha actually no i think  it was a peruse, or no a beat! no.... I cut a rug! or actually i think it was more of a stumble no.... ah yes it was walked, I walked about sixty blocks today
0
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
To Tell a Mockingbird to **** himself
I walked or sauntered or dashed or stumbled, no... staggered! or swaggered, or was it stepped, no... I jogged or, bolted, no stomped or slid no... hopped! or was it skipped no hop skipped and jumped... or sauntered! no i said that one, it was swaggered! no.... I stampeded or dogged or shlepped no bounced or was it... I stamped or ed or rolled? no strolled! haha yes Strolled! no... I stalked that was it or was it followed no no it was sojourned sojourned! sojourn? no it was galumphed or marched, no charged... aha sauntered! no! ****** it was ambled or slogged, trounced? or tromped, no rambled, yes I rambled on! no no thats not right, I plodded, trod no tread! no strided, thats not even a word, sloped, no... govereetted, or persnicketied, or skreed, or preened, no no no none of that is right.... I sauntered! no no, swaggered! no was it promenade? prowl. no patrolled, parolled, no no thats way off... I trekked, trudged, no fudged, no dogged! like george! he dogged it all the time, no I said that one, slogged or sashayed no trooped, no perambulated, or moseyed? or hoofed it? no it was definitely sauntered, no no it wasn't sauntered it was a dawdle, no lurched, or hawked, no stopped, no no it was definitely movement, thats it! it was a movement! no no no that can't be right I paced, yes i paced back and forth and thought about life for a awhile.... no no that wasn't it either it was really more of a strut, or a saunter, yes saunter! no swaggered! no no **** you words.... I wandered or was it roamed, no limped, gimped! no... minced.... or no yes! minced... wait.... no it was a hike, yes I hiked up a mountain with  friend of mine, or was it climbed, no no thats not right... I slandered, no.... pandered! no... I meandered, haha actually no i think  it was a peruse, or no a beat! no.... I cut a rug! or actually i think it was more of a stumble no.... ah yes it was walked, I walked about sixty blocks today
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20
Her eyes a steelyard grey,watched me in the bar today,saw me drink,made me think there'd be hell to pay if I said hello and offered to buy her a bourbon or rye and then she swaggered up to me and said,'anytime you're free hunk, you're welcome to take a chunk ,a slice,I'm nice, of me,be my guest and don't be shy,you're not shy are you guy?' I left rapido, head held real low and ears turned red by other things the steelyard grey eyed woman said. I'm not a ***** but she was downright rotten rude and anyway what would my mam say,if I took a girl like that to Mothers flat for tea? She'd say, I'm mad,that girl is bad, best get shot of that bad lot and there's not a lot that I can say except she was kind of **** in a steelyard grey way.
0
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
Corby town
I can not forget the very first time i set eyes on you. My heart was in a whirl as you mov'd closer to me. Enchant'd may i have been, yet modest and true. If i, wanton and impolite as i be, should have a fancy for 'ee, I could have for my own eyes caused such a great pleasure. For you were such a fair sight to the modest eyes. Nay one man's eyes missed 'ee as swaggered. J'ining the crowds, proud o' yourself med 'ee have been. I miss those fair days, ol' Marygreen, by the weather spoiled were we. 'Twas i to seek 'ee, my being heart-tender, hurt to hope. I oughtn't to hope for God's grace as you whisper'd my name, Yet 'twas only what had troubled me. My dear Sue, thine anger upon me was wanton. As swiftly raged at me, unto me being surpris'd. I love thee, may not i unto God be made a saint. Had i determined my course of action. I could have been tolerable unto thine eyes. My heart to pledge as of yore, yet torn and misled upon your path. Alas! Don't 'ee charm-veiled come to conquer my heart as to setting about planning another journey not to be done. Before God, and angels, though cast into agony, 'twas me unto whom you came when dark. My Sue.... My dearest Sue....
0
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 5:17 AM UTC
Susanna
You wandered alone in the rain. I called out to you in vain. I held the cold air alone in pain. On your cold empty bed i had lain. I saw you today when i looked into the mirror. You were my handsome rover. I felt your heart beat when i put my hand on my chest. In everlasting greens forever you will rest. I sense your presence whenever i walk myself to your hills. As the world emits your spirit i know i feel. Your green eyes dwell on the banks where the country lovers climb to pick flowers. Your song echoes forever in the hearts of lonely rovers. I miss that long road down the hill to the sea. There you swaggered the morning away for me to see. So dreamy and radiant like a precious gem. To those trees by the water that bloomed as you sang to them. My Father... My Rover... My Saviour...
0
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 6:30 AM UTC
My Irish Rover
There was a tree by the river. There he used to stand alone like a rover. Touching the water with such a longing. Emitting his true love and feelings. Last leaves of autumn were falling. And my father breathed the sweetness of the air as he swaggered along the river. He said his grace as snow began falling. Like a million stars of silver. I found his footprints in the snow. I followed him among the blackening trees into the forest. I saw him standing there by the water and i had always known. Among these trees, by the river he wanted to rest. He turned around and stared at me for a while. He walked closer toward me and smiled. I felt happy as if i had caught a hare with my own hands. He carried me on his shoulder as he ran. I felt his hair on my face. I felt his heartbeat as we raced. I felt such a child's whim. I felt myself in him.
0
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 4:26 PM UTC
An Old Sketch Of My Father
A poet shy shuffled into my office She placed her poem on my desks farthest corner This is my very best work, said she timidly I looked it up and down nerveously This will certainly die, said i She looked me up and down nerveously and began to cry And sprinted out the door What a waste i thought of this "poet" Another day a poet very mad swaggered into my nook He ****** his poem at my feet This is my very, very, best work, said he loudly I peered at it very briefly This is very, very, bad He lingered briefly and with hardly a friendly word And swaggered out I had nothing nice to think of this "poet" But just today a poet kind, a poet clever walked into my home He put his poem into my hand this is my favorite work said he kindly, cleverly I read it through calmly This is my favorite too said i He shook my hand and thanked me calmly and walked out the door That is a true poet i thought
0
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
the three poets
I watched you walking away with him yesterday. Touching as you both swaggered away. Beautiful smile on your face. Kissing with every pace. It wasn't me you were longing for... Because I could never go too far... If only you had known my pain... I saw you holding his hand so tight... I knew you loved him so right.... It should have been my hand you're holding so close to your heart...
0
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 7:35 PM UTC
It Should Have Been My Hand...
i have no idea how many hours she toiled in the community kitchen before i arrived, but she’d made a *** of tofu stew, a bowl of rice and beans, some spinach lasagna soaked in marinara, hummus and daiya cheese sandwiches. diligent and dutiful, without question, without expectation. an hour later, we stood in Lykes Gaslight Park, doling out food to the houseless folks who’d lined up for a vegan meal when, out of the blue, a well-dressed college student swaggered up to us, his smile shimmering, and asked what we were doing. she brushed a loose strand of hair behind one ear, smearing a bit of sauce across her cheek, and said, “we are here to live as if we are already free.” they were sharing food too, he explained, which was all well and good. but we couldn’t help but notice they’d never set foot here in the past, that they only came out when the season passed into the holidays. “you know,” he told us, “you might not realize, but the Lord Jesus Christ is using you for the gospel.” which seemed rather strange, given that he’d be back in his sanctuary before the year was out, raising his hands and praising his dead god instead of standing beside us every Tuesday and Saturday, sharing. but we remember the legacy of the radical Nazarene, the anarchic revolutionary who fed five thousand— a conquest of bread with nothing but a few loaves and some fish. if you listen closely, you can still hear him whispering, “take what you need, give what you can.” we carry a new world in our hearts and heads. we don’t feed the hungry to win a one-way trip to heaven. so when you forget about the poor you use as a prop, we godless few will remain in the streets until every belly’s full and capitalism collapses— risking arrest, fighting abuse, addiction and empty stomachs.
0
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
share
i have no idea how many hours she toiled in the community kitchen before i arrived, but she’d made a *** of tofu stew, a bowl of rice and beans, some spinach lasagna soaked in marinara, hummus and daiya cheese sandwiches. diligent and dutiful, without question, without expectation. an hour later, we stood in Lykes Gaslight Park, doling out food to the houseless folks who’d lined up for a vegan meal when, out of the blue, a well-dressed college student swaggered up to us, his smile shimmering, and asked what we were doing. she brushed a loose strand of hair behind one ear, smearing a bit of sauce across her cheek, and said, “we are here to live as if we are already free.” they were sharing food too, he explained, which was all well and good. but we couldn’t help but notice they’d never set foot here in the past, that they only came out when the season passed into the holidays. “you know,” he told us, “you might not realize, but the Lord Jesus Christ is using you for the gospel.” which seemed rather strange, given that he’d be back in his sanctuary before the year was out, raising his hands and praising his dead god instead of standing beside us every Tuesday and Saturday, sharing. but we remember the legacy of the radical Nazarene, the anarchic revolutionary who fed five thousand— a conquest of bread with nothing but a few loaves and some fish. if you listen closely, you can still hear him whispering, “take what you need, give what you can.” we carry a new world in our hearts and heads. we don’t feed the hungry to win a one-way trip to heaven. so when you forget about the poor you use as a prop, we godless few will remain in the streets until every belly’s full and capitalism collapses— risking arrest, fighting abuse, addiction and empty stomachs.
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63
I remember as a quiet child The summer days upon the grass laid Banks of a timid stream Sitting cross-legged, bending To stroke the muddy waters With a part of forgotten wood And all around the warmth of The summer's glowing sun An intake of breath would Bring the scent of tall trees Bounding to my favorite nest. footsteps followed shallow paths That meandered to and from The stream which gurgled as a child In excited and gay temperament I did then pause in rapture of my sense And touch a life of serene sublime A tender moment to solitude Yet as I sat flat upon the grass A gentle butterfly swaggered In its pride of showy acrobatics White and blissful in balance With my sun-filled dreams Nature showered in a halo of blushes Collected the dusty corn colors of summer And sprinkled then at my feet For a secret wish for me to dare Then... through my reverie I heard some voices cheer Some boys scuttled the biggest log there back into the stream it sped Some part cooled in water Some part basked in sun I recall the echo of buzzing beetles That zoomed across the water And were hidden by the distance On the other side Some dragonflies hovered with curiosity In some infrequent time The red and green of their wings Seems now lost to me They shimmered like chrome Of tireless helicopters This was a busy side to my young years What with barges of driftwood And scurrying air-traffic Yet the call of the water birds Stayed only after the sun had set And leafy foliage lingered in silhouette The birds crossed the sky with To me a mournful cry As a reminder the day had said goodbye Yet little did I realize then That in flowering adulthood I would return to those summer days in sweet lament And cherish that moment of child content.
0
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
Sweet Lament
I remember as a quiet child The summer days upon the grass laid Banks of a timid stream Sitting cross-legged, bending To stroke the muddy waters With a part of forgotten wood And all around the warmth of The summer's glowing sun An intake of breath would Bring the scent of tall trees Bounding to my favorite nest. footsteps followed shallow paths That meandered to and from The stream which gurgled as a child In excited and gay temperament I did then pause in rapture of my sense And touch a life of serene sublime A tender moment to solitude Yet as I sat flat upon the grass A gentle butterfly swaggered In its pride of showy acrobatics White and blissful in balance With my sun-filled dreams Nature showered in a halo of blushes Collected the dusty corn colors of summer And sprinkled then at my feet For a secret wish for me to dare Then... through my reverie I heard some voices cheer Some boys scuttled the biggest log there back into the stream it sped Some part cooled in water Some part basked in sun I recall the echo of buzzing beetles That zoomed across the water And were hidden by the distance On the other side Some dragonflies hovered with curiosity In some infrequent time The red and green of their wings Seems now lost to me They shimmered like chrome Of tireless helicopters This was a busy side to my young years What with barges of driftwood And scurrying air-traffic Yet the call of the water birds Stayed only after the sun had set And leafy foliage lingered in silhouette The birds crossed the sky with To me a mournful cry As a reminder the day had said goodbye Yet little did I realize then That in flowering adulthood I would return to those summer days in sweet lament And cherish that moment of child content.
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56
Fate in oblique wisdom gave, A lonely soul a gentle heart. Lost, he sought a love to save What hope life had torn apart. In time he saw her facade cave, And felt her tenderly impart A meaning to him that would pave His path to glory; A legend's start. A champion, proud, saw just a knave; A tool to use, then take apart. Into the ring, Creed swaggered brave; What lay in wait was Rocky's heart.
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Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
Rocky
I took the short cut down to Marble Street the other day to remind me of the cafe' where we met in May We could of written our cute meet for the screen just like a couple being filmed for a romantic scene... I was wearing black n' white with my lacy jacquard tights You were handsome wearing blue with your matching saddle shoes That's when.. you winked at me above your book, and, then you looked away-- then I took you by surprise n' I smiled right into your eyes and, then I looked away-- Oh, in a playful way--- That's when... You swaggered so cooly up to me just as courteous as can be but I pretended not to hear playing the naughty girl you see... Yes, I was naughty I was bad cause I wanted you to chase after me --- That's when... I got up with my book tossing you that flirtatious look that's when I knew I had you by the hook because I watched the way you shook then I reached out for your hand I said, I'm a woman that knows what she wants n' I won't tease n' I won't taunt That's when you said, I'm a man who understands, and I'll give you all the love I can, Now we're... taking the short cut down to Marble Street on this sunny day and, it's been ten years in the month of May You know, it's the little things you say that makes me so happy you looked my way Baby, there's no one else that brings so much happiness n' peace you've brought joy into my life I'm so grateful you're my wife... That's when... I melt right into you...
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Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Shortcut Down Marble Street
While I swam in insecurity, you took me to land. You were the fox that swiped me from misery's hand. While my shoes were too tight, you offered yours that fit. You held the rope that pulled me from the filthy pit. While I swaggered carelessly, you taught me to walk. You lit up the air when you dreamily talked. While I sat dazed on the bed, you helped me stand up. You elected a friend whose soul was corrupt. I tucked away your glasses so you couldn't see me - The disproportion and defects of my mind and body - But you weren't blind and you didn't flinch at me, So I'd do the same for you and accept everything you'll be.
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Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
Your Blurry Perfect