"swags" poems
She cuckoos & swags across the heart
for stealing the breath off its beat,
I enjoy listening to her voices
whispering from somewhere outta Georgia street
*William Shakespeare did speak,
***"In delay there lies no plenty,----
Then come kiss me, sweety-n-twenty"***
So I do write,
***"Her devotional love makes the oceans restive,---
Even a breath of her ice crystals muse makes my heart festive"***
And, winds blow
Her love arrives to my way,
Waves starting to flow
in one-direction where there's no sun-ray*
With some caramel hues of her nocturnal love,
I inhale her throughout the night
Melancholy clouds burst out, though No Mistreat,
The echoes of rain start whispering around me,
&, along such a mist, she cuckoos & swags across the heart with naked feet.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Sara L Russell, 27th Oct 2015, 00:50am
I send you out into the world my dear ones.
Here is light and shade; and I see that it is good.
Here are the waters of life poured forth in shimmering splendour
all for your delight and to nurture your thirst;
behold, here is a paradise of sunlight scattering
diamonds of fire on the ocean,
sunlight filtering through the leaves of tall palms and little olive trees
in splinters of dappled emerald light and shade;
here are dazzling white sands and shady mangroves
it is all for you, for I love you, my children;
you belong to me
and to all of the earth.
I send you out, dear ones, amid the steamy jungles,
out to swim free in the dancing liquid light of rivers and streams,
I set you free in a garden of plenty.
Here are fountains and waterfalls overhung with intoxicating
swags of white jasmine and scarlet hibiscus
entwining with vines heavy with ripened grapes.
Flamingoes and bright parakeets fly out of the
greenery before you, in a flurry of rainbow fire.
Rejoice in this life I give you
and take care of this beautiful domain.
Keep it safe; make it last
and you in turn will last;
safe in an infinity of peace.
I send you out into the world my treasured ones,
free to walk naked, resplendent in the satin of your skin;
needing to conceal nothing from the sun's nurturing rays
or the eyes of beasts, or each other's loving gaze.
Behold, you are pure and untainted with shame;
you have the freedom of earth's bountiful beauty
and you are lovely as the flowers that carpet the forest floor.
Taste freely of the berries and the sweet delight of earth's nectar,
Let the pollen of the lotus bring you dreams of deep serenity.
Only touch not the fruit of the tree by the dark
fountain sealed. The Tree of Knowledge
is mine to know and yours only
to behold in silent wonder.
Mark this well, my children,
for it is my only rule.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
I'm listening to Chance the Rapper
And there's some whimsy in these veins
Some
Give me a weeken' of sleepin'
I think I can come around after that
Hashtags
Yolos
Swags
Take a tire iron to the side of my face
My mind's lost its wheels
All I want to do is **********
Just to feel
******* to self-sabotage
Explosions of regret
And possible highs
of Seratonin and Dopamine
Let's get high
It's weird
When I was a kid
My goal was to make everyone
Stop smoking
Seeing that white puff
Trail from the mouths of adults
All I wanted was for them to realize what they were doing
The un-healthy choices they were making
And now
all I think about
Is buying a pack
Just to cut the
Edge off of
whate'er
the ****
I'm feeling
Keyholed poet
See what I did there?
It was an on-purpose accident
Am I really meant for priesthood?
Is that something that's in my life?
I mean, what, 4+ years solo?
Dates in between,
and ladies, thank you
For the times where you remind me
I'm worth a ****
Or an hour of your time.
But for the most part, I'm solo
My mom, God Bless her, has been single
Dates in between
For 7+ years
Maybe I'll catch up.
Maybe I'll outpace her
She sent me her will the other day
You're looking at the guy in charge of her life
Should she be unable to make decisions.
Well, I guess you're not looking
You're reading, some half-assed-therapy foreplay
Ladies, love me, I'm a weird, depressing sack of ****
Aww, poor baby
Maybe
Pick yourself up off the fuckin' floor and make something of yourself
God willing, there's something
I just gotta put on some different
Lenses
These are getting dark
Maybe I need to drop off the map
And find a cleaner
Do they have those for rose lenses?
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Maybe thugs aren’t shooters,
They all need to decompress.
Calling themselves gangsters,
Never should they be blessed.
Thugs don’t get all their girls,
They pay them just big bucks.
Killing like they own all worlds,
Murdering with all their Glocks.
Blood gangs, where are the Crips?
Crip gangs, where is the Bloods?
They are fake owning their cribs,
Murdering just to own any goods.
Gangsters don’t own their swags,
It’s the Rap Game, it’s the G Code.
They rob and steal, filling all bags,
Man, these gangsters seem all old!
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
I Step on Stones.
In Circles, Cloaked.
Around a Choking Shell.
Who's fed the words he wrote.
Perched atop a mass of Ego.
He Brags; he Swags; he gloats, as he knows,
He's like every other Starving Artist.
His Stomach Screams for the taste of his own.
A phony pony stuck at home. He,
Licks the ink of his own stories.
Hand in mouth, with a hand no doubt,
He'd rather kiss then any Glory.
Eat the Paint, and Verse the Strokes.
Reverse your mind, negate the flow.
Get over yourself.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 3:26 AM UTC
The exotic beauties of schools are also grouped into selfish, small-style sects! How many have already called themselves ********** Virgins?! He coded helplessly on creeping street corners while longing for true Immortality! Léah taverna-pimps gather Judas swags, which are easily obtained with insidious intent; who will drive the industry to nausea sooner or later, and it will be too late for those who can be saved! You can get a slap in the face for a cheap overnight swing! The usury ushers, small-style house angels, preach with responding lap-jaws! "Even a calculated crazy crouching Shadows turn into a camphor with dreams of whistling!"
The non-Golden Medium carries the shadow of swaying hangovers the next day! Light on the powdered faces of deaf people closes and the botox collagen starts to spawn; it can be lean consolation just for the risks of survival at all times! Hordes of men, with overbearing arrogance, scatter insidious handshakes, cheap promises, and when the age of proof comes back, they step down! Even today, disaster-prone melodies make us ********** dances, and it is not certain that the life-giving Light can still cling to the depths of darkened algae!
Great mouth heroes, diligent throwers can only scrape out the orphaned chestnuts for this present-day Present! The crimes of leisure pumpkins are swept under the rug with a calm heart! "Unruly, otherworldly brain evenings split into shards, and among the millions of small glass pots, gurgulans are the many pieces of the throbbing True Pearl!" Vigilant squatting dogs in the barn of vigilantly guarded alleys roar; themselves themselves can scarcely know who can be friends and enemies? Some troublemakers have retired already, and now it would be so good for a prophetic eccentric to be able to lead the way for sure
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 2:01 AM UTC
what days are these
when we sit to ponder
lifes big and small mysteries
with tea brewing
in the ***
and biscuits crumbling
in our hands
we sit and watch
the colour leach
from trees
and grass wither
underfoot
we gather
old clothes and blankets
to give to those
whose houses
are sky and ground
whose airconditioning
is frost and wind
we dread the winter's
count and the summers
harvest of those elderly
left frozen and unfound
some lose just little bits
who needs fingers and toes
some lose more and more again
we puase to remind ourselves
a life is a life no matter the choice
of the living....there is a purpose
to be found in each soul set upon
the ground
so we gather small comforts
to be bestowed on those
who live harder and meaner than
ourselves and then sit in front
of roaring fires and suppose
our good deeds become us
yet we have treated but a symptom
of the cancer that is fed by greed
we have tried to answer need
but while we give a pittance
with one hand, the larger
beings of this land,
take with both, leaving
nothing but grist and sand
and lives with little
have a little less
it is hard to live
on crumbs
harder still
when the
big end
of town
is blind
and numb
to those who
are suffering
they do not see
the social buffering
blinkers their sight
and so continues
the cycle
whilst blankets and swags
and soup kitchens all help
something more is needed
to bring the homeless, home
the leaves are pretty this year
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 8:15 PM UTC
GOLDEN DAYS GONE BY
JONALYN CAJEFE
It was good to hear you laugh again
When i called you on the phone
For it took me back to days gone by
When the bushland was our home.
The bush became our homestead
It mothered us as well
And we would laugh each day away
Till the years began to tell.
Remember the station truck we bogged
In the middle of the night?
When you stepped in a muddy hole
And sank right out of sight.
The time that my bike's trew me
And i landed on my head?
You stood around without a sound
Quite sure that i was dead.
But i slowly raised a dusty eyelid
And gave you a silly grin
Then you cracked a joke and caught the moke
And legged me on again.
The time when a young bull chased me
And i stumbled and fell
Then it kicked me and it horned me
And stomped on me as well.
Or the day when we took that bucker
To the soft sand in the creek
Then ******** the two of us climbed on
We laugh for a ****** week.
Remember when we met those Sheila's
In a pub whilst on a spree?
We said we owned a station
In the Northern territory.
That i was a young lord so and so
And you some Arab princess
But i dont think they believed us
For we haven't seen em since.
Or when we loaded our bike's up our pack
Getting ready for a trip
And a great red hornet came along
And stung her on the hip.!
Our swags and bags all went flying
Straight up towards the sky
And ive never seen a bucker since
That could buck so ****** high.
Yes they were good old days alright!
Those golden days gone by
When we were mates together
Yeahh ****** good mates
You and I...
~J. C~
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC