Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Poetry Shmoetry

Swing

My feet are in the clouds.
My hair grazes the grass.
My face shines in the sun.
My toes skim the soil.


The sky and earth are one.
I smell the damp dirt.
I see the tops of trees.


I move back and forth.
I go up and down.
I swing higher and higher.


Blood rushes to my brain.
Bile rises in my throat.
I feel sick and stop.


15 comments:

  1. Awesome! I feel the poem... I want to swing now!

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  2. Beautiful poem. Thanks so much for sharing! I could taste the earth:)

    Nina

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  3. Yeah, swinging does that to me too! Never used to. Hee hee.

    The Write Soil

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  4. That's great. Thanks for sharing!

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  5. Thanks for putting us in the moment, Brianna. And you said you weren't a poem! I would totally disagree! Blessings, my friend!
    Pam

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  6. LOL! Yep, swinging'll do that to you!! Great poem Brianna!

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  7. Such a wonderful poem that really falls in place with a carefree summer day! Just thinking about it makes me dizzy! Julie

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  8. Fun poem. Did you mean ruses or rushes?

    Favorite line: I smell the damp dirt.

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  9. Beautiful poem! Thank you. I love the first two stanzas best . . . "feet in the clouds, hair in the grass, the earth and sky are one" - lovely. However, swinging too long makes me sick too . . . sigh.

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  10. Nice -- I was getting motion sickness with the memory.

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  11. You captured the feeling of being in a swing. Well done!

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  12. I love swinging! Especially from a big old tree! Your words so deliciously reminded me of that. I'm so glad I don't get sick when I swing. Thanks for such an enjoyable poem!

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  13. Oh, you sound like me when I swing! Eventually I always have to stop.
    Love your poem BTW. You probably already know it, but you have a real talent.

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