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Summer Floats As A Waltzing Swan

Summer floats like a swan
Gracefully with blossoms so fair
Swans waltzing with melodious flare
Dancing in the lakes and streams
With wings of Summery dreams
Stargazer lilies of the mountains
The lily pods in the fountains
Floating sublime without a care
As Summer's fragrance fills the air
And her wings gently splash the
Sparkling waters of pulchritude rare
As we the dreamers stop to stare. Summer floats like a swan
Like nature's ballerina on the lakes
Dancing with her ballet slippers on
Gliding to the wistful mood
The Song of the Summer woods,
The beauteous Waltz of the Swans.
Summer's moments, the heart's keepsakes
Moments never forgotten in the sparkling
Crystal waters kissed by the sun.

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poem by Carolyn Padgett Summerlin
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Of The Meaning...

of the meaning of love
thought streams trail loosely
shrill cat screams cut across midnight alley
car horns arabesque in the moonlight

of the purpose of existence
a tangled miasma of dirty laundry
mixed with strands of seaweed
hung from a mermaid’s torso

of the understanding of knowledge
cellar mice laugh at the uneaten cheese
trashers pick the dipsy dumpster
clothes pins on a daisy chain clothes line

of the reason we argue
cellophane candy wrappers
rolled into a ball the size
of chicago that ate the planet jupiter

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poem by Theresa Haffner
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Elle avait pris ce pli ...

Elle avait pris ce pli dans son âge enfantin
De venir dans ma chambre un peu chaque matin;
Je l'attendais ainsi qu'un rayon qu'on espère;
Elle entrait, et disait: Bonjour, mon petit père ;
Prenait ma plume, ouvrait mes livres, s'asseyait
Sur mon lit, dérangeait mes papiers, et riait,
Puis soudain s'en allait comme un oiseau qui passe.
Alors, je reprenais, la tête un peu moins lasse,
Mon oeuvre interrompue, et, tout en écrivant,
Parmi mes manuscrits je rencontrais souvent
Quelque arabesque folle et qu'elle avait tracée,
Et mainte page blanche entre ses mains froissée
Où, je ne sais comment, venaient mes plus doux vers.
Elle aimait Dieu, les fleurs, les astres, les prés verts,
Et c'était un esprit avant d'être une femme.
Son regard reflétait la clarté de son âme.
Elle me consultait sur tout à tous moments.
Oh! que de soirs d'hiver radieux et charmants
Passés à raisonner langue, histoire et grammaire,
Mes quatre enfants groupés sur mes genoux, leur mère

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poem by Victor Hugo
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Electroconvulsive Therapy

In this moment I feel as if I am falling,
Into a prison from nowhere,
I see my shadow arabesque as
I watch my reflection appear
In a river of never abating madness-
Hiding from all that is real,
Moments have passed since I lay upon
A cold metal table,
Drifting off to sleep, and
Upon awakening-
I remember nothing, except for
The sensation of falling
From nowhere into nothingness-
As I watch the sun rising,
Outside of a picture window,
I find myself alive in some different place in time.
I feel my heart pounding
As is it were trying to escape
From a prison of iron bars inside of my chest, as
My brain spins about

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poem by Claudia Krizay
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Lily Adair

On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby,
Brought fresh from the hyaline streams,
She played, on the banks of the Yuba,
Such songs as she heard in her dreams.
Like the heavens, when the stars from their cyries
Look down through the ebon night air,
Were the groves by the Ouphantic Fairies
Lit up for my Lily Adair—
For my child-like Lily Adair—
For my heaven-born Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Like two rose-leaves in sunshine when blowing,
Just curled softly, gently apart,
Were her lips by her passion, while growing
In perfume on the stalk of her heart.
As mild as the sweet influences
Of the Pleiades 'pregning the air—
More mild than the throned Excellencies
Up in heaven, was my Lily Adair—

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poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1853)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Fantasy

A fantasy that came to me
As wild and wantonly designed
As ever any dream might be
Unraveled from a madman's mind,--
A tangle-work of tissue, wrought
By cunning of the spider-brain,
And woven, in an hour of pain,
To trap the giddy flies of thought.

I stood beneath a summer moon
All swollen to uncanny girth,
And hanging, like the sun at noon,
Above the center of the earth;
But with a sad and sallow light,
As it had sickened of the night
And fallen in a pallid swoon.
Around me I could hear the rush
Of sullen winds, and feel the whir
Of unseen wings apast me brush
Like phantoms round a sepulcher;

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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Sultan's Palace

My spirit only lived to look on Beauty's face,
As only when they clasp the arms seem served aright;
As in their flesh inheres the impulse to embrace,
To gaze on Loveliness was my soul's appetite.

I have roamed far in search; white road and plunging bow
Were keys in the blue doors where my desire was set;
Obedient to their lure, my lips and laughing brow
The hill-showers and the spray of many seas have wet.

Hot are enamored hands, the fragrant zone unbound,
To leave no dear delight unfelt, unfondled o'er,
The will possessed my heart to girdle Earth around
With their insatiate need to wonder and adore.

The flowers in the fields, the surf upon the sands,
The sunset and the clouds it turned to blood and wine,
Were shreds of the thin veil behind whose beaded strands
A radiant visage rose, serene, august, divine.

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poem by Alan Seeger
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The Truant Dove, From Pilpay

A MOUNTAIN stream, its channel deep
Beneath a rock's rough base had torn;
The cliff, like a vast castle wall, was steep
By fretting rains in many a crevice worn;
But the fern wav'd there, and the mosses crept,
And o'er the summit, where the wind
Peel'd from their stems the silver rind,
Depending birches wept­­
There, tufts of broom a footing used to find,

And heath and straggling grass to grow,
And half-way down from roots enwreathing, broke
The branches of a scathed oak,
And seem'd to guard the cave below,
Where each revolving year,
Their twins, two faithful doves were wont to rear;
Choice never join'd a fonder pair;
To each their simple home was dear,
No discord ever enter'd there;
But there the soft affections dwell'd,

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poem by Charlotte Smith
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Al Aaraaf

PART I

O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy-
O! nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill-
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy's voice so peacefully departed
That like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell-
Oh, nothing of the dross of ours-
Yet all the beauty- all the flowers
That list our Love, and deck our bowers-
Adorn yon world afar, afar-
The wandering star.

'Twas a sweet time for Nesace- for there
Her world lay lolling on the golden air,

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poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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The Old-Home Folks

Such was the Child-World of the long-ago--
The little world these children used to know:--
Johnty, the oldest, and the best, perhaps,
Of the five happy little Hoosier chaps
Inhabiting this wee world all their own.--
Johnty, the leader, with his native tone
Of grave command--a general on parade
Whose each punctilious order was obeyed
By his proud followers.

But Johnty yet--
After all serious duties--could forget
The gravity of life to the extent,
At times, of kindling much astonishment
About him: With a quick, observant eye,
And mind and memory, he could supply
The tamest incident with liveliest mirth;
And at the most unlooked-for times on earth
Was wont to break into some travesty
On those around him--feats of mimicry

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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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