I am so excited to be here at Poetic Bloomings with so many talented and lovely people. I hope you’ll visit my blog sometime, and please, don’t be afraid to offer constructive criticism. I really want to learn and hone whatever skills and talent God has given me.
I have written poetry on and off for years but just in the past couple of years gotten really serious about it. I found out that my local library has a group called “Appalachian Pen Works Writers” that meet once a month. It was there under the tutelage of Salvatore Buttaci that I began to learn about poetry forms and terms. I have long rued the fact that I didn’t go to college, and maybe one day that will be an option, until then, I am reading more poetry and taking a class once a week from Sal.
A little about myself: I am 61 years old, have three beautiful children, Angel, her husband Patrick and two boys live in Richland WA., Tommy and his wife, Ashley live in Dothan, Al., and Erin and her husband Josh and four boys live in Washington Court House, OH. My husband, Kyle and I will have been married for 36 years this August.
Please visit my blog: Hyacinths and Biscuits
© All postings and intellectual materials on this page are property of Debi Swim.
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
February 20th, 2013
Wintry Night
The sky is black and endless
with pinholes of light
that flicker
glimmers of white and blue.
The air is shivery cold
forced into lungs
with short painful gasps
of needlelike stabs.
The snow kicked up
by a stray gust
swirls a tiny tornado
of diamond dust.
The wind moans a fey song
in the trees, limbs sway
like a deranged dancer
moving only from the waist.
The silence is sudden, stark
filling the night with expectation.
A frozen branch cracks-
a cannon’s boom.
This wintry night,
breathtaking, lovely,
wild, alien
is crushingly lonely.
February 17th, 2013
Trust
Some seeds need coaxing.
They learned not to trust
Fickle tempered fits
Of irrational
Unseasonable blitz –
Now hot, now cold.
Some souls need coaxing.
They learned not to trust
easy smiles, blank eyes
broken promises
and smooth, oily lies –
I love only you.
http://bdtonline.com/lifestyles/x1633474269/Some-seeds-need-coaxing-to-sprout
Bluefield Daily Telegraph- Local Newspaper
April 3, 2013 duo-rhyme
Love Wins in the End
When I was only seventeen
this lovely world seemed sweet and green.
My thoughts were filled with only you.
Love seemed so simple then and true.
How naïve I was with no clue,
for you soon sopped the early dew
of innocence and trust I knew
or thought I knew. Like dust it blew,
like powdered, choking dust it flew.
But its lesson I’ll never rue,
though young and suffering was keen
I’ve lived to see what love can mean.
March 31st, 2013 at 8:09 PM
Because of Easter
My body will perish,
will give up its breath,
but, thou, Lord has delivered my soul from death.
What shall I fear,
the darkness, the grave?
No, Thou art the light, life everlasting you gave.
Oh, death, where is thy sting?
Thy sting is sin!
But, Thou, Lord has triumphed, it could not win
Now the grave has no victory
and death no sting.
Jesus, my Lord, gave my soul wings
And though mortal I am,
not always will be.
In a twinkling I’ll put on immortality.
March 27th, 2013 at 1:15 PM
Healing
I’ve heard it said
That open windows
Even in the middle of winter
With plenty of fresh air is
The cure for anything
And when you have
A sore throat or infected toe-
Gargle or soak-whichever-
The best remedy
Is salt water
For working out problems
Hard work is a tonic
And if your heart is broken-cry
For there is healing in
Tears, sweat
And when life overwhelms
With its ceaseless noise
And solitude you crave,
Go to a wooded place
Or the sea.
“The cure for anything is salt water – tears, sweat, or the sea.” -Isak Dinesen, Seven Gothic Tales
March 24th, 2013 at 9:50 AM
Celebrate Each Day
I sit in bed and rub the remnants of dreams
from gritty eyes, yawn and stretch and face the dawning
day. Discerning there are just so many and no more.
A measured number known to God, meted one by one.
I’ve spent my life like a man with pockets full
of gold with no fear or thought of running out.
The days ahead stretched long and smooth, so I thought,
in foolish youth. Time laughed at my poor innocence.
Now with six decades beneath my feet and two besides,
I celebrate each day, by God’s good grace, a gift.
March 20th, 2013 at 7:49 PM
Blue Willow Blues
Wind in the willow sweetly sighs
wispy whispers, sibilant, shy
under a placid sky of blue
for love requited, tried but true
Koong Shee to another was sworn
and cruelly from Chang’s arms was torn
by father’s rash pride gone askew
for love requited, tried but true
There didn’t seem to be much hope
except run away and elope
death took pity and changed them to doves
for love requited, tried but true
Wind in the willow sweetly sighs
for love requited, tried but true
March 17th, 2013 at 8:26 AM
Shamrock
Shamrock, three green leaves atop
a spindly stem of clover.
Celts honored you in lore
as triad at nature’s core.
St Patrick, it’s often said,
as Christian metaphor,
used the shamrock’s leaves of three
to show the Trinity.
Later, emblem it became
of Irish Volunteers
symbol of Erin’s great pride
English rule deeply tried.
St Patrick’s Day we acclaim
the seventeenth of March
in Ireland a Holy Day
though here green beer holds sway.
Daffodils
Grassy knolls of
Ravishing daffodils
Each clad in sunny hue
Eagerly lift their heads and
Nod to skies of blue.
March 13th, 2013 at 9:20 AM
Soup Bean
Nothing can beat pinto beans,
With chow chow on top.
A side of fried tators, please
And green cabbage slaw.
Cornbread and butter.
Southern folks
Fare!
March 12th, 2013 at 3:11 PM
Love is Blind
He was easygoing, a thoroughly nice guy,
not sneaky, sly but could look you in the eye.
He was a decent gent, incapable of harm
fun-loving, silly but with an easy charm.
All the worse in others in him was no trace.
Just knowing this lad enriched the human race.
Then, as fate would have it, as it often does
he met a girl one day but cheeky she was
with openly audacious, dangerous ways
She was a fiend, all but he could see it blaze,
his vision dim, obscured by her pretty face
around which bouncy curls framed a cunning grace.
All his friends watched this adulterated mess
in silence at an outcome they could but guess.
February 27th, 2013 at 5:18 PM
Sweet Spring
Indolent breezes gently waft perfume,
eau de lilac, from mauve clusters of bloom
that float on spring’s congenial currents
like silk threads woven on a fairy loom
I raise my windows and open the door
as fierce neural pleasures tingle my core
while breathing in great fragrant draughts of scent
that rivals any famous sultry shore.
Oh spring, spring, with sweet Syringa flower
the dismal winter you over power
in purple paroxysm you chide Jack Frost
this undoubtedly your finest hour.
February 25th, 2013 at 7:03 AM
In-form Poet Wednesday – Ovillejo
WALT’S WALTZ – Walter J. Wojtanik – Feb. 2013
Nothing is as Cheerful
Nothing is as cheerful
as a newborn baby’s coo
a mid-afternoon nap with you
a fit of giggles from a child
Wind in March, lionish wild
Nothing is as cheerful
as sunbeams on my face
a book and comfortable place
drawing that fourth ace
Nothing is as cheerful
as a cup of hot minty tea
a sunset over the sea
you and me becoming we
February 13th, 2013 at 11:26 AM
Thirteen
Sometimes, I have a hanker keen.
Oh, to be thirteen
again, living inside dusk’s pith
and vibrating with
sensations -sweet, intense- that dare
life’s craved mysteries fair
that sparkle in the evening air
like glitter tossed from childish hand
to conceal secrets banned.
Oh, to be thirteen and vibrating with life’s craved mysteries fair.
March 6th, 2013 at 6:45 AM
Cascade (tercet)
Language of Food
It was love she served,
Heaped high in simple fare,
In Grandma’s kitchen
Biscuits and gravy, hot oatmeal
Tasted good, but
It was love she served
Fried chicken and greens,
Fixed with able hands,
Heaped high in simple fare
Food for growing bodies
But love that lasts a lifetime, prepared
In Grandma’s kitchen
Quinzaine
April 10th, 2013 at 6:38 AM
Reality bites oft times.
But what else is there?
Bubble baths?
April 10th, 2013 at 9:19 AM
Orange cat, crouching on the post.
Are your thoughts benign?
Or deadly?