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.

15 thoughts on “DEBI SWIM

  1. 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.

  2. 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.

  3. 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.

  4. March 27th, 2013 at 1:15 PM


    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

  5. 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.

  6. 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

  7. March 17th, 2013 at 8:26 AM


    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.


    Grassy knolls of
    Ravishing daffodils
    Each clad in sunny hue
    Eagerly lift their heads and
    Nod to skies of blue.

  8. 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

  9. 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.

  10. 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.

  11. 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

  12. February 13th, 2013 at 11:26 AM


    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.

  13. 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

  14. 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?

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