Porch Swing (poem)

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Porch Swing By: Kourtney Cherry

Both brash and soft, a breeze                                                  

Caresses her skin, abrasively,                                                   


Whips past quickly, moving through                                      

An open window.

The gentle swaying                                                                    

Of a brown wicker porch swing                                          

Making a soft squeak

And on it laid a blue cushion.                                             

Her old turn dial radio,                                                         

Let out a staticy version of                                       

Old style country.

Made from guitars, basses, fiddles,                                   

And a harmony of voices.                                       

There are hushed sounds                                                 

Of birds singing their songs of joy

In the distance.                                                                      

The hushed sounds of children                                       

Who have sought the warm protection of

Being indoors-                                                                       

A storm approaches.                                                            

The sweet smell of lakes                                          

And oceanic waters                                                  

Lingers in the air

Signaling a rain                                                                    

Coming on her right.                                                             

She looks outside                                                     

To see the many shades-                                        

Of greens on newly bloomed trees.

She also sees shades of                                                     

Pinks, whites, and reds

Among the trees                                                         

And a garden's budding flowers.                           

Her sky seemed split in two                                                

The sun is setting to the left                                                

Over the horizon                                                        

Painting her sky, a collage,                                               

Of red, blue, orange, and purple.                           

On her right                                                                       

The sky is gray                                                                   

And threatening                                                           

The serene quiet.

The thoughts of this girl

At peace

Are overlooking


Days hardhips

Every now and again

 The last shine of the days and

The last hints of light hit

Her eyes

Making them glint

She awaits the coming

Of rain

On the brown wicker

Porch swing

For rain seems to calm

Her and her soul

In the distance

The sound is faint

But tangible

Of cars passing on

A nearby road

Her sun sets

Over the bright green fields-

She watches the clouds

Move slowly in-

The flowers close up

Hiding away for the lights' return-

The grey clouds

Gather tightly-

The swing's blue cushion

Cradling her back and head

She lies

Admiring the beauty

At the end

of the day

She puts aside

The past and the previous

Unfortunate times

For the

Present and happy young childhood

That is ever so missed

And all ends

With the sound of Windchimes

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