"elfin" poems
Jumping in the blue
water lilies reflection
in the pond up in the sky.
Lo, the punter sun peeps into
the rose dew down on earth.
Floating just on a navel-high!
The broad daylight pictures
the heavenly blue smile
painting on its highwater mark.
Million and one primula flower
kissing this elfin column.
Not up in the wild blue yonder
nor down on the ground.
Just on a navel high!
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
The moonlight fades from flower and rose
And the stars dim one by one;
The tale is told, the song is sung,
And the Fairy feast is done.
The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers,
And sings to them, soft and low.
The early birds erelong will wake:
'T is time for the Elves to go.
O'er the sleeping earth we silently pass,
Unseen by mortal eye,
And send sweet dreams, as we lightly float
Through the quiet moonlit sky;--
For the stars' soft eyes alone may see,
And the flowers alone may know,
The feasts we hold, the tales we tell;
So't is time for the Elves to go.
From bird, and blossom, and bee,
We learn the lessons they teach;
And seek, by kindly deeds, to win
A loving friend in each.
And though unseen on earth we dwell,
Sweet voices whisper low,
And gentle hearts most joyously greet
The Elves where'er they go.
When next we meet in the Fairy dell,
May the silver moon's soft light
Shine then on faces gay as now,
And Elfin hearts as light.
Now spread each wing, for the eastern sky
With sunlight soon shall glow.
The morning star shall light us home:
Farewell! for the Elves must go.
4.3k
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing!
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
3.7k
Thirty six years after they last were held in pre-war Berlin
The games of the Olympiad were all set to begin
This time though, in Munich, set to host the sports worlds greatest show
It was the night before the opening, and all were set to go
August 26th, the games did start and all was going well
But ten days in, the world was shook, and Munich was now a hell
Where terrorists changed how the world would see these famous games
From that date on, The Olympic world, would never be the same
Mark Spitz, that year, set records as he won seven swimming golds
Olga Korbut, elfin princess, stole our hearts with moves so bold
Frank Shorter won the marathon for America, and he was German born
But, Munich's games are famous for the actions, that September morn
Close your eyes, remember back, if you are of the age
Remember those victorious, who were outstanding on that stage
Steve Prefontaine, he came up short, Lasse Viren, he did what he set to do
Think back now to that late summer day in nineteen seventy two
Eyes closed, still remember....David Berger, Mark Slavin and Kehatt Shorr
Seew Friedman, Josef Gutfreund,Elieser Halfin, and you know there is five more
Josef Romano, Amizur Shapira, not tweaking any pictures in your mind,
Andre Spitzer, Jaakow Springer, Mosche Weinberger...any memories do you find?
These men all were Olympians, judges, coaches, athletes, refs
September 5th is now famous, it's remembered for their deaths
They all should be remembered, for their lives, for why they came
They all reached the highest level, they had made it to The Games
Did they ever win a medal ? Would they ever get their glory?
They're remembered as a victim, unfortunately that's their story
It's 40 years on, London hosts, The IOC does not
Take a single minute, give these Olympians a thought
Now close your eyes again and think, could that happen once again
Could terrorists take Olympic lives, could they come and **** like then
Now if I repeat all the names I mentioned, you may not see their face
But, for one short shining moment, please put them in their earned space
Eyes closed, still remember....David Berger, Mark Slavin and Kehatt Shorr
Seew Friedman, Josef Gutfreund,Elieser Halfin, and you know there is five more
Josef Romano, Amizur Shapira, not tweaking any pictures in your mind,
Andre Spitzer, Jaakow Springer, Mosche Weinberger...any memories do you find?
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
Hither, hither, from thy home,
Airy sprite, I bid thee come!
Born of roses, fed on dew,
Charms and potions canst thou brew?
Bring me here, with elfin speed,
The fragrant philter which I need.
Make it sweet and swift and strong,
Spirit, answer now my song!
* * * * *
Hither I come,
From my airy home,
Afar in the silver moon.
Take the magic spell,
And use it well,
Or its power will vanish soon!
3.4k
Restless hungry, found a tiny scrap of a brownie in the back of the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic about the size of a large 35 cent quarter.
Gobbled up and gone.
Eye had purchased it a week ago, maybe more.
Actually it was more like eye was held up at gunpoint by a sad young face for a large and green single dollar Bill.
In return, was bequeathed said brownie eye dropper-ful.
The apartment I live in a big city, many apartments were recession empty for a long time. But in the last few years, the empty apartments in the building were almost all sold to foreigners.
Now the bldg is an amulet melted of the lucky overseas fortunate, those overseers overseas seizers, who come to reside in the most fabulous site in these United States...and buy a piece of the dream away from the be-headers, secret police or governments that decide you are now an enemy of the state, as of this morning. No judgement.
anyway, this doe eyed child of estimated six or eight years of age accosts me in our large lobby, proffers me the brownie scrap for a Bill.
me a sucker of a salesman myself, and an eye affician-doe, well those doefuls, those eyes, no one could resist!
so eye asked her name,
but all she could say in
Anglais was...
"Brownie One Dollar?"
laughing out loud for no apparent cause,
the hanging about lobbyists looked at me staring...
Why was eye laughing?
laughing cause eye realized
this elfin child had become
fitfully but fully Americanized.
and I loved her eyes in mine, and when I see her periodically, I say:
"Hey! Brownie One Dollar, How are ya!"
and everyone snicker smiles at the old man with the even stupider grin upon his eyes.
That would be eye.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes--
So kiss'd to sleep.
And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
3.1k
She's a queen
Regal and gorgeous
She's bright as whisky, serene as earl grey
She's got lips of fire
And a body
That cost 4 kings their kingdom.
She exudes an intoxicating perfume
Her lashes are fans upon her golden cheek
Her hair is a halo of the purest gold
She walks with the fluidity of unfurling silk,
Her voice is blue velvet
And jewels fall from her mouth as she talks
I'm
A bit homely
And lost like an unlabeled envelope
And frightened like a child in the dark
I'm a full sponge, and must sometimes weep a little
My crown is ill-fitting
My eyes are weird elfin lights
My heart is as some distant, famine-struck land
I'm a ruffled little bird
And listening to me speak is like watching an unrehearsed play
We are both soldiers
Waging the same vicious war
And unfortunately
This is a world
In which only the swift and strong prevail
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
Oh Marathi-Sindhi beauty,
I did not know that you'd intrude,
Deep in my heart & mind.
Your looks are elfin gorgeous,
I am downright stumped,
Of your positive attitude I'm a fan.
Your daily schedule is admirable,
Not many youngsters are organized,
And the majority roam aimlessly.
I so admire that you teach kids,
I see responsibility in your eyes,
Not many care for their families.
How you manage tuning the strings,
Happy & content you are always,
You smile how so ever be the things.
From you the world will learn,
Jealous from the respect you earn,
To be like you they will yearn.
So yes, the respect grows deep,
Down at the bottom of my heart,
As water to roots it will seep.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
the orphanage's walls
tell a story grim
what went on inside of them
so disturbing
up to twenty children kept in one room
crammed in so tight
together they huddled
both by day and by night
the children's elfin frames
deprived of proper nourishing food
their eyes had within them
little of love's light
they cried incessantly
a cry which implored
someone to deliver them from
the wall's fright
stale ***** and excrement pervaded the air
the odor hovered in their despair
the institutes cleanliness
lacking of hygiene
not much was kept
too well cleaned
these children
shall be impaired for life
for they were caged in a warehouse
of diabolical neglect
by the Romanian authorities
as you tuck your children into bed
tonight
give a thought
for a child devoid
of benevolent sunlight
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
AN ATTACK ON BARBERCRAFT
[Dedicated to George Cecil Jones]
At last an end of all I hoped and feared!
Muttered the hermit through his elfin beard.
Then what art thou? the evil whisper whirred.
I doubt me soerly if the hermit heard.
To all God's questions never a word he said,
But simply shook his venerable head.
God sent all plagues; he laughed and heeded not,
Till people certified him insane.
But somehow all his fellow-luntaics
Began to imitate his silly ticks.
And stranger still, their prospects so enlarged
That one by one the patients were discharged.
God asked him by what right he interfered;
He only laughed and into his elfin beard.
When God revealed Himself to mortal prayer
He gave a fatal opening to Voltaire.
Our Hermi had dispensed with Sinai's thunder,
But on the other hand he made no blunder;
He knew ( no doubt) that any axiom
Would furnish bricks to build some Donkeydom.
But!-all who urged that hermit to confess
Caught the infection of his happiness.
I would it were my fate to dree his weird;
I think that I will grow an elfin beard.
2.3k
hymn to Apollo
by Michael R. Burch
something of sunshine attracted my i
as it lazed on the afternoon sky,
golden, splashed on the easel of god;
what, i thought,
could this elfin stuff be,
to, phantomlike, flit
through tall trees
on fall days, such as these?
and the breeze
whispered a dirge
to the vanishing light;
enchoired with the evening, it sang;
its voice enchantedly rang
chanting “Night!” . . .
till all the bright light
retired,
expired.
This poem appeared in my high school literary journal, the Lantern, so it was written by age 18, but probably around age 16 or 17. That was my "cummings" period. Keywords/Tags: sun, god, sunshine, Apollo, elfin, phantom, ghostly, magical, enchanted, bright, light, brilliant, sky, golden
Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?
Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, during my “Romantic Period.”
Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Go down to the valley
where mockingbirds cry,
alone, ever lonely . . .
yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
you never shall wake.
Go down to the valley;
go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
of souls such as yours —
mad souls without meaning,
frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
reserved for the dead.
They lie in her shallows
and sleep in her bed.
I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. In addition to having similar titles, they had similar "staircase" indention styles. According to my notes, I modified "Moon Lake" two years later in 1978, at which time the poem was substantially finished. I then modified "Tomb Lake" in 1981, but must have forgotten about it, because I don't show that I ever submitted the poem for publication or did anything with it for more than 40 years. Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Lakes, Water, Reflection, Reflections, Image, Imagery, Mirror, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Spells, Enchantment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC
Big souls come in little packages.
If she's 50 kg then I'm the pope.
An elfin looking Buddhist,
mother, entrepreneur, musician,
and a total goddess of class.
Our eyes met, essences shared,
hearts touched.
She"s ready, I'm not.
******
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
Come, let us to the sunways of the west,
Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill,
Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest
O'er whispering wold and hill.
Castles of air yon wimpling valleys keep
Where milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea,
They shall be ours in the moon's wizardry,
While the fates, wearied, sleep.
The viewless spirit of the wind will sing
In the soft starshine by the reedy mere,
The elfin harps of hemlock boughs will ring
Fitfully far and near;
The fields will yield their trove of spice and musk,
And balsam from the glens of pine will fall,
Till twilight weaves its tangled shadows all
In one dim web of dusk.
Let us put tears and memories away,
While the fates sleep time stops for revelry;
Let us look, speak, and kiss as if no day
Has been or yet will be;
Let us make friends with laughter 'neath the moon,
With music on the immemorial shore,
Yea, let us dance as lovers danced of yore
The fates will waken soon!
2.1k
The Magical Date
Last nite was a celebration!
And before it all begun
He held me by my hand so close
We were off to leprechaun land!
The naughty elf with his impish pranks
His sinful teases and wanton ways
His playful gestures, fractious delights
He rushed me off to his wilful fays
We found ourselves in a Keatsian bower
In 'embalmed darkness', 'mong 'white hawthorns'
It was fragrant with the jasmine veils
That covered the roof of rosy thorns
we laughed and sang old happy numbers
we talked our hearts out gleefully
After aeons of blue moon we'd finally met
A magical date it had to be!
And so when i looked up to his eyes
It held mine in a purple gaze
In a trice of a second he was off with me
Speeding through the verduous maze
Help! i cried but held on tight
Our windswept hair, our amorous plight
His fervour, vigor, force and power
Was all i felt that wondrous night
Elf or gnome, genie or sprite
A naughty brownie or the nisse vampire
Bogie, goblin, fairy, nymph
He carried me through the forests dire...
So just wen I can close my eyes
Just when i feel im missing him
He's there as he says hes there with me
Off we go into the woodlands dim
We dance a waltz, a salsa true
A foxtrot, a ballet in embrace tight
In white moonshine, in purple rain
When dewdrops catch the morning light.
And then again with every dawn
The magic wanes, the elf resigns
To mossy groves and sylvan lands
And the elfin grottos of my mind.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
If she sang the way she looked,
you might expect Kate Smith
singing "God Save The Queen."
That *** Pistol's hit did not
come out, more voice pixieish,
a song unknown. Words were
bleary but delish were notes.
Complete meaning lost,
her elfin aria enchanted us. Indeed
there were whispers, "What is it
she's singing?" Then shushes
from those already spun
in her spell. We drifted into
her Mother Goose downy lullaby.
Fattened by unexpected
mellow mouthwatering coos,
her taken audience drank it in
and from beginning to end
were somehow morphed into
fuzzy waddling fans.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
They fought like crackers
for the coveted prize
from the green bud banter
to the Sunday guise
whipped in a frenzy
by the Callaway score
torn asunder
at the elfin door
The hoodwinked watchman
holding council at post
stung by the folly
of the second floor host
a wild card shuffle
from numskulls and fools
high on their trade
and obstinate rules
Trenchant voices
remarkable cures
Billy’s brigade
and gob smacking boors
wreaking havoc
(in a flatulent way!)
staunch and bitter
and riled foul play
Scissor tailed catcher
and one eyed crow
trolls and packers
unfortunate woes
Lloyd’s forgiveness
and scowls at the chart
***** of fury
from a shot gun start
Gadfly’s and gripers
are unorthodox
the nineteenth hole
for **** in a box
tribunals and judges
a cold reverie
another fine year of the M.O.D.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
I dug, beneath the cypress shade,
What well might seem an elfin's grave;
And every pledge in earth I laid,
That erst thy false affection gave.
I pressed them down the sod beneath;
I placed one mossy stone above;
And twined the rose's fading wreath
Around the sepulchre of love.
Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead,
Ere yet the evening sun was set:
But years shall see the cypress spread,
Immutable as my regret.
Thomas Love Peacock 1785-1866
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
I said to Love,
“It is not now as in old days
When men adored thee and thy ways
All else above;
Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One
Who spread a heaven beneath the sun,”
I said to Love.
I said to him,
“We now know more of thee than then;
We were but weak in judgment when,
With hearts abrim,
We clamoured thee that thou would’st please
Inflict on us thine agonies,”
I said to him.
I said to Love,
“Thou art not young, thou art not fair,
No elfin darts, no cherub air,
Nor swan, nor dove
Are thine; but features pitiless,
And iron daggers of distress,”
I said to Love.
“Depart then, Love!
Man’s race shall perish, threatenest thou,
WIthout thy kindling coupling-vow?
The age to come the man of now
Know nothing of?
We fear not such a threat from thee;
We are too old in apathy!
Mankind shall cease…—
So let it be,”
I said to Love.
1.7k
here's a tale I will tell
of the supreme Master
of Rivendell
elfin Lord, just and wise
knowledge deep as elvish skies
darkly handsome, unearthly fair
silver circlet, midnight hair
greatest Power for him alone
eyes as deep as river stones
grey and lustrous, holding grace
broad of shoulder, fair of face
aquiline nose, chiseled jaw
Master of the Elves. Their law.
of his mercy his people sing
possessor of the elvish Ring
one of three, such Power possessed
he's the Lord, and thusly blessed
he's seen grief and was forsaken
his beloved wife was taken
to Mordor and was in suffering bound
with the Orcs deep underground
father of the maid Arwen
who's in love with the human King
deep pain of mind, Elrond's aware
that he must leave this daughter there
in human kingdom Middle Earth
for her love has lifetime worth
but Strider will soon pass away
while Arwen has immortal days
though her love's surpassing fine
she will one day weep and pine
without her husband, all alone
for her people will be gone
they will one day sail far
following an elvish star
and of Frodo he's aware
the Hobbit will go to Sauron's lair
generous, gentle, yet supremely strong
he will help Frodo along
elvish war-mail and provision
he directs with great vision
noble King of Rivendell
at once gracious
yet mighty, fell
his word, ever,
is his bond
Hobbit friend
the great
ELROND
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/5/2016
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
happened upon an extravaganza of spring’s hallmark,
the cherry blossoms outing their munificence of color,
I happened to position myself direct below a tree,
the thicket
of blossoms so, well, thick, that sky was obliterated ‘cept
for pointillistic spots of blue sun, yellow sky that poked
through the
few de minimus interstitial spaces permitted, and was
struck silent, by-for-before shimmering eyes that uttered the
requisite oohs and ahhs,
and
words came to me weeks later,
when the memory, now fully decanted,
reappears
courtesy of a giant tech company’s code tinkering,
merging and splurging the combined images in the
photographic memory
of my devices,
as if to say:
your life is
points of light and color and scent
as you write now
amidst the hubbub of jackhammers, raucous horns a blaring,
the homeless screaming on the street at god,
the fatalistic headlines of hate and
the pallor of a low level haze of perp~gray
between you and your true elfin self,
and you are not surprised,
but sadly, but not entirely,
bemused
that the photo’s true utility was to
remind weeks later
that all that my eyes utter
is not just
woe, double trouble and toil, toil,
*but to Hey Jude and George,
step out and see the park on a Sunday
in its entirety and to glory in
your being
by being
a point in that tapestry spectacular
of ingestion, digestion and final comprehension and
a happy*
exhalation
May 10, 2024
May 10, 2024 at 8:06 AM UTC
I long
like
something plush weeping
into a pillowed hug
of empty oxygen
though I try the Brave Game,
(and usually win)
flakes of me run
off my arms and face
and scrounge around the corners of the room
looking for your mellow sting.
supposedly,
“heartache”
is figurative.
But I definitely feel
a s t r e t c h i n g
mush
right where
the Doctors say my heart
should probably be
a slight tremor
( echoes )
through every joint
of my toy frame,
like a thousand elfin voices talking
about your favorite foods,
and the color of your hugs.
the tightening
muscles of my throat
send their regards to your
amicable eyes
2.5 is a smallish bird
when one observes
the blue expanse of my ocean life
but it pecks my most tender tissues
when I sit [flat] inside Today.
I miss
like
someone resized my skin
incompetently.
though I am grateful
for your delicate absence
(the elusive Good deserves you most)
I feel as if
the petty bird’s wing tensions
won’t be satisfied
with the look of my dappled shoulders
till you stroke them densely
with your matter-of-fact fingers.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
I had once known a young lady,
Taller & fairer than me was she.
With elfin ears she looked cuter,
Of high traits was she an owner.
Attracted I was strongly to her,
Little did I know what it spelt.
Now I know it read danger,
But the damage has been inflicted.
Pointless, all this repenting is now,
How could I let someone so close?
On her own bed she had me lying,
I waited for the guillotine to fall.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
She took me away to elfin grotto,
For there I'd fall in love
And kiss her wild, wild eyes,
As we danced and fancied in the rains
That washed down from the fat clouds above.
She'd sing to me there,
A song of fierce joy,
Full of the frenetic laughter of infatuation,
Yet at the same time,
Permeated by a deep sadness,
For she, faery's childe,
Would love me for naught but a night,
Though I die of old age.
I listen to her sing
And dance, wildly loving her
With the brightly fierce love of youth,
Love that burns quickly, so quickly
Because it cannot last,
And so shines all the brighter because of it.
She took me away to elfin grotto,
For there I would fall in love.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
*Amongst folded hills
The forest ripples
Dripping
Down into the valleys,
Then
Clambers back up
Towards heaven
A Saxon Lord, a hunter
A top his white and noble steed
Kinsmen close behind him
Hounds baying at the Stag
They pursue
Charges through the sunlight
Dappled green
Painted on his brow
Concentrated on his quest
Divided from his clan
Appearing in his vision
A group of maidens
Dancing
In a glade of sheer luminance
In their midst, one
Exquisite in her artistry
Flowers embroidered in
Golden hair
Shimmering in Elfin melodies
Entrancing in its harmony
He stood
Drowning in her beauty
Bewitched
Knowing
Never again could he be
Without
His Fairy Queen*
(C) Pixievic 2016
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC