"frolics" poems
It's cold in Duhallow this morning and the fields that were green yesterday
Lay chilled to the frost that the night brought a cover of silvery gray
And the little dunnock on bare hedgerow too cold and too hungry to sing
On **** branch he perch sad and silent the hardship that January can bring.
The robins and sparrows by back door like beggars they wait to be fed
In hope that when breakfast is eaten the housewife might throw out some bread
With no thought for song or for nesting their battle is to stay alive
How many will live to see April the Winter so hard to survive?
The first heavy snows of the Winter have fallen on the higher ground
On Clara, Shrone and Caherbarnagh the hills are so white all around
The blackbird and thrush on the bare branch their feathers fluffed against the chill
And hare has come down to the lowland there's nothing to eat on the hill.
But I can remember the bright days when sun shone on the leafy tree
And robins and thrushes and finches piped in the woods of Knocknagree
And to her nest on barn rafters the sparrow brought feathers and hay
And out on the dandelion meadow the pipit sang all through the day.
Young calves and young lambs in green pastures were full of the frolics of Spring
And joy too had come to the river the song of the dipper did ring
And moorhen was out with her babies and she chirped loud if human was near
Her first lesson to them survival to teach them the meaning of fear.
It's cold in Duhallow this morning the thrush silent on the bare tree
And gray on the fields and the hedgerows and gray over all Knocknagree
But I can remember the bright days when nesting birds piped all the day
And hedgerows and woodlands and meadows smelt sweet with the blossoms of May.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 6:42 PM UTC
Sometimes she walks through the village in her
little red dress
all absorbed in restraining herself,
and yet, despite herself, she seems to move
according to the rhythm of her life to come.
She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,
half-turns around...
and, all while dreaming, shakes her head
for or against.
Then she dances a few steps
that she invents and forgets,
no doubt finding out that life
moves on too fast.
It's not so much that she steps out
of the small body enclosing her,
but that all she carries in herself
frolics and ferments.
It's this dress that she'll remember
later in a sweet surrender;
when her whole life is full of risks,
the little red dress will always seem right.
Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one
anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long
time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
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In ancient meadow yonder
She frolics with butterflies
Wearing a halo of wildflowers
~Marian~
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
The wee little troll
He licked my arm
I really don't think
He meant any harm
****** and disgusting
In his piggish ways
He moves very slowly
And begins to play
In his pointy shoes
He runs and frolics
Falls on his face
Wrinkles his nose
Decides to sit down
And begin to show
How he can behave
To receive his treat
Which is a nice rub
To his wee, little, feet
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
*Endearing is the moon tonight
and through its silver glow,
She whispers secrets of the things
that only she could know.
Of lover's trysts on summer nights
of kisses ‘neath her smile,
Of secret murmurs begging "friends"
to stay a little while.
Of sweet caresses cherished
in the fog of memories,
Of moonlit walks in arbors sweet
'neath swaying groves of trees,
Of shadows cast by clasping hands
of hearts that feel desire,
and unrequited love
that feels like death
from friendly fire.
Of promises in passion made,
with no chance to fulfill,
Of loneliness, of happiness,
of parting's bitter pill,
She whispers of the romance,
of the love that's hot and cold,
Like love that loses passion
but sustains us getting old.
She passes in the evening sky
and frolics with the stars,
And leaves this mortal on the porch
to mend life’s wounded scars.
Yet, never does she realize,
the secrets that she'd shared,
Are common knowledge
here on earth,
where love has all ensnared.*
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Pristine sands aglow under a deep blue sky,
Crabbing and kite flying, every day a perpetual cream tea,
Never mind the bites and stings, the sunburn and occasional tears, the hours flew deliciously by,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Endless games and innocent playful frolics,
Hide and seek in the dunes, eyes barely covered and a speedy count to twenty,
Mum and Dad fussing and fretting, always late for the midday picnics,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Rainy days didn’t stop the fun, funfairs and arcades beckoned,
Never managed to hook those ****** cuddly toys, made Dad so angry!
Waste of time and money Mum always reckoned,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Harmless nostalgia or dangerous reverie?
Perhaps things were never as I imagined them to be,
But I ache for those happier days, and ease this endlessly painful adult misery,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
© Robert Porteus
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 8:39 AM UTC
My bright princess, you inspire me to write.
How I love the way you laughs, skips and sings,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the gorgeous flings.
Let me compare you to a cute stardust?
You are more pretty, clever and caring.
Smart heat toasts the fond frolics of August,
And summertime has the fine time sharing.
How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love your beautiful eyes, heart and face.
Thinking of your happy heart fills my days.
My love for you is the warm marketplace.
Now I must away with a daring heart,
Remember my apt words whilst we're apart
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Shimmering sudden sanctioning
Surfaces right in front of me
Twisting tomorrow’s tongue-tied testimony
Leaving my heart soaked in surrender
Colossal comb tethering in the hair of my offender
I wallowed in things to come while my whole life was spinning undone
Soothe thyself day to day so I won’t fade away
Internal clock knocks on my heartthrob
I am slipping into each moment
Oh I won’t hold it
I let go and slowly slip, swallowing every drip
This is just the tip of all there is
Reawaken each moment in this
Love lapses through me and I collapse into infinity
Struck by my own understanding
Preparing for divinity’s landing
I fall for it again and again
My dreams melting madness motion me onward
Tangible tussles through thick throats turning toward tomorrow
Sorrow leaks and seeps into the eyes of the blind
While they wait in their own mind
Suckling savage frolics as mankind slips into grayness
And blue lips use so much to say so little
Breaking our fiddle over our knees
Longing for hope hitched pleads
As our craze bleeds onto eternity, spun up into me
Creeping carefully so as not to spill this drill yet again
Letting it crack through the incomplete
Flushes back into the see
Finally, once again we arrive and float away with the breeze
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC
In the height of summer
The pond shrunk to a hyacinth heart.
The kingfishers left for crystal streams
Village belles no more washed their hidden shames
Kids broke their frolics on her kissing splashes
And men dipped not in her to whisper secrets.
She prayed to hold through all the pains.
The sky heard her and sent her rains.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
The plums tasted
sweet to the unlettered desert-tribe girl-
but what manners! To chew into each! She was ungainly,
low-caste, ill mannered and *****
but the god took the
fruit she'd been *******
Why? She'd knew how to love.
She might not distinguish
splendor from filth
but she'd tasted the nectar of passion.
Might not know any Veda,
but a chariot swept her away-
now she frolics in heaven, ecstatically bound
to her god.
The Lord of Fallen Fools, says Mira,
will save anyone
who can practice rapture like that-
I myself in a previous birth
was a cowherding girl
at Gokul.
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Wind whirling around prairie fence-posts,
a few weeks after winter’s last frost
was melted away,
replaced by white flowers that whipped
and flipped in spring’s fresh breath.
Like waves frothing in an ocean bay,
the fine, flirty song of a Meadowlark
is willed into the world,
and frolics through the windy hills.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
My desire.
To swim with dolphins, in the warm roll of the sea of dreams.
To touch their shining silky skin.
Perhaps, I could be a dolphin too.
Tossing in the tide.
To roll from the darkness into the light.
To wave at the moon with her most blessed flippers.
As congenial dorsal fin slides her way through the waves.
She frolics and plays as she scoots through those waves.
That rover, this lady of the ocean.
Flips out in jollity, as over the waves she travels.
(c) Livvi
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
My response to you has always been focused.
This has gladly not been over looked by you.
I have become thoughtlessly biddable and amenable for you, especially in the morning light.
I am consenting, compelled yet not obliged ..........
You have discovered I am nothing but a girl from a circus.
I never tried to hide it. You weren't looking before.
Although I am a fan of amusements, fetes and even frolics, I do refrain from favoring all tricks.
My indulgence in foolery is a sport I plan to employ for a while yet.
Do I care for you to join me and see if I can defy your desire for extracurricular activities, as well as being your carer?
Is this a task a clown would pretend was a harmless challenge.
Perhaps not, perhaps so.
My roots are raw and loyal to the art of play.
I need you to know this and hold it.
A Spanish fly will not be able to satisfy my ears alone?
Sincerity can be a sharp business sometimes.
Obedience to attachment brings around a credulous familiarity thus a dependency
It could easily keep me awake to stare at many moons
It hasn't.
You have seen me stumble and look at you gingerly more than once now
You are not even delicate but you can be shrewd even when you struggle with expectation.
There is a soberness about your beauty I find pleasingly magnetic.
When you leave me alone without your mighty graze
I without question appreciate and yearn for your persuasions and rough tenderness.
Your actions maybe more savory in the afternoons
compared with your visits to my buoyant dreams but you do kindly hold open doors.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
I'm up to my elbows
In Summer sun,
I've hit my funny bone;
The gangs have hit the pavement,
No one mentions home.
The towels are stretched
On sand dunes,
Water falls free and clear,
There's no time for dwelling
On one's sun-kissed despair.
There's amusement parks
And animal farms,
Camps and hiking trails;
Boats slice turquoise water,
I've daughters tugging tails.
And there,
Beneath the snuggled moon
Couples spoon,
Leaving room
For air.
We end our daily frolics
With our evening walks;
I'll find time
To lift my elbows
After equinox.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
A family man, running spandexed and puffing
reaches into the stroller at the crest of the hill
as the day sighs away the last of its dusk
hands a three year old a flashlight
and makes her a secret-wink promise.
*You'll move so quickly on your path,
it's your duty to carry a light with you
to keep you and others safe.*
A stern man and a hot scratchy washcloth
removing a Spice Girls bubblegum tattoo from
the nose of a seven year old, molecule by molecule.
*As soon as you get caught up in superficiality,
that's when you'll make mistakes. Don't make
mistakes that will last.*
A medic man returns from a surgery
from a rural village with more kindness than money.
Lays a basket of apples and a banana loaf on the table
in lieu of a cheque and says:
*There will be opportunities in your life for
your actions to define the kind of person you are-
always take them-
and never forget your common humanity.*
An animal man bursts into the room
with a puppy as new as a sparrow
gamboling, loving, seeking faces and laps.
*When choosing your first dog, look for
one that has more loyalty than shrewdness.
Choose your friends that way, too.*
A tired man breathes deeply instead of shouting
at the quivering teen and the confession of the bumper
and the scratch that shouldn't have happened.
Hurt softly with the truth.... but never with lies.
A romantic man recounts his history
raising his eyebrows at the score of his frolics
and makes me swear to fall madly in like
with every soul who my heart should kiss-
*but Love, reserve Love as the most sacred
of words, deeds, beings. When you Love,
you and he shall become one another,
and be one life.*
A sentimental man wears a silver crown
at the head of his dinner table meditating in
silence after the laughs and mayhem of his
family clan have subsided to the fireplace.
He looks at his daughter.
She looks at her father.
The fullness of her adult face
and Polish eyes reflect in his irises
blue inside blue inside blue inside blue-
making any separation between them
redundant, intangible, like-
mirrors facing mirrors-
as the roots of the
Tree run as deep as soul itself
and he murmurs:
*The day you hear the cry of your firstborn child
is the day you discover the meaning of your life-
and nothing will ever, ever be the same.*
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
“RENDEZVOUS SONNET”
“The long day wanes the slow moon climbs,
My pale enclave inspires me to write,
That of our midnight love rendezvous,
As well as awful dreams of life’s hardships,
All can be forgotten of travesty’s that followed,
As I easily compare you to a light of stardust,
Traipse of her breaching my mind of that day,
Thinking of your prompt nobility fills my days.
My love for you is the dedicated anamnesis,
Our heated times of past frolics of seasons,
Our summertime on the immense sleepy hollows,
The sounding furrows for my purpose holds
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down,
The prudence labor loving procured slowly,
Whisking your rugged ways and thro's endings,
Subdued only to thro’s closure of laudability,
Ode to my rendezvous sonnet”
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/14/2018 ©
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
Aligning every thought, you not coming across leaving me the most impatient.
I may be someone to you.
**** the though, linger on dear.
Silky shadows of you rest in my soul.
Aware of my every thought, you smile.
My unimaginable, inconsiderable, unpreventable state of mind may look at you.
Come on in and gently place your flowers on the ground.
With your unobtainable feeling, ideas wisp out.
The delicacy of this proven fact is unknown
Someday I may miss you.
Come and collect every whispering thought of this world.
As your docility frolics throughout my bones, you know exactly what to do.
You came over, oddly real. And from then on turned into something beautiful.
My sensitivity collapses.
Align everything in a lovely way.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 5:16 PM UTC
In the placid summer midnight,
Under the drowsy sky,
I seem to hear in the stillness
The moths go glimmering by.
One by one from the windows
The lights have all been sped.
Never a blind looks conscious--
The street is asleep in bed!
But I come where a living casement
Laughs luminous and wide;
I hear the song of a piano
Break in a sparkling tide;
And I feel, in the waltz that frolics
And warbles swift and clear,
A sudden sense of shelter
And friendliness and cheer . . .
A sense of tinkling glasses,
Of love and laughter and light--
The piano stops, and the window
Stares blank out into the night.
The blind goes out, and I wander
To the old, unfriendly sea,
The lonelier for the memory
That walks like a ghost with me.
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We could wait but the sun may never come
so now is the time to focus your mind, sweet butterfly vibes will flow from inside.
Buzzed about by merriment, towards the frolics of future fun.
Chained together through strengths of friendship, inclined to speak with peace of mind, no bribes.
These smiles and grins fuel ambitions within that create the modes of self control.
We play, to learn and communicate as those bright days will pass soon so set your tone.
Yearn to motivate each one which comes, sustain the road to growth as its for them, to make sense of their future roles.
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 4:33 AM UTC
She draws Crayola green meadows
in which she frolics and laughs
snuggling up to her
imaginary daddy whom she colors
in unstraight multi-hued stripes
accessorized by a large
unselfish heart in brick red
proudly erupting from his chest.
Her sepia brown-blob puppy is
rediculously happy,
just like her
holding the perfect father
she has always dreamed he is.
Together they stare at
blue construction paper skies
and cotton ball clouds
discovering sailing ships,
famous people heads,
and all the animals they will see
on the day he comes
to take her to the zoo.
~
He labors intently within the lines
coloring subdivided spaces
in one direction just the way
he would teach her
if she were here.
Pressing into the bold
outline on a tiger tail
he hears her giggle in his thoughts.
He closes the book
each page fully given life
placing it on the teetering pile of
earlier masterpieces
filed beside his desk
where he and his daughter stored
the art they created
on regular dates they never had.
He rises on the ritual of completion
toward his omnipresent closet
full of stacked and redundant "if onlys",
each one shaped as
a 64-count box
purchased and purchased again
with every book
he intended to share
on their next wax pencil excursion.
On his toes,
one more "if only" goes to the top.
He still colors.
She still dreams.
~
An Orange/Red sun drew itself
out of the bleacher tiered palate
and hung high betwixt
her cottonball clouds
29 years from the start.
Daddy holds his daughter in deep embrace
while a secret artiste' paints
a tiny translucent drop
on her quivering cheek.
The diligence of construction-paper prayers
are answered in the evidence that
there is no crayon for clear...
it is a tear,
and we are really here.
(I love you my precious girl, with every color in the box :-))
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
Trudy the Trout
Having been spawned one sunny day
Sparkles rainbow colors
As she frolics in the lake
Spends time in school with friends
Learning to survive
What parts are safe to nibble
When the man throws out his fishing line
When Trudy's not in school
How that sweet fishy loves to play
Swimming among the hidden treasures
At the bottom of the lake
One day she swam up to the top
Curious to have a look
Grabbed by a hawk with her last thought of
This here can't be good
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
Oranges & reds
crack the eastern skies
to greet the red-tailed hawk,
coffee brewing.
O those dogwoods thrill!
A fawn frolics with her doe
& every shade of jade
drops dew
as cottontails hop
amongst the deserted
moonshine still
in love.
I am
in Appalachia.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 7:56 AM UTC
it seems (you are the earth( or moon(or le cauchemar)))
or the feint colours dappled frangible scents on the palette
of dawn. so frolics snow spark's dangerous horrors
flitting stubborn ardor. promise the womb a flavor
chocolate coffee stars shivering heaps of organized
thighs. and the cellos beautiful staccato green is pouring
out of the harbor of the lushes. bathing sense in amber
confusion. an avenue Railroad in a downtown sea
married. salty breathes the ocean sighing at the hip
glasses nose perched. trying to retain the raiment
of depth yet shallow beyond comparison. little bits of
fRench and jazz to impress upon the waiting minds
a sense of culture. college bound legs painted cargo
sheets. they act like they
know.
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 1:46 PM UTC
"...féileacán...féileacán! "
baby on one ******
butterfly on the other
your laughter
butterfly frolics
... amongst
your kimono butterflies
silken-stitch butterflies
play
with the cabbage white
autumn morning
butterfly sits
on a swing
two butterflies
chatting on a swing
waiting for a push
my hands create
shadow butterflies
that fly into daughter's mind
"Make hands
make butlerflies!"
she pleads
her first
real butterfly
sheer awe
her butlerflies
buttle
serving the flowers
butterflies
little bits of coloured thought
flit from mind to mind
she adopts
the butterflies
"My flying flowers!"
she chases them
in Irish
"...féileacán...féileacán! "
refusing to come in
until all the butterflies
have gone to bed
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC