"gambol" poems
JANUARY
Delightful display
Snowdrops bowing pure white heads
To the sun’s glory.
FEBRUARY
Fresh green buds appear
Indicating spring will soon
Energise us all.
MARCH
Lambs gambol in fields
Frisky with the joys of life
Bleating happily.
APRIL
Bluebells stand so proud
Beneath trees now sparsely dressed
Fresh green leaves unfold.
MAY
Much awaited sound
Echoes heard amid dense trees
Cuckoo has arrived.
JUNE
Parks and gardens burst
With sounds and vibrant colours
Perfect harmony.
JULY
Beaches become full
Of families having fun
In sand and big waves.
AUGUST
Ripe golden harvest
Burning sun in azure skies
Labours rewarded.
SEPTEMBER
Swallows congregate
On telephone wires ready
To migrate down south.
OCTOBER
Red and gold leaves fall,
Crunchy as cornflakes beneath
Feet on a crisp morn.
NOVEMBER
Frosty webs sparkle
In the early morning sun
Brightly bejewelled.
DECEMBER
First few flakes of snow
Dust gardens like icing on
A chocolate cake.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
Sopor fuels the pen
Darkness devours the sun
As she carves the page
With beautiful words
*Ethereal, Opulent
Sonder, syzygy*
*Vellichor, Gambol
Efflorescence, Effluence*
Words without meaning
Lurk in the shadows
And hovels of ambition
Creep onto the page
But the mind embraced
In a blanket of obscurity
Cannot find their worth
*Her Mellifluous song
Ensorcelled her lover
Bliss in limerence*
How can the stagnant
Heart waltz with stars, write of love,
Beat in unison?
How can the lifeless
Soul connect with humanity?
My words are worthless
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
724
It’s easy to invent a Life—
God does it—every Day—
Creation—but the Gambol
Of His Authority—
It’s easy to efface it—
The thrifty Deity
Could scarce afford Eternity
To Spontaneity—
The Perished Patterns murmur—
But His Perturbless Plan
Proceed—inserting Here—a Sun—
There—leaving out a Man—
5.8k
"When a person is born it's a blessed time,
Albeit a person is in love it's a splendid era,
When that person perishes it is a bereaved era,
Albeit Love of two people expires it's a cataclysm,
Vestige as we used to sit there on the littoral,
As the dusk of the winds would blow the sand,
The sand pursues into your long black hair,
Visage your dark green eyes and a beauty of a smile,
All times I have enjoyed greatly also suffered greatly,
Times you loved me and alone on the shore,
It is an perpetual power that as my utopia,
Is me ichorous of our love moments together,
Afore us lies the port and a skimming ocean liner,
As we slowly see an alluvion gloom in the darkness,
Legions of souls drudged here in day and night,
Above gusting drifts the rainy constellation of stars,
As we gambol in our fervor of cognizance of love in our
Utopia Ichorous"
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/03/2018 © Posted HP/
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
Aqua white, in a glacial vanity cabinet
of pan cake foundation, pure like progeny,
The wind sings the squirrels to sleep
in this acreage of dreams. The lunar reflection
Off the snow shows one how they will die, peaceful
thought broken by a sudden clamor of crunching
One can sense under imagined steps
like the sun on your shoulder one perfect day,
It feels like memories past. An undulation of swift muscle
appears from the void into the moon glow cream,
Moving through the scape like the ocean foaming,
without direction, yet perfectly on path.
Peace not broken, rather fastened by the past,
the present, an no necessary future,
Here in the snow, where squirrels can be caught thinking
and the deer gambol with the timeless winds.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
Wish I had a special pair of lenses
A tool for me; just for my senses
That grant me binocular vision
Allow me to see with heightened perception.
Peer through mountain crags, over dunes of sand
Pierce skyscrapers in familiar foreign lands
A sight beyond nimbus clouds
Amazingly through temporal shrouds.
Past breathtaking ridges and quiet plateaus
Alongside a ****** of black-feathered crows
Tripping over singing brooks and moss-covered pebbles
Herds of quadrupeds as they frolic and gambol
Extraordinary views and candy for the eyes
Travelling linear between earth and skies.
But...
You're too far away for me to see
Even if bestowed upon me...
Still,
I wish my eyes binocular...
Because I need you so much closer...
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Ingénue, Ingénue
mellifluous intonation;
within my ear
intangible embrocation!
Emollient to my inure
lithe and lilt affections-
A panacea, a talisman
fetching provocation.
Ingénue, Ingénue
Why must you fall
into such fugacious
dalliances?
Becoming and comely
are you
The cynosure of men
dissembling by demure
Ingénue, Ingénue
how easily I imbue
sempiternal scintilla
into naive little you
Lo, during my brooding-
arrive in halcyon gambol,
Dulcet or Saccharine
Is it me or you?
Ingénue, oh Ingénue
an epiphany, so true
a furtive labyrinthine
past the offing of you
None so opulent
cast more than penumbra.
T'would simply be Pyrrhic
to go on, continue.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
Angel
My angel
Won’t you sing your sweet song
Fly with me far
And stay all night long
I’ll hold onto you tight
Wrapped in your wings like snow
And everything will be right
Until one of us must go
Tomorrow
Tomorrow
I’ll see you again
We’ll gambol and descant
Remember until then
It is my heart you enchant
My heart you have won
So angel
Sweet angel
Know you are the One.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swiftewd greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo',
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nurs'd with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confin'd,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance ev'ry night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd,
On pippins' russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,
Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he lov'd to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his **** around.
His frisking wa at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear;
But most before approaching show'rs,
Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,
And ev'ry night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.
But now, beneath this walnut-shade
He finds his long, last home,
And waits inn snug concealment laid,
'Till gentler **** shall come.
He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.
2.3k
Let me breathe the smoke between your thighs,
The way a drowning man breathes water -
my Queen of Oysters.
I will sup til hungers end
the elixir
then sup, and sup again
the banquet of your flesh
with the thousand tongues
of my fingertips and eyes.
This Alligator that hides amongst daisies -
let him sleep in the black garden of your hair
O concubine of Saturn
Open slow to the brush
rough hands spring petals
that gambol and gyre
in great prickles
through
the spine and scalp.
Let us run to the moon, together
or sleep til the noon, apart.
My Queen of Oysters,
Let me sleep in the black garden of night.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
As the shadows began lengthening
I slowly walked to the sea shore
Through the cobbled path
With stinging stones under my feet
And piles of golden clouds floating above
Enjoying the whistling of the wind through the reeds
Inhaling the saline air, smelling of rotting seaweeds
On the vast strand, I stood for long
Feeling the foamy fringes of water lapping at my feet
And sensing the sand slipping away under my feet
I watched the gentle undulating billows
Rolling their silver volumes
As if to die away on the happy shores
The sapphire waters and the roaring waves
The churning tides and the feathery foam
Made me wonder at the horror and beauty
That ****** dichotomy Nature carries within
I saw numerous fishes gambol beneath the waves
Do the finny herds that roam
The fathomless valleys of the Deep
Ever experience the tumult and scuffle
Of the roaring waters?
Oh! Never!
Like them, I too floated weightless
With all the barbed distractions drifting away
Wishing to get a pair of wings of the swallow flying high
To soar safely away from all gadflies who disturb
And cocooned in the inner citadel of my privacy
Enjoying a permeating peace, I had seldom known!
Then Byron’s words came floating to me
Mingling with the cadence of the waves
‘There is rapture in the lonely shores
There is society where none intrudes’
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC
They say we are but leaves.
Unwittingly we waiver
with the slightest caress from the sun.
With excitement we shudder,
when given a sliver of attention
from the moon.
And we rustle
with childlike glee,
when the daytime breeze
whispers its secrets playfully.
We dance, gambol and frolic...
As we celebrate our flightiness of spirits
in exuberant jubilee.
Because today...
We are welcomed here.
We are children of the world.
Seedlings of the universe.
And we revolve around a nucleus,
an anchor,
a steadfast tree..
That is you...
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 7:05 AM UTC
Allow me to step into your space.
Let us be close,
standing face to face.
So close...
Where our hands could meet,
and our hearts could greet...
The one chance
to finally indulge this long awaited dance.
Cradling one another...
In open arms.
Surendering...
Submitting...
To careless caresses,
bashful gazes and charms.
Our feet would mirror,
the gaits
of each other.
Our eyes ensnared
with senses all bared...
To the rise and fall
of the nectarous melody.
Playing for what seemed like eternity
in silence.
That eternity is now here.
Seizing this dance,
we gambol and frolic
without reservations and fear...
For the hours have frozen
and the seconds have ceased to tick.
This is our song.
Seemingly refined,
cultured and well versed.
This is our dance.
Enchanting,
perfect,
albeit unrehearsed.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
With trembling fingers did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas-eve.
At our old pastimes in the hall
We gambol'd, making vain pretence
Of gladness, with an awful sense
Of one mute Shadow watching all.
We paused: the winds were in the beech:
We heard them sweep the winter land;
And in a circle hand-in-hand
Sat silent, looking each at each.
Then echo-like our voices rang;
We sung, tho' every eye was dim,
A merry song we sang with him
Last year: impetuously we sang:
We ceased: a gentler feeling crept
Upon us: surely rest is meet:
"They rest," we said, "their sleep is sweet,"
And silence follow'd, and we wept.
Our voices took a higher range;
Once more we sang: "They do not die
Nor lose their mortal sympathy,
Nor change to us, although they change;
"Rapt from the fickle and the frail
With gather'd power, yet the same,
Pierces the keen seraphic flame
From orb to orb, from veil to veil."
Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn,
Draw forth the cheerful day from night:
O Father, touch the east, and light
The light that shone when Hope was born.
1.6k
There’s an innocence,
Like children playing in graveyards,
That we’ve lost.
and
There’s a wanderlust,
Like a dandelion’s progeny,
That we’ve abandoned.
And
There’s a love,
Like the echoes under eyelids,
That we never forget.
And
There’s a task,
Like sand on an ant’s back,
That we endure.
And
That task,
Like the broken backs before,
Ends
And only when we do.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
24
There is a morn by men unseen—
Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May—
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambol I may never name—
Employ their holiday.
Here to light measure, move the feet
Which walk no more the village street—
Nor by the wood are found—
Here are the birds that sought the sun
When last year’s distaff idle hung
And summer’s brows were bound.
Ne’er saw I such a wondrous scene—
Ne’er such a ring on such a green—
Nor so serene array—
As if the stars some summer night
Should swing their cups of Chrysolite—
And revel till the day—
Like thee to dance—like thee to sing—
People upon the mystic green—
I ask, each new May Morn.
I wait thy far, fantastic bells—
Unto the different dawn!
1.4k
It's here again
more gentle light
a welling of spirit
the urge to move
limbs eager to
gambol and play
the song of birds
senses soaring
green growth
erupting sunward
blooms posing
both with flowers and people
my heart is singing
my outlook sunny
I feel like making
love to life
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Love is a misfit gambol
A blind "hit me"
When you're holding eighteen.
Twenty One seems so far away,
Gambling a small tomorrow
With stolen chits.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
My heart skips like a rock across the river filled in my sorrows
I'm down today, but there's hope for tomorrow
This hope lets me cope like its dope and I'm a fiend
Each ripple of a wave shows me the way
Taking me, making my mental depression raise
And in the breeze that kisses my tear streaked face
I find a glimmer of a smile the dawning of a new day
A day that dissolves anguish and brings an abundance of happiness
Like hot chocolate deep in winters mist
I find that I'm deep within these myths
Buried in lies beyond lies, I've tried and I've tried
Floundering time after time
Sinking deep until the bottom was my place to hide
Struggling for air, lungs unable to rise
Weight of burdened waters and tides
Until in the darkness I chose to swim and rise
The time is now determination fills my eyes
Thru pain comes happiness I have come to realize
Press to the top this Ian my life and my sunrise
I am the drive train in the machine that motivates me
The I in the team that solely consist of me
Like a beam of light it strikes me
Profusely enlightens me ,
Adjust my contrast and brightens me
No longer will I huddle in the dark acquiescly
Eloquence bubbles up inside of me
Hope serenades from within
As an illuminating light in my eyes begins
I can see now the fantastical future depends
On where I lay my burdens and my sins
I chose to be free, live my life, plant seeds
And allow destiny to drive and fulfill my needs
As I cry out the pain Heaven has heard my pleads
The anguish washed away, my soul no longer bleeds
My Utopia awaits, this cages bird is freed
Its times flee and gambol
No longer gambling on the shadows
Luminaries of the sky let me spread my wings and fly
Nature lifts me high, the birds chirp hi, as they gracefully fly by
I can't fathom the fugacious elegance so prevalent
With great relevance to my contentment with life
No longer with I struggle or strife
I'll dehydrate my eyes no longer will I cry
Time is ineffable so I'll pay no mind,
To the hands that control the lie
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
A flickering candle.
A blinking observer of the blurred,
thrumming life that surrounds it.
Silken-haired girls and kittens gambol
on the thread-bare rug;
leaving brightly colored Trouble pieces in their wake.
It's countenance reads "Winter",
like a scent could ever capture
the long, arduous Minnesota cold.
A continuous clatter of feet,
chorused voices in debate,
a deserted pie crust on a cracked plate
and dog fur fiercely claiming the beloved sofa.
A flickering candle watches
as wisdom swirls in scotch glasses,
and serpentine coils of cigar smoke.
Trusting smiles and the adoration of a father
lighting the faces of sons--
All witnessed by a flickering candle.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
Gone be yon melted summer's day
Whilst shrouded in robes of sorrow
That never quill of a bard can portray
Nor years unborn may ever know
When a fair maiden pottered my way,
Gently as drops of descending snow.
Her eyes fairer than burnished gold
Illuminated the vast shadowy night,
Ebony hair upon her seraphic body rolled
With a diadem of reddest roses bedight
That swifter than a gallant knight so bold,
I plunged to Elysium at such a sight.
For she bore beauty of a silvery moon
In lone splendor upon heavens bay,
The pulchritude of sun beams by noon
Against the sea on a fine blazing day.
Now that love casted her novelty boon,
Timidly I gravitated towards her way
And in fables faintly whispered unto her:
"Little maiden, little maiden, little maiden,
O queen fairer than chalcedonic luster;
Are flowers of yonder golden Aidenn
More fair and redolent than thou are?"
This did gladden - I strayed in a garden;
Her garden of ethereal pulchritude
Where no mortal ever walked through
And now doth hearts gambol with glee
'Neath elm leaves bedight with stars above
That the beauty queen calls it balm of Gilead
To visit her garden - a garden of love.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California, USA
12th/09/2018
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
It's a logistical rule I own
To attempt a poem
Every day
Based on a word
Or a feeling
But I wasn't
Feeling much
Today
So I gambled
A gambol
In the Webster's
And it was my thumb's fate
To find "Palpitate".
Funny that the previous poems
Both deep and sincere
Had the Heart as their center
So clear and unpretentious
And damn-near annoying
Relentless in their calling
Out to a Lost Love or three...
Old "woe is me"
Always attempting to
Circumnavigate the heart.
To go around the push-pull
Of Love lost denied
And surf away on the curl
Of swollen palpitate.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 8:54 PM UTC
It’s seldom that folks see me dance,
for want of occasion or partner.
My stiff joints pray “give others a chance!
Just sit with your drink in the dark there.”
I’m not really hip and can’t hop
Arthritis has put paid to that dream.
I’d let younger ones gambol and lark
here I’d sit, waiting patient, for ice cream.
But no, I sway out on the hardwood,
locked in a slow dance with you.
I clinch like a boxer, exhausted-
Whose opponent has landed a few.
I pray that the music is ending-
My balky hip screams with each turn
After this I’ll for sure need a Walker
A Blue, on the rocks, I have earned.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 2:25 PM UTC
With trembling fingers did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas-eve.
At our old pastimes in the hall
We gambol'd, making vain pretence
Of gladness, with an awful sense
Of one mute Shadow watching all.
We paused: the winds were in the beech:
We heard them sweep the winter land;
And in a circle hand-in-hand
Sat silent, looking each at each.
Then echo-like our voices rang;
We sung, tho' every eye was dim,
A merry song we sang with him
Last year: impetuously we sang:
We ceased: a gentler feeling crept
Upon us: surely rest is meet:
'They rest,' we said, 'their sleep is sweet,'
And silence follow'd, and we wept.
Our voices took a higher range;
Once more we sang: 'They do not die
Nor lose their mortal sympathy,
Nor change to us, although they change;
'Rapt from the fickle and the frail
With gather'd power, yet the same,
Pierces the keen seraphic flame
From orb to orb, from veil to veil.'
Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn,
Draw forth the cheerful day from night:
O Father, touch the east, and light
The light that shone when Hope was born.
994