"keatsian" poems - Hello Poetry

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.

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Dec 20, 2011

Dec 20, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC

aparna-ganguli

The magical date

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.

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REMEMBERING COLERIDGE "Ok! Can we have..." my mind shouts from its directorial chair megaphone in hand. "A MIRACLE OF RARE DEVICE over here!" BUT OH! THAT DEEP ROMANTIC CHASM is still in her caravan. "Ok...cue camera No. 2 & where... where are the SUNNY PLEASURE DOMES WITH CAVES OF ICE can someone please. . . . . .get the ****** SUNNY PLEASURE DOMES WITH CAVES OF ICE please! "We've got a Coleridge moment coming up on his next footstep!" "Are all you brain cells following me!" Memory goes through wardrobe dressing each thought in perfect Kubla Khan costumes. "Ok...cue footstep 2000 & waitforitwaitforit....2!" "Ok people..!" shouts my mind "...he's going to remember the Coleridge any second . . .nOW!" "Cut to...OH STILL UNRAVISHED BRIDE OF QUIETNESS! wot...wot....cut CUT!" "Ok...who pressed the Keats button!" And so it is that a Keatsian personified urn of Greek extraction finds itself in Xanadu as I cross the road and almost get knocked down by a ****** big No. 69 and a cursing cyclist in spangled blue latex.

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Jan 11, 2016

Jan 11, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC

donall-dempsey

REMEMBERING COLERIDGE

REMEMBERING COLERIDGE "Ok! Can we have..." my mind shouts from its directorial chair megaphone in hand. "A MIRACLE OF RARE DEVICE over here!" BUT OH! THAT DEEP ROMANTIC CHASM is still in her caravan. "Ok...cue camera No. 2 & where... where are the SUNNY PLEASURE DOMES WITH CAVES OF ICE can someone please. . . . . .get the ****** SUNNY PLEASURE DOMES WITH CAVES OF ICE please! "We've got a Coleridge moment coming up on his next footstep!" "Are all you brain cells following me!" Memory goes through wardrobe dressing each thought in perfect Kubla Khan costumes. "Ok...cue footstep 2000 & waitforitwaitforit....2!" "Ok people..!" shouts my mind "...he's going to remember the Coleridge any second . . .nOW!" "Cut to...OH STILL UNRAVISHED BRIDE OF QUIETNESS! wot...wot....cut CUT!" "Ok...who pressed the Keats button!" And so it is that a Keatsian personified urn of Greek extraction finds itself in Xanadu as I cross the road and almost get knocked down by a ****** big No. 69 and a cursing cyclist in spangled blue latex.

42

The heat of Summer is gripped by sweaty hands of September & October: squeezing, wringing out its energy like water held in a sponge. Leaves, in a thick canopy are still green overhead. The sun penetrates them with laser- like beams that dazzle the eyes. Berries are ripening on thorny brambles. Wild lilies bloom in unearthly orange hue. The low hum of insects: a faint rustle of squirrels or rabbits stirs silence. Listen - a melodic chorus of birds with little more to do this Autumn day - but sing and wing about this earth – this England. Tobias.

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Oct 18, 2018

Oct 18, 2018 at 6:03 AM UTC

anthony-brady

A Keatsian Idyll

The heat of Summer is gripped by sweaty hands of September & October: squeezing, wringing out its energy like water held in a sponge. Leaves, in a thick canopy are still green overhead. The sun penetrates them with laser- like beams that dazzle the eyes. Berries are ripening on thorny brambles. Wild lilies bloom in unearthly orange hue. The low hum of insects: a faint rustle of squirrels or rabbits stirs silence. Listen - a melodic chorus of birds with little more to do this Autumn day - but sing and wing about this earth – this England. Tobias.

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