"prances" poems
Métis, Themis, Ma’at, their banter was for naught.
All the tides and tithings wisdoms and their teachings, Daemonium forgot!
But the heavens cry manna as Nix cried out reprieve!
An act that loosed the flood, the chaos of her sea.
Her pain arose a champion to tend to all her needs,
Formed of Celestial Ocean he bore down on the freed.
A giant wave of madness, thrusting mist of sadness eradicating gladness... One led the ruthless breed.
Opaque in their beginning, formless shapes in twining.
Conjoined but not together, accompanied the weather.
Thalassa’s stringy tether wrapped them all forever.
Come or go in seasons, live or die in age.
No Spring to Fall in reasons, travailing of the mage?
Black tentacles the streamers, rooted into wave.
Witness the all-wise and snaking phantom phage...
Chiron watches while he prances, his dressage on the shore.
Arising liminal of beings wettened ambiguity of yore.
Even Iblis is impressed, such black rotten to the core!
Merkabah or egg, mountain, belly, tree they squabble.
All elements do I cobble, such are actions of the wobble.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
there lives a little white boy across the street,
i swear the chaps' got wings on his feet.
but he grovels around in charcoal and mud,
cos they say he hasn't got athletics in his blood.
he breaks British records, doesnt seem to stop,
but the Jamaican colours flutter from his rooftop.
Olympics the dream,but more than that,
little master Owens just wants to be Black.
there lives a little black girl just next door,
i can hear her tap dance on the linoleum floor.
she sings the opera from dusk to dawn,
she prances and twirls on the family's front lawn.
"your dancings' awkward, your voice baritone,"
it's not in your blood, leave the dreams alone.
she smears fairness creams day and night,
little miss Britney just wants to be White.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
A shooting star shines so bright when you are cosy and warm at night.
It prances by you when you walk past,a shooting star will always last.
A shooting goes really really fast.
Look at the future dont look to the past.
This star sparkles,it can dance in the dark.
WATCH OUT WATCH OUT see it spark!
All night long the shooting star will be sure to shoot off with a glitter.
my shooting star is my mum
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
maybe the reason why I dislike Batman
and love the X-Men
is because Batman, gifted with money and power, chose his struggle
the X-Men were forced- they had mutanthood shoved upon them
and had to be crucifed as society pushed them away
hiding in fear and hatred of what they must face
the X-Men learn to adapt, they take what they have
and choose to be the better man, or the worse man,
but they take the fight that was given them
and the freakery that they were born with,
and they adapt.
Batman, however, was born normally,
did not have to run or hide, for he was privileged,
and he walked, walked straight into freakery
he took the burden others were throttled with
and laid it upon his own shoulders, crying 'woe is me'
whilst he went about the noble task of hero-dom
he made himself a fancy suit- he had been given
normalcy and he invented freakery in order to claim sacrifice
he did not need to give himself- he was an ordinary man
that laid down his life.
The reason why that bothers me so much
is that ordinary men do not need to lay down their lives
they are not called to that future
it is not in their cards
he claimed his heroic deeds and choose to throw himself into the
furnace flames- while others suffered unwillingly
he chose it
he took their pain and made it less
'see, I can do it! anyone can do it!'
what makes the X-Men special is that
their mutation isn't 'deal with pain of superheroism'
it's some other power, but they have to learn how to be ostracized
not anyone can do that- they had to
their survival depended on it
Batman walked into the struggle of their lives
and declared himself a hero
though, for some, the declaration
was not in their words or actions, it was written
into their DNA, it was marked in their skin
by the brands of their oppressors, it
was pounded into every heartbeat shocked with electricity
they fought and hid their heroism their whole lives
for they knew- it was not something to love,
it was something to suffer with-
and Batman took that, he took the heroism
and he projected it across the night sky,
declaring, "I am Batman",
and it is something he can escape from,
he can walk away, he can walk away, he can walk away,
and yes, he chooses not to,
but what he does is steal from those who cannot walk away
his heroism takes the nails in the hands of mutants and orphans
and masochistically drives them into his own palms
crying whilst doing it.
rather than being forced to adapt and look normal,
he puts on a suit and prances through the night dramatically
he takes everything sufferable about being a hero
and tosses it out the window-
he takes everything noble about being a hero
and growls it in a dramatic voice, posing, in his fancy suit,
when he could be safe at home. why would you choose this
why would anyone choose this
be thankful for your ability to be safe,
that is the real superpower- the ability
to be normal, to have a home to go back to, to
have a normal purpose and a normal life,
and Batman is completely, utterly, ungrateful-
he wishes there were more,
while those born with 'gifts' would be satisfied with even less.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
When the kill-shot kills not, the dead lions don’t roar.
They become the ghost in the dark, silent yet present.
Like power, real power, stealth in tall green grasses,
they watch
the victory dances and gleeful prances of deluded preys.
Beware!! Be not carried away.
Look into the eyes of the golden flames,
See their manes –Alive!!
In the fog of night’s peaceful fade.
©Belema .S. Ekine
©belemascribbles
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
I don’t want to think about her anymore.
But I just can't seem to get her out of my head.
I know she never thinks about me,
so why am I always stuck with the thought of her?
Every day, she is there.
In my head
And it hurts, it hurts to know
That you and I have no future outside of my thoughts
Because in reality you ignore me
you see me and quickly look away,
and you dont know how much that ******* hurts
how much it hurts to be in love with a girl like you.
A girl who innocently prances around my mind and turns me into a nervous wreck.
why?
I curiously asked her
because I don’t want to hurt you
Well then why does my heart hurt the way it does?
because I must forget.
I must rid my mind of the thoughts she left behind!
But I can't
as much as I want too
I just can't
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
1.
Eyes, eager fish, in deep Himalayan blue, splash and swim
the ultramarine sky of the mind, gets color coordinated, in resonance
wind from across the ranges, incessantly chant guttural "Öm"
gently spreads waves, that on ears, vibrate as music,divine
our feet get liberated from mind's control, the trek becomes us.
2.
Eyes now, turn swifts, fly to the valley extending to horizon,
teeming with flowers of every hue, profusion of orchids,
rolling white clouds above,create *tantric patterns
of grace, swirls, swoops,scoops, somersaults,the trek goes on.
3.
Melting ice, fits well on the conical brown mountain tops,
a white bodice, perfect cover for her lovely peaks,
angular mounts gleam in the limitless avalanche
of light, an impulse for benediction is palpable.
4.
Simple folks of village, on the way side
in flowing colorful dresses ***** tall poles
festoons of bright colors, joyous prayer flags flutter in wind
proclaims festive spirit, they vigorously wave.
5.
Now heart overwhelms, sings the paeans of
a sky that changes it's face from blue to white
and sometimes, a hue so bleak, deep gloom,
on red brown earth, sun light prances around.
6.
The grass bed then transforms quick,
mind drinks the dense benediction peace brings
that coils inside the soft blue waves, beating within and out
7.
Himalayan blue has taken us in to it's embrace
bird songs ring along the path of ancient sages,
who went in to the forest abode to contemplate, never returned,
became one with the hum of cosmos, they walk within us.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
I keep pacing through my mind
I keep thinking of what we could be
I wonder who I could find
What will I see?
Oh great, all I found are feelings
Just another thing to ruin my nights
Take me away, give me wings
And then make me lose these fights.
No one sees my face behind closed doors
They’re focused on their chances
But to me; they’re simple little ******
Doing their girly, fake little prances
That pretty much describes my life
Just a jar of broken dreams
My happiness hit with a knife
Stuck in one big friendzone, it seems
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
Lady of dance so eloquent, Flamenco born from her wombs' true intent,
Castanets clatter, as tambourine rattles,
with excitement, accrued within whirls,
she prances and dances within circles, all flashing,
to reach her prince charming, was truly so dashing, her hair rolled up in a tight fitting bun,
As she swirled up to reach her finale, twas said,
she was here no longer, she was truly dead,
she deceased many years, hence past,
For every so often her vengeance she cast,
Prince so vain, found another sweet lover,
left her alone with her pain,
left her mark on the spot,
where her true love stopped,
Gave her no attention,
well too little to mention,
took her life with such a harsh knot,
when the moon is bright, on one sorrowful night,
She'd appear to dance for the crowds,
The watchers looked on, not terrified, by the sight of the tragic flamenco bride!
Copywrite, Olivia Kent 24/03/2013.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
Like all other cities in the clouds
this one is often wet and always loud.
Its air heavy with the sweat of labour
and light with the soothing lunar caress.
Its bricks, the stuff of dreams,
raised by giants, manifested in concrete.
Its people the dreamers.
There shoulders drenched in hope
Walk with weeping umbrellas to the sky
in painful black soles...
...Past snow globe dreamlands
of nebular realms and rainbow twilights
Shielded in walls of nothingness thick
to keep the fantasies in and the phantoms out.
And she prances on the grey greasy pavement
blowing bubbles of soap that brave the rain.
Her chin - the sun.
Her breath - the monsoon winds.
Her curls - the streams in the woods.
Her forehead - the promised land to each raindrop.
And her soul - the bliss that lies in the space between worlds.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
It dances through the morning
With its thoughts all smug and loud.
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain,
Oh how my brain sings aloud.
It controls the mirrors
Right through its glass
Any reflective surface
The brain is what it asks.
It prances onto noontime
With its judgmental stain
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain
Oh, how my brain sings my pain.
It glances at my edges
It smirks at my thighs
Oh the brain is a torturous man
Filled with degrading, hurtful lies.
It sprints into the evening
With its cocky glow
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain,
Oh, how my brain sings so low.
It breaks me down quickly
As if it doesn’t care at all
That I’m sinking into nothing
Or that my heart’s about to fall.
It creeps into midnight
With its final remark
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain
Oh how my brain sings so dark.
It goes to hurt me once more
But I’ve changed up the game
I’ve broken all of the mirrors
To make my monster more tame.
I crawl into dawn
With my brain at my side
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain,
Oh how my brain’s songs subside.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
How Brave you must be~the squaw exclaimed to the Chief. " Why, I am more than a Brave", the Chieftain quipped.! " Just look at my feathers and the scalps hanging by my side, do they not tell of My many Deeds ? Her reply was a simple ,, "YES, I can see how you have adorned yourself ! " He retorted ~ " And you certainly can't miss all the colors by which I have claimed MY-STATUS ! " The Squaw responded~ "YES, the HUES on you, certainly tell me who and what you are, now that I look closely ! " And he added~ "Look at the careful way in which I have displayed my Collection of SCALPS, Spaced ever so carefully around my waistband ! She questioned further, "Have you ,Oh Mighty Chief, Properly named each of the Scalps , SO YOU won't forget from whence they came ? ? "OH, My Goodness, YES, he answered. "I wouldn't ever want to forget where they came from, SO~I admire each and Call each of them, By Name~ Everyday. "SURELY" She continued, "YOU are much more than any other Chief, and by the way , DO you use Windex or Glass-Plus to clean your mirrors ? ? " HE exclaimed, "I, really don't know what cleaning agent my servant uses, to clean my many mirrors ! BUT, they certainly do shine, when I look into them ! The SQUAW queried~ " BUT what about your shoes, moccasins , if you would, WHAT~~ is that Green-Gooey Stuff all over them ? ? HE-Commented~ " I guess that when I take my mighty steps, toes and feet, IN THE WAY, Fall under the Prances that I make ! ! ? " Then,She asked~ "Do you do your War'Dances often, or just as you are called on, by your mighty warriors ? " AND,,this Brave-Chieftain PROCLAIMED~ "WHY, I"ll have you Know, I do all of these Prances and Dances ~BY MY OWN CHOICE, NO-ONE tells me when or what to do. Except my visits with the Prince of the Air !" The Squaw thanked him~turned~then turned back~Asking " Measured by~ Scalps~Prances and Dances ? ?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
I don't blame people for hating me
I hate myself sometimes
I just hope they give me a chance
I give myself chances
Until I start giving glances
And move through playful prances
Others witness my glancing dances
And knock me out my ****** trances
I wonder what I am
My eyes look at my hands
The wise watch the sands
Of time that slowly count down
Until we're not tyranny bound
In this empire of circular hate
Trapped on this circular crate
It gets smaller as we push inward
When the solution is the inverse
These ideologies keep us from expansion
Like those that knock me out my trances
But please give humanity more chances
A murderer stands before his judge
The judge says:
Death...
Why do you weep?
It's just one word
My sympathy isn't reached
For I am the herd
The murderer responds:
Sorry I must weep
These tears I can't keep
When that word sums up my future and my past
It evokes memories and desires engraved in brass
As a society we're constantly filling ourselves
As a species we're constantly killing ourselves
When knowledge is a sphere
That needs to be maximized
We need to look in the mirror
And continue asking why
But we must start in the middle
To fill up the sphere
Until we can solve this riddle
And I can keep tears
And we can be peers
Who live on this sphere
With nothing to fear
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 3:54 AM UTC
After the milking's done,
Farmer gone to house and bed,
Rag-tag tabbies, half-breed furs,
Assemble by the milking stool
Yowl a bit, then settle down to purrs.
Rosined up, a straw-boned bow
Emits a violinic fiddle's skirl,
And one by one the mousers
Stand on twos to take a matted floor.
Come, let us see you pirouette,
You puissant pouncers.
Lightly spin those furry toes;
Sheath deep those claws to put
Perfection in your prances;
Balance on your tails, and spin;
Exercise or exorcise in cattish dances
The feline feelings you are in.
Dance happily and furiously...
Or sinuously and slow...
Whatever moods mouse-
Murderers can feel or know.
Enjoy the dance, ye half-breed cats.
Never mind the jealous schemes of mice,
Nor terroristic plots of leagues of rats.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
We met in kindergarten
Miss Wolfe’s class
Into an ear I whisper
A shy boy’s bargain
I knock on your door
Pray the dog
Doesn’t **** me
Seems like a metaphor
Laughter and chasing geese
Stealing glances
And prances in the woods
Sprained ankles in the creek
Your moon-drenched family room
And our primal need
Bodies glide
Into foreign feelings
I concede
We’re both shaving now
Not children
Yet not men
In between and fooling around
In my attic bedroom
Space Jam soundtrack
Hoping my mom doesn’t hear us
My hands on your back
Then moving down
Committing little sins
Shhhhhh
Don’t make a sound
Then the bed of my dad’s truck
Some hand stuff
Never a ****
Never enough
You get up and leave
I want you to stay
I play the radio
97 ZOK
Meredith Brooks
And I hate the world today
Because I’m a *****
But I like me this way
Fifteen and fevered
Down Mix Street
I rollerblade
Turn right on Worth
My love for you
Is such a sad parade
Remember when
We camped on the lawn
Quiet light and secrets
Then that wicked dawn
Dragging us back
Into a world
Where our desires
Don’t belong
We are strangers now
With a little bit of everything
All rolled into memory
Like a sacred vow
I’m your hell
I’m your dream
Do you remember anything?
I recall it all
Your tousled hair
And my forbidden grin
I think you live in Wisconsin
Sep 1, 2022
Sep 1, 2022 at 11:23 PM UTC
budgie soft feathered
yellow green plume
when with him together
goes fog of gloom.
dance he prances joyous
with enchanting grace
when his feathers brush
it's only happiness.
his sweetly gaily spin
crazy acrobats
sparks a light within
moves hands in claps.
on fingers loves to roost
his nails softly *****
gives my spirit boost
cloud disperses quick.
snuggles up to me
heart he easy wins
my dolly jolly budgie
I fondly call him Prince.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Wakey Wakey, rise and shine
greet the morning with a smile
wide awake and feeling fine
dancing with this boy of mine.
Twisting on the kitchen floor
the monkey, the jive and many more,
the mashed potato, the hustle too
he follows my lead with a giggle or two.
There's a hound dog, a jailhouse, some blue suede shoes
as we Rave On with Buddy and Peggy Sue
Reet Petite makes an entrance and whips up the crowd
"Turn it up Daddy, I want this real loud!"
Then on to the Land of a Thousand Dances
even the dog's grinning wide as she prances
we take Three Steps to Heaven and meet Cathy's clown
then on to the next one, no time to sit down.
So I'll fry up the bacon as my little bug jitters
and poach us some eggs with some sweet 'tato fritters
as I sing of Lucille, Maggie may and Delilah,
then Shake Rattle and Roll to those Great ***** Of Fire.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
she's
a liar and
a foolish woman
too full of herself or
frightened to
admit
she's lost without you
the
sun is gone
blue skies have faded and
clouds hover above
her
Sunrays
only reflect upon lovers
and she suffers at each glimpse of
their togetherness
Loneliness
has entombed her
she's chilly whether indoors or out
day and night even when temperatures
reach record breaking, hot
she
is
f r e e z i n g
Her
tears fall like
rainfall whenever she
encounters lingering scent of you
and her spent in the bedroom, bathroom, living room
in
every
single
room
christened
in the name of a
soul deep love
and like a shrine she enters each
kneeling, inhaling and worshiping EVERY **** image
that daily ritual brings
and
when
compelled to step
outside amongst scrutinizing eyes
she
prances in her
prefabricated glow trying
to convince those
around her
she
hasn't
missed
a
step
without
you
all
awhile
inside
she's tripping
and
crying out in
agony
since you
the
sun's
been
gone
and
she's cold
soul
cold
©cj
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
She’s so dainty,
with her sparkling, springtime smile.
I wish to be her.
I envy her whimsical dance
and how she prances through sunlight.
She would throw her hands up to
the lavender laced skies and twirl.
I once asked her how she remained so pure.
She replied with a pretty song.
Her voice was silver and crystal.
In that melody, I realized I would never be her.
I had to be me.
She was peaches and sunlight and sparkles.
I was the earth, the night, the moon.
I made an attempt.
I sang in the meadows and weeped beneath the trees
and for a day, just a day,
I was something of a fairy.
And as for the present me,
I want to remain this way forever.,
to remain happy as she is.
And I shall try.
But, it is late, however on my dark little corner of this foggy earth,
so I think I’ll blow out this fire,
crawl under the ground
and drift to another world,
until sunshine sings again tomorrow.
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 4:28 PM UTC
In a street swamped by
An abundant sea of darkness
Illuminated by nothing but
The concrete glow of the moon
The shadow of an amorously dangerous man
Came into existence
His ****** aroma heavily polluted the air
With opulent seduction
Making helpless slaves of
All the women in the valley
As well as heightening
Their remaining four senses
He prances around in his
Fancy, black leather jacket
With a pocket chain
Dangling from his waist side
Jet black shades occupying
The masterpiece that is his face
He blows a royal kiss of glitter
Trailing after the runaways
A swift touch to one's forehead
And in seconds she'll be on her knees
Begging and pleading for more
Simply because she can't get enough
It's as if his body was a delectable tower
Of chocolate covered strawberries
Dipped in an ocean of the most
Exquisite tasting honey known to man
Each woman who had been cast
Under his precious spell
Was now imprisoned within
A mind controlling coma
They couldn't seem to lift their inquiring eyes
From the creamy complexion of his skin
Severe urges to kiss and **** his flesh
Possessed their bodies with great power
He lives the life that most men would **** for
With thousands of women wrapped around his finger
Fulfilling his every single wish and command
Tackling him with avalanches of never ending pleasures
In the eyes of these women
He was an icon of majestic worship
They bow down before him
Massaging his toes with kisses
Leaving trails of roses to rest at his feet
And to think this persona was conceived
From his supernaturally seductive abilities
The strangest thing about this man
Was that nobody knew of his name
Nor where his audacious soul
Had so suddenly escaped from
Only that he was unimaginably handsome
His charming hex of temptation
And superior intellect alone
Had transformed stainless virgins
Into despicable nymphomaniacs
Jeopardizing the entire female gender
With his smooth talking scandals
A luxurious craft of extravagant gold
A tragic truth yet to be told
This man was known as
The Poet *** God
By Glenn McCrary
© 2011 Glenn McCrary
(All rights reserved)
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 1:40 AM UTC
When we're older,
I'd like us to live by the hills.
Away from the silly thrills of the bustle of buses
and the rustle of wallets.
Away from those so desperate to be happy
but so increasingly aware of how not to hold onto it.
I want to be able to sit in silence on a Saturday -
That might seem like a simple thing to ask for but
here in the city, there's little room to think.
A seat surrounded by chaos is no substitute for the
whisper of the wind as it dances with the daisies
and prances with the daily ease of the hillside's treasures.
You deserve the freshest air and nothing less,
a sea-breeze seen too far from here
for your hair to run right through it.
Anyway, I've been rambling.
I hope one day we'll live back home,
but for now, I'll continue to slowly wipe away your duvet'd haze,
gently seeping sunlight through the cracks in your eyes.
This is always my favourite part of the day;
A beautifully brief moment of limbo between your dreams my mind.
Your gradual recognition of reality
is met by my delight
in response to your gradual smile
And once this brief moment is over,
I can begin to live,
day by day
with only you.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 7:21 AM UTC
Sadness is weird for me.
It leaks from my biggest smile,
and from tears of laughter.
Sadness lingers with me in a hug,
and when I´m dancing.
It creeps into my mind when I'm alone
or the center of a party.
The urge to cry is there
I simply lack the tears.
Sadness is weird for me
It hides in the corner of my mind
to surprise me when I least expect it
But other times it prances around
waiving a flag as if to show me...
but I know, I feel it
I simply lack the tears
Sadness is weird for me
because it is numb
and yet I feel it so strong.
Because I smile,
even when I want to cry
I simply lack the tears.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 1:50 AM UTC
There’s a horse in my backyard,
Most magnificent to regard,
Black his colour, long his mane
Upon his shoulder tangling down.
Jet coat shines and muscles ripple
As he rears and prances danger.
He’s a stallion, powerfully built.
His name is Anger.
There’s another little pony,
Very lovable is this one.
Bright and sunny is her nature,
White and gold her bristling colour.
As everybody’s favourite choice,
She works the long, extended hours,
But overworked, she has a voice!
She is Compassion.
Next, the pinto comes for breakfast,
Trotting sweetly to the repast,
Tough and wiry, head tossed gaily,
Snorting, stamping, propping daily,
He’s the one with his own mind,
Hard mouth, slow to understand
What is needed tags behind.
He’s called Willpower.
Can’t leave out the lovely racer,
Chestnut, and the red lights lace her!
Most eye-catching, charged, and ready,
Whipping round upon a penny,
Found where other horses run,
She’ll toss you off if she thinks she can,
Ever dancing in the sun.
Dependency.
There are many steeds at stable
In my backyard. I am able
To learn to manage every one
Under tuition of the Son.
Jealousy, Envy, Hope and Fear
Are some of the others that I hold dear.
Each has its place and each its task
And each its sting.
For the rider who is highly skilled,
And has his mounts all daily drilled,
Will play life’s game of polo well.
His coach will keep him on the ball.
And every horse will become his friend,
Learn good manners, when to stretch,
When to pull and twist and send
The ball to goal!
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
Those eyes so sad
Watch your tail wag
Our Collie Labrador.
My loyal friend,
Love can never end:
We Love you more and more.
You have a mate,
A constant date,
She rolls all over the floor.
A lab and beagle partnership,
Bonnie and Clyde I quip:
Max and Promise at the door.
I take them for long walks,
And Max, he almost talks,
They know the score.
They’re on their way,
They’re here to stay,
They’ll never bore.
Promise prances,
And Max dances
All over that floor.
They lick my face,
Tongue-curled embrace:
That’s just what dogs are for.
Paul Butters
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC
"There are no Fairies in my garden,
or rather I've seen none yet.
But I keep a look out,
in case I miss one with regret.
There is a king of magic,
beneath our cherry tree.
In amongst the flowers,
with butterfly and bee.
Blackbird in the evergreen,
nesting out of sight.
Blue *** in the bird box,
colourful and bright.
A tiny mouse hides in the corner,
taking refuge from a cat.
As it prances round the lawn,
from the nearby flat.
We have some garden lights,
don't look much in day.
They twinkle in the dark,
we hope the fairies play.
So in my retirement,
I set imagination free.
That's when to my amazement,
A flutter of Fairies I could see."
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC