"spritely" poems
Stars, brilliant, yellow and white, they pierce the total black dome arching over the trees.
Campfires spew sparks, dragons fly and jump to meet the stars,
Miniature electric lights; a spritely accent around the RVs.
Night choristers, peeping, honking voices dispelled by dawn
Morning light creeps up
Dew
Dripped, rivulets ran down the side of the tent
Campfires, lit anew
Pancakes, sausage, oatmeal.
Noon
the heat of the sun bakes the ground, dew dispelled.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
It is the same garden that holds,
Prickly rose bushes,
Healing basil and spritely marigolds.
It is here the bees fly, birds rest their wings,
It is here every morning the nightingale sings.
It is here the hare scampers, the squirrel scurries,
The snake slithers, the rodent hurries.
It is here the gecko hides, the worm crawls,
The bat flies when darkness falls.
In the mud and the dirt, the soil and the gravel,
In coarse little stones, smooth little pebbles,
In topaz skies, in waters azure,
In a lotus that blossoms in a world impure.
In the siesta of flowers, the fiesta of leaves,
In the dance of raindrops serenaded by a breeze.
In summer's golden glare, autumns russet finger
In the green breath of spring, the white hand of winter..
Beauty in His creations, in every season,
In every color for a rainbow of reasons.
Each special and each rare,
Each, in a bough or burrow,
Has a niche somewhere.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
Twas the last day of school
before a long winter break
Not a student was learning,
they were all munching on cake
The children had tidied,
supplies all snug in their places
With candy cane smiles
lighting up their sweet faces
The artwork was stowed
in their backpacks with care
In the hope that they'd bring
holiday cheer home to share
When outside the portable
there arose such a clatter
Ms. G sprang from the party
to see what was the matter
The class followed her out,
filling up the whole porch
And right out in front of them,
near as a bright as a torch
Rudolph, nose blazing red
through the dark Vancouver rain,
Behind him the reindeer
pulling Santa’s sleigh like a train
Santa jumped out spritely,
red hat bouncing with glee
He waved at the group and
boomed out, "Hello there Ms. G,"
“And Division 14,
all of you good girls and boys.
We’re rehearsing our run
to practice delivering toys”
The reindeer pranced all round,
putting on a fine show
Santa offered his hand and said,
“Come on Ms. G, let’s go,”
“We’ll drop you in Mexico
before we head back,”
Ms. G happily agreed, asking
“do you have time for a snack?”
The class joyfully welcomed
the jolly crew to the party
They delighted in the games
and the food, eating hearty
Too soon it was time
for the guests of honour to go
Santa sprang to his sleigh and
exclaimed, ** ** **
"Now, Rudoph and Dasher!
Dancer, Prancer and *****
Now, Comet! on, Cupid!
On, Donner on Blitzen!
“To the top of the portable
then over the school
To Mexico we go,
to Ms. G’s holiday by the pool.”
And off the sleigh flew
with Ms. G safely strapped in,
Her pink toque a-bobbing,
her face all a-grin
They heard him exclaim,
ere he drove out of sight—
"Happy Holidays to all,
and to all a good night!"
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 2:37 PM UTC
Bumblebees making love or war
On an Easter Sunday morn'
Spritely fairies in pinkish frills
Wearing their patent leather buckles
Little boy blues in powder blue suits
Running amok in the chapel belfry
Sanctuary dressed in lavender hues
As the ***** sounds the call to worship
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
There was a man from blighty
of mature age yet spritely
whom quipped and joked
till others choked
upon their laughter mighty
...... ....... ...... ........
There was a man named Martin
that had a central partin
so he wore a hat
and thought that's that
until it started smartin
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
*Autumn robins hop spritely in Sycamore trees
With gingerly voices , with musical tributes
just for me
Choruses of carry on , carry softly , carry me back , carry
me home heard in the breeze
Sing blue for love lost , yellow for childhood
summer , crimson for the coming dusk , violet
for the wildflowers that edge hill country thick pine forest
Chre , chree , cha -chreet
Swee , swee , cha -roo
Perform colors of the bounty of spring , of afternoon sunbeams , of boysenberries and roadside streams
Sing polyphonies of winter , snowcapped hedgerows and holiday dreams*
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
"The Gathering Storm"
Shifting, churning, swirling, .... the breeze comes spritely
from the slate colored billows of the thunderclouds.
A gentle whisper at first,..... then building to a crescendo,
tickling the underbellies of leaves..... and rolling them over.
Bending the supple tips of branches to a rythmn
unknown to any author of music.
A rythmn of nature following no rules.......
and knowing no bounds.
What reason shall it follow,....
when the flapping of a sparrows wings,
And brief stirring of the air by a single bird,
......a half continent away
Shall have a cause and effect on what...
we feel pulsing against our exposed skin.
Is it not so with us,.... each one of us as a single sparrow,
flitting about and mingling with other creatures
Shall we not have an effect on that,.... that we touch
with our alterations of what is... and what was
We can only have hope,.. to manage the chaos
of the seeds that we sow... and the sprouts of our intellect.
Not knowing what will grow from our aspirations of changing that
that is .... to that,... that we dream it to be.
Shall we dare to become the God that we have worshipped .....
Shall we dare become the ... Sheperd's of the universe.
Perhaps, !! ..... but we must lay down the rules and know the bounds.
Let us not forget,..... we are but caretakers
for the creations of a greater spirit.
"The Gathering Storm"
Written By Dennis Gilchrist
Aug 30, 2011
Aug 30, 2011 at 9:07 AM UTC
Celestial and spritely flower head
A cloud of white in a wheel
A spread of stars on a sunny bed
Enchanting - a vision ethereal
Blooming afar and clustering nigh
What bud, what blossom, what ****
Blowing away with just a sigh
In a breath, in the wind that breathes.
While the rose is crowned and daisies loved
How often are you brushed away
But magic lies in your snowy fluff
As wishes fly night and day
You greet the morning, a languid dawn
As the skies turn pink and bright
Then gather close with the moon's rising song
That plays with the coming of night
A fairy's flower you seem to me
A joy - a charm - a delight
Flying away over meadows and leas
In the wind with your wings of white.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 12:31 PM UTC
The colour of fir seeps over the water
A bright spritely white tail dashes past
Home to it’s tea.
Mirror glass ripples as
It’s mist gently rises in the dusk
To form the dew that soaks the grass at sunrise.
Brilliant arcs swell behind
Coots tending the nest.
Blackness has nearly set upon the lake
A ghostly orange tinge on the
Horizon signals the dying of the day
Cold fingers and brisk steps.
Willows make rainbow archways
From bank to water
Lime green fronds dragging the current.
The platter of water drenched moss and spatter on stone,
Blossom trees fit to burst
Dozing in purple twilight
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 5:39 AM UTC
Put this matter with trowel and ***
Into the dark and fertile ground,
With each hit, he loosed the soil
A once happy man thou condemned to uselessly toil
His claws, cracked and broken shells
Jaundiced with the duty long days that did require
Lamed by grief and forced to work
Here, till the end of days, within this garden, this mire.
Deep does a ****** live here, past the clay and bedrock
Like the pride and valor and resolute spirit of the domineering ****
Or so her mien, it does beget
Or some other erroneous sentiment
That she, not he, were to bear this labor.
Within the ground, he did remember, in his spritely youth,
He planted, and thought none of, but a seed,
Into this verdant splendor, which bore that infernal ****
And, thence, thereof came a fruit,
Of malignity infinite,
All the while it poisoned the Virgin’s white and water’s pure,
As its eerie little spines proceeded to take root.
Her garments poised to emulate white, instead
The ****** to him, had lost her white
Or never had white at all,
The ****** to him, had lost her white,
To him, the ****** was dead.
The fruit and seed, effulgent and pretty, to those who saw them bloom
Attractive were they so to them, irresistible to behold
That they, to him with great chagrin, did immediately consume.
“But the ****** he cried. “The ****** has poisoned them!”
Yet they continued to eat.
“We do not believe you,” they replied, and slept ceaselessly on their feet.
One by one did they all collapse from the toxin of its juice.
The ****** watched and laughed, of caution was there no use.
Powerless and sullen, he stood, for remedy was far passed.
The ****** now regarded with delight,
Has he, poor, poor man, to tend to his blight.
The garden gone, its cleanliness perverted,
His words were ignored, and thrown wayside,
His admonition he so heatedly asserted,
The ****** her words never to be trusted
Had won over the people, whose homes she sought to entreat,
And with her rite, so treasured, so adored,
They enslaved and force him to his mire, to tend to the rag and filthy lands
Where he would remain with the garden
His words, his skin so like the sands
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
It's stories above where the butterflies rustled,
Whirring between the lights in aeolian bustle.
I'm smiling spritely at a neon halo,
While my organs writhe in jacqueminot El Niño.
Wading the nightscape with a glitched simper,
I could not change nor attempt to tinker,
Just breaching the moments passing to linger.
Fingers, then palms, then lips, then black,
Then for a few seconds the world collapsed.
A breath, a sip, some wit, I'm back.
Shed the murky vision of captive cataracts.
And now,
The sylph saunters in epitomized elegance,
And I've buckled on the inside to the resonant reverence.
I follow the fragrance in her wake as paralyzed sedatives,
And anything I might say could only lack eloquence.
Then magnanimous mantras attract exact,
It seems way down the rabbit hole I've finally met my match.
There's a mesh of flesh, a smooth caress,
Then I wake and realize these were not visions yonder death.
Particles of my brain erupt,
I can't explain away the unfading elation of touch.
Every pose palatial down to the pixels,
I'd gaze deep in the sheen of her mind gleaming as crystals.
Her eyes open like daybreak in flashes,
Sunstreaks glint over the horizon of her lashes.
There's morning songbirds behind the taste of coffee,
I think she's figured I'm just a well decorated softy.
Unveiling my most human of contentions stripped to the eclipse of logic,
My former self laughs in tones pitched sardonic.
Euphorically strumming at gossamer heartstrings,
Etched in the fabric as sakura carvings.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
azure eyes and wolven breath
Her soul is the ocean, and i'm
an angel feather floating on the waters
spritely floral sniffs of the call
wilderness is my love, but so are You
night skies on Your forehead
and the moon in Your speech
solar flares in Your pupils that
sink my heart into stone
You toss out over the stagnant waters
Love is blind
sink or swim
123456789
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
caught in the currents of the world
hoping to drown into myself
orange to green, blue to white
the insanity is growing
i jump off this water
and into the plasma of your thoughts
words are an escape,
but your beauty is inescapable
Death is in Your neurons
and independence in mine
It was meant to be
daisy fields of your mind
galaxies of your brain cells
let's go find a library and sink into the ground
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
my eyes are heady **** bloating
from within the sun
white embellishment lasers out
lending provision
setting life to the organic cog and clock
provoking muted growth to retch a bloom
leading
spending
seeding
my tread destroys nothing
each step frictionless
patterning little hovering eddies
a fraction above ground
minimal is my disruption
enough only to promote a deeper observation
tender fanning of the life that i am fawning over
how to feel this spritely at all times ? t'would be a spell
a fondled thing
it’s from our night of shared tether
our infection threw out an extra pleasurable souvenir
it carried its energy into the ensuing day
i am launched affection
beckoned into the true employment of my surroundings
carrying my socks and shoes in one hand
and my heart? it is a possession of the senses
i am truly led
i am emitting
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 9:44 PM UTC
Minuscule cockroaches creak
Conspicuously around the crude crumbs
On the dusty kitchen counter,
And tadpoles squirm in the cremated creek.
The porridge poured itself
For the poor stray kitten,
Who was too spritely
For eureka's euthanization,
Triumphant in trespassing
The proximity of the porch.
Meanwhile, the revolving rover
Imitated the raunchy rocket ships,
Launching like fervent fertility
Interceding September's secret,
Sacred admirers of ethereal pyres.
The sepulchre's soma
Spread from the peach's center
Like the terrific thighs of a virile *****
Jurassic travels ,
Machines running on ancient carcass,
Annulling the terra firma
Of its aloe vera-like virginity,
And courtesans adorned with jewels,
Pretending to be Aphrodite?
Just as Jupiter does,
Joy wears covetous rings..
Originally written 8/12/11
Revised 10/19/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
She was
not old enough
to have graduated
high school,
nor aware enough to
notice
how many eyes were on her,
sympathetic or
disdainful or
hungry,
as she struggled to push a cart full of
pull-ups
and cleaning supplies
in a cart with a broken wheel
through the warm and somniferous glow
of ill-maintained streetlights,
those obelisks of granite.
Don't call it
pity,
but
something
stirred my gut,
and burned my eyes,
as she trudged past me,
pushing a cartload of motherhood,
trailing a warm autumn breeze,
an aromatic telegram;
lilac and lavender,
a diffident bouquet,
accented by spritely vanilla,
withering before bleach-fumes
and mordant disinfectant.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
"You who are the Source of all Power,
whose rays illuminate the World.
Illuminate also my Heart,
so that it too can do your Work."
- Gayatri Prayer
...and so Alas, for all along the way
binding Vision with naïveté
spritely skipping as whilst tripping
blinding Truth in night-less day.
though I raise my Palm in promise
I'm as raptured as the rest
uprooted as the lute to lip
charmingly disarming
as the sounding Sirens drip...
the Nectar,
flowing freely from the Fruit
above the Vine, below the Root.
...so may your Wine flow pleasingly & plenty, drunken Bliss upon the Earth
appealing to the healing of All intrinsic worth.
Like the flower, in it's hour of unfolding
bursting Blossom lips
upon the Altar, pierce my Heart fully open, as the Sun and Moon eclipse.
So through this selfless sacrifice,
release the pains of worldly strife.
...and may the Truth bless us Be
within this briefly Mystic blink
in our Moment of reflection with the Universal wink.
I raise my Cup to thee All ~Cheers!!!!
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
The land it's name was faraway.
A land so pretty,
The land where fairies play.
The grass verdant and succulent.
Glows in the midday sun.
The trees bow inadvertently to the fairies passing by.
Fairies bearing various gender.
Girl folk with flowing straw like hair, bound with strands of strawberry flair.
Menfolk wearing doublet and hoes.
Black and green.
Obvious features, all fairy men folk sport a pointed nose.
Elder folk, they have aching knees.
Hair tinged with tiger stripes of grey and black.
Could have been zebra stripes,but the elderly fairies, can be just a little spritely, temperamental at times.
They sit under willow trees.
Writing, busking rhymes.
Listen without witness, you'll swear you'll hear them sing.
Leave a pretty penny in the spot where you have been.
Walk silently away.
Peer over your left shoulder and you may just glimpse the fairy queen.
If you should be so lucky.
(c)Livvi
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
Crystal is once again, up the draperies.
She has a veritable path of claw marks
leading from the floor to the curtain staff.
I have decided to ignore her when she does this.
But, as she is lurking behind me, atop the draperies, it is not an easy task.
At any moment, I expect her to pounce.
Ah! Like father, like daughter.... in a sense.
I realized tonight that I excel at being a Vampire.
never a drop goes to waste.
Never a witness spies me. Not one that lives, that is.
Never do I go hungry.
Never am I bored, or boring.
Why only earlier this night, I went to the Ballet.
A spritely tune was played by the orchestra, while dancers ran hither and yon upon the stage.
I was dressed all in black.
Bland I know. But "Society" demands somber dress
at the oddest occasions.
I have my own box, from which I enjoy my privacy, while enjoying the entertainment.
Oh, not the entertainment on the stage.
The entertainment of playing the gallant host to my next meal.
I wine and dine them.
Regale them with lively anticdotes.
laugh at the right moments.
Look regretful, when called for.
Show shock, when due.
Outrage, when warranted.
In the end, they leave my box and my company, none the wiser.
mayhap a bit wan and listless.
But, always grateful for a lovely evening.
They always blame their condition on the wine.
Ha!
~Lord Kellington
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 7:43 PM UTC
The hawk nosed general in the grey suit sniffed
out his enemies, labrador like, nose to the noise,
chest beating, bleating, blaring in the thunderous
applause, that made his ego bloom amongst the corpses
of the shrunken heads and hands reaching out for bread,
in the shut down quarter of the empire
where the eagles flew in/ out dropping mustard,
caught between a deadly sandwich of
closed escape routes.
"Burn them all" he said, and turning to his sidekick,
he smiled a thin smile, devoid of the god he worshiped
in the minarets on the mosques that stabbed the blue sky
with their sharp bulbous needles of attention.
At twelve the muezzin called the faithful to prayer and
moaned for mercy on the unbelievers.The call echoed
and reverberated down the streets.
The mustard closed the eyes of the city where the
gas cannisters jangled on thin nerves and let the
people sleep forever.
The grey suit, now eau de cologne scented handker-
chief
hawk nose sniffed
wiped his forehead and walked
spritely to his armoured vehicle, to call his wife
and enquire if the kids were enjoying their summer swim.
"Yes, darling!" she tingled with excitement.
"How's that part of the city
where these rats live?"
"Good love! Just need to smoke 'em
out some more!
By tonight I'll be home for dinner. Bye for now!"
The line went dead
with twenty others, fried in the concrete
pan of a bunk buster bomb dropped from a drone
with butterfly wings and a sharp upside down minaret
nozzle of spray now stabbing the earth.
Earth to sky, sky to earth?
The barbed wired brains circled the city.
Children soon crunched cockroaches,
mice and rats and grass salads, autumn leaves on wild spinach
thousands died eating succulent poisonous roots.
Even the carrion claws refused to descend into the darkness
of carcasses that lay down in the streets to pray forever.
The water turned green with envy as lichen,
clogged with blood and ***** and bones rotting
under bridges, ****** up the blue river
and sent the beavers into burrows of omerta
The world watched and waited.
?
Around the dinner table the grey suited general
tucked his napkin under his red,wellfed face and smiled
at his lovely wife in a designer outfit.
" Pass me the mustard please, darling!"
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
Towering, dancing in winds that cannot bow him,
Fierce and ***** in the face of the wild screaming gale,
A legion of fluttering leaves blown full, a thousand tiny sails,
The great tree stands unbowed, the true mast of the world.
Twigs snap and branches creak, the clamor of nature’s wars,
Roots roar under the strain, tearing earth to grip buried anchors,
But the trunk does not tremble, he dares the strong east wind,
Ancient arboreal pride silently scorning childish zephyrs.
A true Tree does not cower before the sky’s elemental armies,
His memory is too long, he calls the airy spirits each by name,
Spritely bravado cannot prevail over noble wooden belligerence,
High-born timber that was old before the gods of men were born.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
Why do we sit?
"Om" she chanted, the spritely tween she was.
Oh, the sovereingty of those at peace?
"sure" her older sibling said.
Why do we sit to look within? Does it make us strong?
What else makes us powerful?
Speaking, acting.
Does thinking make us powerful.
yes.
Does thinking, speaking, and acting create a lot of unrest?
It can.
Thus, we stop thinking, stop speaking, and stop acting.
"Isn't that what sleep is for?"
Yes. Do you sometimes dream in sleep?
yes.
Sitting in meditation, no thought, voice, or act, induces a dream state, but you are awake.
Do you like sometimes the feeling of dreams? yes?
This ecstasy one feels in a good dream is the same as in meditation.
But to see visions and have feelings like in a dream is only a biproduct of meditation.
So why do we meditate? "?"
TO go beyond, beyond acting, speaking, thinking, even beyond feeling and seeing.
This beyond can only be experienced for oneself.
It comes in many forms.
What is central to it is that you exist before it,
and you exist after it, but after you experience
it, you feel like a new you, a truly awakened you.
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 10:36 PM UTC
She’s a pretty little thing
Who treads lightly
She’s a wild little thing
And rather spritely
Don't worry about catching her
Darling, you never can
Just enjoy the show and smile
While she plays with her toes in the sand
Between those smirks and side glances
Dreams and summer romances
She sips and she hums and she dances
While she plays with her toes in the sand
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
Where i live, there is
a neighborhood dog.
His name is "Freedom,"
he visits us all, though
less frequently of late.
He is spritely and cute,
only so-so with kids,
but refuses to beg
for scraps.
My neighbors beat it to
death with bricks of
compliance, nicknamed
security, to its face.
They were gentle,
so gentle...
hushed voices and smiles
all the while.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
Fix me, for I am torn
Stitch me, for I am worn
I wrote it all down, Ma
Many times, all for you
I dug it all out, Pa
Every word, each line is true
"Do you need," you start to say
"To leave the house today?
"To walk outside and leave behind
"The anger you display?"
Perhaps its come at last
My moment the levy breaks
I open my lips but the wire is tripped
"I'm fine," a smile, a fake
But I left the page open
The tab with my last poem
I think to myself, **** it to hell!"
And bring safari back to home
Is it even worth it?
The wound from afar is small
A scrape, a cut, we all endure as much
But then the other shoe falls
Should I keep it up
My facade, dramatic and spritely?
Or like in the song I've not for so long
Should I let it burn brightly?
Fix me, for I am torn
Stitch me, for I am worn
But put down the ******* needle
I'm fine
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC