"sprites" poems
I hug the first,
Enamoured by her beauty.
Such kind eyes...
Peering carelessly back at me.
She reaches out,
To meet my embrace.
*"You'll always be the first,
Who had my heart set in place."*
I say to the second,
*"You are my life.
One day you'd build,
The right castle for a wife."*
*"Remember me always,
For you this path I have paved.
I'd shower upon you,
All the love that I have saved."*
Then finally to the third,
The last of all gifts.
Most adorable of sprites,
Source of my infinite lifts.
*"For you I haven't done much,
Only all that I could afford.
But insert me in your forever...
As the only you ever would've adored..."*
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
My younger brother and I heard strange noises coming from the beach again…
We looked up at the ceiling and then the window…
As the voices from outside, in a lively allegro…
Grew softer and louder in repeating crescendos…
We skittered out the door and stared in fascination…
For what we saw must have been our imagination…
The door closed with a creak as our feet hit the grass…
It was at that moment we got a look at the mass…
Of stubby foot, hunchback creatures from which the sounds had amassed…
There was about six of them chanting like a choir…
They danced and paraded around our burnt out fire…
As we looked on, we saw our fire raise…
It got brighter as they lifted their hands in waves…
As light betook the blue beach night…
A crowd of colorfully masked gremlins caught us in their sights!
Their feet slowed to a stop and they quieted down…
They stood still as the fire flickered off their weird wooden frowns…
One reached out his hand in a come-here motion…
They seemed to stand and wait with an encouraging notion…
As the fire crackled and the waves tumbled onto the beach…
All I can remember, is for the rest of that summer…
My younger brother and I served as the drummers…
For that quirky marching band of lake sprites…
With which our burnt out fire we’d reignite…
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
There’s a Devil of a night each year, the night of Mr. Haim!
When the devilish and ghoulie ones come out to play their monster’s game.
And why some would seek to trick or treat on this scary day of dead?
Careful now cause gremlins, trolls …sprites and wolves, will offer up their dread!
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots…
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
That crafty-smith of horns and hooves is spying on these kiddies,
As Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo are hunting strays to do their dastardly-ditties.
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots,
And their costumes, oh-so-foul, the evilest of suits!
And there she is, that little girl who can’t keep up, in a tasty mushroom ensemble.
And the skeleton bones clink in her path to give her quite a tomble!
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
And Sammy Haim, that smithy-devil, a ***** hoof -igniting ghoul’s desire,
He’s howling out, demanding now, “Put that child to the fire!”
And little does he know, no little bit, not even a small clue,
Neither Ra’atan-Zu nor Boogedy-Boo intend on giving him his due!
For once a year on Halloween they get one night to spaz,
Get down and ***** wild and crazy and play a little jazz!
That little mushroom of a girl will play a tiny fiddle,
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo, a jazzy duet with child in middle!'
Ra’atan-Zu, Boogedy-Boo and a little girl too as they get down actin’ a spaz! Playin’ all night, howling to the moon and kickin’ out some wicked jazz!
*And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.* *
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
In the supermarket airport
There are arrivals every day.
The departures in your trolley
Come to you from far away.
Those brightly coloured vegetables
Have sat around for days
In what we’re told are
such hygienic backroom bays.
They’re obviously picked and packed by well paid sprites and elves!
Then magically appear on your supermarket shelves.
Here every carrot is straight and clean
And every lettuce crisply curled
Then gassed in plastic packets
That are filling up our world!
Take a glance inside your trolley
And if what I say is true
Then I guarantee the food within
Has seen more of the world than you.
Like the picture on the packet
Of your frozen ready meal
The colour of this far flown food is great
The taste experience, surreal.
Those ripe tomatoes in their reddest skins
We should dye brown, to match their taste
Those vivid orange carrots are a mystery of flavour-
What a waste!
A plate of vibrant promising hue
Can taste of packaging and glue.
The supermarket tells you you’re in clover
But its goods have all the texture of an old pullover.
Your supermarket says that it is catering for you
But if you’re honest do you really think that’s true?
If you don’t then there is something you can do.
At the supermarket airport
All the money’s in departures
So put that trolley back
And just depart.
If you're wanting to be vocal
Then shop seasonal and local
And hit these psuedo airports at their heart.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 6:57 AM UTC
In times gone by, now recondite,
Neanderthal, ***** upright,
spoke softly, tones so lily-white,
and tried to put the world aright.
He taught us how the flame ignites
that wearing furs will warm the nights,
just why the rolling wheel excites,
and how the beveled flint stone bites.
Before the days of dynamite
he fought his foes with spit and spite,
and swung big sticks with all his might,
and rendered death with stones in flight.
Engaged in never-ending fight
(arenas were a global sight)
he forced his forces to unite
to sate his oily appetite.
To quell rude thoughts that may incite
he ruled the realm with fly-by-nights
and culled the winds of words in flight,
and darkened minds to anthracite.
With fairy tales of evil sprites
and how the fist of freedom smites,
he washed the world with flames alight
to vanquish hoards of parasites.
Each dawn the damage brought delight,
the foe was bent, a bit contrite…
yet battled on with no respite
until the dusk and evening light.
Encamped beside the firelight
Neanderthal, that shiny Knight,
awaited morn while sitting tight
assured the end would be alright.
Yes, conquest seemed his sacred right…
Forevermore?… well, no, not quite…
Neanderthal's extinct tonight
and lies beside the Trilobite…
MORAL
The Oreo is round, not bright:
while rolling near the candlelight
at first the searing seemed so slight,
the molten cream an oversight…
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
i'm living on a solitary prayer
vandalized my ego to make it rare
with teeth stained with lies i've told
and promises lost in the cold
i tussle and taser to hide my lovers
and all that i am - a mess or tastemaker
sprinkling tersely on my mercy seat
will make my season go complete?
i pull the labrys & the throttle
artefact-sprites in uranium soil
declaring my truth atop of the flagpole
i'm the custodian of haute culture
a flotilla of judgment riding skyhigh
like dido's love-lachrymose down demise
they say "better rethink your useless vendetta"
but first we'd better get out of their siberia
where the masses doubt the angry fix
"ignore the (g/h)aze above the pyramid
if we only couldn't have any more
locked in dominican ****** wards
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
Metal bones dropped over another
clashing sounds across the night of smoky denials
in a city of thieves, paupers and scholars.
Worn down and without memory, someone's father
brushes off the dust of a young person's tombstone.
The oblivious student bends over information
into another alarm bell of insatiable chases.
Huddled in a street corner
like sprites of another dark jungle,
workers in uniform and hard hats share
stories and spare time as if nothing else matters
but this fading incomplete point in time.
Overhead looms the impending bright dangers
and dim warnings being built
From metals and soil into another giant promise
trying to excuse itself as it rips through
the city lungs, calmly abiding
and seeming always ready to die or live through.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:59 AM UTC
Day's end, sun's caisson doth wend
Residual rays a respite to append
Twilight's shroud dreary dividend
Swirls of gray into firmament blend
Vestments of light shed sacral veil
Luna's naked, pale orb flashes its spell
Twinkling sprites across dark tides sail
Constellation's mystical portents braille
Nyx, Erebos eclipse Hemera's blithe melody with bass duet
Earth's warmed bed yields its thermal blanket
Ocean tides move in rhythmic tandem to cadence of lunar clarinet
Swarming shadows stalk each footstep paring each dark secret
Greek gods
Nyx: goddess of Night
Erebos: goddess of Darkness
Hemera: goddess of Day
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 6:35 AM UTC
raise the glass high high high and press hard high,
a blue and cherry ring round rosy thigh,
snapped red sting of infected eye and tooth strung on string.
broken wing crunches, candid cries let tears fly
in desperate persecution.
red
sticky red and beautiful
flesh-fly's food becomes a diamond wing,
flying in swirling skies of glitter.
The world looks better through a kaleidoscope.
claw the eyes out out out and spit stress out,
a crooked view on nose and cheeks and pout
deep blue rows on distended snout as swollen skin grows.
drunken woes crunch and broken knuckles shout
in hasty intemperance.
blue
puffy blue and beautiful
deep stout bruises becomes a diamond glow
spinning in burst vein's woes of glitter.
The world looks better through a kaleidoscope.
dump the body down down down and pat dirt down,
a stealthy sin of spite and muddy frown,
**** green sight of a ***** crown hidden in the night.
swirls of light break thoughts up to run around
in crude decomposition.
green
sickly green and beautiful
dirt-drowned flesh becomes diamond sprites,
dancing in wormy gowns of glitter.
The world looks better through a kaleidoscope.
May 9, 2011
May 9, 2011 at 12:42 PM UTC
Wasn't all that long ago,
I stood within the glen.
I beheld a giant Daffodil,
atop a ten foot stem.
Over top the petals did,
come to my ear music sweet.
Curiosity did send me up,
climbing those ten tall feet.
Reaching the top I did peek
and see a wondrous sight.
Each one playing a small flute,
five in all, wee little Sprites.
Upon seeing me they did cease,
the music that drew me there.
In harmony they spoke out,
"It's about time you got here"!
That they knew me, did surprise.
That they were waiting, even more.
When one did offer me a flute,
I jumped through a magic door.
Suddenly, I did change.
Was tiny, with gossamer wings.
I wore a gown of moonbeam dust
and could make that flute sing.
A band of sisters, six were we.
Playing music that makes you sigh.
Within a mystic Daffodil,
atop a stem ten feet high.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 9:34 PM UTC
capsized beating purple algorithm
for a heart,
cross-nit aspirations
still taste dirt on my teeth,
the mission creep of eager eyed poets,
carry a briefcase with my levi's --
close cut cigarette encounters,
all brick shantytown of a friendship
them lovelies run on endless,
it's starting to get cold outside.
restless sprites circle our *****
exhaling greek mythopoeics
every sure footed step.
alcoholism echoes in my skin
a depth charge i cannot cut out,
we all have broken thoughts here,
all have blind spots in our stomachs,
they read like a preacher's insecurities:
burly things we warm ourselves with,
the winters sting bitter.
something is wrong with me,
sinkhole of ambition and honey kisses,
all the great thinkers **** themselves,
it's the staunch lack of spotlight,
way the earth drips lackadaisical-like
we just call it a perfect orbit.
shake my hand and feel a goldilocks pulse
anemic shards of a cornered animal,
we cut right
to the bone
here, or so we tell ourselves.
and love is always the answer?
that sure footed toothy angel
so beautiful, it couldn't just be our
churlish blood,
frothing and calming,
frothing and calming,
electrons rise and fall to create light,
they still circle an untapped atrocity
perfectly,
like this, like it must be
god
or something close. something
stopping them from running, free
from bonds ionic or otherwise,
bare feet
beating the pavement until there are
no more stones to throw.
firstborns of the universe,
each star is a setting sun,
blinks staggered,
still grew us up quicker than most,
there is no aphrodisiac like heliocentrism.
them bones cut good
doped up on oxytocin,
those empty thoughts still rattling,
dig sharp -- then nice and numb.
and we cutthroat and glossy,
sharper than ever.
walk outside
smoke a cigarette
know how much you love her,
look at the stars --
it's ******* beautiful isn't it
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
Fairies dancing in the breeze
swinging daintily on flowers leaves
teasing animals as they fly
gone in the blink of their eye
Sprinkling dust as they go
painting nature to and fro
delicately leaving their mark
was that a coy flutter, hark
Giggling as they sprinkled a bee
he sneezed, they tittered prettily
mischievous little sprites
playfully sharing delights
Nighttime falls, they leave the ball
on the wind they sensed a call
homeward bound they meander
leaving behind a world of wonder
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Jesus was the Unicorn, they said he had a horn,
First born, supposedly the make of purity, somehow
Said to be better than the Devil. The "only true God..."
Seems to me to be absurdity.
But some say this is a MYTH, "his truth" is "brought to life,"
Even if there is more to life than what the non-Christians say,
I know for sure that this Unicorn horn is just another silly lie.
Why can't people understand the sad sad truth, this religion
Is clearly the work of cults who try to mislead our youth!
No one walked on top of water, no ****** ever gave birth,
This "unicorn Jesus" fairy tale is clearly not possible truth.
If some stranger proves me wrong I guess they have made it clear
That magical sprites fairies and dragons are also known to appear.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 4:18 AM UTC
Why do we feel so compelled
to stratify ourselves above the natural World?
What it is that justifies
our Cult of Humanity?
Do we seriously believe
that our gradient of experience
is so much wider and more rich
than are those of dogs, or cats,
or fish, or bats, or lice, or ants,
or spiders, or birds, or trees, or flowers?
Wherefrom do we think
the notions of faeries, nymphs, sprites, and our Gods arose,
if not for the Natural world
as well as the traits of our psychology
made anthropomorphic?
Who are we
to suppose such things
just because we are us:
be this not the same sort of exclusionary cultism
whence are born sexism and racism
and ethnocentrism?
Anthropocentrism?
Who are we to belittle
any one thing on this God-given plane of Reality?
Are we really that caught up in ourselves
that we forget whence we've come?
All is but Energy
All merely is.
We are a part of that,
as it is a part of us.
All
is a holistic system
not a stratified hierarchy of experience:
that concept is artificial.
Is it so hard for us to see?
Is it so difficult for us to be humble about this?
Is it such a blow to our such delicate psyches
that we cannot concede such universal harmony?
Or is it that it is beneficial for some
for the many to remain deaf and blind
to this wonderful, liberating truth?
I think we all know the answer,
we just forget to look for it
and if we find it,
we become too distracted to embody it.
I know we're better than that.
I know we know better.
Do you?
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court’sied when you have, and kiss’d,—
The wild waves whist,—
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
Bow, wow,
The watch-dogs bark:
Bow, wow.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!
2.7k
**Scattered Thunderstorms
The radar shows a band of multi-green storms,
Parallel running to the East Coast,
Stretching from So. Florida to Falmouth, Rhode Island.
Path-dependent, the edges skirt my present location,
Instrumented, but not weather resistant,
Water teases, invites me to a head clearing session.
Breezy gusts of overcast, caramel salty bay waters,
(weirdly calm),
Spray sprites whisper, scattered thunderstorms, starboard side
I am the only boat out, especially,
The only one going for sure aimlessly,
Radar non-discriminatory, stupidity legal,
So fools like me go out alone.
Scattered Thunderstorms,
Unavoidable, summer's favored annoyance of choice.
The melancholic platelets budding off my bone's marrow,
Forming wondrous clots of sadness,
Running strong in the currents of my veins,
Downtempo'd, there is no relief for
Inside of my radar scanned brain, the scattered thunderstorms,
Have arrived much earlier today.
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?
The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!
It is so easy to feel ******
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.
Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day
Value you more than me, but you've worn me down
My blood streams your anguished distress,
I cannot survive these scattered revolver-repeating
Anguish-Cries-For-Relief from the Thunderstorms,
That now having reached, breached,
That now, having infected my heart which started
This day brow beaten,
First poem of the day, already shell-shellacked,
Now, I must shut me, batten me, down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The average lifespan of a platelet is normally just 5 to 9 days. Platelets are a natural source of growth factors. They circulate in the blood of mammals and are involved in hemostasis, leading to the formation of blood clots.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
-
today,
I was offered the chance to buy
two 40 mg Adderall pills.
At first I though,
"Eh, a nice dime bag sounds better to me"
But then I remembered my school's mandatory drug testing,
and then I remembered this horrible writer's block that has been plaguing me.
I had heard from friends in the past that the amphetamine-salt combo worked wonders for students.
I had heard that the wonder drug made you do stuff. Any stuff. Anything.
You can not sit still after popping over the dosage of Adderall.
You clean your room, you read a book, you write an essay and for me, hopefully, write.
Enough with the ********
It's been about forty minutes since I swallowed one and half pills and ground up and snorted another half of one. Okay.
I feel as though I maybe breathing louder than normal.
Also, I'm not writing one line and then switching over to tumblr as I usually do.
Also, my room is really *****
Also, I've drunk two sprites and ate some leftover Chinese food.
Also, it's really ******* quiet. It's eery.
Also, yesterday in my English class this really nice openly gay kid named Connor walked across the class and as he did so this other kid sitting next to me whispered quite loudly ****** and I did nothing but sit there and angrily stare at my desk.
Also, it's been eating me up inside ever since.
Also, about an hour ago my mom took my (half) baby sister so see her **** of a) father. She said she'd be home around seven thirty and it's seven twenty eight but she's usually late.
Also, I wish she would buy me cigarettes.
Also, it's Thursday and I have a D- in Biology.
****
Also, I might hangout with my friend Ryley tomorrow.
Also, I might become a methamphetamine addict.
Also, I spelled that without using spell check.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
Do you always wear your smile like this?
Have you tried it from the side, like this?
You’re the highlight of the show.
Let’s live tonight like we’re myths.
Do you always ride the vibe like this?
Have you ever felt the hype like this?
Be the highlights of the night.
Kiss me through your sunset tears.
I might,
Tonight,
Empty my conscious out,
Invite you to newer heights,
A modest view of the sprites,
Tonight,
I might.
Jun 6, 2021
Jun 6, 2021 at 8:03 PM UTC
so now, do I, I do,
he favors the the top of my breast ,
where the spaghetti strap leads
his eye lower, to the fulsome swelling,
curves he favors in a linear
world
these magnets of human flesh are
attributes of me, unsolicited, part
of my “collegial endowment” and
yet,
no denial,
this egg of my accent,
a fullness employable, knows well,
full employment
ah, mon oeuf d'accent,
the accent of my accidental,
for lives are just linear lines
warped occasionally, nicely.
swelling in wonderful frailty,
the curvature of the human
eyes, that draw curves of
human spirit,
^that are drawn by sprites
with wickedly humorous
insight*
Dec 6, 2023
Dec 6, 2023 at 3:55 PM UTC
Summer rainbow ribbon still stretches in the blue rain
As green snakes dance to the tune of charmer’s jazz flutes
Blue butterflies chase velvety bumblebees singing duets in vain
Summer laughs around red velvety roses and green fruits.
As green snakes dance to the tune of charmer’s jazz flutes
Summer ends her path over meadow, with a dream of green
Summer laughs around red velvety roses and green fruits
Moon shines behind the barrier of cloud's fence, as a queen.
Summer ends her path over meadow, with a dream of green
Into the autumn's sky with puffs of cotton clouds and floating light
Moon shines behind the barrier of cloud's fence, as a queen.
And dancing green shadows sprites appear all round the sight.
Into the autumn's sky with puffs of cotton clouds and floating light
Blue butterflies chase velvety bumblebees singing duets in vain
And dancing green shadows sprites appear all round the sight.
Summer rainbow ribbon still stretches in the blue rain.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 2:54 PM UTC
On a spring day, Emelia soared through the field, like a baby robin learning to fly, running in diagonals with her hands brushing against every shrub and leaf she saw.
Mud drenched pink overalls
and a bright blonde bowl cut.
She ran like a bumble bee on a mission
to pick the freshest, prettiest flower.
Stepping over bugs and playing tag with chipmunks,
she giggled uncontrollably and was a friend to all that walked nature's green carpet, tripping over wild, wispy grasses.
She looks up with innocent eyes, beaming like two sunflowers,
"We have to share," she announced to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.
She had just seen Pocahontas for the first time
and wanted nothing more than to become a color of the wind.
The wind blew the leaves in a nodding fashion,
showing agreeance to the young sprites statement.
She whipped and whirled her arms toward the sun
as it danced on her skin through the branches of her friends.
"I want to do this forever," she squealed.
So, she did.
20 years later, the girl grew
But with a dimmer light
Weaker legs
And a hole in her chest.
On a cold night, Emelia staggered through the barren field, fueled by a magic dust that made her feel like a crashing plane
Running in diagonals with her hands
Brushing against her watery eyes, keeping them from flooding.
Mud drenched ripped jeans
and a long, shaggy haircut mirroring the bark on the trees.
She ran like she was being chased by a vicious monster
trying to find the safest space for her to vent after feeling her brain bleed from her nose and heart deflate in its cage.
Stumbling over broken bottles and playing tag with her inner demons, she was a slave to all that walked nature's casket, tripping over roots and graves, smashing against a tree.
She looks up with innocent eyes, welling with painful tears,
"We have to share," she whispered to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.
She felt an unbearable pain that no one should live with and wanted nothing more than to be numb.
The wind stopped in it tracks, the leaves stagnant on their branches, showing heart wrenching dismay to the old skeleton's statement.
She sobbed and heaved with her arms wrapped tight to her torso
as her skin danced with her shuttering bones and tightening muscles.
"I don't want to do this forever," she helplessly breathed.
But, she did.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
In between is where the ghouls are.
The gnomes, the sprites.
The mischievous ones that give you hell.
Today is a 'tween place.
One day, rest, another day, rest.
Sad day, rest, happy day, rest.
And today is a 'tween place.
I sense bad things. Clumsiness or confusion.
Hopefully tomorrow is better.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
Her golden fingers
weave across my
cotton candy hair.
With my eyes closed
I let her kiss my face.
"Drink me in," she says
"for I am fleeting."
I laze as long as I dare
listening to the rituals,
The wave of notes and
flutter of wings around me.
I am the decay. I am the human.
Yet, Spring and her sprites
rejoice.
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC