Best Sprite Poems
Tinting crimson-colored clouds,
a blood-red sun sinks from sight.
And Luna slowly ascends,
sculpting shadows with Her light.
Luna's majestic rise can
induce a hypnotic trance.
For She is a sassy sprite,
a muse to both song and dance.
She adorns the black of space,
like an orchid in the sky.
And when Her moon's in full bloom,
its beauty warrants a sigh.
Baying wolves pay Her homage,
howling a melodic tune,
and regale the Queen of Night
by serenading the moon.
Despite Her creators and scares,
Luna grants wishes and dreams.
And on enchanted evenings
She dances on sparkling streams.
Every tree has its sprite,
a living deity ever vigilant of its needs.
Great Yggdrasil
ancient tree of life
holds her sprite within
her wending, winding arms;
a caress of gratitude
for its warrior guardian.
An ancient sentinel
guarding the wisdom
of Gaia’s mind,
needs a soldier;
this recruit, at the ready,
studies “The Art Of War”
with considerable vigilance.
No axe will ever release this tree
from Mother Gaia.
6-3-2021
ALL YOURS (JUN 4) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
I fall as shadows steep, and very heavy
the outer world of waning stars do sparkle.
My lids grab hold of death though I am breathing.
The darkness still - my fullness faints, releases
a distant sprite - it holds me fast to bedding…
Elvin dreams are magic scenes;
A play performed on mind-screen;
Manifesting miracles;
Elves work Earth magic.
smooth rounded pebbles...
pale tears of a river sprite
shed eons ago
The Tree and the Sprite
Spencer the sprite was a very old sprite and a very old sprite was he.
He had lived as long as he could, in the depths of a wood,
In the roots of an uffulous tree;
A very old oak, an impetuous bloke, with branches too high to see.
Tonight was the night when the stars were bright,
Spencer would be four hundred and ninety three.
Said the Sprite to the Oak, “We’re having a bonfire and toast
And a tangulous roast and a drink made of Dandlewort tea.”
Said the tree, “Please don’t start a fire in my roots.
It scorches my shoots and the smoke makes me sneeze.”
“Don’t worry, dear tree,” said the conflatigous sprite it will only come up to your knees.”
Replied the uffulous tree.“It is my season to sleep and sometimes I snore,
Which is a bit of a bore, and in all of this wood I am really attached to my knees.”
Said the Sprite, “There will be five hundred young sprites And a Wizard called Nick,
"Whose magic is quick will come and show us some rifilious spells.
“He will put a spell on your knees and restore all your shoots and all the leaves you have lost as well.”
The tree cried, “I’m off!” Then with a baloominous sound jumped right out of the ground and fled to the East faster than man or beast and in a field near Clacton was found.
Said Spencer to Nick, “You had better be quick, a rolivous spell we need.
That silly old oak is an impetuous bloke and we want him back here indeed.”
Said Nick, “I have a great spell which will do really well it is Number 79.
I have tried it on oak and a tall and elderly pine.”
Before he could say ‘wood’ the Oak was back where he stood and in very frumptilious mood.”
But when he calmed down he said with a frown, “I really could do with some food.”
29/11/16
HM in Contest 'Zany' by Frank Herrera
Judged 7/12/16
Petrified pottery ponders plots. Ploys play putting purring. And a frantically fraternising pickle arch can glow on many a skyline at dusk. In many hues. Many dusks many arches many hues and many hues mean many hundreds and many hundreds mean invite to investment of innermost inherited insectivorous institutionalised ignorant ignoramus's ingots'. But glowing of an ear bug is common in a torque typed torture chamber and a chamber is not a champion nor a charred crispy cross crossed conifer. Camels that eat hard cheese are said to be better prophets than penguins on skateboards. Fornicating false frocks falsely fall. And a little black and grey horse was speaking kindly to a tiny ball of fur which turned out to be a mouse name but cat in shape and body. How rather cruel! And derogatory too. Yet the smirking slug like actions secreting slime of a prawn headed monster with many man tentacles' and tentacles are terror and definitely not treacle treading treats. Salivate not a big bit of pie then? Fir pie is a composition of sorts types and kinds and akin to a pulsating ball of confused idiosyncratic ideological wisdom of orders originating from a glass bottom jug which weighs forty two kilos and cost eleven cities, two million towns, twenty thousand small villages, and ten hamlets. These are in a deposit global zone. A whirl of supposed suppository suppers in stupors seen but senseless. It is wise to break a mould then to create a new work for the art show shower. And bathe before baking the perimeter of pie. For pie without radius is a ravishing radish reaching radii. And how polite is a polish then? No ha no x and a big x to it as well. And one should always dangle mirrored glasses while wearing a sun hat and riding a one centimetre bull down the tidal bores. Z refurbishment z at two hens to twenty one ducks at half time. Z
Water Sprite
A
Water sprite dances
across colorful prismatic waves
Curls of shimmering violet ride
across the liquid crystal sea
unscathed
Impishly
Swaying to twilight's love song
enchantingly perfumed in flowering blooms
Of succulent orange waterstone daisies
crawling, the sandy edge as a well made
costume
A
Wet humidity sparkles off her skin
from a rosy glitter of diamonded stardust
This mystical potion of charm creates
twilight's illusions of love and
lust
Sprite
Frivolously darts between fattened
fruit trees, wrapped in jasmine vines
Paradise wakened a sleeping beauty
blending the elements into a fine
wine
Thriving in
Harmony
Carole Cookie Arnold
2010
This is a garden of sunshine granted
each an escape from our everyday trials.
Where sadness, anger, or lies aren't planted
because we all need a garden of smiles.
Where are poems found in this garden?
A few where Summer leaves barely a trace.
Some on life's dusty olden path less taken
or on a wagon wheel sorely misplaced.
I found several on butterfly's wings;
A short one atop a ladybug's back.
A Haiku found on Japanese maple.
In a rose garden, you'll find a whole sack!
They nibble nouns on lavender leaves
often spied sipping the nectar of gods.
Their words elfin messages in the sand
or hidden among weaving goldenrods.
They're where sprites play tag in the tallest grass
where crickets and grasshoppers sometimes sing;
and faeries dance from midnight till way past,
leaving faint notes written in fairy rings.
You'll find poems among soft cloud faces
They catch a ride on drops of summer rains.
They sing in spider webs' lyrical spaces
while lady spiders spin lacy refrains.
Garden faeries write words with flower dust
sending them whispering into the wind.
They toss and float til finding verbs to trust
so poetic thoughts may, at last, begin.
Words from my memory of poems I've read
are blossoms to be treated tenderly.
The thoughts they evoke are poems just bred
and add emphasis to poems to be.
I hope you'll enjoy my poetry garden
and find a few blossoms waiting for you.
If I left the rake on the walk, pardon--
I had some synonyms to attend to!
Hence, she now remains
in this patch of earth
that’ll home her corpse.
Yet her soul, as free as she,
will soar the heavens:
like angels do.
Fragile pine sapling
Green rising from brittle leaves
Pure fringed refreshment
In the abyss of night
When without sight
I gaze upon the stars
My mind slips into memoirs
How my heart aches
And my spirit breaks
The longing I feel
For a love that was real
The light in the dark
The hope that you mark
I wish upon your brightness
For a life of justice
Lead me heavenly being
Clear my seeing
End this torture
Provide me shelter
Guide me through
Perfect my virtue
My soul in your hands
Carry me over the lands
I beg of you
Please be my rescue
From this place
Take me in your embrace
Oh brilliant star
Though you shine afar
Hold me in your light
I am your sprite
Once upon a time
In a land full of grime
All smelled awful and sour
Not even the scent of a flower
Grew more wretched by the hour
Like a beast intent to devour
The people were in despair
Warlords were everywhere
No one knew how to repair
They recoiled with a blank stare
Along came a wee sprite
filled with hope and delight
A sling shot in hand took command
Shot the largest beast in his cyclops eye
That huge villain started to cry
The wee sprite dried his eye
Shown compassion he let out a sigh
After that he began to try
Slowly each warlord followed suit
Eventually all did recruit
Today the landscape is Full of Bloom
No longer filled with a sense of doom
Thanks to a wee sprite who did what was right
Civilians who chant “liquor store blues”
within a Memphis alley way
Where the classical band plays
From dusk till dawn
Would lack intelligence
Should they be taught
That she resembles a foul sprite
For some wild centaur.
There is a sprite that still lives
Deep in the bright blue water;
Reflection from the sky gives,
Surface beauty full quarter.
There is a sprite I do know,
Deep in the watery blue;
Lingers far, far down below,
Cool green grass and tree-top view.
Swimming with colourful fish,
Surrounded by natures’ sounds;
Mother, if I only had one wish,
I would dive down out of bounds.
To spend a day with friend sprite,
Laughing, playing, swimming whirls,
Home dry before the fall of night,
Hands full of freshwater pearls.