I implore,I implore the westerly gust
To take me or at least my pendowned ink
Many a time-my fingers are encrust
Traveled never so far, barely within a page's brink
In a chilling hour when the candle shines bright
And while the poor soul begins to sway
I snug a pen like a primed gallant knight-
To beguile my darling; possibly fanciful any-way
O I implore,I implore my fanciful maiden
You were,ever were to whom I indite
Gals of ink and bales of pages are laden
Untill the lantern bug took their earliest flight--
Though the countless letter I engraved
The means and will of it was never heard
Every is being trodden and depraved
In every swarty night mine visions are blurred and Interred
I was,never was the flower that sprung about
But the gloomy cloud of June;what I was merely a lout
fabulous fanciful fantastical fairyland
frees the featherbrained feebleminded as much as it can
fleeting flighty flimsy flitting forever fireflies so grand
fragile frail fragrances frazzling a frantic flimflam man
The war will be great they say in God’s grace to me one night
But, the fighter planes took off for a far from fanciful flight
For a beseeching cry for me to stay as I watched my birthday boy fly his kite
But, was woken early by her ‘hurry to’ or the general will bite
I dreamt of her for that nightingale night she was such a sorry sight
Photo of miss to show them just before the harrowing fight
She led me by the hand
Through a green forest.
Twisting around the trunks,
Ducking beneath low branches.
I followed blindly in love
With the feel of her hand
And the utter sweetness
Of her breath on my cheek,
And her – encompassment.
She stopped in a clearing
But a few yards across,
Pulled herself against my hand
Until her lips covered mine
And her breast impressed
Pertly on my nakedness.
Our kiss was unending
And filled me with fire,
With secret understanding,
And a lust for life itself.
She breathed into my body
Something greater than air.
We held each others hands
As our twinned lips parted,
And I? I breathed out lust.
She mouthed silent words,
Smiled an angelic smile,
Unfurled her gorgeous wings,
And in a column of white
Rose toward the open sky –
Hands and arms outstretched
As if she had just placed
Me in this wooded scene.
The trees and I once more alone –
Free to navigate a way
Though the multitude of leaves
And questionable maneuvers.
I watched her elevation
‘Till she was a star, afar,
As night had brushed dark
Colours over her euphoric clouds.
I found myself reborn.
© Griffonner 2024
A thought flew by
I tried to snatch it
But from the air
I just could not grab it
Next floats an image
along the banks of my brain
Yet when I try to recall it
it slips down the drain
Then ‘fore my eyes a rainstorm
furious its pellets, slit-slanted its form --
O, to trap her lightning in a bottle
yet though I lunge, she's going full throttle…
Seems I just haven’t much luck
with fanciful visions I would pluck
My lithe and limber fingers gnarl up…
Stop saying ‘Timber’ ~ they’re stuck
Dancing on the edge of a razor and stool as my ropen neck tie stands taught in two dimensions. This precarious balancing act in which life consists stands directly in the way of cold embracing bliss offered by abyss.
And, I’m drowning.
Choking on what’s good and what isn’t anchors me in a state endured but not desired.
And, I’m tired.
The sunset on the horizon brightens and clears me as it does with the land but not with the same intensity. Though, it does with my shadows.
It does with my shadows.
Why, in some ways the land and I reflect as I with pond and mirror but in others as with I and stone. It’s a conundrum that I ponder quite often but never seem to tread.
And sometimes…I wish I were dead.
Why does the mind love those fanciful tales
of firey dragons and great dancing whales?
Easier to digest spurious tales gone awry
than to taste sweetness of questioning why.
January 27, 2022
Bite Size Poem #34
by Line Gauthier
Fanciful Image
A golden crescent necklace
Adorning a cobalt sky
Creates a placid prayerful scene
And pensively I sigh...
If only everyone could see
Such scenes the way that poets do
Surely their minds would feel calm
And tranquility would ensue.
But this is merely poetic fancy
In a world beset by tribulation
Such whimsy is not often shared
By the general population.
So, I'll store this fanciful image
In my heart for beauty's sake
As I traverse this turbulent life
May its vibration follow in my wake.
Molly Moore
Wearing the finest designer clothes
good character does not make,
For many a multi-millionaire
has been discovered
to be an outright fake.
Godly words are mighty easy to pen--
easier than living the Golden Rule
Or thinking of yourself
more highly than you ought,
well, it’s nothing but pure bull.
Throwing money or words around
without sowing a meaningful seed
Is fanciful thinking at its absolute best,
and, the rewards are hollow indeed.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written June 16, 2021
for Brian Strand's "July, 2021" Poetry Contest
Skill matrix tonight
except that it is fanciful
so let my friend try.
Miller's wife tonight
except that it is fanciful
so may my friend.
S
U
P
E
R
C
A
L
Influence my haste to limit my view
F
R
A
G
Illuminate in me kinds words that do
L
Instill in me the nerve to answer true
S
T
Inspire in me the honest words for who
C
E
X
P
Impress a want for delicate empathy to pursue
A
L
Imbue a sparkle that will ever renew
D
O
C
Imagine the wrongs we can undo.
O
U
S
Fanciful filigree faerie frolics
Garnishing grateful glittery gardenias
Heavenly hope heralding
Iridescent illusions imagining
joyous jumbled jubilation
Your ideas are fanciful, friendly, airy-fairy.
The five-year-old smiled; this pleased her. She clapped her hands.
So we will use them! She said joyfully.
Not this time, her mother told her, but soon. Maybe next time.
What about a book? The five-year-old asked. Could we make my
ideas into a book?
It would be a fantastic book! Her mother agreed. Let’s get started.
And they did, it was the best book!
And it meant the world to many people, as it was
on the altar, next to the guest book next week when
relatives and friends arrived to honor the family
that had been killed by a drunken driver on his way
to a liquor store.
Two angels, writing a book about two angels.
Airy-fairy for sure.
FANCIFUL FREDA
Fanciful Freda
What you got for us
Ain't got a car
So you ride a bus
Fanciful Freda
What's its like to be you
Walking down the street
Wit no shoes on
8/16/18
written by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
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