All stars are shining
Sky Full of heavenly peace
poetry in fete
I got to dance with Cinderella
And boogie with Snow White
Under the stardust of Capella
And the fairies of night
All those pixies beckon me to play
Hide and seek with elves nice
The smartest smurfs would like me to stay
In their small paradise
Barbie tells me my prince is waiting
At the end of rainbow
And Belle wants me participating
With the Beast in her show
Tinker Bell sprinkles some pixie dust
And I float in the sky
All it takes is some magic and trust
To pass Peter Pan by
Ariel welcomes me to party
With little mermaid friends
I join them for a dinner hearty
That's how my fun fete ends
12.07.2020
116 words
For Caren Krutsinger's "Fun with Fictional beings" contest
Oh, the soft dulcet breeze of early spring,
comes in waltzing this sparkling morning.
While clear dew drops blink like diamond rings,
and singing birds begin their courting
The wild flowers on the meadows,
start their yearly resurrection,
exhibiting their chiffon pedals;
Swaying to the warming sun’s reflection
The dew covered webs of spiders,
looking like lace on the branches,
as if they were made from special fibers;
while they enjoynew dances
Tiny hummingbirds are arriving
to pollinate the various flowers.
Their trip was arduous but they survived,
as spring sends its magic powers
A glorious azure summer sky,
Triumphant with its blazing sun
Bestows the land with warmth and life
And lifts the hearts of everyone.
The Village fete is on today!
Come young and old, come rich and poor
To hear excited children laugh
To see old friends; perhaps make more…
Bright bunting in a breezy dance
Adorns each stall, gazebo, tent
And - while young Alice hooks her duck -
Delights in tickling Grandad’s head.
A glance beyond the Pivy doors
Reveals mouth-watering history
Through cakes and treats Great-Nan lives on
This recipe, her legacy.
Tradition swells – its Best in Show!
With pride and honour both at stake
Who’s miniature garden is the best?
Who’s bread will win the ‘Boys that Bake’?
There’s Wang the Welly, Splat the Rat
A barbecue to satisfy
There’s Guess the Weight and Lucky Dip
And Pimms and Beer, should you feel dry
The smiles and laughter fill the air
And filter up into the blue
And somewhere maybe, reach Great-Nan
Who sees her cake - and smiles with you.
Cornices, and Gargoyles with eyes turned low,
hold fast the passing in a frozen stare
as slow vapor rising from vents below
is churned by soles into thick city air.
Undeterred, the well-heeled leather bottom
wingtips fly past sandaled sloths at crosswalks
while clicking heels kick dead leaves of autumn
and wind their way through crowded city blocks.
Just above a breezy sidewalk café,
sheer fabric wafts a low-loft window sill,
two pair of empty vamps and laces lay,
removed in shameless haste and lustful will.
Beneath the sheets, a naked feet affair,
entwined, aligned, with dreamy souls laid bare.
Michael F. Lewis and Thvia Shetley
3/6/2013
Into the lane
come wind, impetuous rain.
Trees are now a threat,
gesturing wildly, angry,
promising to snap,
eager to pounce,
to crush in an embrace
of leaf and crusty bark.
The village fête, though,
is like the show:
it must go on,
it must go on.
It’s fixed in time,
it’s preordained.
Brave souls
staff the stalls and serve,
to raise the funds
to fix the roof.
Spattered souls – pulling
their cardigans closed, tugging
their knitted hats further down their heads –
bravely measure out the day
in collected coinage
dropped into biscuit tins:
the target must be reached.
Cricket’s off – rain stopped play;
back to the crease another day.
But the ladies of the Guild
fête the thinning punters
with bric-a-brac and homemades,
with orange juice and lemonade.
It’s a parallel world –
the other one’s not here today.
This is all there is.
For this day only,
this is our fête.
The children’s pet show, hoop la, bowls,
With happy laughter in the air,
The stalls of homemade jams and cakes,
And smells of hotdogs everywhere.
The Morris dancers with their bells,
A beer tent full of merry sounds,
The raffles, prizes, vicar’s speech,
Collection box that does the rounds.
Ah, such a lovely summer’s day -
Until, of course, the rain stops play!
For Lisa's Fair contest
My brother is dyslexic,
Which is a bit of a trial
And I also think he’s gay
But he’s still in Daniel