Hear Ye!
the babbles of brook flowing on by.
the fizzy hiss of foam floating on tide.
the howls of a waterfall crying into sky.
the raging roar of waves crashing on beach.
the pitter-patter raps of raindrops on window panes.
the splish and swish of paddles straddling lake.
the tinkle taps of gentle rain showers on rooves.
the guttural gurgle of water sinking down drains.
the blink and plink of dew drops tumbling down leaves.
all singing in cadence, a lulling lilting lullaby,
caressing ye to sleep.
But, Beware Ye,
lest Ye hear,
the alien tap of
drip,
drip,
drip,
drops in sink!
relentless, incessant, clatter,
insistent for a fix!
Categories:
lilting, water,
Form: Free verse
I can see and hear my Muse mourn and sigh;
silent, I just listen and don't ask why.
Her woe belies her true, intense desire,
though she's forever willing to inspire.
Tho' sad, she finds me in the cool of morn
by the brooks and bowers where I was born;
there she alights and works her faerie powers
in, around, and amidst the leafy bowers.
As I lie reposed by the babbling brooks
beyond the hamlets and the ruined rooks,
I write all day for her, my loyal Muse:
for if I write she will never refuse
to be my faithful Muse till I am dead,
when ages hence these lines will be well-read.
Categories:
lilting, fairy, inspiration, muse, mythology,
Form: Lay
Notes of the butterflies
lightly lilt through the mind
as oceans songs from shells
lend music to the deaf and blind
Creating wondrous worlds
with balloon filled laughter highs
Repeating the recordings
of blue birds feathered glide
Enchanting footnotes joining
around a bonfire dance
while a prince, in a castle,
invites songs first romance
Blues becoming bluer
while pastel tunes enlighten
Refrains of ballads replay
implore the spirit lighten
Those magical compositions
from our youthful imagination
Light breaths on birdsong’s flute
aspiring whimsical aspirations
©Debra Squyres 2014
Categories:
lilting, butterfly, imagination, longing, music,
Form: Free verse
Children's lilting voices fill the air
on a summer evening, outside at their play.
Happy and thriving with nary a care.
I remember when life used to be that way.
If only our childhood would, a little longer, stay.
Sounds of their laughter bring a smile to my face
and memories of my own flood my being.
My childhood is past , there's no longer a trace
but in my mind a much younger me I'm seeing,
in a time that was all too quickly fleeing.
Children's litling voices fill the air.
A joyous sound on this warm summer eve.
Running, climbing and playing games of dare,
the same games I once played, I believe.
Tonight I'll quietly watch 'til they take their leave.
Categories:
lilting, childhoodsummer, childhood, childhood, games,
Form: Quintain (English)