Long Nymphs Poems
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What to photograph first?
My yard is a haven for every color of flower.
There are mushrooms, and worn out stumps, and renegade violets.
There is Queen Anne’s lace, and prairie golden rod, and honeysuckle.
There are tiny red berries, and there is moss of the greenest green.
The sky is filled with lavender, and smoky gray, and the softest blues.
There are cardinals, and robins, and butterflies, and bumble bees, and wasps.
There are knotholes, and gnarled branches, a tree that crackles with crows congregating to go south.
There are wood nymphs, and elves, and faeries, and rainbow orbs, not seen by the naked eye.
I will start with the orbs.
By the light of the pinkest prettiest orange moon Faerie folk had ever seen,
There was a haze such as the elves could have invented, but maybe not.
It was the magical bewitching hour, and the meadow was dampish, and keen.
The nymphs had put their butterflies away, to lie next to the woolen sot.
The woolen sot was a rag doll which had been left in faerie land eighteen years ago
By a little girl who had fallen into the meadow accidentally during a dream.
The entire faerie brigade could not have gotten her home, without the help of GLOW.
GLOW is made up of cricks, flicks, santa mezies, ricks, and beetles, any bug not mean.
We worked for hours to dislodge the child, so we could safely pass her back to her bed.
Somehow the leaf lickers had not noticed the doll, until it was way too late.
I was one of the lucky ones, at the feet. We clearly felt sorry for the ones who had her head.
The head movers had to be extra careful to not wake the sleeping princess, age of 8.
This night was one of those magical nights that only comes around in a blue sky’s row.
We knew that sleeping princess’s daughter just might fall through the rainbow, and we were ready.
We had washed Woolen Sot, reattached her loose eye, and tightly and sewed her slit toe.
Everyone was dancing the faerie fix it dance, even the silly bubbalouer, sick Freddy.
We knew if baby daughter fell through onto Faerie meadow tonight, we could get Woolen Sot home.
We all kissed her soundly, and loudly, with smacking, happy faerie kisses. She kissed us for fun.
“Here she comes!” Freddie called out. “Everybody move!” We ran behind the fountain of Over-Roam.
“Where did you come from?” her mother, the original owner, cried out the next day, overcome.
Never realizing it was the faeries, the brownies, the slay slimmers, the toots, and this darling poem.
Yes, we brought Woolen Sot home, yes we did!
Shimmering sea, glimmering waves
Glistening waters, mirroring moon-glow
Beyond the beaches, coral lagoons
Mellow boroughs, dotting the shore
Rising sun, peaking through the sky
Day has arrived, ousting dark night
Merchant adventurers, sail forth to venture
The deep blue hue, revealed to the crew
Vast is its reach, and cool the salty breeze
Violent are its storms, and mighty its depths
Haunted by sirens, whose tunes take wing
Amid broken dreams, and forlorn hope
Morbid castaways, adrift or ashore
Gaze upon the horizon, dazed and confused
Perhaps they seek, an island of nymphs,
Just like Odysseus, or so they think
This is the sea, daunting and promising
Poseidon’s wonders, for all to see!
All rights released into Public Domain
The moonlit grass was metaphorically mystic in its cool, methodical, grandiose offerings of solace to the gentle breeze-woman who could not abide the ruin of her evermore.
Softly, silently, without any hesitation, she laid her burden down on the caring grass bosom illuminated by the entangled mono-speak of the faeries.
Butterflies surrounded her, illuminating her starlit dreams with dreams of their own. Sometimes the dream masters can fix things well beyond the realm, head nymph told head elf.
For a solid minute, in mutual respect and solitude, they formed a rescue mission, and sprinkled breeze-woman with the magic that she needed to do what only she could do.
Sandman sashayed over, surveyed the nymphs, and elves and tucks, raised one finger to his gentle mouth.
“All hush,” he said, his whisper a bare wisp. “She is finally asleep.” They surrounded her with love and joy and cheer, only silently. Everyone loved Breeze Woman.
All was well in the forest.
Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise,
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !
Unpredictable seas with droplets that spray oh how the sharp rocks being where they lay,
Affects how sea nymphs stalk and capture their prey as if it were, a play !
Restless winds pervade the air oh how the clouds suggest a dare,
Looking like sheep jumping over fences oh how it stirs the sky and senses !
Crackling fire illuminating the shadows of the night oh how with mysteries of the light,
Animals will watch the humans make camp as if each camper is, a scamp !
Powerful gaze holding years of hope oh how with vulnerability and the will to cope,
Looks knowingly into the void as if it were, a mental sanctuary to be employed !
Unstoppable magnetism attracts us to one oh how unexpected, powerful and fun,
When cupid’s arrow aims for you, there isn’t much that you can do !
Ariel eyes gaze towards sapphire seas.
Mermaids have no purpose in aquariums.
Yet so many struggle to escape shallow streams.
Sitting upon sandy shores,
depth of her emotions, reflect moonlight,
gently caressing welcoming waves.
Yearning to float free -
to wash away her worries,
her mind is like a constellation of stars,
hiding behind misty vapors.
Spiritual sounds summon her home.
Melodies of mystical nymphs,
liberate her supernal soul,
as an infinite power dwells within her.
As sand castles wash away,
Sea Urchins wash upon the shore,
craving to be beside her.
Sapphire seas cast a spell.
Dimness of the horizons clear,
permitting stars to illuminate into her eyes -
like a millions pearls placed inside
the chambers of her Oyster heart.
Letting go, each splash erases the past,
cleansing her mind, releasing subliminal chains,
swimming in depths, most would drown.
Her spirit once stranded upon barren land,
now bathes within oceans, not known to man.
Silent One
26 December 2018
Was but a shrub, clinging to rocky hill..
when first I strayed in forest aflower.
Er'nt son's return to rose and whippoorwill,
and brook's water glider mossy bower.
Below..,seventeen years cicadas dwelt..
nymphs now grown, sing familiar forest song.
Aligned to moon and stars in homage knelt,
nature's way to right all ruin and wrong.
Seeds are sewn, winds of change how quickly blown,
tree lay down, bough's dream lost coveted cloud.
Heavens soaring branched crown no longer known,
once gloried sunlight, now in earthly shroud.
When last Spring returns Autumn's bounty owed,
the treasured forests Flora wisely sowed.
He rides towards the setting sun
Further and further from his special one
The sound of his armor clanking with each hoof beat
Perspiration horse and rider oppressive desert heat
He rides through the desert to find the Prince.
Commissioned by the King to bring him home.
All others afraid he rides alone.
He will not stop until he fulfills this pact.
His spirit is strong he chooses to act.
The King makes a promise,
"Brave Knight, bring my son home,
you can have anything,
a castle of stone."
Knight responds, " I will do what you ask.
I will not stop
Until I complete the task.
Allow me to make
but one request,
to marry your daughter Jessica
when I pass this test."
She with the face of an Angel,
stunning blue eyes.
Heart so beautiful,
his mighty soul cries.
No man would stand,
in the Knight's way.
Yet there are things,
much deeper at play.
Days and nights in the desert,
plays tricks on the mind.
Time has no meaning,
as it begins to unwind.
He heads into the valley,
the valley of death.
Gods willing,
he won't breathe his last breath
Witches enchantresses,
orbs of blue light.
Naked nymphs dancing,
in the glowing moonlight.
He dismounts,
calls out the Prince's name
The Prince is engaged
In a deadly game
The prince responds,
"please leave me be.
I am being pleasured,
by the beauty you see."
The creatures of the night,
seek his seed,
In exchange they promise,
to satisfy every need.
The Knight,
strong and true.
He sees beyond,
nimble bodies of blue.
The voice of his Jessica,
whispers in his heart.
With his sword,
he tears the illusion apart.
Bodies of the demons
in a pile they lay
He fights through the evening
Until light of day
The Prince freed,
from a prison of lies.
Fooled by illusion,
he didn't realize.
A Knight strong and brave,
loyal and wise.
Evil banished,
he claims his prize.
Home to his Princess the Kingdom saved.
Triumphant return the banners are waved.
A Heros welcome a true loves kiss.
Endings don't come much happier than this.
Medieval Idealism, contest
Written July 30th 2013.
When you sang, dreams croaked, then you ceased to be a volcano,
It was simpler to become a rock, not letting yourself be unraveled by the waves of myopia.
After seasons died in your arms, resigned to your cold might,
You questioned if perhaps all flowers tear their petals in vain for you.
You were left emptied of greenness, a vast void where echoes can't return,
You've lost the appetite for light and horizons, a crownless tree in the purple twilight.
Oh, how you wished to remain the same old fir, clutching a world of rays to your chest,
But you let the day slip into night, you departed to become the leaf you await to fall.
Nymphs in chorus called you to shout again, for the wind to blow in your blue day,
But you stayed silent, and in your silence the tear of the sea extinguished in a fist of foam,
You feared the equinox that doesn't come, the persistent remembrance of a song once drawn,
And you feigned your existence into a white beginning of hibernation, like a silence before a revelation.
Do you believe that once you bloomed, the storm can't break the branch that holds you?
You stopped being the barbarian that made the echo in the mountain laugh at itself,
And in exchange for smiles, a sad pass settled on your face, casting long shadows,
An unanswered question that floats above you, a flight that no longer knows how to reach its destination.
Ah, you’ve lost her, that fearless bird that used to scent the filters of your soul!
You've ceased your word, halted the depth from caressing the root of the sky.
You've forgotten the whirlwind that lifted you above the world, and now you search for meaning,
You are a snail without a shell, feather without flight, a ripple without an ocean, a sky without a constellation.
Is waking harder? Is oblivion gentler than the sweet pretext of remembrance?
You wonder why the stars do not answer your indescribably late call,
The road back seems too long now, legends speak of new beginnings, barren horizons.
Slowly but surely, you lost it... in a pass of slippery fog over your world,
Now you are the slave to your own echoes, seeking a mirror in me so you can breathe once more.
Let me rest,
For now I am tired of these quests.
What prize for me awaits?
Those hollow salutes and opened gates?
Or those meretricious praise that would echo,
When all I remember is catastrophic derecho?
Or the Olympus you promise with Canephor,
While all I yearn is peaceful plains and zephyr.
Or the victory parades in Roma you were storytelling,
While those 23 backstabs in my mind are dwelling.
Or those meadows habited with Nymphs?
While all I yearn is a solitary pond hazed by mist.
Or those kingdoms you promised of evergreen reign?
While all I yearn is the slow pit patter from canopy rains.
All you promise is a conquest full of allure and shine.
But what will you tell to those kids mourning and crafting shrines?
So let me walk away to where savannah's sway,
As I am exhausted of this reaper's haunting play.
So now let me rest, as I am haunted and tired of these quests.
Let me breathe where laws of nature weave,
Solitary where I can grieve.