.
yet
return did
hern
ritually
'zif
hern owe'd
my
repeat'did
rip ( he dip ')>
meanz
*yuh know edvard'z lisp
then yuh know thuh title
tiz thuh write...two werdz
in write explicates title
<]')
.
'mooch
'mooch nibble
'mooch
nibble nibble nibble
chomp
"(((edvard)))"
')>
.
yet lips
hern
be soft
and hern step
poof toot
poof
too
hern be
digits
tickle thick
shoots
ooh
mmm
this one'z
speak mine
cauze'd
fancy hallucinate
dream
do'd
.
i'm gaze'n at
hern digits
mitt's
latch'd 'bout that
ancient fir
her digits were
'most
thick hern
az
jowlz
certainly 'twere
her home
i couldn't tell
her were
tressez
cocoon'n coyly
hern rest
hern figure'z
best
Wood nymph, goddess of the trees,
how splendid! couched in loveliness
no creature may fully behold!
Yet I have, on particular mornings,
in crepuscular radiance seen,
(O brightest eyes!) flitting light,
recognition that love was born
here on the restless, unseeing ground
that we might occasionally recall:
life was meant for something
more than living and doing,
but breathlessly witnessing
angel presence in our midst,
wonder of the morning,
herald of the light,
comfort of dawn,
swan of day,
loveliest
sight.
Christopher M. Swan, “Song of Susan,” 2008
Where silver spray explodes against the stone,
A dryad* steps from willow-boughs of jade,
To seek the rushing water’s deep, cold tone,
And find the sprite within the foaming glade.
With gossamer and wings of morning light,
The fairy hovers o’er the river’s roar,
A spark of golden dust in rapid flight,
Descending where the waters wash the shore.
The nymph, with eyes as dark as mountain rain,
Reaches to touch the creature’s fleeting glow,
As if to bridge the divide of her domain
And catch the grace the soaring spirits know.
They meet where nature’s wild and rushing breath,
Defies the quiet stillness, life, and death.
Her winsome smile belied her secret essence
A temptress and siren
Given to saturnine quintessence
And I a man of placid and calm complexion
Became ever more umbrageous
With each stranger she offered affection
Ciara Cybelle chose to take her chances
Unconcerned by my mood
Continued her frenzied romances
She swooned at my charm
And laughed at my wit
And yet held to another man’s arm
Ciara Cybelle a nymph out of hell
Twisting a man
With her temptress spell
I had to make her understand
She simply had to see
I must be her only man
But Ciara Cybelle laughed instead
Eyes flashing fire
She brazenly said
The likes of me would never know
The deliciousness
Of the charms she would bestow
On other men she found fairer
Then in a rage
I struck in blind error
And carefree Ciara Cybelle
Lay shattered and still
At my feet where she fell
To the dark waters I fed
The alabaster body
Of Ciara Cybelle dead
Now benthic stillness of cimmerian depths
Disturbed by the pale lifeless limbs
Of Ciara Cybelle
Now tumescent and water pruned
The once sempiternal beauty
Forever ruined
Staring at her reflection in
chatoyant mirrors, learning my
last blessings, creeping past
poltergeists during marauder
inspections while I transcribe
her flesh on caesura, pleading
with the Pleiades for soprano
notes to stay on his alto clefs,
hanging gardens in her image
Ombrielle mistress,
Black Narcissus as my witness —
Extravagant, solivagant nymphs
born from lascivious river spirits
want to hear their voices Echo
in mountain cliffs, carried
by arid winds to places
gods’ garments are ripped,
convicting the Prince
Through the breeze driven fluttering foliage
sunlight licks lasciviously upon her skin.
Through the diaphanous dress that surrounds her
it warms her as her frenzied frolic begins.
In her rarefied rapture she prances,
ending sublime stasis from the night before
when suitor satyrs did woo her,
a legend legacy from days of yore.
Now alone in her wandering woodland
she dances dangerously close to free,
to the magical music of birdsong,
lithe limbs twisting beneath her trees.
She tosses tousled hair to the morning,
with artistic abandon she flies,
among the sun speckled leaves of her true loves
who brush branches to signal their sighs.
.
'long thuh long
arm
hern rests
Purty
her legz
drape each it's
side
"comfortably"
thuh poet writes
Her belly
firm 'gainst it's girth
whilst
her chin rests in her
propped up mitt via
hern petite's taut
arm
And whilst her visage
smilez
she starez up
"Ahh"
herz gasps
peek'n through thuh
canopy
az she spy'z an eagle
spiral'in thuh open
Her curious guess
"it's spy'n
my beauty"
Bitesize Contest No117 Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Sprinkled with star dust, bathed in moonlight,
Sweeping her wispy guise into the velvet night.
Captured by her love of dance, so impressive,
The essence of romance, intricate and expressive.
Her movements defied subjective reasoning to feel.
Not human, a vision, no heart. A nymph isn’t real.
Luna beckon's a siren's song
To reach the crescent moon,
she awakens before the water serpents arise,
and sea merchants sailing in from shores nearby
At crack of dawn and drawn to flickering lights,
night's natator of the bluest sea
zigzag's through the starfish
Caught in a seaweed beaded necklace,
tangled in nets sailors left adrift,
she reaches the open prismatic sky
A rainbow parrot fish tail flips over
smoothed sea glass rock
A siren goddess appears
Multicolored moments, eyes dilate
as indigo hues glow—it blankets
in silhouettes upon flowing strands of hair
Embracing the early morn with a sigh,
mystified mermaid from deep underwater
her thumping heart beats calm, in sync
with the crashing wave as it trickles down
A phenomenal crescent moon luminescent
As a cool salty wash laps the rocky shore,
it recedes with sizzling sounds leaving
pocket holes in the wet sand
Dawn calls with haunting cries,
she sings a siren's song
sea nymph falling prey
to harsh world realities
~ love overrated
Inspired by Ondine which is a play written in 1938 by French dramatist Jean Giraudoux, based on the 1811 novella Undine by the German Romantic Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Born of deep waters
But hiding secret longings
Which yearns for the air above
Changing skin daily
The black nymph dreams of the day
It could escape the dank mud
'Til the hard shell cracks
Iridescent wings unfold
It emerged as life transformed
Freed from the cold stream
Now belonging to the skies
Yet, bound by mires of the past
It flies close to the ripples
A POEM FOR ANGITIA:
a paraphrased of Silius Italicus (c26-191 CE)
Angitia the Daughter of Eeta the Sun
And the Sea-nymph Persa
Was first to use herbs
In magic and wellness.
She is Mistress of Venoms.
She murmurs by the stream
To draw down the Moon.
By her command the river is held back.
The mountains and the forests become still.
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