Short Canterbury Poems

canterbury bells
     so delicate and pleasant
          white, blue, lavender …...

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canterbury bells
     so delicate and pleasant
          white, blue, lavender …
...

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Makama, Funom
a creative, precocious phenom
wrote the Canterbury Tales
whilst on a schoolboy vacation in Wales....

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Geoffry Chaucer served as a page
first poet of ye olde English age
His Canterbury tales quite a feat
a work  never did complete...

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She laughed about the Miller’s Tale,
And said, ‘Repeat that part!
It’s funny when he kisses butt -
But love the student’s fart.’ *

*I think the windmiller in the picture is reciting The Miller’s Tale from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, lol.

For Isaiah’s Edmund Blair Leighton (Windmiller’s Guest) contest...

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Within a gentle breeze I move
carrying white before my eye
gliding forth a Canterbury sky

Lions roar and tees get crossed
puffs signal a strength inside
anxious slays abstention lost

Shifts in fragrant fumes ferry
crimson tales filter through light
as pure visions come to sight

Rest weary pilgrim rest...

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Shades of Purple

Canterbury Bells
planted in a row
Violets scattered
everywhere they grow
Lilacs sweet lilacs
the best scent in Spring
Fresh Hyacinths bloom
in a purple ring
Clematis climbs up
a broken barn door
while Vinca spreads
across God’s green floor.
Shades of purple bring
pure perfume to me
Lavender, Periwinkle
What a sight to see....

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Beneath the weeping willow
A gentle figure swings
Her dress of white a-billow
While soft and sweet she sings

She sang within this bower
What song I cannot tell
Her hair bedecked with flowers
Blue Canterbury bells

And on into the gloaming
Is heard this pleasant sound
When stars begin their roaming
She lets her hair unbound

Then o'er her form the willow weeps
The night is still -- the child sleeps...

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Somewhere there is my burning bush
Where I may come
Barefooted as I have always been
Over the rocks of Canterbury,
And there before your fire stand
Face to face
I, the image of you man
You, the blueprint I am scaled from
We two poles of sympathies,
Like gulfs beckoning
Jesus to walk where differences dare.
I pray that because of Jesus
I, like the self-ignited bush,
Shall not be ash blown into the air....

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Among the spires of the Hollyhocks and Lupins,

Down beneath the dense and colourful Canterbury Bells and Forget-Me-Nots,

Life thrives and scurries about, different creatures go about their jobs,

Dancing to natures tune beneath the Lilies and Magnolias,

Covered under a canopy of cherry tree blossom that carpets the ground,

They go about their business barely making a sound,

This beauty we know as nature continues always to astound....

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it is better
that i am
the man
instead
of you
being
the

bearded lady though 
it was exclaimed in 
one of Chaucer's
Canterbury tale's
pilgrimages

in which a certain
Miller tells albeit
a drunken tale
but he does
give fair

warning to the
weak of heart
the nobility of
drunkenness
and so winds

or breaks
wind it as if 
from his 
bottom
to find
that

her arse
was his
and then
asks was
that the 

beard
of a her
or a him...

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Skidding behind a three-wheeler
Canterbury bells in my hair
And twisted whispers in the wind.
Chandelier tinkling glass in the evening
Wicked wonders in my eye
Adventure of the wild summer life
The lights and sounds of a world unbridled
Constant noise and blazing light.
Where have the wild gone
What this road’s children once had?
But as the wind pulls my hair from my face
Those memories drift away
Leaving only my blades and an ATV
And the asphalt underneath....

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Near faint mountain ridges, upon bends of bridges,

splashes of light tickle as streams below trickle.

Moonlight's expansive flow sprinkles the gazebo.

White canterbury bells absorb sheen luster swells.

Illuminations strum nature's palette spectrum.

Brushed garden's rainbow felts, like dripping oil, melts.

Cottage lights extend to the stream's reflective blend.

Luminance warms our days as fireplace logs blaze.


2-4-2021

Tribute to Thomas Kincaid, "Painter of Light."...

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