Short Shelley Poems

climbing Spanish steps in footsteps of Keats and Shelley...

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Poet Percy Bysshe Shelleyys
a bit of a rebel was he
A tragic bio truth to tell
drowning in his boat 'Ariel'...

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It's said that the poet Shelley
Lived over a Brooklyn Deli
In that abode
He penned his Ode
To Peanut Butter and Jelly...

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I heard a poem by Shelley,
I heard it on the telly;
a sweet reminisce
about one missed kiss;
my knees just turned to jelly....

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They teased Percy Bysshe Shelley
   about his middle name
Mine, Shmuel, is no less strange
   ~ though it's yet to lead to fame...

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Leigh Hunt son of a preacher man
libelling Prince Regent ending in the 'can'
Consistently championed Byron&Shelley
a poet ogf Peace undoubtly...

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SHELLEY Poetical Essay




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Mary Godwin -- soon to be Shelley --
Writing with Percy, Byron and Polidori
To create the scariest horror story,
Gave life to a monster of immortal glory....

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At eighty-seven well past my prime
Can you believe it no long can rhyme
Even Shelly and Keats
Have hung up their cleats
Each had hoped for a life more sublime...

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Squashing Sasquatch sounds squeamish said Silly Sally... 
When Shelley Sheen said she'd seen Sasquatch squashed 


Tongue Twister Poetry Contest 
Sponsor: Joe Sandler 
12/27/2020...

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Shelley, my sweet loving daughter-in-law
Is having a tough time with a physical flaw
A very strong sweetie
Impressed by this chickadee
Never known anyone with so much hutzpah...

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Don’t carry rope to a hanging valley
                          Have a date when you’re in a dale
                           Don’t sell sea shells to Mr. Shelley
                   Don’t attach male’s tale to a female’s email....

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My best friend Moved Away

Shelley Sjolseth moved away
My best friend with eyes blue gray
Had a crazy basement house
Sneaked as quiet as a mouse
Shelley played the games I like 
Hiked and had a shiny bike
Shelley, Shelley, miss you so
Where in this big world did you go?...

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  Byron and Shelley have nothing on me
    Even Wordsworth is jealous, I hear
  Keats and Coleridge, they move me not
    Their imagery so drab and so drear

  In my room at my desk
    I am King of my Castle
  Now all that remains is
    to pen poems that dazzle...

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I've been in touch with Kelly
Right now watching his telly:
Time he ignores his belly:
No yells of "Come Here, Nelly!
Where's lost last Daughter, Shelley,
Who's found a habit smelly:
Her daddy starving daily
And in shorts cruising gaily...

True! I spoke with Kellys
Laughing at things on telly....

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My inner dialogue speaks to me.

Like music, it inspires my creativity.

One hundred words swirling in my mind.

It makes me dizzy, as I try to unwind.

Will my name go down in history?

Along with Frost, Poe & Shelley?

They are my masters of the verse.

Prose is my passion & pain is my curse....

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Orwell, Hemingway, King
Reading is my favorite thing 
Without books I would be a bird with one wing

Poe, Twain, Joyce
What I do with my free time is read 
That is my choice
I plan on writing my own book soon because my pen is my voice

Shelley, Lovecraft, Tzu
Books make me me 
What makes you you ?...

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Shelley—Romantic Visionary  
 
Maestro-Romanticus-Supremus
Percy Bysshe Shelley
One Heaven, One Hell
Promise of a later birth.

About a little soul
Epipsychidion
One immortality, one annihilation
Wilderness of this Elysian earth.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 5, 2015 (Double Dactyl)...

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Shelley the cockatoo went to the zoo
She made a lot of new friends 

When Shelley got home
she roared like a lion 
She snored like a bear
She fell asleep in her favorite chair 

She smiled as she slept
Many memories to be kept
The lion the bears the monkeys
and giraffes 
Will wait until next time for many more laughs...

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"_the mountains kiss high heaven,
and the waves clasp one another."

Quote by _ Percy Bysshe Shelley

_____

Love's Echo
                    
How sweet the sound an echo makes,
      it is music of the night;
when I hear it something in me wakes.

Oh, I feel love's echo that will never die,
      though past, it is bright;
and the sweetness makes my heart sigh....

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I raise my glass and pen to give a toast,
(For the all random thoughts that fill your sheets?)
No man, for poets that inspire me most,
Like Bryon, Whitman, Shelley, Keats and Yeats.
(Right! Your headache is driving you to boast.)
Long live also the poets labeled beats!
(Those prattling hacks make it even worse!)
Quiet! I say, or I’ll put you to verse!


01/09/2013
Written for the Poetry about Poetry Contest...

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What is the point, what is the reason 
For a new beginning- fresh Genesis? 
To grow, expand; explore new regions, 
And find the path that leads to Bliss? 
What will come; what is to be? 
(Such a fleeting, elusive answer!) 
Who could Love this Monster in Me-
A Creature full of Hate and Anger?
Mary Shelley- her gothic Horror,
With Percy drowned at Sea!
I am my Soul's sole Explorer-
A Journey through Eternity......

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Take the dead;
use their parts
to make a wretch,
this morbid art—
Frankenstein, Frankenstein!
You are to blame
for the deadness
in your heart.

Great scientists
applaud you,
what— because you
play a god!
Frankenstein, Frankenstein!
Broad paths
are better
left untrod.

Look in the mirror;
See the true beast!
You are the nightmare
stealing your sleep!
Oh, Frankenstein;
The self is the
monster that haunts
you—haunts me....

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She wrote poems that would have made Bukowski blush.
I read one once, and twice over again, the fourth time I was in love
With her best-friend, for which it was about, well, more so her friend's ... cat.

She got mad in a way that would have made Shelley gush
Out tears and run, run, run to the monster we make out of love.
Misguided, misfired, she missed my face, more so - She also had a ... cat!
She declared in a way that would have made anyone want to …

Read her poetry....

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Here is someone who is worthy of all the grace,
Let me describe his glory before his name gets erased,
The Pharaoh Ozymandias of Egypt,
Who was even worthy of Shelley's praise.

He has done a lot I feel,
Even though I cannot see his real reel,
I am sure he was praised well,
Even by the worthy poet for that- I can tell.

He might not be alive now,
Nor even the graceful poet - You know how,
But then he is made immortal,
By the poet who made others in front of him appear Mortal!...

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