Short Shire Poems

The 
oldest
position
under the crown-
and
fastest
gunslinger
in frontier
towns...

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I  look what words meant in dictionaries
Yet not enough to paint my verses
To dissipate in a shire where nest blown
Fly away as paper kite to a land unknown...

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I have this desire
To believe it is not me
These people only conspire
Against who I am to be 
Thinking, fretting, as I perspire
Dwelling in agony
Please just let me expire
So I can find the audacity 
For my own SHIRE.........

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in silence
the shire plods his path
in footsteps of the past

Note: On holiday recently,we took a trip by canal barge pulled this way.Very evocative for me, as on my mother's side,her forbears were canal people,and thats how they happened to arrive here in my hometown....

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Roses are red
Tree bark is brown
I don't want to be killed 
By a murderous clown

Roses are red
Dragons blow fire
I really want
To live in the Shire

Roses are red
Darkness is dark
The wind moans and howls
While the crazy dog barks

Roses are red
So is blood
Once I slipped
And fell in some mud...

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Joy Encourages Soundness Upon Souls (JESUS).                                         Need a contest challenging poets to write what 
Jesus abbreviation stands for. 

Going Christmas caroling with Carolyn is the most 
fun thing to do of them all. Did you know that a 
dead Devon who once was a squire now lives in 
a shire in heaven...

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Living in the shire;
Searching for that ring;
You may have found a lot of things;
But you never kept a thing.
     You hid behind a bush;
     While purpose you compiled;
     Disguised yourself as innocent;
     But the dung you left was vile.
And in the fires of your yesterdays;
In the crackles you may hear;
You may live defensively;
But you’ll never beat the fear....

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emblazon the biosphere
   abstruse blue, shire green
      shaken out of the shadows
                                 fire opal, daystar yellow
                              every color under the sun
                        embodying the labyrinthine canvas

                                            10/25/2021
                                      BITE SIZE POEM no24...

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A slim handsome ogre named Vampire,
married into a fairytale empire.
His elfin wife named Hairy
bore him a sharp toothed fairy,
That looked like a Hobbit from the shire.

Much to the elves’ and Ogres’ chagrin,
they bore an impish child again.
This time being on a roll,
they bore an impish troll,
and now all the fantasy creatures are kin!

(inspired by Debbie Guzzi's contest)...

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ENGLAND,
My England
Rainsoaked fields,pastel green,
perennial impressions 
of country scenes.
Shire counties cramped 
and compact,neither temperate,
changeable and in exact.
Seasons merging into one,
winters' mild,summers 
of sometime sun.
Ancient,historic and 
quaintly modern,
pub-grub,village greens
and cricket squares sodden.
 
Listen to me read this poem on youtube under the name ichthyschiro...

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I would like to live in a house in the The Shire;
sit upon the stoop, smoke a pipe, blow fancy rings
          into the air.

I would like to go adventuring; slay the dragon,
retrieve it's hoard of gold, become a legend.

I would like to live to one hundred and eleven,
celebrate, then disappear.


Inspired by the adventures of Bilbo Baggins the Hobbit in JRR Tolkien's "The Fellowship of the Ring"....

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Those people at Geico think that we cavemen are fools.
We don't appreciate their condescending commercials.
When I saw those commercials, I was shocked.
They think I'm stupid just because I sleep on a rock.
My cavemen buddies and I are really pissed.
But we do enjoy having Talia Shire for a therapist.
They think I'm primitive just because I carry a club and scratch my butt.
Why do people think that we cavemen are idiots?...

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When will she learn to play, to rise the spirits?
Ancestral spirits yearn for the old glories -
Where forth the strength occupies vacuum;
Despair filled it well!

Let's dance to the sonorous voice of the strings
Let it call out the feeble days
Renounced with a tether that blows the mind
Shattered it seems - the fire
The lights it shire!

Let's dance to the rhythm
Waggling tails
For hunger of it, our souls cry out for!...

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He stares into the lighthouse fire
an ant in the hole
Against his throat rests the wire
a life that his beloved stole
When suddenly the sparks' igniter
is pieces of a whole
Far from his ancestral shire
he digests the mole
Betrayal for something shining brighter
he takes time to patch his soul
She stole from him his final lyre
but he will regain control

After all that's transgressed, there's nothing left
No longer will he be drowned in the reft...

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Rainsoaked fields,pastel green,
perennial impressions of country scenes.
Shire counties cramped and compact,
neither temperate,changeable and in exact.
Seasons merging into one,
winters' mild,summers of sometime sun.
Ancient,historic and quaintly modern,
pub-grub,village greens and cricket squares sodden.
Precedent law,judged by our peers,
diverse opinions expressed sans fear.
Reserved,resolved and resolute anglais
with national flag but no national day....

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Rainsoaked fields,pastel green,
perennial impressions of country scenes.
Shire counties cramped and compact,
neither temperate,changeable and in exact.
Seasons merging into one,
winters' mild,summers of sometime sun.
Ancient,historic and quaintly modern,
pub-grub,village greens and cricket squares sodden.
Precedent law,judged by our peers,
diverse opinions expressed sans fear.
Reserved,resolved and resolute anglais
with national flag but no national day....

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Rainsoaked fields,pastel green,
perennial impressions of country scenes.
Shire counties cramped and compact,
neither temperate,changeable and in exact.
Seasons merging into one,
winters' mild,summers of sometime sun.
Ancient,historic and quaintly modern,
pub-grub,village greens and cricket squares sodden.
Precedent law,judged by our peers,
diverse opinions expressed sans fear.
Reserved,resolved and resolute anglais
a national flag,in April its national day....

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Like pearls

in the

void.

Consciousness

is rare.

Scouring our

Galactic neighborhood

we find none.

Where is everyone?

Have they

moved on?

Evolved

to a 

different realm?

Have they

died out?

Are they

still primitive?

Are we

the first?

These questions

repeated

trillions of times

in trillions of galaxies.

For now

at least,

ours

is the only

Cosmic Shire

we know.

Enjoy it while it lasts....

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Let's watch purple 
           lights 
              as they pass their
way over the land
    Let's see a purple 
dawn
    Let's move down roads 
as yet unknown 
     to man 
we can dance
upon the moving 
waters
        the sky is 
ominous 
       black riders above 
let's dance down 
        the path of time
We will have
A revelation 
      When we see
the Misty Mountains
    When we watch 
our dawns
         change into 
sparkling elven nights...

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As I sit 
here in the ESL lab
   In my mind 
I enter Middle Earth
  The terrain is familiiar
   to throngs of people
Yet there is always something
   new to discover 
I can hear the sining 
      of the elves
   under the stars
Feel the power of the dwarves 
     in Khazad - Dum
Partake of the joy
     of hobbits 
at harvest time
   in the Shire
They move me to 
  pick up my pen
and add to all those 
    writers whose are 
concerned with Middle Earth
    and its glorious 
magic...

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ENGLAND. Year Posted 2007
Rainsoaked fields,pastel green,
perennial impressions of country scenes.
Shire counties cramped and compact,
neither temperate,changeable and inexact.
Seasons merging into one,
winters' mild,summers of sometime sun.
Ancient,historic and quaintly modern,
pub-grub,village greens and cricket squares sodden.
Precedent law,judged by our peers,
diverse opinions expressed sans fear.

PS

A language now a  global gift
its English please never use 'Brit'...

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Walking in the Shire
     feeling the warmth 
of 
the 
sun 
    on my body 
I see the well tilled 
farms 
   and the Green Dragon 
where I long to have 
   a pint of beer 
In a time 
   of peace 
this land becomes 
   like a warm blanket to its 
      inhabitants 
Do you know why 
   you love this place?
It is because 
it is peaceful 
    with 
growing things - especially taters 
grown with love by 
Sam's gaffer 
an old gardener
  with 
knowledge of such things...

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