what kind of faerie are you? Someone asked the pretty being.
The rest of the faeries tittered and whistled, readily seeing…
she was the pear faerie, a guardian of that light green fruit.
some of the rudest ones continued to make fun and hoot.
Clyde yearned for a kiss 'neath the mistletoe
But not a gal took notice of his woe
The ladies just tittered
As by him they skittered
His fly was unzipped and ALL was aglow
Morti Martha was from a bigger town
A glitzy town, a jazzy town, Las Vegas.
She had been a showgirl; is what I was told.
Not by her, but by many others.
She had visited our church once, and her clothes sparkled.
Rhinestones in church! Some of the staid members were askance.
I thought she looked ritzy and fine wearing sequined plastic baubles.
She wore an elaborate headpiece to her first PTA meeting.
“Is that gold leaf?” someone asked. A few tittered.
I thought Morti Martha looked gorgeous, so I sat by her.
“I love your headpiece,” I told her.
“They are the ones that started the rumors,” she said.
“I am buying in to please them.”
To civil manners she said "Good Night!"
If with garbage her plot was littered:
To the filthy, she gave a good fight
Like one by great losses embittered;
For unkempt spots her rage at its height,
As though one had her fought wealth frittered...
You, please, do not visit her website:
A long face with long snakes that slithered.
Georgina could simply rave self white
And the touched onlooker leave withered...
Any wonder her two plots once bright
Georgina, for days, often tittered.
Lily pranced through the woods on her way to somewhere
The oaks, elms and maples whispered of her glorious mirth.
Today she has a Rubenesque friend, something new.
Something not often found in the woods, a baby elephant.
How do you know what it is? Asked a mushroom to the moss.
I once saw a photo of one when she was reading a book here.
This amazed the mushroom, who had no idea how to read.
The elephant trumpeted to say “I don’t know how either; it’s okay.”
Who speaks elephant? The mushroom asked the violets.
They tittered and glittered, but were too silly to answer.
Lily stopped smoking for a second to check on Poindexter.
“Are you coming?” Poindexter held up a note.
“And he can write!” Mushroom was shocked at this.
“I thought everyone could write,” a dead leaf said.
The woods were getting a bit crazier every day.
Mushroom felt a relief when the wind carried off the leaf.
Butterfly elf man had a reputation for being a softie
Even though he looked stern, borderline determined even.
Not that it’s a bad thing, but he did not look whimsical or frolicking.
He looked serious, yet still, butterflies flocked to him.
Is he almost mean? Someone wondered aloud.
The butterflies tittered and twittered at this.
They knew he had to keep a rough expression because he was soft.
If people knew how soft, they would trick and swindle him.
Out of his treasures, his wealth, his whatnots and whatevers.
He did not dare wink or blink when other humans approached.
Keeping a stern look that fooled everyone except butterflies.
Lilies were aghast at the new hybrid.
She was freckled with orange spots.
How dare she! They whispered.
Some tittered.
Until the garden club ladies appeared
Oohing and praising “spotted medallion orange”.
Now all the lilies wanted to befriend her.
Chip and Dale were favorite cartoons of my sister and me.
With so much ***** and happiness, joyful they could be.
They ran around in chipmunk form and chittered away.
Making our cartoon fest much better every single Saturday.
Chip and Dale played tricks on other cartoon friends.
Their antics were silly and funny; without any mean split ends.
We laughed, tittered and chortled over these two in a funny way.
They were the highlight of our cartoon day, it was each Saturday
Mr. Ron P. Goose was going courting that day.
He dressed in blue, looking delightfully gay.
The deer was silent, but the bunny said, “Hey!”
The cat left the chubby mouse alone, watching him play.
"How do I look?" Asked Mr. Ron Goose, on his way to brunch.
"You look fabulous!" peeped the partridge. "Have a nice lunch."
The forest was silent for a few seconds after he was gone.
"Woman date or man date?" Butterflies tittered about Mr. Ron.
Is she skating on blue gill the other faeries tittered.
She was skimming the water, her skirts were all skittered.
She is getting wet, doesn’t she care about that?
This came from a watching interested tabby cat.
The faeries watched her surfing and decided to join.
They loved this pretty fountain, so full of coin.
The cat tried to jump in thinking it was what he ought’er.
He found out rather quickly he was not fond of water.
They are the Ghosts of the Orange House she whispered.
By the whisper, I figured she thought I knew about them.
I didn’t, but I have heard many rumors since; I emphasize rumors.
They think they are all that; they have wild parties, they are frightening.
They are tight-knit, they despise strangers, they chase interlopers off.
Having no idea what that meant, I decided to stop by for a visit.
They were eager to meet me and welcomed me with Earl Spook tea.
This is delicious! I told them. Some were shy; they tittered about that.
Grandma Ghost of Orange House said I could come back any time.
The next time brought homemade cookies.
We cannot eat them, but we sure enjoy smelling them, they told me.
I was so glad I decided to make up my own mind
Instead of listening to rumors.
I know more than anyone I have ever met, she said.
She was new to our group, no one at the table knew her.
She had all the answers and informed us of her brightness.
We did not doubt her but laughed a bit when she left.
Her photo was under the word arrogant in the dictionary.
I have no doubt of it.
We tittered about it, hoping she would return.
She did, and often.
Always leaving early, thank goodness.
So, we could thoroughly enjoy her.
I have never been influenced by another, she informed us.
Every influence I have has come from within.
I wrote this down
Not wanting to forget even one word.
And began counting the minutes.
Cletus O'Toole sulked 'neath the mistletoe
Pining for a kiss by chicks to bestow
They tittered as they passed by
Noting his jean's open fly
All 'cept Cletus were enjoying the show
Enormous hazel orbs peered out at me
from under long, thick, black eyelashes
She looked familiar, this elf with the heart-like lips
There was an innocence about her that enhanced her sweater
Knitted by the faerie grandmothers in their purest lambs wool
Pointed ears were rounded more than most elves, so I now realized
She was a faerie from the faerie doll kingdom down the meadow
She tittered, and the sound blew more dew on wet grasses.
"Who are you?" I wondered, but I dared not move, or speak
Knowing she would be promptly gone, and her shiny brown hair too
She brought a wonderfulness to the woods that day,
This was fifty years ago, yet I have never forgotten her.
My sweet little hands are deliciously pretty today.
I looked down and I complimented them in a big way.
They laughed, giggled, tittered and twirled, so decidedly gay.
Glad of my admiration, thrilled with a little love, they play.
I wish I would do this more often. It really would pay.
They deserve so much more than they get each day.
They give all day long. I admire them in every way.
I may have a parade in their honor at two; can you stay?
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.