Sunday, January 24, 2021

Elf and Mime - Narrative Quintet Poem


Once upon a time,

in the deep dark woods.

Twas an elf and mime,

clothed in crimson hoods.

Their special mission,

was to rescue Belle.

Mime can use vision.

Well speech he can’t tell.

Down by the river,

over the rainbow

our heroes shiver

with quiver and bow.

Once they swam route,

slid down seven shades.

Their toil should bear fruit,

before their fame fades.

After this turmoil,

they taste more terror.

Their plans rot to soil,

on route to Bella.

A giant hollered,

down the rolling hill.

Though not so scholared,

he sure wills to kill.

The elf and the mime,

slipped from the giant’s hands,

in the nick of time

to cruise desert sands.

Billowing through the sand,

mime showed signs of cheer.

The elf whooped “how grand

Our dear Belle is near!”

Swooping down below,

and what did they find?

A sad sight oh no!

Who could be unkind?

Belle was roughly tied

To a cactus tree.

She twisted and tried,

in vain to break free.

The mime madly waved.

The elf sadly cried.

Oh, freedom Belle craved,

she could not be fried.

Elf shot an arrow,

to slice through tough jute.

The rope was shallow,

elf’s efforts bore fruit.

Belle galloped with joy,

neighed with force, till hoarse.

Belle nuzzles both boys,

she’s a horse of course.

Belle rode elf and mime,

to the deep dark wood.

These partners in crime,

saved Belle as they should.

The trio reached home,

before setting sun.

They set sail to Rome,

with doubloons they won.

Sunday, January 17, 2021

Fireworks - Description

The fireworks were awesome. They exploded with enigma like sudden supernovas. My greedy eyes gorged the glorious green and glowing gold. Resplendent red ribbons, vehement violet and searing silver streaks also occupied my ocular sense of sight like a 3-Dimensional film. Big, bright, beautiful starbursts, cartwheeling Catherine wheels and magical multicoloured sparks bedazzled Niagara Falls on the Hill. What a wonderful and whimsical way to celebrate the forever flowing waterfall!

Saturday, January 9, 2021

Gruyere by the campfire - Poem

My fresh firewood should soon burn. 

Hungry flames should twist and turn. 

Flaming gold and fiery red. 

Hot enough to bake my bread, 

and melt my glorious gruyere, 

while I’m letting down my hair. 

After being slow and steady, 

my campfire is now ready. 

Who cares if they brand me a sleaze. 

I’ll still gorge my bread and cheese.

The Divorce of Heaven and Hell, by a Lady Victorian Poet (“Without Contraries is no Progression”)

I am a distinguished dame,   Florence Farthingale is my name   I read William Blake’s poetry   Penned during the 19 th century   I adored B...