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Sophie's Rocking Chair
Upon my porch there sits a sight
Of worn-out cloth and branches light.
The untrained eye may think it wild,
But try it out! It's quite mild.
Although the cushion's quite threadbare,
This green material is rare!
And splinters from the wood may poke,
But this chair's from the finest oak!
The arm rest wobbles, that is true,
I have fixed it thrice with glue!
With the spindles of the back,
Cleverly attached, with tacks!
Cotton spills from the cushion's seams,
Like fluffy clouds from a dream.
Sometimes the runners fall off too,
Hammer on a new one, will you?
My chair is quite a work of art,
A ton of sweat and much of heart.
Back and forth it rocks through time,
Branches worn and cushion of lime.
In its arms I can dream away,
Of bright sunlight and warm blue days.
World domination we can plot,
Or should that potion be served hot?
So, relaxation is the key,
For evil Ixis, just like me!
The only time my thought does stop
Is when I fall out, with a plop!
Out comes the glue and the needle,
With the shaky chair I fiddle.
A nail here and a new branch there,
It's fixed! So sit down... if you dare!
Of the Snow Faerie
Where glinting snow tops highest peak
And turgid crests graze sky mystique;
Through winter glow and crisp design
Lands lie beneath sun's bitter shine.
All downy paths are streaked with white,
A muddled hailstorm burning bright;
As gentle flakes from gray skies stream
To cloak harsh grounds in furtive gleam.
And in a whirl pure gems descend--
A shrewd decline, a pallid blend;
A surge of snow, the mix of sleet
To swish around her roving feet.
Bland flakes bejewel her shadowed hair--
A whitened crown to settle there;
A surge of garments shroud lithe form
As astute eyes gaze past the storm.
And through the whirlwind she treads yet
While shrill gales howl and crystals set;
And still she walks in snowstorm's midst
In search of others to assist.
He fights in skirmishes gallantly,
A cutlass firm in hand,
Atop his head a captain's hat,
Leading a scurvy band.
Their ship traverses the high seas,
And weathers countless storms,
Always in search of a bounty great,
To repair whatever is worn.
Fearless bunch these buccaneers are,
Who go from coast to coast,
Hoarding jewels, silver and gold,
After defeating foolish foes.
To their Captain lies loyalty,
In brotherhood they vow,
Together facing trials that come,
With resolve and not a frown.
Legend has it that wherever gems lie,
From sunny island to snowy peak,
The brotherhood of Bruce Buccaneers
Will be first to raid the treasure they seek!
The Path to the Witch's Tower
Follow the path in the Haunted Woods,
If daredevil you may be;
But those that follow after you,
Never will you see.
Once you pass the deadened tree,
With spindly branches claw'd;
A trail there will take you back,
This one only forward.
Do not linger in shadows cast
By the Castle of Eliv Thade;
If any night-time creature finds you,
With your life you've paid.
Where the brambles make an arch,
You've reached a creaking door;
Push it open, climb the stairs,
Cross the rotting floor.
The witch, she will be waiting,
With a quest she's wanting done;
And if your courage fails now,
Back you'd better RUN!
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in rue,
Had journied long,
singing a song,
In search of Geraptiku.
But he grew old,
This knight so bold,
And o'er his heart much rue,
Fell as he found,
No spot of ground,
That looked like Geraptiku.
And as his strength,
Failed him at length,
He met a shadow of rue,
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be?
This land of Geraptiku?"
"Over the mountains,
Of the moon,
And down the valley of rue,
Ride, boldly ride,"
the shade replied,
"If you seek for Geraptiku."
Total Poetry Pages : 1866
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