Fantasy

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  • Fantasy
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  • Reality
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  • Poem
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  • Imagination
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  • Children
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  • Fun

    Fantasy

     Curly boy hair child
    toe tipping down cellar stairs
    what heroics await you
    your finger, a switch flicker
    a miniature Excalibur
    to slay the breath firing
    mumbling creaking groaning beast
    cantankerously denying the castle
    any constant comfort of temperature
    oh, the dark invites you
    with promises of abundance and plenty
    trove treasures of dust and metal
    but you must deny for fear of the Shelobs
    that linger in the corners of the ceiling

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    paxmagicus’s Poems (11)

    Title Comments Submitted
    Title Comments Submitted
    When That the Guns Have Fired 0 07/01/2010
    Tonight 0 07/01/2010
    The Writer 0 07/01/2010
    Fantasy 0 07/01/2010
    O for the Fortunate Ones 0 07/01/2010
    mangetsu 0 10/12/2009
    This Poem 4 05/01/2009
    memories 1 05/01/2009
    reminiscence 0 05/01/2009
    The Watchmen Watch 1 05/01/2009
    shine up your soul 2 05/01/2009
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