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A hamlet of one thousand, living on the foreshore
A hubbub of humanity, survival at its core
A cocktail of life, oft shaken, and stirred
A ropy undignified indifference, regularly heard
A taste of saltwater, fish, and a melancholic gin
Gnarled hands, and weathered faces, with an accompanying din
A thriving populace, some occasionally amorous
Seagull artists, painting Union flags, uncolourful, and unglamorous
Sunken ships, recycled, and usurped, in which to dwell
Smugglers, thieves, and vagabonds, sometimes made it hell
A whole host of personalities, were readily found
Living on a non Bermudan Triangle, known as the America Ground
by Jemia
Just off the coast of Belgium
Through roaring seas we sailed
Riding the crest of titanic waves
Our progress was curtailed

Whilst our hearts pounded, in gaping mouths
Our mobile island, dipped deep in the water
Whilst mermaidian sirens of the deep
Tried to lure us to, a watery slaughter

Each time we plummeted downwards
Screams of terror, came from the graveyard ocean bed
Seemingly awaiting, we soldiers of the sea
Where lay the sightless, eternally weeping dead

The cargo now loose, and listingly
Lost its equilibrium, so much in need
Each sailor prepared themselves to die
On which the hungry sea, was about to feed

The only lull, lay in lifeless disarray
One crew overboard, died for us all
Yet fear delayed the wake
As we sailed through another, oceanic wall

With trembling hearts, and courage destroyed
We ventured on, towards the Hook
The calm tranquillity, of the Rhine took charge
Each sailor, gave Poseidon's grave
One last fleeting look

by Jemia
45 years ago i was third hand on a Dutch coaster, and our engines went during a force 11 severe storm of the coast of Belgium. we managed to get the engine going again, and limped in to the calm of the Rhine with a 20 degree list. poetic licence allowed me to drown someone for poetic affect, but the rest was true
The fine end
Of a needle
That pierces through
The soft fabric
As it pulls
the cotton through
Marrying materials
Often of a different hue
Each stitch
Gently woven
The silent seams, seem soft
And delicate
Upon the shimmering silk
As patterns flow
Become complete
As the beautiful artistry
Of the artisan
Is never deplete
Like a trickling stream
Which glides
Along the pebbles
Rippling dappling beauty
As a gentle kiss
Upon marshmallow clouds
As a gentle breeze
Soft, and smooth, and delicate
Like melted cheese
Smooth as silk
And as fine
As the woven intricasies
Of freshly woven webs
Dew-bound
The tapestry
Is now complete
As the seamstress
Lays down her needle
Applying
A softening balm
To the blistered fingers
Of an artisan

by Jemia
As i prepare myself
To leave my nice
And cosy retreat
Snug
As a bug, in a rug
I know that shortly
I will have to
Leap out
And expose myself
To the bitter cold
Like a reluctant flasher
And abandon
My ménage a trois
Of my two beloved
Hot water bottles
I am the filling
Within a hot rubber sandwich
But they are now tepid
I feel unloved
By their coolness towards me
A betrayal
Of their intentions
I shall abandon them
With wild abandon
And expose myself
To my ice-pack
Ramshackle shelter
Would of been easier
To simply get out of bed
Rather than
This breakfast of words

by Jemia
One fine Summers day
A bird
And a bee
Had it away

This much puzzled
My childhood mind
As i could not imagine
*** of this kind

Did the birds get stung
Or the bees get pecked
Did they float in the air
Whilst having ***?

Would the bees buzz
Or the birds go cheep
Or after have a cigarette
Or fall asleep?

Who was on top
Or underneath
Did they use a pill
Or a birdbee sheath?

And which was my mother
The bird, or the bee?
Shall remain for now
A mystery....
by Jemia
The America ground, without recourse
Where smugglers, thieves, and vagabonds so coarse
Woulds't quaff, ale, or gin, at The (dubious) Black Horse

by Jemia
Black as a mourning
Leaves, a soft lush, velvet hue
Aftermath of teardrops

Changes await now
Knowledge, forsaken, overdue
Reminiscent dusk

Overcome, the black rose
Sensitive, And soft as dew
Evening twilight song

by Jemia
Be blue butterfly
Upon a gentle zephyr
Tickle the breezes

Take heed butterfly
Else your frail beautiful wings
Race away to soon

Fly low, in the sun
Lest your butterfly wings burn
Your beauty scorched

by Jemia
A curious little butterfly
Casually hovered on by
And dallied a bit around me
Then flew up to the sky

It's wings looked a touch moth-eaten
Just like a cheese cloth shirt
I knew it was female though
As it wore a pretty skirt

It soon returned from its flutterings
To check me out once more
And asked me if i was a butterfly
Because of what i wore

I was dressed in multi-colours
From head down to my tail
But had no wings to fly with
Or sails on which to sail

The butterfly looked much amused
As it smiled a butterfly smile
Don't worry about your lack of wings
As i really love your style

I curtsied to this butterfly
But was secretly questioning why
How on earth is it possible
To converse with a butterfly?

So i racked my brains as much i ought
And pondered for a while
Then decided it didn't matter
As again i began to smile

And the fiddler in the background
Played his merry songs
The sun shone shining brightly
Throughout the day so long

The butterfly wasn't a butterfly
Beneath this shiny day
It flew off into the distance
Back to the land of Fae

by Jemia
Neither perturbed
Or disturbed
As the fallow, shallow Earth
Quakes
As it ponders
On the mistakes
Of those that talk
But do not act
They do not hear
They do not listen
They've lost
All sense
Of their senses
The mad moon
Glistens
On poisoned seas
As the earth
Becomes more diseased
Inadequate promises
Are like sticking plasters
For broken legs
The calm before......?

by Jemia
In my middle year at uni
As one of my options
I chose Chaucer'a Canterbury Tales
Promptly bought my copy of the book
And a few days later
Went for my first lecture
And was happy to see
That most of the other students
Had the same copy as me
As we sat there, awaiting the tutor
A very very short, black bearded man
Entered the lecture room
He looked like
He had just stepped out
Of a set, for Lord Of The Rings
I thought this was interesting
Until he spoke
Then i was a little afraid
I thought *******
The man's possessed
As his words were in a strange archaic tongue
I considered
Making a dash to the main office
For assistance
As there was a raven-haired
Gibbering madman on the loose
Speaking what i could only assume
Were demonic profanities at us
But then he broke into English
And after a few moments
Reality
Slapped me in the face
After he asked us
Had we read all the details
of the course
That we were to be studying Chaucer's
Canterbury Tales
In Middle English
Oh crap!!!!!!!!

by Jemia
People are strange
Doors are ajar
Strangers often met
Is it the end?
Threads of doubt
As doors remain open
To a parallel world
The horror
Distantly floating
To a faraway land
Where infinity resides

by Jemia
The Case Of The Pregnant Orange Coloured Pepper
Whilst preparing a veggie Madras
I sliced into an pepper coloured orange
Much to my surprise
I found a baby one inside so strange
Was it impregnated by a Pomegranate?
Maybe romped with a drunken grape?
A ****** birth? for what it's worth
Or a weird destiny, it couldn't escape?
After much ponderation
Of all my first thoughts above
It occurred within my refrigerator
A strange kind of cold love
Obviously the lights were out
It happened in the dark
So it must of been with a mushroom
Or a person, doing it for a lark
But there were none of these around
Apart from myself of course
But it may of been the red pepper by its side
Which may be the obvious source
Although
There was a bunch of suspicious bananas
Looking very guilty
However, i threw the 'evidence'
Into my curry, yum
by Jemia
Ug ugger ug!
Ug?
Yeah, ug!
Oh ug!
You got it!
Wow!
Don't you just love poetry?
Ug!

by Jemia
The Chair
One day, maybe
I shall abandon my chair
My throne of thrones
My hidden lair

But alas, tis a single chair
Not a couch, or soft settee
I cannot thrive whilst i'm alone
Only coming alive, in company

My chair has been my single comfort
For over six years
My only companion
Are my silent tears

My remaining, and constant desire
Is my heart to share
But destined to remain
Alone in my chair

by Jemia
The valleys, and hills
And a clear sky-blue lake
Floating marshmallow clouds
Leave the sunshine, in their wake
The trees whistling, in silent winds
Branch out, to greet the sun
The valleys, covered in rich lavender
The birds whistle, at beauty so fine
Dew hangs lazily, on moistened leaves
Glistening, in the early morning sun
From caterpillar, to butterfly
Beautiful wings, soon decorate the sky
Spring has arrived
No longer the frosted earth
And chilling winds
Just the beautiful tranquillity
Of nature's rebirth

by Jemia
He tells his lies
And plays his tricks
The world is now
Like a game of Risk

by Jemia
basically, Risk is a board game about world *******
So many people
Seem to refer to me
As he
With no malicious intent
I know
It's just my voice
No voice training
Because of heart stuff
So became a priority of choice
Perhaps
If i cut out my tongue
And thus be mute
I wouldn't be defined
By my voice
but this wouldn't be
Particularly cute
Every time though
I hear myself called he
My heart sinks
Into a wayward, silent misery
My big bang
Would be
When i have the voice
Of my heart, and soul
Which is she
Meanwhile
I shall have to survive
The Cosmic Dark Ages
In which to thrive

by Jemia
Along the River Rother
Torch-lights search the muddy banks
Seeking out, the lost, and lonely
After a small boat had been sank

Sadly shattering, those living
As young childhood was taken
A parents one moment of carelessness
Thinking it safe, but were sadly mistaken

The cruel undercurrents, by Rye Harbour
Had stolen some more victims to enslave
The lifeboat on this occasion, unsuccessful
As three young children, were swept away to their grave
circa early 1970's
by Jemia
When questioned
On the future
Of humanity
I simply cried
And spoke my own truth
What future?
Holes are dug
And then dug deeper
Then the deeper they are dug
The more humanity
Is ******
So basically
Humanity
Has no future
As the powers that be
Are to ******* stupid
And focused on their bank balances
To face
The reality of this
As this reality
Falls
On deaf ears
And blinkered vision

by Jemia
Come hither, my dragon friend
I am in danger
Fly fast, fly true
Wairooo! wairooo! wairooo!

Come hither, with your firey breath
Don't be a stranger
Fly as the wind, and defy the old Yew
Wairooo! wairooo! wairooo!

Come hither, please save me
As i lie in my manger
Before the Changeling is due
Wairooo! wairooo! wairooo!

by Jemia
The Drag-on Dragon Queen

A dragon, with drag on
Although rarely seen
Beneath its scaly skin
She was a dragon queen

She danced the dance fandango
Whilst eating vindaloo
Her firey farts, lit up the sky
And caused a hullabaloo

The dragon king, saw these shenanigans
And thought them rather daft
But despite his better judgement
He laughed, and laughed, and laughed

The dragon king, then joined his sister
Putting on a pink tutu
Quaffed some ale, and cider
And ate some vindaloo

What happened next, i cannot say
And it cannot even be guessed
But by all accounts, it didn't end well
AS dragons with drag on, will never be a-dressed

by Jemia
They came
From far, and wide
Flying over
Hills, and dales
And mountains as well
Breathing fire
Apart from one
Called *****
His flame
Had left him
Eons ago
It was said
That he'd been doused
Whilst aroused
And lost his fire
Some thought he had
Snuffed it, and was now dead
His real name was Fred
But he had lost his fire
Not his life
Whilst frolicking
With an old flame
But now remains
Burn't out, of any desire
Seeking out the flame
Without the fire
Then before him
Appeared the most beautiful
Of dragon beauties
She was certainly a cutey
Her gorgeous purple scaly skin
And bloodshot red eyes
Left him to mesmerise
And much to his surprise
He felt
He was gently being rekindled
He quaffs more firewater
His dead eyes
Now all ablaze
He ***** his wings
With great vigour
The lady dragon smiles
As she winks
With one of her **** scaly eyelids
Fred bows down
As he feels
Fresh fire fill his lungs
Then in a moment
Of great expectation
He opens his mouth
To emit his flame of desire
Sadly, and tragically
All that comes out
Is a small
Puff of smoke
The lady dragon
For one brief moment
A tiny hint of sympathy
Flashes across
Her now jaded green eyes
She then flies of
Towards a blood red moon
Leaving *****
In disarray
For his next birthday
The lady dragon returns
Bearing a gift
Of a box of matches
As she relights
His lost flame
Sometimes relationships
Just need that little spark!

by Jemia
The Dragon Bar step
Missed the step
Miss on the step
Amiss on the step
****** on the step
Fell off the step
That was missed
Fell over, slightly ******!

by Jemia
uk word ******, means: inebriated
Dragon Bar: name of bar i sometimes go to
one day
i would love
to write a poem
so exquisitely beautiful
that the reader
would have multiple *******
as the words
tantalised their soul
giving them such
unbearable pleasure
they would scream with delight
by Jemia
THE DROWNING
Softly burns the candle
Bleeding a subtle bright
With a shortening wick
And a flickering light
Molten wax deluge
The flame dies
Drowned in its own life blood
A fading daffodil
With a hung-dog look
Like the pages
Of a dog-eared book
Dear beautiful daffodil
I still love you
You may age, and die
But your essence,
And presence
Will lie
Within my heart
Forever

by Jemia
A fading daffodil
With a hung-dog look
Like the pages
Of a dog-eared book
Dear beautiful daffodil
I still love you
You may age, and die
But your essence,
And presence
Will lie
Within my heart
Forever

by Jemia
They are bred in captivity

Which does them little favour

Then dipped in barrels of chocolate

To help enhance their flavour!


by Jemia
Penguin is the name of a chocolate bar in uk
He fell on the Fell
As he fell over, falling on the Fell
His fellow Fell walker
Also fell on the Fell
These two fellas fell over
Falling on the Fell
They feel the Fell
Made them fall
Such foolish falling
Fell walking fellers they were

by Jemia
in UK, a fell is a hill, or stretch of hills
Her soiled grubby apron
Frayed strings, tied in a ‘granny’
Shoes worn and wooden, as her emotions
Her smile revealed no wickedness
Eyes, soft and blue
She shed no tears,over a fathers love
That had been dead for years
Her hopes were good, but not too good
Her laughter was, gay, jolly and infectious
More than anything, she adored her four cats
Whom prowled,hissed, and growled
He-hawed, and roared, and purred and pawed
She named all four Jim
And secretly desiring to be slim
She nibbled and gnawed
And occasionly, she would diet
Her cats were all worn, and as old as she
As she fed them fresh meat for tea
She ate with them, on the floor
For she was quite mad, and more
The police arrived one day
As her cats and cottage, were left to decay
Four men had been slain
To feed her cats, oh so vain
The men, all named Jim, were long dead
She killed them in memory of her father
Whom had occasionally shared her bed
by Jemia
Eats honey
And pollen porridge
Petal soup
Which they easily forage
Protects flowers
Keeps insects apart
By farting at them
With fairy farts
These do not affect
Or are in any way
Responsible
For climate change today

by Jemia
A rickety, ramshackle abode
Broken windows, bats in the loft
Dusty old spiders webs
Hang like spectres
And an old, now silent grandfather clock
Where time had passed it by
The floorboards creaked
As mice scuttled along
Holes in the roof
Had let the elements in
Recent rainfall
At least
Had washed away
Some of the dust
Yet deep down
An old corridor
Where walls hung empty
A small glow of light
Leaked out
From beneath a door
And the faint sound
Of scratching could be heard
As an old quill
Connected with a yellowing vellum
Words were born
Thrown together
As old India ink
were leaked onto empty pages
Drip drops created small puddles
As if drunken spiders
Had staggered across the pages
There were two sources of light
Within this dusty old chamber
One came from an oil lamp
The other
From glowing coals within the hearth
An icy chill wind
Suddenly swept through the broken leaking windows
Somehow snuffing out
The lamplight
Just at the time
The heart of the old writer
Beat it's last beat
This author of words
Would write no more
The quill
Somehow, and strangely
Carried on writing
Dipping itself
Into the India ink
Somehow empowered
With a curious magic
Its only memories
Had been of flight
And this is what it wrote of
The memories, flooding back
Of soaring skywards
With its host
And the thrill
And wonder
Of floating on the breezes
Feeling the warm currents
Caress its softness
This mother host
Also died
The feather fell free
Then floated along the soft grass
Of a dewy meadow
Was scooped up
By its current host
And taken to its current abode
Where it's tips, were carved into shape
As it was then fed with ink
As it was guided onto the soft white vellum
At first
It had no idea
That these patterns being formed
Were words
But soon
Began to understand
And learn
And feel the thrill
As the writer wrote
With the same excitement
As a bird in flight
Their heartbeats
Not disimilar
The quill
Began to write
With a mind of its own
Of the land, the sea, the sky
And as it wrote
The emotions, and feelings
Of its two hosts
Rippled through its feathered body
As it began to appreciate
The beauty of the seasons
And the music
Of birdsong
And the magic
Of mother nature
And for the first time
It cried
Soft gentle joyous tears
That fell softly
Like a trickling stream
Watering down the India ink
That in turn
Fell onto the soft, now yellowed
And aged vellum
And were soaked up
Into the poetry
Of life
The ink, one day
Dried up
And the feathered quill
Fell into a deep sleep
A peaceful calm repose
As it lay down
Next to the words
Of its life
Now as quiet
As an unwound clock

by Jemia
Born within the ashes
Of a firey Phoenix
The fire tree
Flickering flames float upwards
Hermaphroditic in nature
It's feminine flame flowers
Only it's roots are male
It's fruit
As hot as chilli's
The only life that prospers
Are fire flies
Their glowing luminescence
Sit like stars in the night sky
Burning cinders
Hover, and waver in the wind
Like elfin torches

by Jemia
Yahoo! Pigeon poo
Who could ask for more?
Spending a lazy Sunday afternoon
Scrapings away galore

But this time they're not guilty
For the leaking's in the flat just below
Puddles on the Balcony
With nowhere to easily flow

So have cancelled out the Pigeon Pie
Despite their messy habits woe
But i may well go slightly Cuckoo
If my Balconies rivers don't flow

This is a true story
Of my plight
On this day 11th April
Spent scraping up Pigeon ****/poo!
by Jemia
The Flower Moon
Blooms in the night sky
Shining bright
Beautiful, yet sweetly shy

The Earth moves
With the emotions, of the oceans
The tides, ebb, and flows
Like tears

Fairies dance
In circles of light
As mead flowers
In the magical moonlight

The moon
Now honeyed, and sweet
Romance blossoms
As lovers meet

As yonder flowers bloom
And the psitherism of trees
Flow, to, and fro
Glinting moonlight, on the emerald leaves

The Flower Moon
Prospers anew
And sits in the sky
Under, a beautiful azure blue

But for now
The full Flower Moon awaits
Still, as yet silent
Until it's destiny, of a full moon awaits

As the ether
Lies in the night sky
For now, ethereal
And still quietly shy

by Jemia
The strangest thing, as if my dreams aren't strange enough? Is that for the last three nights, in a row (ie: consecutive nights!) the bed sock on my right foot, has come off (yes, i wear socks in bed...). the only odd thing about this, is that prior to aforementioned nights, this event has only occurred about 3 times in the last 5 years, and alternated betwixt feet!
Perhaps a rebellious sock fairy, with a penchant for foot (as opposed to foreplay) play with my right foot, and a quirky sense of humour, is responsible for this foul, and odious foot cooling deed! or my right foot is reaching out for freedom, and some form of independence. escaping the confines, and imprisonment of my humble sock, that i force upon it?
What am i to do with a rebellious right foot? when all i'm doing, is trying to protect, and care for it, and keep it warm, the ungrateful little ****! next thing i know, it'll start expecting me to wear sandals, or perish the thought, flipflops! And has my right foot considered the feelings, and needs of my left foot? what's to happen if my left foot wishes to remain in it's current form, and prefers socks, and fab boots?
So if you see me walking down the street, nay, hobbling, with a boot on one foot, and a flipflop on the other, you'll know ive given way to both feet. ironic, in my attempts to satisfy, and create some kind of harmony, that i should end up with a limp. but just as i thought my life was complicated, i witnessed  a pirate with a peg leg, hobbling around in a flipflop!
by Jemia
The Forester King (The Legend of Robin Hood)

Twas but merely a hundred years
Harold with splintered eye, wept blood, not tears
William The Conqueror of Normandy, had battles won
As old Saxon Danes were badly out-done
Their fight for survival, had just begun

Enslaved by Norman Earls, Barons and Knights
After the death of Hereward The Wake, in fights
The Saxons were treated simply as serfs
Diminished in strength, morale and nerves
Their courage was now on its final reserves

Like Romeo and Juliet, two lovers barely met at all
Joanna, daughter to Saxon Sir George of Gamwell Hall
And William Fitzooth, son to the Norman Baron of Kyme
Joannas father, saw their union as a crime
Yet it was to late, to prevent love in its prime

They married in secret, soon producing a son
Yet presently were left with nowhere to run
Soon, Sir George had tracked the eloping lovers
In Sherwood Forest, was soon to discover
His daughter, as a married maternal mother

Bursting with forgiveness and new-found proud
Stood proud, as his grandson lay peacefully at his side
Sir George, forgotten now his anger of before
This was the birth of 'Robins Lore'
To take from the rich, and give to the poor

Richard the First, came to the throne
Bishop Ely ruled, whilst the 'Lionheart' was gone
On various campaigns
Whereupon many an enemy was slain
Richard the cause of his enemies bane

The kings evil brother John, without just reason
Accused Bishop Ely, of treason
This 'Sceptered Isle' now without a crown jewel
As John, became the Prince of mis-rule
A man savage, selfish, wicked and cruel

He appointed Sheriffs to keep good order
At a price, they would soon turn marauder
One became Sheriff of Nottingham, by the Forest of Sherwood
And thus heard tell of Robert Fitzooth, the Earl of Huntingdons' good
That the Earl, was in fact, Robin Hood

Earl Robert, was to be married on the morrow
To Lady Marian Fitzwalter, his heart to bestow
On the eve of this merry event
A feast at Locksley Hall was meant
Disguised, the Prince attended, John the miscreant

Sir Guy of Gisbourne, in the name of Prince, and falsely of king
Before the final vows, were about to begin
Declared the Earl of Huntingdon, an outlaw in truth
Was also Robin Hood, as well as Robert Fitzooth
By his own confession, there-in lay the proof

Maid Marian, to Arlington Castle, went she
To reside with her father, for security
Robin meanwhile, rode to the green wood, with arrows and swords
To await the Lionhearts return, from his fighting abroad
No longer then, would Robin be outlawed

He sought justice, and an end to discords
Caused by the cruelty of Barons, Bishops, Sheriffs and Lords
A plain yeoman of Locksley, now was he
He suffered not, from false vanity
Yet men of Lincoln Green, elected him king of Sherwood Forestry

From Sherwood Forest, Robin continued the fight
To protect the innocent, and defend what was right
Alongside him, a loyal band of warriors brave
Such as Little Jon Naylor, so skilled with a stave
Would willingly fight Prince John, or any other knave

Robins laws, were moral and well refined
To aid those whom suffered cruelties, so unkind
His men were sworn, to fight for the good
to help the poor, orphans, and in widowhood
And to swear to harm no woman, no matter whose side she stood

The day cane for Robin and his men to part
Upon the brief return of King Richard The Lionheart
He joined Robin and Marian, thus they were wed
Within a few hours the Lionheart lay dead
Prince John became king, and after Robins head

Yet Robin in disbelief, ignored the warning
Unsure of whether, he should be in mourning
Little John, oft warned Robin, of the vengeful King John
Aware of the fact, that Richard was gone
With the help of the Sheriff, on Robin they were to set upon

By the time Robin realised the reality of it all
He was entombed in a turret encompessed by a wall
Luckily a rusted window bar came loose, a hundred feet from ground
He blew his bugle horn (won at Ashby-de-la-zouch) Little John echoed his sound
Thus Robin escaped, badly injured, was for Scarborough Fair bound

After a brief adventure, and fighting pirates at sea
(During which time he used a pseudonym of fisherman Simon Lee)
Robin joined Marian and Little John at Kirkleys Nunnery
The Prioress, Robins own aunt, agreed he should be bled
Treacherously, after his fortune, she wanted him dead
He was finally buried, where an arrow fell, fired from his death bed.
The Frozen Rainbow

Tonight i'm eating a rainbow
Frozen in a colourful ice
Containing various fruits
Which all taste rather nice!  

My lips now, are growing numb
My tongue is of a multi hue
My mouth is like a small frozen cavern
Its residents have now formed a queue!  

Eskimos, and Penguins, now abandon my mouth
Followed by a  Polar Bear
And in unison all complain to me
"It's ****** cold in there!"  

So i finish my lolly, and close my mouth
And drink some Earl Grey tea
This makes my mouth more habitable
And partly for posterity  

The Penguins, and the Polar bears
Returned from whence they came
The Eskimos meanwhile, are quite angry
Accusing me of having no shame

I told them i was very sorry
And would leave the rainbows alone
I then opened my mouth, as wide as i could
As they quietly made their way home  

Then woke up, from this strange little dream
I then took a sip of  tea
And why such things lay in my head
Shall remain a mystery!
by Jemia
Last night
Whilst awaiting sleep
Thinking of dreams
I would'st not keep
The moon shone brightly
In the ink black sky
As moths, then fairies
Fluttered on by
My sensual sensitivities
That had remained unspoken
By the moonlight, and magic
Were gently awoken
I then sensed the presence
Of the fruit moon princess
She kissed me gently
As she began to undress
Her enchanting smile
And all knowing eyes
Reached into my soul
As she gently caressed my thighs
Writhing with pleasure
We were moving as one
Like beautiful echoes
Of a true love song
As our flickering tongues
Found new depths of delight
We were thus beautifully entwined
For the rest of the night
The fruit moon soon waned
At the dawn of the day
As i drifted off to dreamland
As my beautiful princess, faded away

by Jemia
The Genzing Gardens Pip
One day
When a small seed
Has grown
Maybe twenty, to thirty years from now
A future Isaac Newton
Perhaps, somehow
Will wander
Within a small park
For a lark
And admire the array
Of flowering nature
And blossoming trees
On display, respondent in their beauty
Whilst pondering
On scientific thingies
Looking for
Just that one moment
Of true inspiration
The Spring
Becomes Summer
Summer turns to Autumn
And still
The ignition key of inspiration
Lies dormant
As a dead dandelion
Until one cool  icy blue-skied day
He sits beneath an apple tree
His thoughts meandering
At that moment
An apple falls
As destiny calls
And hits him squarely on the head
He is rushed to hospital
And upon arrival
And much recovered
Declares
"Eureka!" (no bathwater involved)
" Do not ponder beneath apple trees in Autumn!"
Sometimes wisdom
Needs physical intervention!

by Jemia
The Dragon viewed her, through deep scarlet eyes. It knew instinctively, she was not after the treasure, so was unsure of her quest. She carried no obvious weapons, nor could he sense any magic from her, so was puzzled why she was risking her life, by entering his cave, for surely she would be aware of his ferocity, and that no-one had ever left his cave alive. he slowly, deliberately, and menacingly, moved around her, examining her features. She was well dressed, clothed in a crimson red velvet, and her lips were of a blood red colour, highlighted by her pale face. He then looked into her eyes. They were a magnificent jaded green, and this colour seemed to swirl around in a cloud, like a brewing storm. The dragon stood, transfixed. Then she spoke, her words were smooth as silk, and her voice was soft and eloquent, " I know your story Dragon, i know your past, and i know of your rage, at the betrayals you suffered, a long, long time ago, now lost in time, and as you have not been seen for hundreds of years, you have become part of mythology. But your rage remains, towards those you once trusted, and that this still eats away at your heart" The Dragon stood frozen to the spot, like a statue. He could not move, he remained transfixed, almost hypnotised, by the swirling jade eyes. The girl began to speak again..."I am here to take away your pain. The world outside, has aged, is now old, and embittered, cruel, and brutal, and i have no desire to be any part of it, for it is being ruined, they are destroying the planet, and themselves. their souls are lost, they are empty inside. They are divorced, from love, and passion, and they not only betray one another, they also betray themselves!" And with this, her eyes turned grey, as a rising tide of sadness overcame her, as silver globuled tears, gently rolled down her cheeks. With that, the Dragon sighed deeply, for he knew, that what this girl had just said, was truth. He bowed down before her, and was about to speak. But at that moment, a very powerful bomb hit the mountain above the cave. both the girl, and the Dragon, were turned to dust.
by Jemia
The wild dragon
Drew a dragons breath
Gazing at the dark grey sky
Opened its wings, and began to fly

Silently, it soared
Its gilded golden wings
Gliding with the breeze
A hungry flight, she couldn't appease

She cut through the clouds
To seek out the sun
Camouflaged, by her golden glow
Breathing out, a rekindled firey flow

As her torched, and torturous body
Now invigorated, she flew back to her cave
Within her concave eyes, lay a tapestry, of deep blue hues
As flames, from her ochre pastel tongue, grew

This fire, melted the gold within
This golden syrup, swamped over the jewels
The dragon leapt into this colourful mire
Which stuck to her golden scales, as she breathed out more fire

She climbed out of this river, of jewels, and gold
Now laden with emeralds, blue, and red diamonds rubies, and sapphires
Then sat upon her golden dragon throne
Now completely attired, and completely alone

Her golden tears, like a flowing brook
Were like the pages, of an unwritten tome
She wept, in the silence of the night
A sad, and tragic, yet beautiful sight

She abandoned her chambers, her hallowed, yet hollow hall
Venturing out, into the soft quietness
Lifting up her wings, ready to fly
When she saw a purple dragon pass her bye

She called to this dragon, with a dragons voice
An echoing silence, under a now still, cloudless moon
The purple dragon, heard her call, and flew to her side
They spoke for an eternity, where time was denied

They shared tales, of centuries now passed
As she spoke, the purple dragon, changed colour, into red
They lifted their wings, and flew into the night
Into a different realm, no longer in site

Long gone now, the two dragons
Other than a golden egg, within an empty cave
Vanished dragons, not vanquished, a left over dream
The egg cracked open, and out stepped a dragon, a beautiful cream

by Jemia
Whilst camouflaged
The Golden Dragonfly
With emerald eyes
And rubies, and diamonds
Upon it's wings, and tail
Slept
And whilst it slept
It dreamed
And within its dream
It wandered
Flying over a turquoise pool
The Golden Dragonfly
Began to ponder
On its existence
And wondered why
It was a dragonfly
But then she saw her own reflection
On the soft rippling blue water
As she became aware
Of her own beauty
And instantly found
An inner tranquility
Just at that moment
As is the way of dreams
A long rolling tongue
Shot out
And swallowed the Golden Dragonfly whole
The frog
Had no other thought
Than to feast
The Golden Dragonfly
Then woke up
Relieved
That it had only been a dream
But now
Also aware
That it now had conscious thought
Beyond its natural instinct
And at first
Felt quite afraid
Looking around its surroundings
First making sure
That there were no frogs around
It glanced up
And realised
It was attached
To the outer skin
Of a curious looking creature
Some kind of giant
With hair flowing
In the soft zephyr breeze
And without realising
Spoke to the giant
"What are you?"
The giant
Looking startled
Had obviously wondered
Where the small voice was coming from
The Golden Dragonfly
Spoke again
"Are you going to eat me?"
The giant
Then realised where
The voice was coming from
Looked around before answering
Whispered, "No!"
The Golden Dragonfly
Accepted that this was at least true
"My name is Lucianne" said the Golden Dragonfly
Not knowing, until that moment
That she had a name
"My name is Petra" said the giant
With the long flowing hair
"I don't understand how it is possible
to be conversing with a dragonfly"
The Golden Dragonfly
Felt the same confusion
As it had never conversed with anything, ever
And never had questions to ask
But now
The questions came quicker
Than her wing beats
The giant spoke again
"You are welcome to remain on my waistcoat"
"And we can speak more, when we get to my home"
At that moment
A sudden gust of wind
Blew the Golden Dragonfly
Off the waistcoat
Into some dense undergrowth
And within this undergrowth
Sat a frog
And in an eye blink
A long rolling tongue shot out
And swallowed the Golden Dragonfly
Whole
The giant, named Petra
Searched the undergrowth
For several hours
Shouting out for Lucianne
Other giants around
Became concerned
When Petra explained
That she was looking for
A talking Golden Dragonfly called Lucianne
Petra would often return to the park
But never again
Did she see, or hear
The Golden Dragonfly again

by Jemia
Last night
I was visited
By a golden coloured
Fantastical bird of paradise
It was somewhere betwixt
A Kingfisher, a Peacock, and part Dragonfly
And although it's plumage
Was mostly golden
It was like it had dipped the tips of it's wings
Into a rainbow
It eyed me curiously
Wandered around the room
Then suddenly
Leapt onto my bed
My mouth was agape
At this majestic looking creature
But i was also wondering
Where had it come from?
And how on Earth
It had gotten into my room
And was further surprised
When it suddenly spoke to me
"Are you trying to catch flies?"
These words broke the spell
And i found myself feeling a little disappointed
As if i could of imagined such a creature speaking
That surely such a creature as this
Would of spoken some words
Of profound wisdom, or magical incantations
Rather than questioning why my mouth was agape
So i gave a simple reply
"No!"
"I was yawning!"
"Be careful with that"
Said the Magical Golden Rainbow bird
"Else, one day, you may be yawning
Whilst the Purple Nymph Tongue Flies are present"
"They like to dwell within cavenous fleshy spaces!"
And with that
The Magical Golden Rainbow bird fantastical creature thingy
Began laughing to itself
Once i'd gathered my wits, or the dregs of their remains
I got over my initial being struck into awe, and silence
Of not just the appearance of this magical creature
And my surprise that not only could it speak
But that it also had a sense of humour
So i asked, "Where have you come from?"
And are you related to Mocking Birds!"
At this
The Magical Golden Rainbow 'Mocking' Humorous Fantastical Creature
Eyed me curiously, with one of its three eyes
(Forgot to mention the third eye, to overwhelmed with all else!)
And said
"I'd thought you'd realise
Where i'd come from!"
"I only exist, because you have imagined me!"
And then, just like a Phoenix
It burst into flames
And disappeared
Yet curiously
It had somehow left
One golden feather behind
With a rainbow tip!

by Jemia
So hope springs eternal
As a calm sea
Caresses the golden sands of Elmer
As a soft zephyr
Lifts up the wings
Of a butterfly
As it gently
And beautifully
Floats bye
And lost in the wonder
Of it all
As the sun
Begins to set
My heart purrs
As salty tears of delight
Trickle softly
Down my cheeks
I stand enchanted
Like oil on canvas
Revealing the changing colours
Of water
As i reflect
On the glowing
Subtle sun
Which sinks
Into the darkening horizon
And i am left
Enchanted
By the echoes
Of dying stars
And timeless memories

by Jemia
Dragonfly folklore
Real devils darning needles
All children beware

Good luck sign,elsewhere
Or omen of tragedy
No eyes sewn shut though

Forgive all the myths
Lovely fairy dragonflies
Your present pleasant

by Jemia
The Hag
She was bedraggled, and haggard
By her last half month
She had the appearance
Of an old behemoth

Her humble abode
Was looking more ramshackled
Than if it had been hit
By a thousand meteors

As to her outer clothing
(Lets not mention the holey knickers!)
Was hanging from her worn and weary being
Like the fancy dress of a screaming banshee

Yet, despite all this
She was still able to smile
Although, as it turned out
This was her most frightening feature!

It wasn't just her fangy teeth
Nor her snake like tongue
It had more to do with
The blood curdling scream she emitted

You, the reader, may think this
A very fanciful tale
But it has evolved from a personal encounter
Which occurred in my bathroom mirror!

by Jemia
i was inspired by a recent cold, and feeling bedraggled!
Through ferns and brushes
And silver birch rushes
And leaves that have rotted away
Through hills and dales
And aromatic smells
And a wood that has no way

Where fairies once dwelt
On a land made of felt
Where the bracken is disarray
And the birds and the bees
And the broad slender trees
That never give right of way

By the deep turquoise pool
Where a zephyr blows cool
Over frog-laden lillies for days
An aeolian song purrs
Into a silence that stirs
Which the enchanted forest allays

As day becomes night
As the dark takes the light
And the moon casts shadows astray
A hoot from an owl
As night creatures prowl
Through the magic that stole the day

Right through the night
Shone the mad moonlight
Where circles of fairies did play
It was such a thing
To see the fairies take wing
And from the dead wood, fade away…..
by Jemia
we;re soon to get a big blue moon
so about to escape my comfort cocoon
I'll flap my wings, as high as the sky
but scared of heights, so don't know why
then fly all the way, to the big blue moon
as i need to escape from my little cocoon
so if you see my wings, flapping around
i must of made it back, to solid ground
or ive over done it on the nectar again
and simply lying, ****** in the rain!
by Jemia x
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