The Dragonflies' Lair ~ Thread XXXX~

Soaring Feather and poets of the Lair | July 6, 2007 | Soaring Feather

[Soaring Feather]

My Dragonfly and Me

If I could be a Dragon Fly
and wing my way through the sky
I would never be shy
just me and my Dragon Fly!

By moonlight we ride the wind
chase the comets tail for fun
by day we would hide from the sun
our fragile wings would come undone

On darkest nights we would use
fireflies as our guide
we would dip and we would glide
through the heavens open wide
and scatter diamonds in the night sky
my Dragon Fly and me...

And we would wing past our lovers
silent in the night...
to kiss their face in our flight
much to their surprise and delight
my Dragon Fly and me in sight...

Such a view do we share
away up here in the air
of breezes soft through our hair
my Dragon Fly and me a pair...

bentfeather (c) 2002

[Soaring Feather]

I can say I was excited to see where I was going to stop!..and thrilled to come to a rest at the bottom of the hill up against the curb..no one near. It was black ice that wasn’t there when I had left to go to the store..
Oh my, that was scary.

[Lady Jag]

Siamese twin orange cats.

[Soaring Feather]

ROTFLOL, Siamese twin orange cats!!

[NY Attitude]

Have you ever been on a snow sled? Same difference. LOL

[NY Attitude]

Maybe the Shangri-Las.

[Soaring Feather]

Good night everyone.

[NY Attitude]

Good night Soaring Feather rest well.

[WayzataJOHNN]

Ancient Traveler

By the seven beards of that bastard Algon
this story that I finally tell is all too true
so believe and you will at last learn it too
before the coming of the next red dawn

A traveler am I, and oh so far I’ve been
over distant lands ye have yet to see
across unnamed rolling empty seas
in the lonely places only the winds do ken

Oh the vine covered red ruins of Lamarr
or the blues caves of the Moss River
where crocs glide and give ye shivers
and ye are glad to leave and see the stars

And then there are the ‘civilized’ places
where treasures are sold under sun or star
in the covered marketplace of Salaabar
and often their captured owners of all races

I’ve walked the high ridge trail to Bomantar
where the green clad monks sing the ancient song
and judge the villager’s acts of right and wrong
and forgive them with love, no honor left to mar

And let us not ferget the mud plain of Eras Mir
where nothing can cross, but sinks from sight
to a grave they can leave only on a holy night
and ye will learn the meaning of true dark fear

I’ve heard the tinkling of silver bells on the air
and watched the fire dance of acrobatic grace
at the gathering at the river’s crossing place
at the wild annual deep wood’s Summer Fair

So long I’ve journeyed across this ancient land
and all I’ve seen I keep within, a record fer me life
where heroes and fools struggle with pain and strife
and the less then honorable often take a hand

Never look back but always keep going forward
and see it all as it is, if ye have real iron balls
fer in the end it ye that makes or mends it all
and ye find the gifts both good and hard

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning everyone!

Ancient Traveler


By the seven beards of that bastard Algon
this story that I finally tell is all too true
so believe and you will at last learn it too
before the coming of the next red dawn


A traveler am I, and oh so far I’ve been
over distant lands ye have yet to see
across unnamed rolling empty seas
in the lonely places only the winds do ken


Oh the vine covered red ruins of Lamarr
or the blues caves of the Moss River
where crocs glide and give ye shivers
and ye are glad to leave and see the stars


And then there are the ‘civilized’ places
where treasures are sold under sun or star
in the covered marketplace of Salaabar
and often their captured owners of all races


I’ve walked the high ridge trail to Bomantar
where the green clad monks sing the ancient song
and judge the villager’s acts of right and wrong
and forgive them with love, no honor left to mar


And let us not ferget the mud plain of Eras Mir
where nothing can cross, but sinks from sight
to a grave they can leave only on a holy night
and ye will learn the meaning of true dark fear


I’ve heard the tinkling of silver bells on the air
and watched the fire dance of acrobatic grace
at the gathering at the river’s crossing place
at the wild annual deep wood’s Summer Fair


So long I’ve journeyed across this ancient land
and all I’ve seen I keep within, a record fer me life
where heroes and fools struggle with pain and strife
and the less then honorable often take a hand


Never look back but always keep going forward
and see it all as it is, if ye have real iron balls
fer in the end it ye that makes or mends it all
and ye find the gifts both good and hard


WayzataJohnn


Thank You WJ, wonderful and mysterious poem.

[MEG33]

Good Afternoon

Happy Tuesday To The Lair

[Soaring Feather]

Hello, Meg!
Lovely sunny yellow flowers today, thank you.

Our sun is playing hide and seek today, it is a lovely day though.

[MEG33]

;o)
Hide and seek here,too..I love the big puffy white clouds..They give shade outside when they float over..and look pretty,too..It’s the all gray sky that I don’t like!

I see a few blips on the radar moving our way..but nothing widespread.

[Lady Jag]

I love your work, Wayzata, very impressive.

Magical Woods

Deep in the heart of the woods I tread, only the pine needle forest my bed. A magical air about me shone, and somehow I felt I was not alone. I heard a flute so softly play, round about me as I lay. Then a sight I could not concieve, had I not seen I wouldn't believe. There she came upon the path, golden hair and a silver laugh. All the woodland creatures came. And she knew them all by name. A lovely fairy queen was she. And I knelt upon my knee. A Unicorn was by her side, she touched the horse full of pride. Then we danced in a circle of light, dancing until the end of night. Then as the night turned into day, I awoke where I lay. As the sun shone on me, I wondered where she could be. Then in the distance I did hear, a lilting laugh and sound of lyre. Rebecca Wiles

[Soaring Feather]

Magical Woods

Rebecca Wiles

Magical indeed, love this author’s poetry.

[Lady Jag]

I don’t remember reading anything of hers till today.

[Soaring Feather]

You locate such fine poetry from your searches. Contemporary poetry is alive and well and good. I am assuming she is alive today. Her work is approachable, easy to identify with.

[Lady Jag]

I’m picky about poetry, so it makes me very happy to know you like it, too.

[Seadog Bytes]

...and Good Day to you too, Ms. Feather.

[Soaring Feather]

You always seem to find the perfect poem-I have not been disappointed. ;)

It’s good to be picky, I sometimes am not, picky enough.

[Soaring Feather]

Mine!!!!