Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
Mortality or the Slipping of a Mind
Not
A rosy
sunset
Warm
Explosive
Bright
Beauty
Winking against
The immortal sun and the declining moon.
You are a king of the ages, and I know that
And knew that long
Before my virtue
Was tested in
Regards to You
I would be punished
For my love of you.
Now, my immortal king, I writhe in agony because I do not
Know when I will encounter you again. Is my heart like
A stone that you will rip your trophy from
And then leave me to grow vines of atrophy,
Callousness, shame, and reviling? Are you
Simply going to toss me aside when I’m needed
No more? Should I even be thinking these thoughts
About your noble, perfect self? Maybe the water is starting to rot my
Brain, and I will become senile and old while you will never wilt, never
Be anything but Arthur, the bearer of the only sword I shall ever touch, caress, and enfold.
A Thought of Leaving
Day after day,
I wait, but
You never come.
*
While I can and do
Breathe underwater,
My lungs get tired.
*
I am your lady,
But I have begun to
Question your authority.
*
Why should I wait?
You never waited on
Me, anytime.
*
I carry your burden,
A martyr never named,
Never thanked, just a chest.
*
I hold your treasure and
Rot as I think you will
Open me and feel me.
*
Alas, you never come,
And I wilt while
Your glory and pride shine.
*
I will not wait much
Longer, for I am getting
Bored and tired.
*
I caress a sword,
But it’s never you
And never will be.
*
Perhaps, I will leave
My Lake, leaving behind
All my sorrow.
*
If I do not wait,
You will not control
Me, never again.
*
However, maybe I am
Too rash. Maybe your
Horse died and slowed you.
*
Maybe, you caught
A Cold at
Christmastide.
*
Maybe I am
Hopeless and need to
Move on….No matter how hard I try.
The Stone
Bound by Merlin to
Serve as a warden,
A guardian to a
Mystic sword.
*
An iron flower
Standing in a
Lake, rusting while
I hold immortal steel.
*
Waiting to Bloom in the
Spring of your call,
In the sunlight of
Your countenance.
*
Will you use
Me, rape my
Heart and soul to
Toss me away again?
*
Do not leave me.
I will not betray you to
Another bed, some
Other knight.
*
I am yours forever.
Let me be with you,
My eternal light,
My king, My Arthur.
The Lady of the Lake: A Series of Poems
So, I’ve been writing a lot of poetry of late that has been dealing with the Lady of the Lake. Honestly, part of this is because I am in a Medieval literature class dealing with monsters or whether part of me relates to her on some level…anyway, I am fascinated by the character and what happens with her after the whole Arthur thing takes place. As you’ll notice from many of my poems, I kind of want to give her back the sword after the events that lead to Arthur being placed on the island of Avalon (I’m using bits and pieces of folklore and literary tales to create my own world). For me, she holds the sword and waits for Arthur or someone to return to her, but is this the only way that she can be? So, I hope you enjoy my ramblings of the lake as I will hopefully continue to have fun writing them.
Calibur
Edward Burne-Jones [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
A sword of many
Names. Buried
Deep within History
And this sheath of
Unsullied flesh.
*
Within a Lake of
Death and Time
Waiting on a
Unifier to come
And Summon it and me, again.
*
Wise men and Magus
Have spoken of your
Ascendance from birth
Brought by Other to a
Church stationed stone.
*
Pulled deep from the
Womb of rock, you
Ruled using might,
Magic, and Mirth.
Shown to all.
*
Yet, by a son Your
Kingdom and crown were
Broken and defamed but
Though your body was
Distressed, your soul survived.
*
You wait, I wait, and the
Land of Brittany waits for
Your return, but we only
Hear whispers from that
Mystic isle of healing slumber.
*
Maybe the fae still
Sing your lullaby and
I am too far removed to
Listen to Mab, the Weird
Sisters and all.
*
Perhaps, it is just I
Woken from dreaming to
Suffer and writhe, a
Paralyzed Observer to the plagued
Malice of a suffering world.
*
Perhaps, I am punished in a
Waking nightmare, where I will
Wait and wait and wait until
You come to claim your glided Prize,
Lady, and undying Fame.
Vivianne’s Lament
Aubrey Beardsley [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
My King,
Ages have passed
Since you called me
Last from the cold
Depths of my dreaming
*
You speak and the
Country trembles.
Might giants whisper
Your name as a
Nightmare to their
Progeny and I hear.
*
The icy chill of
Air against my
Dark, dank, water-
Logged flesh. My hair
Once the color of the sun, drowned and
Matted, a dirt caked white.
*
But I hear you and pull
Myself from my aquatic
Slumber. Why can’t I find you,
My ageless King? Has your slumber
On that eternal isle been broken to
Save us? Or are you decayed and broken
Yourself?
*
I race to look, but the pebbles
Dig into my bare feet
Causing me to spill
Some of that sacred, crimson
Liquor, and I can’t find you.
But your voice echoes like wind through
Branches, trees, nature itself.
*
Still, one is willing to bleed for the
Beauty of your tone, if only
I can find you. The trees raise their
Limbs to evangelize to
This heathen goddess, but I heed not
Their actions.
*
I still feel you and long to
Find you. To feel the calibur of
Your kingly character is my sun.
I turn to its radiance but never feel the
Warmth on my face. Bring me back to
Existence, back to being needed.
*
My jaundiced and paper-skinned hands
Cling tightly to the Burnished iron, rusting,
But the magic is still there and belongs to
You. It rings with your call but cannot find
Your worthy form.
*
Please, come back to me.
If you desire, I’ll be your
Lady, always. No matter what
Lance or Lot may attempt to
Spear me.
Rain
The feel of cleansing
As if something new is
Coming to play from
Something abandoned.
I awake from my eternity of slumber.
A witch longing to chat with someone…
My sugar house is broken, and I have not apples…
But still people look at me but disregard
Me with distrust…
Out of the Bag
A screech from my soul
Into the dark night. But
You’re standing with your
MP3 player blocking out
The sound of my pleadings.
All that you hear is the sound
Of 90’s grunge echoing against
My cries. Why won’t you listen to
Me? Why can’t you see? But you
Stand there, sipping your latte
While the car crushes your
Brittle ego.
Forcing It
A ditty drums endlessly
Through my head reminding
Me of you. And I
Smile. Yet, even with this smile,
I know that something is unsettled
Between the folds of my mind.
A silence pervades
The space between
Yesterday and tomorrow
But today does not exist.
It is only a hope or
A memory, nothing
More. The piano player
Forgets the music and
I slip into triviality as
The dancing bear taps on.
Dreamweaver
The voodoo man dances
Chicken in hand.
It’s a dream, only a dream.
The spider creeps up my arm.
I scream and struggle against my bindings,
But no one hears.
Cold steel upon my belly, but then
Heat floods over me in
Crimson, carmine, and ruby.
The man holds up coils of something
Carnal beauty as the chicken *bawks* in time
To the slowing beat of my heart.
