Author Topic: Victoria's Poetry Stop (Read 55724 times)

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #285 on:** March 24, 2016, 06:11:43 pm »

LUVS' FINESSE

The warmth ov your hand, the caress ov your kiss.
Taking away, hearts' loneliness.
With luv, there lays a duress.
Deep Luv, will sometimes depress.
Bringing around, your souls' emptiness.
With each sound, whispers ov luv, you confess.
Heart swings, to different bound.
Comforts me to impress, feelings come around.
Hearts embossed, with luvs' sweet caress.
Softly touching your lips, is part ov luvs finesse.
Whispers so dear, nestled amongst my hair.
Playing with your fingertips, luv mirrored.
Arms so strong, holding me tight, into your chest.
My luv for you, will never be suppressed.
Oh the chills that I get, when I look into your eyes.
Those thrills that I feel, embracing my thighs.
When you play that luving touch, looking into my eyes.
Luvs' finesse, mean so much.

EquineAnn · « **Reply #286 on:** March 24, 2016, 07:03:22 pm »

I love that poem.

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #287 on:** March 24, 2016, 10:56:28 pm »

I thought that you might lady Ann, cause I know you are more towards the romantic and light poems. Thank you my dear friend.😚

Clay Death · « **Reply #288 on:** March 24, 2016, 11:29:50 pm »

William Morris

In Arthur's House

In Arthur's house whileome was I
When happily the time went by
In midmost glory of his days.
He held his court then in a place
Whereof ye shall not find the name
In any story of his fame:
Caerliel good sooth men called it not,
Nor London Town, nor Camelot;
Yet therein had we bliss enow.
--Ah, far off was the overthrow
Of all that Britain praised and loved;
And though among us lightly moved
A love that could but lead to death,
Smooth-skinned he seemed, of rosy breath,
A fear to sting a lady's lip,
No ruin of goodly fellowship,
No shame and death of all things good.

Forgive the old carle's babbling mood;
As here I sit grey-haired and old,
My life gone as a story told,
Ye bid me tell a story too;
And then the evil days and few,
That yet were overlong for me
Rise up so clear I may not see
The pictures of my minstrel lore.

Well hearken! on a day of yore
From prime of morn the court did ride
Amidmost of the summertide
To search the dwellings of the deer
Until the heat of noon was near;
Then slackening speed awhile they went
Adown a ragged thorn-bushed bent
At whose feet grew a tangled wood
Of oak and holly nowise good:
But therethrough with some pain indeed
And rending of the ladies' weed
They won at last, and after found
A space of green-sward grown around
By oak and holly set full close;
And in the midst of it arose
Two goodly sycamores that made
A wide and little sun-pierced shade
About their high boles straight and green:
A fount was new-born there-between,
And running on as clear as glass,
Flowed winding on amid the grass
Until the thick wood swallowed it.
A place for happy folk to sit
While the hot day grew hotter still
Till eve began to work his will.
--So might those happy people think
Who grudged to see the red sun sink
And end another day of bliss
Although no joy tomorn should miss --
They laughed for joy as they drew nigh
The shade and fount: but lo, thereby
A man beside the fountain laid
The while his horse 'twixt sun and shade
Cropped the sweet grass: but little care
Had these of guile or giant's lair,
And scarce a foot before the Queen
Rode Gawain o'er the daisied green
To see what man his pleasure took;
Who rose up in meanwhile and shook
His tangled hair aback, as one
Who e'en but now his sleep hath done.
Rough-head and yellow-haired was he
Great-eyed, as folk have told to me,
And big and stout enow of limb:
As one who thinks no harm he smiled,
And cried out: "Well met in the wild,
Fair King and Queen; and ye withal
Sweet dames and damsels! Well befal
This day, whereon I see thee nigh,
O Lancelot, before I die!
And surely shall my heart rejoice
Sir Gawain, when I hear thy voice!"

Then Lancelot laughed: "Thou knowest us then
Full well among a many men?"

"As quoth the lion to the mouse,"
The man said; "in King Arthur's House
Men are not names of men alone,
But coffers rather of deeds done."

The Queen smiled blithe of heart, and spake:
"Hast thou done deeds for ladies' sake?"

"Nay Dame," he said, "I am but young;
A little have I lived and sung
And seen thy face this happy noon."

The King said: "May we hearken soon
Some merry tale of thee? for I
Am skilled to know men low and high
And deem thee neither churl nor fool."

Said he, "My fathers went to school
Where folk are taught a many things,
But not by bliss: men called them kings
In days when kings were near to seek;
But as a long thread waxeth weak,
So is it with our house; and now
I wend me home from oaken bough
Unto a stead where roof and wall
Shall not have over far to fall
When their last day comes."
As he spake
He reddened: "Nathless for their sake,
Whom the world loved once, mock not me
O King, if thence I bring to thee
A morsel and a draught of wine,
Though nothing king-like here thou dine."

Of some kind word King Arthur thought,
But ere he spake the woodman caught
His forest-nag and leapt thereon,
And through the tangled brake was gone.
Then leapt the King down, glad at heart,
Thinking, This day shall not depart
Without some voice from days that were;
And lightly leapt down Guenevere,
And man and maid lay presently
Neath the bee-laden branches high,
And sweet the scent of trodden grass
Amid the blossoms' perfume was.

There long they lay, and little spake,
As folk right loth the calm to break;
Till lo upon the forest-breeze
A noise of folk, and from the trees
They came: the first-seen forester,
A grizzled carle in such-like gear,
And then two maidens poorly clad
Though each a silver chaplet had
And round her neck a golden chain:
And last two varlets led a wain
Drawn by white oxen well bedight
With oaken boughs and lilies white;
Therein there lay a cask of wine
And baskets piled with bread full fine,
And flesh of hart and roe and hare;
And in the midst upon a chair
Done over with a cloth of gold
There sat a man exceeding old
With long white locks: and clad was he
No other than his company
Save that a golden crown he bore
Full fairly fashioned as of yore,
And with a sword was girt about
Such as few folk will see I doubt.
Right great it was: the scabbard thin
Was fashioned of a serpent's skin,
In every scale a stone of worth;
Of tooth of sea-lion of the north
The cross was, and the blood-boot stone
That heals the hurt the blade hath done
Hung down therefrom in silken purse:
The ruddy kin of Niblung's curse
O'er tresses of a sea-wife's hair
Was wrapped about the handle fair;
And last a marvellous sapphire stone
Amidst of the great pommel shone,
A blue flame in the forest green.
And Arthur deemed he ne'er had seen
So fair a sword: nay not when he
The wonder of the land-locked sea
Drew from the stone that Christmas-tide.

Now forth the forest youth did ride,
Leapt down beside the King, and spake:
"King Arthur for thy greatness' sake
My grandsire comes to look on thee;
My father standeth here by me;
These maidens are my sisters twain;
My brethren draw out from the wain
Somewhat thy woodland cheer to mend."

Thereat his sire the knee did bend
Before the King, who o'er the brown
Rough sleeve of the man's homespun gown
Beheld a goodly golden ring:
And fell to greater marvelling
When he beheld how fine and fair
The woodman's kneeling sisters were.
And all folk thereby deemed in sooth
That (save indeed the first seen youth)
These folk were nobler e'en than those
Of Arthur's wonder of a house.

But now the elder drew anigh,
By half a head was he more high
Than Arthur or than Lancelot,
Nor had eld bent him: he kneeled not
Before the King, but smiling took
His hands in hands that nowise shook;
And the King joyed as he who sees
One of his fathers' images
Stand glad before him in a dream.

Then down beside the bubbling stream
They sat together, and the King
Was loth to fall a questioning;
So first the elder spake and said:

"It joys me of thy goodlihead
O great king of our land; and though
Our blood within thee doth not flow,
And I who was a king of yore
May scarcely kneel thy feet before,
Yet do I deem thy right the best
Of all the kings who rule the West.
I love thy name and fame: behold,
King Arthur, I am grown so old
In guilelessness, the Gods have sent,
Be I content or uncontent,
This gift unto my latter days
That I may see as through a haze
The lives and deeds of days to come:
I laugh for some, I weep for some --
I neither laugh nor weep for thee,
But trembling through the clouds I see
Thy life and glory to the end;
And how the sweet and bitter blend
Within the cup that thou must drink.
Good is it that thou shalt not shrink
From either: that the afterdays
Shall still win glory from thy praise
And scarce believe thee laid asleep
When o'er thy deeds the days lie deep."

He ceased but his old lips moved still,
As though they would the tale fulfil
His heart kept secret: Arthur's eyes
Gleamed with the pride that needs would rise
Up from his heart, and low he said:
"I know the living by the dead
I know the future by the past."
Wise eyes and kind the elder cast
Upon him; while a nameless fear
Smote to the heart of Guenevere,
And, fainting there, was turned to love:
And thence a nameless pain did move
The noble heart of Lancelot,
The store of longing unforgot.
-- And west a little moved the sun
And noon began, and noon was done.

But as the elder's grey eyes turned
On Guenevere's, her sweet face burned
With sweet shame; as though she knew
He read her story through and through.
Kindly he looked on her and said:
"O Queen, the chief of goodlihead,
Be blithe and glad this day at least
When in my fathers' house ye feast:
For surely in their ancient hall
Ye sit now: look, there went the wall
Where yon turf ridge runs west-away:
Time was I heard my grand-dame say
She saw this stream run bubbling down
The hall-floor shut in trench of stone;
Therein she washed her father's cup
That last eve e'er the fire went up
O'er ridge and rafter and she passed
Betwixt the foeman's spears the last
Of all the women, wrapping round
This sword the gift of Odin's ground."

He shook the weapon o'er his knee,
Thereon gazed Arthur eagerly.
"Draw it, my lord," quoth Guenevere,
"Of such things have we little fear
In Arthur's house." And Lancelot rose
To look upon the treasure close.
But grimly smiled the ancient man:
"E'en as the sun arising wan
In the black sky when Heimdall's horn
Screams out and the last day is born,
This blade to eyes of men shall be
On that dread day I shall not see --"
Fierce was his old face for a while:
But once again he 'gan to smile
And took the Queen's slim lily hand
And set it on the deadly brand
Then laughed and said: "Hold this, O Queen,
Thine hand is where God's hands have been,
For this is Tyrfing: who knows when
His blade was forged? Belike ere men
Had dwelling on the middle-earth.
At least a man's life is it worth
To draw it out once: so behold
These peace-strings wrought of pearl and gold
The scabbard to the cross that bind
Lest a rash hand and heart made blind
Should draw it forth unwittingly."

Blithe laughed King Arthur: "Sir," said he,
"We well may deem in days by gone
This sword, the blade of such an one
As thou hast been, would seldom slide
Back to its sheath unsatisfied.
Lo now how fair a feast thy kin
Have dight for us and might we win
Some tale of thee in Tyrfing's praise,
Some deed he wrought in greener days,
This were a blithesome hour indeed."

"Sir," said the elder, "little need
To pray me hereof. Please ye dine
And drink a cup of woodman's wine,
Surely meantime some tale shall stir
Within my heart of days that were."

Then to their meat they gat and there
Feasted amid the woodland fair
The fairest folk of all the land.
Ah me when first the Queen's fair hand
Drew near the kneeling forest youth
New-wrought the whole world seemed in sooth
And nothing left therein of ill.
So at the last the Queen did fill
A cup of wine, and drank and said:
"In memory of thy fathers dead
I drink, fair lord, drink now with me
And then bethink thee presently
Of deeds that once won prize and praise
The glory of thy fathers' days."
He drank and laughed and said," Nay, nay,
Keep we the peace-strings whole today.
This draught from where thy lips have been
Within mine old heart maketh green
The memory of a love full true,
The first recorded deed that drew
My fathers' house from dark to light.

If thus my grandame told aright,
A rougher place our land was then,
Quoth she, than with us living men,
And other trees were in the wood
And folk of somewhat other blood
Than ours: then were the small-eyed bears
More plenty in the woodland lairs
Than badgers now: no holiday
It was to chase the wolves away,
Yea there were folk who had to tell
Of lyngworms lying on the fell,
And fearful things by lake and fen,
And manlike shapes that were not men.
Then fay-folk roamed the woods at noon,
And on the grave-mound in the moon
Faint gleamed the flickering treasure-flame.
Days of the world that won no fame,
Yet now, quoth she, folk looking back
Across the tumult and the wrack
And swelling up of windy lies
And dull fool-fashioned cruelties,
Deem that in those days God abode
On earth and shared ill times and good
And right and wrong with that same folk
Their hands had fashioned for the yoke.
Quoth she, of such nought tells my tale,
Yet saith that such as should prevail
In those days o'er the fears of earth
Must needs have been some deal of worth,
And saith that had ye seen a kin
Who dwelt these very woods within
Them at the least ye would have told
For cousins of the Gods of old.
Amongst all these it tells of one,
The goodman's last-begotten son,
Some twenty summers old: as fair
As any flower that blossomed there
In sun and rain, and strong therewith
And lissom as a willow withe.
Now through these woods amidst of June
This youngling went until at noon
From out of the thicket his fair face
Peered forth upon this very place;
For he had been a-hunting nigh
And wearied thought a while to lie
Beside the freshness of the stream.
But lo as in a morning dream
The place was changed, for there was dight
A fair pavilion blue and white
E'en where we play, and all around
Was talk of men and diverse sound,
Tinkling of bit and neigh of steed
Clashing of arms and iron weed.
For round about the painted tent
Armed folk a many came or went,
Or on the fresh grass lay about.
Surely our youth at first had doubt
If 'twere not better to be gone
Than meet these stranger folk alone --
But wot ye well such things as these
Were new to him born mid the trees
And wild things: and he thought, Maybe
The household of the Gods I see:
Who for as many tales as I
Have heard of them, I ne'er saw nigh.
If they be men, I wotted not
That such fair raiment men had got;
They will be glad to show them then.

For one thing taught these woodland men
Whatever wisdom they let fall
Men since have won Fear nought at all.

So from the holly brake he strode
Shouldering the while his hunter's load,
A new slain roe; but there arose
To meet him half a score of those
Whom in fair words he greeted well.

Now was he clad in a sheep's fell
And at his back his quiver hung,
His woodknife on his thigh: unstrung
His bow he held in a staff's stead.
An oaken wreath was round his head
From whence his crispy locks of brown
Well nigh unto his belt hung down,
And howso frank his eyes might be
A half-frown soothly might you see
As these men handled sword or spear
And cried out, "Hold, what dost thou here?"
"Ah," said he, "then no Gods ye are.
Fear not, I shall not make you war."
Therewith his hunting-knife he drew
And the long blade before them he threw.
Then loud they laughed; one sheathed his sword:
"Thanks, army-leader, for that word!
We are not Gods e'en as thou say'st,
Nor thou a devil of the waste
But e'en a devil's a friend belike."
Something [of] hate hereat did strike
Unto the woodsman's unused heart,
Yet he spake softly for his part:
"What men are ye and where dwell ye?
What is the wondrous house I see?"
"In the fair southland is our home
Yet from the north as now we come,"
Said one: then with a mocking smile,
"And in our house there dwells awhile
A very Goddess of the north.
But lo you, take a thing of worth
For that thy quarry, and begone."

But as he spake another one
Spake softly in his ear: and so
The word from this to that did go,
With laughing that seemed nowise good
Unto the dweller of the wood,
Who saying nought moved toward the tent.
But they came round him as he went
And said: "Nay, pagan, stay thy feet;
Thou art not one our dame to greet ...

Clay Death · « **Reply #289 on:** March 24, 2016, 11:30:32 pm »

Quote from: pryzmsticv on March 24, 2016, 06:11:43 pm

LUVS' FINESSE

The warmth ov your hand, the caress ov your kiss.
Taking away, hearts' loneliness.
With luv, there lays a duress.
Deep Luv, will sometimes depress.
Bringing around, your souls' emptiness.
With each sound, whispers ov luv, you confess.
Heart swings, to different bound.
Comforts me to impress, feelings come around.
Hearts embossed, with luvs' sweet caress.
Softly touching your lips, is part ov luvs finesse.
Whispers so dear, nestled amongst my hair.
Playing with your fingertips, luv mirrored.
Arms so strong, holding me tight, into your chest.
My luv for you, will never be suppressed.
Oh the chills that I get, when I look into your eyes.
Those thrills that I feel, embracing my thighs.
When you play that luving touch, looking into my eyes.
Luvs' finesse, mean so much.

wonderful prose lady V.

Clay Death · « **Reply #290 on:** March 25, 2016, 12:08:54 am »

EquineAnn · « **Reply #291 on:** March 25, 2016, 04:58:23 am »

I am more for the old-style poems with rhyme schemes whether serious or funny, Lady Victoria. However, any poem mentioning equines whatever the style attract me. That's a lovely poem you shared with Lady Victoria, Clay.

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #292 on:** March 25, 2016, 07:07:18 pm »

Thank you lady Anne, with great admiration my friend. Luv you dear😚

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #293 on:** March 25, 2016, 07:10:53 pm »

Thank you mi lord, very much appreciated.
The prose ov your desires, burn with such fire.
Creating fires ov composing, and reading to higher phase.
Visions in my mind, are no longer a haze.
Thank you for sharing my dear.😚

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #294 on:** March 25, 2016, 07:49:23 pm »

HATELESS

Hate I will not confess, my heart is free.
My soul, is without emptiness.
Kindness from me, you will always see
The light, shines from me.
The power of luv, will set all free.
Do not turn to bad, to become ironclad.
Somewhere inside, there is an evil that hides.
Devilish there may be, wouldn't you just luv to preside.
What would it be, to bring back, the luv for humanity.
Our hearts react, to so many things.
Sometimes driving us insane, Dominating the pain.
Luv yet still it brings, Hateless to the extreme.

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #295 on:** March 25, 2016, 09:49:16 pm »

MEMOIRS'

Fondling thru memories, visions that come back to me.
Fun the Time, that we shared.
Never were you, a burden to bare.
As kids we were to dare, our luv we did not compare.
Being the eldest ov the pair, I was your Au Pair.
Thru years we knew, my luv was always there for you.
Worries thru my mind, continued thru extremities.
You were mine & I was yours, friendship thru eternities.

Clay Death · « **Reply #296 on:** March 25, 2016, 09:53:17 pm »

Davor Miljkovic

Camelot of Love

Amongst many, feeling so lonely,
Strange situation life has brought
And all hopes placed on one, last stand.
One that sets you free,
turning gray walls into blue skies.

Encouraged by shimmering visions in mind,
Seeking something that has already died,
Within modern walls its freedom denied.
Yet, will and spirit remain
With little to lose and much to gain,
To go on decision is made.

Subtle kiss moon has blown
To lost wanderer walking alone,
Traces of light it has shown,
Towering over his dream,
Camelot of love.

Awaken by dawn he marches on,
In hopes of finding what cannot be found.
And so his quest goes on,
Passing shapeless halls,
Guided by lights already gone.

Restless nights haunt him now
Unable to put mind at ease
Not knowing how to sleep
Not knowing how to please.

Last night he heard a voice
Brought from far by a whispering wall
Saying you don't have to win it all,
Just be your own.
Thus this chapter to end is drawn,
Of a story with ending unknown.

Amongst many, feeling so lonely,
Strange situation life has brought
And all hopes placed on one, last stand.
One that sets you free,
turning gray walls into blue skies.

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #297 on:** March 25, 2016, 11:16:46 pm »

Luving is your poems, that you present here.
Visionary they are to me, all I have to do is read.
Those visions to proceed, into this memory in this mind.
Someday to find, when I want to relive , beauty conceived.
Thank you mi lord for sharing ov your heart in which Camelot grows.😚

Clay Death · « **Reply #298 on:** March 25, 2016, 11:24:25 pm »

Quote from: pryzmsticv on March 25, 2016, 11:16:46 pm

Luving is your poems, that you present here.
Visionary they are to me, all I have to do is read.
Those visions to proceed, into this memory in this mind.
Someday to find, when I want to relive , beauty conceived.
Thank you mi lord for sharing ov your heart in which Camelot grows.😚

glad you are enjoying the magical sights and sounds of Camelot.

this is such a magical poetry stop.

Clay Death · « **Reply #299 on:** March 25, 2016, 11:24:36 pm »

CAMELOT FANTASIES

News:

Author Topic: Victoria's Poetry Stop (Read 55724 times)

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