Author Topic: Victoria's Poetry Stop (Read 55744 times)

Clay Death · « **Reply #375 on:** April 08, 2016, 09:48:04 pm »

i was but a lost soul,
the day he found me...
my light no longer shown through,
but somehow he could still see...

a little flicker of hope,
a spark that did shine...
and that's the day i said,
this man is going to be mine...

he saved me from the world,
he saved me from myself...
no longer was my heart,
stuck upon a dusty shelf...

he rode in on his stallion,
so brave and so stronge...
swept me of my feet,
how on earth could it be wrong...

a knight in shining armor,
or so the story goes...
he could have been just plain old robinhood,
who cares or even knows...

i call him my prince of salvation,
a knight of all knights...
he brought back to me my smile,
and filled my world with such light...

but not only my world,
he filled my heart...
and if by chance i lost him,
it would tare my world apart...

he also filled my soul,
for we are now as one...
and together until forever,
we shall ride into the sun...

my knight in shining armor he is,
my knight in shining armor he shall always be...
for you see there will never be a more perfect knight,
because he's just right for me!!!!!

By PEBBLES139

EquineAnn · « **Reply #376 on:** April 09, 2016, 01:14:28 am »

I love the latest poem you've shared with Victoria, Clay.

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #377 on:** April 10, 2016, 08:18:12 pm »

You as re so right lady Anne, beautiful poems that he shares. Thank you SIRE 😚

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #378 on:** April 10, 2016, 08:34:42 pm »

MINIONS OV MANKIND

Minions ov the mind, playing with mankind.
Funny the signs, when dark plays to be blind.
Visually I bereave, with visions ov deceit.
Distant is the mind, trying to find me.
Coalitions ov the dark, chasing my mind.
Thru different times, trying to free me, from mankind.
Time swings by, in so many ways.
Making us different, in all of our claims.
Doesn't matter, what the difference is.
Just that we are, all mankind.

Clay Death · « **Reply #379 on:** April 10, 2016, 09:34:43 pm »

My Knight In Shining Armor

By MegnMcKnz52

You were my knight in shining armor,
Come to sweep me off my feet.
You were the strongest of them all,
We thought you'd never be beat.

Beautiful blue eyes,
And soft brown hair.
All those damsels in distress,
Would always stop and stare.

But then one day it strolled by,
An illness deadly by itself.
It latched it's teeth into your lungs,
But there had to be help.

Days then weeks then months rolled by,
Still nothing prevailed.
You continued to fight strong,
Unwilling to accept fail.

The pain became suffering,
And we all began pray.
I will never wish this upon anyone else,
It ruins peoples days.

Finally you are at rest,
All your pain has ceased.
You will never be forgotten,
Our lives permanently creased.

You are still my knight in shining armor,
You still sweep me off my feet.
You are still the strongest of them all,
But we all are someday beat.

Clay Death · « **Reply #380 on:** April 10, 2016, 09:36:40 pm »

Clay Death · « **Reply #381 on:** April 10, 2016, 09:47:06 pm »

My Knight In Shining Armor

I’ve never believed much in superheros
White knights and Superman saving the day
Yet I’ve always known that I needed saving
I never, ever dreamed it would come this way

I’d never dreamed a handsome movie star
Would come and rescue me from my lonely life
Yet I had always dreamed of being loved
I have found my true love in Jesus Christ

He’s my knight in shining armor
He’ll come riding on a white horse
He’s coming back as a warrior
He’s King of kings and Lord of lords

His banner will be over me
My knight is called Faithful and True
Leading the armies of heaven
My knight’s coming to my rescue
championoftheworldrikberry
—Champion of the World by Rik Berry (Brush of the Wind Gallery)

I used to dream about things that I wanted
About a house, some kids and a good guy
Today, I dream about the trumpet sound
And seeing Jesus in the clouds of the sky

I look forward with such intense longing
For my white knight to come and rescue me
And I’m looking forward to a perfect life
With the Lord Jesus Christ, my warrior king

He’s my knight in shining armor
He’ll come riding on a white horse
He’s coming back as a warrior
He’s King of kings and Lord of lords

His banner will be over me
My knight is called Faithful and True
Leading the armies of heaven
My knight’s coming to my rescue

By Janet Byers 1997

pryzmsticv · « **Reply #382 on:** April 10, 2016, 10:02:30 pm »

Oh my dear, perfect & unique they are.
Beautiful from afar, songs ov luv so dear.
Music stays in my ears, visitors from afar.
Will luv the prose, the way they play on.
From the stars, thru the hearts.
Thank you my dear for sharing, the beauty ov your heart.

Clay Death · « **Reply #383 on:** April 10, 2016, 10:45:23 pm »

Quote from: pryzmsticv on April 10, 2016, 10:02:30 pm

Oh my dear, perfect & unique they are.
Beautiful from afar, songs ov luv so dear.
Music stays in my ears, visitors from afar.
Will luv the prose, the way they play on.
From the stars, thru the hearts.
Thank you my dear for sharing, the beauty ov your heart.

you are most welcome lady V.

everybody is enjoying your magical poetry stop. it is a wonderful stop indeed.

Clay Death · « **Reply #384 on:** April 10, 2016, 11:28:52 pm »

The Legend of King Arthur

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome and Heathynesse
Well knowne is my worthy fame.

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve;
I am a Christyan bore;
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost,
One God, I doe adore.

In the four hundred ninetieth yeere,
Oer Brittaine I did rayne,
After my Savior Christ his byrth,
What time I did maintaine

The fellowshipp of the Table Round,
Soe famous in those dayes;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights
And thirty sat alwayes:

Who for their deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations
Wer feared through the world

And in the castle of Tyntagill
King Uther mee begate,
Of Agyana, a bewtyous ladye,
And come of hie estate.

And when I was fifteen yeere old,
Then was I crowned kinge:
All Brittaine, that was att an upròre,
I did to quiett bringe;

And drove the Saxons from the realme,
Who had opprest this land;
All Scotland then, throughe manly feates,
I conquered with my hand.

Ireland, Denmarke, Norwaye,
These countryes wan I all;
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland;
And made their kings my thrall.

I conquered all Gallya,
That now is called France;
And slew the hardye Froll in feild,
My honor to advance.

And the ugly gyant Dynabus,
Soe terrible to vewe,
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,
By force of armes I slew.

And Lucyus, the emperour of Rome,
I brought to deadly wracke;
And a thousand more of noble knightes
For feare did turne their backe.

Five kinges of paynims I did kill
Amidst that bloody strife;
Besides the Grecian emperour,
Who alsoe lost his liffe.

Whose carcasse I did send to Rome,
Cladd poorlye on a beere;
And afterward I past Mount-Joye
The next approaching yeere.

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett
Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye
I was crowned an emperour.

One winter there I made abode,
Then word to mee was brought,
How Mordred had oppressd the crowne,
What treason he had wrought

Att home in Brittaine with my queene:
Therfore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power,
To quitt that traiterous deede;

And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,
Where Mordred me withstoode:
But yett at last I landed there,
With effusion of much blood.

For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed,
Being wounded in that sore
The whiche Sir Launcelot in fight
Had given him before.

Then chased I Mordered away,
Who fledd to London right,
From London to Winchester, and
To Cornwalle tooke his flyght.

And still I him pursued with speed,
Till at the last wee mett;
Wherby an appointed day of fight
Was there agreed and set:

Where we did fight, of mortal life
Eche other to deprive,
Till of a hundred thousand men
Scarce one was left alive.

There all the noble chivalrye
Of Brittaine took their end.
O see how fickle is their state
That doe on fates depend!

There all the traiterous men were slaine,
Not one escapte away;
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes.
Alas! that woefull day!

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne
In honor and great fame,
And thus by death was suddenlye
Deprived of the same.

Thomas Percy

Clay Death · « **Reply #385 on:** April 10, 2016, 11:35:20 pm »

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-marriage-of-sir-gawaine/#content

King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee.

And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright in bowre:
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.

The king a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.

And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round;
Before them came a faire damsèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.

A boone, a boone, O kinge Arthùre,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and me.

At Tearne-Wadling his castle stands,
Near to that lake so fair,
And proudlye rise the battlements,
And streamers deck the air.

Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay,
May pass that castle-walle:
But from that foule discurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.

Hee's twyce the size of common men,
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge,
And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
That is both thicke and longe.

This grimme baròne 'twas our harde happe,
But yester morne to see;
When to his bowre he bare my love,
And sore misused mee.

And when I told him, king Arthùre
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge,
To meete mee if he dare.

Upp then sterted king Arthùre,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme baròne,
Till he had made him quail.

Goe fetch my sword Excalibar:
Goe saddle mee my steede;
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.

And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge
Benethe the castle walle:
"Come forth; come forth; thou proude baròne,

Or yielde thyself my thralle."

On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.

Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,
King Arthur felte the charme:
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,
Downe sunke his feeble arme.

Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge Arthùre,
Now yield thee, unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better termes maye bee,

Unless thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare's daye;

And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women moste desyre;
This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,
Ile have noe other hyre.

King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sware upon his faye,
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone
And faste hee rode awaye.

And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.

Some told him riches, pompe, or state;
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;
And some a jollye knighte.

In letters all king Arthur wrote,
And seal'd them with his ringe:
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.

As ruthfulle he rode over a more,
He saw a ladye sette
Betweene an oke, and a greene holléye,
All clad in red scarlette.

Her nose was crookt and turnd outwàrde,
Her chin stoode all awrye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe,
Lo! there was set her eye:

Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe.

To hail the king in seemelye sorte
This ladye was fulle faine;
But king Arthùre all sore amaz'd,
No aunswere made againe.

What wight art thou, the ladye sayd,
That wilt not speake to mee;
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
Though I be foule to see.

If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd,
And helpe me in my neede;
Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladyè
And it shall bee thy meede.

O sweare mee this upon the roode,
And promise on thy faye;
And here the secrette I will telle,
That shall thy ransome paye.

King Arthur promis'd on his faye,
And sware upon the roode;
The secrette then the ladye told,
As lightlye well shee cou'de.

Now this shall be my paye, sir king,
And this my guerdon bee,
That some yong fair and courtlye knight,
Thou bringe to marrye mee.

Fast then pricked king Arthùre
Ore hille, and dale, and downe:
And soone he founde the barone's bowre:
And soone the grimme baroùne.

He bare his clubbe upon his backe,
Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge;
And, when he had the letters reade,
Awaye the lettres flunge.

Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands,
All forfeit unto mee;
For this is not thy paye, sir king,
Nor may thy ransome bee.

Yet hold thy hand, thou proud baròne,
I praye thee hold thy hand;
And give mee leave to speake once more
In reskewe of my land.

This morne, as I came over a more,
I saw a ladye sette
Betwene an oke, and a greene hollèye,
All clad in red scarlètte.

Shee sayes, all women will have their wille,
This is their chief desyre;
Now yield, as thou art a barone true,
That I have payd mine hyre.

An earlye vengeaunce light on her!
The carlish baron swore:
Shee was my sister tolde thee this,
And shee's a mishapen ****.

But here I will make mine avowe,
To do her as ill a turne:
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette,
In a fyre I will her burne.

Thomas Percy

EquineAnn · « **Reply #386 on:** April 11, 2016, 01:39:19 am »

That's a very good poem you've shared with Victoria, Clay.

Clay Death · « **Reply #387 on:** April 11, 2016, 12:59:39 pm »

Quote from: EquineAnn on April 11, 2016, 01:39:19 am

That's a very good poem you've shared with Victoria, Clay.

thanks lady Ann.

glad you are enjoying the sights and sounds of Camelot.

EquineAnn · « **Reply #388 on:** April 11, 2016, 02:38:02 pm »

You're welcome, Clay. I definitely am.

Clay Death · « **Reply #389 on:** April 11, 2016, 10:57:09 pm »

Avalon

by: Robert Elliott Gonzales (1888-1916)

Upon a high-raised hill in Avalon,
Four dragon sentinels with burnished scales
Keep ward and watch, and whether the sleets and hails
Of winter beat their caves, or in May magic the lawn.
Like a dull emerald smitten with the dawn,
Up brightens, guard and gleam; and still the Grail's
Enchaliced splendors shake over those sweet dales,
Where, 'neath a thick-leaved canopy unwithdrawn
Since the old days of Vivien's sorcery,
Sleeps Merlin in a nest of nightingales--
Thus one clear moment--then the vision fails,
As his, who lone on a wreak-littered lea
Has mocking glimpse of star-mist on the sails,
Of some great ship that lies out to sea.

CAMELOT FANTASIES

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Author Topic: Victoria's Poetry Stop (Read 55744 times)

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