Victoria's Poetry Stop

#405 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 14 Apr, 2016 22:44
Quote from: pryzmsticv on 14 Apr, 2016 22:28
I have to agree with lady Anne.
The beautiful work you do, without demand.
Visions within your mind, now comes to sound.
Prose ov the ole, with music wonderfully told.
Thank you dear, for sharing.😚

you are welcome lady V and lady Ann.

glad you are enjoying Camelot.

#406 Reply
Posted by pryzmsticv on 14 Apr, 2016 22:52
SIR NIGHT

Standing inside the door, waiting to greet the man I adore.
Bowing so slightly, he kisses my hand.
From his lips, his words command.
Mi Lady with repoire, my I have this last dance.
Luv to enhance, as if moving in a trance.
My heart has awoken too, visions I have ov you.
Your heart and soul, have gone to taken control.
Whispers ov your mind, tells me you will always, be in my design.
When you speak, I feel tingling all the way thru.
Mystically peaked, just as a spell would do.
Time fly's by so very fast, that you will miss, this our last dance.
Slow down, and let us take a chance.
Visions ov romance, follows me at ever glance.
Desires in the sound, that helps move our luv all around.
Visions to entice, you my dear, approaching within my sight.
You my luv, my Sir Knight

#407 Reply
Posted by EquineAnn on 15 Apr, 2016 06:06
I love your poems, Lady Victoria.

#408 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 15 Apr, 2016 23:24
Quote from: pryzmsticv on 14 Apr, 2016 22:52
SIR NIGHT

Standing inside the door, waiting to greet the man I adore.
Bowing so slightly, he kisses my hand.
From his lips, his words command.
Mi Lady with repoire, my I have this last dance.
Luv to enhance, as if moving in a trance.
My heart has awoken too, visions I have ov you.
Your heart and soul, have gone to taken control.
Whispers ov your mind, tells me you will always, be in my design.
When you speak, I feel tingling all the way thru.
Mystically peaked, just as a spell would do.
Time fly's by so very fast, that you will miss, this our last dance.
Slow down, and let us take a chance.
Visions ov romance, follows me at ever glance.
Desires in the sound, that helps move our luv all around.
Visions to entice, you my dear, approaching within my sight.
You my luv, my Sir Knight

sensational lady V.

#409 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 15 Apr, 2016 23:28
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3b4OwkJ0dA

#410 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 15 Apr, 2016 23:30
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIsu1Ohw4So

#411 Reply
Posted by Divine Metamorphoses on 16 Apr, 2016 21:08
Beautiful works of your creativity

Loving it
~Divine

#412 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 16 Apr, 2016 23:15
Arthurian and Grail Poetry

Gertrude Bartlett (1876-1942)

Gertrude Bartlett (1876-1942) was born in New Haven, New York but later lived and married in Toronto, Canada. Her verse appeared in periodicals in America and Canada. Bartlett's romantic poem "Ballade of Tristram's Last Harping" was published in Canadian Poets and Poetry edited by John W. Garvin in 1916.

Ballade of Tristram's Last Harping

The end that Love doth seek, what bard can say,
In that fair season when the tender green
Of opening leaves doth roof the woods of May,
And sweet wild buds from out their places lean
To touch the dainty feet that heedless stray
Among them, with a youth in knight's attire?
His lady's will capricious to obey,
This is the end of dawning Love's desire.

And when amid the summer's bright array
Of blossoms, are the crimson roses seen,
And one young maid, fairer than any spray
In perfect bloom, wanders their lines between,
What blessed solace can the lover pray
Of her compassion, for his heart of fire?
With kisses on her mouth all words to stay--
This is the end of eager Love's desire.

With driven clouds the hovering sky is grey;
The winds above the frozen hills are keen,
And all fair buds have fallen in decay;
What joy hath now the true knight of his Queen?
No rapture less exultant can allay
His need, than softly craves this faulty lyre:
To answer all his pleading with sweet 'Yea'--
This is the end of yearning Love's desire.

Envoy
Beloved, now is done our life's brief day;
Not with the day howe'er doth Love expire.
Within thine arms the night to dream away--
This is the end of Love's supreme desire.

#413 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 16 Apr, 2016 23:19
Arthurian and Grail Poetry

A Guinevere

By Madison Cawein

Sullen gold down all the sky;
Roses and their sultry musk;
Whipporwills deep in the dusk
Yonder sob and sigh.--
You are here; and I could weep,
Weep for joy and suffering. . . .
"Where is he"?--He'd have me sing--
There he sits, asleep.
Think not of him! he is dead
For the moment to us twain--
Hold me in your arms again,
Rest on mine your head.
"Am I happy?" ask the fire
When it bursts its bounds and thrills
Some mad hours as it wills
If those hours tire.
He had gold. As for the rest--
Well you know how they were set,
Saying that I must forget
And 'twas for the best.
I forget?--But let it go!--
Kiss me as you used of old.
There; your kisses are not cold!
Can you love me so?
Knowing what I am to him,
To that gouty gray one there,
On the wide verandah, where
Fitful fireflies swim.
Is it tears? Or what? that wets
Eyes and cheeks;--on brow and lip
Kisses! Soft as bees that sip
Sweets from violets.
See! the moon has risen; white
As this open lily here,
Rocking on the dusty mere,
Like a silent light.
Let us walk...So soon to part!--
All too soon! But he may miss.
Give me but another kiss--
It will heat my heart
And the bitter winter there.--
So; we part, my Launcelot,
My true knight! And am I not
Your true Guinevere?
Oft they parted thus, they tell,
In that mystical romance...
Were they placed, think you, perchance,
For such love, in Hell?
No! It can not, can not be!
Love is God, and God is love:
And they live and love above,
Guinevere and he.
I must go now.--See! there fell,
Molten into purple light,
One wild star. Kiss me good night,
And once more. Farewell.

#414 Reply
Posted by EquineAnn on 17 Apr, 2016 02:07
That's a very good poem you shared with Lady Victoria, Clay.

#415 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 17 Apr, 2016 22:28
Arthurian and Grail Poetry

The Dream Of Sir Galahad

By Madison Cawein

With the knights Peredur and Gawain he sits, in a chapel in Lyonesse, speaking while the dawn slowly reddens on the sea, gray-seen through the open door.

I
Cast on sleep there came to me
Three great angels, o'er the sea
Moaning near the priory:
Cloudy clad in awful white,
Each one's face, a lucid light,
Rayed and blossomed out of night.

II
In my sleep I saw them rest,
Each, a long hand on her breast,
Like the new-moon in the west:
And their hair like sunset rolled
Down their shoulders, burning cold,
An insufferable gold.

III
Flaming round each high brow bent
Fourfold starry gold, that sent
Light before them as they went:
'Neath their burning crowns their eyes
Shone like awful stars the skies
Rock in shattered storm that flies.

IV
Dark their eyes were, lurid dark;
And within their eyes a spark
Like the opal's burned: my sark
Seemed to shrivel 'neath their gaze;
As, with marvel and amaze,
All my soul it seemed to raise.

V
And I saw their mouths were fire,
Ruby-red as the desire
Of the Sanc Graal: fair and dire
Were their lips, whereon the kiss
Of all Heaven lay; the bliss
Of all happiness that is.

VI
Calm as Beauty lying dead,
Tapers lit at feet and head,
Were they, round whom prayers seemed said:
Fragrant as that woman who,
Born of blossoms and of dew
And of magic, wedded Llew.

VII
And the first one said to me:--
"Thou has slept thus holily
While seven sands ran shadowy;
Earth hath served thee like a slave,
Serving us who found thee brave,
Pure of life and great to save:

VIII
"Know!"--She touched my brow: a pain
As of arrows pierced my brain:
Ceased: and earth, both sea and plain,
Vanished: and I stood where thought
Stands, and worship, spirit-fraught,
Watching how the heavens are wrought.

IX
Then the second said to me:
"Thou hast come all sinlessly
Thro' life's sin-enveloped sea:
Know the things thou hast not seen:
Filling all the soul with sheen;
Meaning more than earth may mean:

X
"See!"--Her voice sang like a lyre,
Comprehending all desire
In its gamut's throbbing fire:--
And my inner eyelids,--which
Dimmed clairvoyance,--raised: and rich,
As one chord's vibrating pitch,

XI
Grew my soul with light: that saw
The embodiment of awe,
Love, divinity, and law,
Orbed and eöned: and the power,
Circumstance, like some vast flower;
From which time fell, hour on hour.

XII
'Neath the third one's mighty will
All my soul lay very still,
Feeling all its being thrill
As she, smiling, said to me:
"Thou dost know, and thou canst see:
What thou art arise and be!"

XIII
To my lips her lips she pressed;
And my new-born soul, thrice-blessed,
Clasped her radiance and caressed:
Mounted and, in glory clad,
Soared with them who chorused glad:
"Christ awaits thee, Galahad!"

#416 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 17 Apr, 2016 22:29
Quote from: EquineAnn on 17 Apr, 2016 02:07
That's a very good poem you shared with Lady Victoria, Clay.

thanks lady Ann.

glad you enjoying lady V's poetry stop.

#417 Reply
Posted by Clay Death on 17 Apr, 2016 22:38
Arthurian and Grail Poetry

Morgan Le Fay

By Madison Cawein

In dim samite was she bedight,
And on her hair a hoop of gold,
Like foxfire, in the tawn moonlight,
Was glimmering cold.

With soft gray eyes she gloomed and glowered;
With soft red lips she sang a song:
What knight might gaze upon her face,
Nor fare along?

For all her looks were full of spells,
And all her words, of sorcery;
And in some way they seemed to say,
"Oh, come with me!"

Oh, come with me! oh, come with me!
Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!"--
How should he know the witch, I trow,
Morgan le Fay?

How should he know the wily witch,
With sweet white face and raven hair?
Who, through her art, bewitched his heart
And held him there.

Eftsoons his soul had waxed amort
To wold and weald, to slade and stream;
And all he heard was her soft word
As one adream.

And all he saw was her bright eyes,
And her fair face that held him still:
And wild and wan she led him on
O'er vale and hill.

Until at last a castle lay
Beneath the moon, among the trees:
Its gothic towers old and gray
With mysteries.

Tall in its hall a hundred knights
In armor stood with glaive in hand:
The following of some great king,
Lord of that land.

Sir Bors, Sir Balin, and Gawain,
All Arthur's knights, and many mo;
But these in battle had been slain
Long years ago.

But when Morgan with lifted hand
Moved down the hall, they louted low:
For she was Queen of Shadowland,
That woman of snow.

Then from Sir Kay she drew away,
And cried on high all mockingly:--
"Behold, sir knights, the knave I bring,
Who lay with me.

"Behold! I met him 'mid the furze:
Beside him there he made me lie:
Upon him, yea, there rests my curse:
Now let him die!"

Then as one man those shadows raised
Their brands, whereon the moon glanced gray:
And clashing all strode from the wall
Against Sir Kay.

And on his body, bent and bowed,
The hundred blades as one blade fell:
While over all rang long and loud
The mirth of Hell.