Arthur Poems

Dieu Et Mon Droit

"Oh King Charles Philip Arthur George,
how do I see thee?
Let me count the ways...
Tho' beauty is only skin deep,
and in the eye of the beholder,
or so we have been told,
yours is more, it goes to the bone,
a sore sight for eyes to behold,
now you have acceded to the throne.
As, like diarrhoea, it seems,
it runs in

Arthur Rimbaud translations of Antico, Reve Pour l'hiver and Dawn

Arthur Rimbaud Translations of Antico (“Ancient” or “Antique”), Rêvé Pour l'hiver (“Winter Dream”), and Dawn



Antico (“Ancient” or “Antique”)
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Graceful son of Pan! Around your brow, crowned with flowers and berries, your eyes, lustrous spheres, revolve. Your cheeks, stained with wine sediments, seem hollow. Your white fangs gleam. Your lyre-like

Arthur Rimbaud: The Drunken Boat translation by Michael R Burch

Le Bateau ivre (“The Drunken Boat”), an Excerpt
by Arthur Rimbaud
translation by Michael R. Burch

The impassive river carried me downstream
as howling warriors slashed the bargemen's throats,
then nailed them, naked, to their former posts,
while I observed all idly, in a dream.

What did I care about the slaughtered crew,
the Flemish barley or the English freight?
The river had taught

Arthur Rimbaud: Song of the Highest Tower translation by Michael R Burch

Song of the Highest Tower
by Arthur Rimbaud
translation by Michael R. Burch

Let it come, let it come,
The day when all hearts love as one.

I’ve endured so long
That I’d even forgotten
The pain and the terror.
I’ve visited heaven,
And yet a morbid thirst
Still darkens my veins.

Let it come, let it come,
The day when all hearts love as one.

Thus the

I tried to reason with the Lady of Shalott

I tried to reason with the Lady of Shalott,
"Be content! Don’t be so distraught!
You may long for the world of Lancelot and Guinevere ~
but let me tell you what’s about to happen there ~
they're about to lose everything they've got."

The Craving

As a boy Charles fished on the Thames riverside
He had a songbird, a dog, but life took a slide
His father got him a dead-end job in a Scottish town
It became a vortex bringing him down.

He got married young, soon nine kids to feed
His job barely paid; how could he get freed?
He illustrated books, still not

Arthur

Crows come
And crows go
But Arthur always was.

For years the lofty oak had been
His look-out every day
And soon as Mother chucked the scraps
His shiny eyes
Would spot the crumbs
From eighty yards away.

No craftier crow
In all the land
Than Arthur black and strong
And wise more wise 
Than all magpies
He would not fly straight down.

Although he’d had 
So many scraps
From

How roles may turn

One was trained
To be the king of the table
One was bred
To be the king of the dead

Hand in hand, down the path they walk
Hand in hand, watching the future they sought
Flash by
In the blink of an eye

The king of the dead is surrounded by the table
And the king of the table is surrounded by death

My Friend Arthur

We were bused from Sacramento to Reno.
We rode a train from Reno to Salt Lake City.
We then bused from SLC to Kansas City.
Somewhere along the I-80 route,
we crossed the Great Divide.

At the time, the Kansas City Chiefs was not
on my list of favorite things to do or places
to go before my demise, but they soon
became

My Favourite Poet - Inspired by Arthur Vaso's Poem of the Day

 
My favourite poet is ME
I’m obsessed with pooping and pee
So I’m a crap poet
Oh boy do I know it
My poem fans may disagree!
 
Some people may think I’m a schnook
For writing a second rude book
But I’m not lost for words
Writing of pee and turds
When published, will YOU dare to look!

Guinevere

Guinevere
Was King Arthur's darling dear,
Once day, she said, "I'm sorry M'Lord,
I gave your nephew, Mordred, your sword".

Mordred was not a man one should entrust.
King Arthur was a bit more than nonplussed.
Guinevere said, "Don't sweat it",
But the king would regret it,
As the weasel dispatched him with a thrust.

The Knights of the Round Table all missed him and

Dear Arthur

Dear Arthur,

I haven't met you yet,
But I know you'll be here soon,
And I can't wait to see your face,
And hold you in my arms.

I know you'll fall into our lives,
Like long-awaited rain in Spring,
Melting the last of winter snow, 
Along with our fragile hearts

Soon you'll wake to a strange world
That you won't understand,
But I hope

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Born on Scottish soil
Both writer and physician, he delivered us Sherlock Holmes.
A spiritualist too, he believed in fairies; possibly in gnomes!

Arthur Vaso

Tribute to Poet Arthur Vaso, How great is Art, how great is Art!

The Fine Art of Life

Champagne and wine
Elixirs of the elite's delight
beverages of the upper classes
as they rendezvous and converse
amid soirées decked in elegance
mingling among their 
	latest art acquisitions
		envied, even by the Louvre



The wonderful taste of caviar
	In opulent ballrooms, near and far
		where aristocrats and fashion find their air

ah yet sometimes I ponder
how the toiling working class
gets through monotonous days
I imagine

• Short Arthur Poems
• Famous Arthur Poems
• Best Arthur Poems
• Read Arthur Poems
• Long Arthur Poems
• Arthur Quotes