Best Avalon Poems
Why are you not where you belong?
This situation is very wrong?
I do not mean to pry,
Yet still I wonder why?
Some beautiful birds and a lake,
Would not at all be hard to take.
Fish swimming up and down,
Colored like the circus clown.
Striped red, white and cerise,
They bring such poetic peace.
Such a beautiful place to write,
A poetess’s heavenly delight.
Evergreen trees buzzing with bees,
Geese honking with expertise.
With colorful gardens all about,
Beauty in your heart and without.
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Nowhere now to feed the birds,
Confused and can’t find the words.
Your poetry now in plastic bins,
No longer heard sweet violins.
The new rooms have high ceilings,
Yet lack the homely feelings.
Your heart longs for absent friends,
On whom your happiness so depends.
A magical world you see all around,
Describing it with words that astound.
The cat with a fiddle and a bow,
A heated passion for warm Bordeaux.
A unicorn hosting a Gala,
Invitations delivered by Impala.
A Loon’s call in the still early morn,
And a puff ball on toast before dawn.
Dear lady stay the whole course,
Write again, ride that white horse.
Far beyond mans intrusions,
A vast hidden world lives on.
An ancient fortress lost amidst,
Historical reference, a faded shade,
Amongst remembrances memory.
Imagination limitless vision,
Separating conscious truth,
And make believers legendary
Spree.
Conjuring mystical thoughts,
Simply, Drifting aloft,
Revealing a forgotten golden age.
Let castaways adventurers fly away
Into magics paradise,
As sunshine's rays, flicker amidst
Mid summers softening light.
Illuminating forgotten stone gardens,
Secret courtyards in splendors array.
Rose covered vines, weaving down
Walled trellises evergreen.
Ruined towers jetting upward,
Blanketed by thickened mosses
Torrents.
Crystal clear water streams, forth
Through cupid fountains.
Nesting song birds, sing loves,
Harmonious music.
Wooing hearts at winged flight.
Glide without tethers strings,
Rejoicing carefree,
Within natures solitude.
Reclining, beside a shaded,
Willow tree I'm resting,
Completely to mine ease.
Watching clouds placing,
Ideally,
By as dusken stars.
Pass beneath nights,
Blackening sky’s.
Knowing at last the beauty,
That is Avalon.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Afternoon Delight!
Lookin’ forward to a little afternoon delight
Turn! Turn! Turn!
There is a season turn, turn, turn
A time to every purpose under heaven
A time for neck rub, a time for kiss, a time to unfold 70’s clock radio music
Peter, Paul and Mary
88.7
Bob Dylan, Donovan, Neil Young
A time to borrow propane tank next door
A time to swim in ocean of stars
A time to Yale at Jose – the gardener
A time to country
two left feet who never promise a rose garden
A time for Chopin piano concerto along with a time for COVID models
A time for Mahjong and Gin rummy
Without winning or losing
Whopping Leap of faith: A time of homemade haircut
A time for Prosecco and strawberries; a time for Instacart
A time to Mystic Hills; a time to Top of the World
Oh, my beloved lemon thief
A time to dream –
grateful dreams – tasty dreams – To Have and Have Not dreams
Today and always
The greatest radio station in the world!!
The Lady knew he lurked but felt no harm or fear
from the knight who watched her from the wood.
His only thought was of the lovely Lady Guinevere,
bethrothed to Arthur, so he knew where he stood.
Young Lancelot, feigning interest, ignored her glance.
Insolent, she though him to be, as arrogant as an ass!
Til the day she caught his eye, hoping for just a chance
for a truce to be called, so their enmity would pass.
A meeting in the mists of Avalon, Lancelot and Guinevere
spoke of new beginnings and when their passion blazed,
love found its true course, from which neither would veer.
A vow was made that no white flag was ever to be raised.
There is a Place where the Air is Sweet, Clear, and Pure.
A Place where the Rivers Run Deep and the Mountains Steep.
A Place where Community is Valued and Spirit Comes First.
A Place where Time and Money are Tangible, but Not Coveted By Our Neighbors.
A Place beyond Time where Materialism is Not Addicted.
A Place beyond Government, because only the Individual will display Responsibility.
Avalon is Our Place
Of Peace and Love.
This Can Be Our Reality.
By, Chadwick Andrew Vincent 2013.
AS thy noble corona dilates,
Shucks back its great circle, let
Thy golden mean drip power
Onto the beast whose blameless flesh
Screams humped over,
Lathered like the Levin cracked sky
From whose seed was born
An infant God
Remind me Oh! Sultana
Whose spirit lifts my brow, and
Whose bright milk chisels
My livered throat, bloated
and waiting to yield to yet
Another salute.
I cry for Avalon, and those
Ancient borders I once possessed
Oh! Avalon, a composition for the carillon,
Let your chronicles forget me not.
Let your long drawn spell
Whisper me awash, gilded
Only by the mighty Griffon
fluent in the air, lord of sky,
Address my reproach my gentle God
Gift me unremitting paradise.
You are like the myths of Avalon
where tales of justice reign like Kings
the counsels of virtue together rings
where impartial judgment does belong
but these are tales not so true
where those who rule afflict the poor
rob even crumbs from off their floor
malfeasance practiced what they do
What did the noblemen supply
but rape the peasant law his alibi
where starving children heard his cry
Noblesse oblige was just a lie
Where tyranny of rank did draw
class distinctions were the law
death and violence history saw
predators talons ripped like claw
Where the counsels of the court
were just aristocratic sport
where truth and justice did abort
peasants could not afford the tort
yet some would hold these fairytales
the myths of history that lies regales
fabrication cloaks and mindless fails
that these myths whats true assails
tales of myth and fancy
COPYRIGHT © 2011 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
see the drumlins roll
low hills of home call to me
from tambourine seas
In the shadow of Avalon
where the sweet tangle imparts its loamy scent
as the dew chills on the blades
and trembling grows the aspen and oak
on the shore where solemn waters lie
is a vision of splendor
The beauty of Avalon, reflected in glass
cast across its mirrored surface
Below these still, bottle green depths
in the realm of whispers,
dwells the lady of the lake
weaving threads of fate into patterns of destiny
in the tapestry of life
invoking mystery
rising, she is formed of mist and truth
Fairest lady,
sing to the morning light
sing of the wisdom found in beauty and in pain
reveal the truth concealed in your smile
Beautiful lady
gauzy veil drawn in gray mist
alluring, pale
stir the waters of thought and memory
into streams and rivulets of knowledge
forming pools of consciousness
the eternal lake, spirit of the Goddess
as just beneath the surface she waits
forever in the shadow of Avalon
King Humpty Dumpty sat on a high hill
In Avalon just round the mill
Four story book dragons guarded his place
What went inside no one could tell
Once in a while he would ride to Camelot
When the day was mild and not too hot
Devoid of purpose or any will
The old King would be ready to kill
A pheasant or any bird in the bush
For one in hand is better than two in the sagebrush
Hail Humpty dumpty the king of the past
The time has come to return at last
Missing that
Sultry ****
Of stained coffee
and stale cigarettes.
We thought we were
French, and perhaps as
Close to rebelliousness
as the Midwest would Allow.
My eye make-up made
me Alive and a woman
Stronger than you
And could ever be.
With those candles
And cement blocks
you penetrated me
And I was alive.
To Avalon! To Avalon! Twenty-six miles from door to door.
The Catalina Channel Isle: my destination off the shore.
We sail a wide and glassy sea, arriving Friday evening, late.
The Grand is seen from far away, guards the harbor, silent waits.
To stroll the boardwalk, drool as salted taffy’s pulled,
tour Zane Gray’s pueblo house, protect your lunch from diving gulls.
Catch a movie at the Grand’s mesmerizing, giant screen:
magical, this castle fort, not believed unless it’s seen.
Sleeping on the boat at night, rocked to sleep by gentle wakes,
row the dinghy in the morn, skindive for abalone steaks.
Journey back home Sunday night, late arrival into port.
Monday morning, foggy dreamland: school simply does not comport!
—————
(memories of childhood trips to Avalon Harbor on Catalina Island off the coast of California)
life is a messy slurry
Tyson fury
an Olga tumble
an Ali shuffle
a low cal rumble
in nuclear jungles
hammer and sickle
stars and stripes
a polka dot pickle
citizen cocaine in the middle
PURPLE PEOPLE EATERS
living is a tsunami ripple
a wobbly foal
a quick snort
napalm ponds made by bombs
divorce court
building doomsday arcs
your first kiss
soccer moms
dodging pervs in the park
a cachexic dream
preppers become the wise men
of a crack house society
butterflies sipping cream
OWLS FURRY DREAMING
grand slamming the babe
sand made into glass
back stabbers
section 8 scammer
just for kicks perform conception
watch the tadpoles grow into nervous tics
where the hell is thAT bubble headed babysitter
Its 66 minutes past 6
life is jaws that kill
jaws that lick
kids wilding
the earth is far beyond sick
life is smart phone indifference
boomers and millennials navigating the river Styx
with floaties and a soggy boat made of paper prayers
life is a forgotten god
gaming in his lair
searching for us
in the muck
finding attic junk
a crucifix
a triple six
circles and cycles
tricycles and unicycles
flat wheels
banana peel religion
slipping
into
wiccan ditches
warlocks-angels with phds
living on the street
with lepers kissing pristine witches
life is one big blurry lake
sipping opaque
rolling of the dice
felt tables aflame
its all a game
cardboard homes
the man tossing bones
convicts in nursing homes
brevity versus eternity
caskets and bassinets
golden years sacrificed to red hat enraged
under waged ogres...with no impulse control
what will be etched into my stone
"he was a self centered prick of a father
couldn't be bothered with the kids
wielded a big cold ugly stick
long on criticism short on compliments
but slick with the iPhone
knuckle walking drone
E=MC I got Hammered
...all lives are to soon forgotten
even by the weeds circling pauper crosses
and the granite monuments of Avalon.
Red paint upon this stage
Overdrive from electric strums
Crowds gather from every age
Knife decals cross on drums
Brand new fender blue tinge
Arrival at airports always delay
Noon prompts a drinking binge
Drunk ballads from music's cliche
"Oh, Gods of the sea, hark;
will this wild wind pitch us,
down, down to a watery end?
Ship's awash, pigs half-drowned;
and chickens floating away.
"What is our sin, for Thor's anger
to be kindled in bloody rage?
With each lash of his thunder,
we are hurled against the rocks.
"Where will Aegir's daughters cast;
will the fierce ones spew us out
over these widow-maker waves?
Grab those pails, sailors, bail,
lower that useless, tattered sail
"Glaucus, please, to our rescue,
we are brutally shoved about.
Triton, trumpet with your conch,
calm this storm with your horn.
"Oh, Christian, come to stern,
point that cross to the sky.
Pray to your God for mercy—
He whom you nailed to a tree—
else we perish in this sea."