Best Shalott Poems
I unchain the caged darkness
to surrender willingly,
taste the warm, wet drips
of liquefied lament and life
tracing the cold cracks
within bruised veins
kissing patiently the searing surge
of anxiety caging and clawing
the pulse of pain-struck peace
the flesh beneath
the fragility of hope ~
purging the siren’s poison
of Beelzebub’s breath
love-drunk on dangerous desire
christening the mayhem devotion
carving temples from tempests
as the needles wake me to
a reality romanticized with nails ~
O reaper ... my beloved knight
aching to seize my light
fool me once more
seduce the stars
without a script
lure the lake of night
stripped of pretense
for I am your eternal flame
this heart, a mausoleum of
cremated calmness
and skeptical skeletons
a panoramic capture
of insanity unforgiven…
listen as the clouds spill
a thousand secrets
follow the shadow
of me and my truth
watch my skies abandon
the beautiful lies
I once worshipped ~
as I am now one amongst
the survivors of hearts I broke
while trying not to break,
the ruthless rhythm
of the game of musical chairs;
only the ones
who ran could chase ~
a memory condemned
as the cardinal sin ~
an alluring curse
damned with
Lilith’s signature, evermore…
Inspired by The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse
Dear Lady of Shalott, I gaze at thee,
and beauties before me, I count three
in your time and place, remote.
First, the beauty of nature’s scheme
and lush expanse of a wild stream.
You’re lost in some sad river dream,
on your little boat.
And, yes, this gorgeous tapestry,
and candles to guide you as you flee,
whilst you stay afloat.
Most of all your flowing hair,
flowing gown and worried stare
upon a face so mild and fair,
as you sit upon your boat.
Who has brought you pain and concern?
Does someone cause your heart to yearn
where you sit and float?
Were you made sad by prince or knight?
Did the painter paint your plight?
Milady, I beg you with this poem I write,
take me on your boat.
Two young lovers in wakeful bed,
Love-talking after they were wed,
His arm a pillow for her head,
Remembered words, poetry said,
Old tales retold of Camelot.
Learned the artistic jewel
Years before in grammar school;
Unwinding reflection's spool
Envisioning Shalott.
Their lifetimes, year by year, went by,
Four babies came, sweet lullabies,
Sometimes laughter, sometimes sad cries;
Were they just two lone passers by
Lost on the way to Camelot?
I, their last child, was not aware
Of private bedroom life shared;
He whispering in her hair
Of life in fair Shalott.
My father died, he slipped away,
She lingered, telling love's sweet ways.
Impromptu, she relates one day
Of blissful nights hearing him say
Sleepy accounts of Camelot.
There are two narrow graveyard plots,
Gray stone marked with lover's knot;
Someday time will give no thought
Of them or of Shalott.
I, myself, am much older grown,
Allotted years are nearly flown;
When I lie down beneath the loam
Will I hear his soft spoken tones
Repeat the dream of Camelot?
Near by me in that next tight tomb,
Close-walled, speaking in the gloom,
Echoes reaching as he croons
The Lady of Shalott?
Copyright, August 17, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
In twilight’s chill, there wafts the sad lament
of one whose Camelot will be her doom.
She drifts - like fall to winter - to her death.
She whispers, as her candle light is spent,
“Oh, Lancelot, this boat will be my tomb!”
and longs for his warm kiss with her last breath.
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 Lady of Shalott
When turbulence in water sounds,
And darkness of night mounds,
An aura of loneliness surrounds,
And heart in the chest pounds,
Lady of Shalott stands on the roof of castle,
Can see him from far sail in a boat,
Wearing an obvious yellow fur coat,
Boat drifting with waves yet afloat,
Her pulse thumps fast of inside hassle !
Waiting for him reach very close,
Emotions till now were keeping in a froze,
Feelings that for years she could not disclose,
Mercury of silence as gradually arose,
The Lady of Shalott is in all rolling tears,
As her wait is about to end,
And heart is nearing a mend,
Apprehensions she can not pretend,
Will she be able to meet him with all her fears ?
Trepidation engulfs, she rushes to her room,
Mirror that once reflected her gloom,
Is sure that her love will now bloom,
Has she found her prince or the groom?
The Lady of Shalott is all smiles on her face,
Her fingers entangle into her golden curls,
She looks at her gown and the swirls,
Her tender neck embraces precious pearls,
She has set forth herself in full grace !
Written September 7th, 2014
For contest 'The Lady of Shalott' by Isaiah Zerbst
Awarded 3rd place
The Princess of Shalott
Inspired by The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse
Tucked in the overgrown forest
Deep in the woods lies a castle
Shaded by teeming pine trees.
There the princess seeks freedom
Tortured by lifeless brick towers
Rejecting the murky skies.
The princess had one visitor besides her captor.
The visitor who opened her corroded windows
and kissed her goodnight.
His skin felt rough and sturdy,
concealing the power beneath,
jaw framing thin firm lips.
His clothes habitually torn and worn,
But his mind was continually on the future,
of what he could become.
He always admired the princess,
as she had what he did not.
She could coax any being with her riches,
while radiating empathy and grace.
Midday, he scaled the tower by rope
to deliver his pressing message.
“Cometh, meet me on the boat outside
thine window tomorrow night.
I has't something important to showest thou.”
The princess arose from her gloomy daze,
emerging into reality. The thought of
venturing outside her home and betraying
her captor clouding her mind.
The visitor insisted, persisted.
She peered into his rich green eyes,
as he gently took her hand, smooth
as the silk of her white dress.
“I shall see you then, on the morrow,
when the sun breaks the mirror
of the wondrous lake.”
The last rays of light lingered
over the kingdom, yesterday melting
into a harrowing summer night.
The princess climbed down her tower
into the bitter dread of night,
treading then into the skiff.
So she waited,
as the three ivory candles were burned to gas,
his tapestry, heavy with black water
draped over the boat.
Her face stained with distress,
sweeping crimson locks enveloping her.
The desire of reuniting with him
rekindled every time her mind wandered
elsewhere.
Chilling the frost, wet and windy
Gripping her damp soul and body,
Distant she lies, naive newborn
Down in his vessel still
Waiting...
Upon the tragedy we now embark
with silken scarves tied loosely 'round our mouths
down rivers algae ridden to impart
the when's, the why's, the where's and then the how's.
We slick our hands upon the river's skin
and stand on shaky boats to take our bows
without a second thought to what's within
or why the audience is on the shore
inspecting us for when she shall begin
The scarves will sink to silt and sand below
The fish will silver glint the hidden cave
and then the teeming shores will sudden know
that no one now their clapping can they save
For we are but a whisper on the breeze
For we are taught and then we misbehave
For we are born and then we seldom leave
until the river winds it's last hurrah
and then the shores are silent to bereave
a sinking human vessel fit to fall
to join unburdened scarves and wisher's well
for down the river tragedy to call
as far as anyone can ever tell
to quilts and candles burning at both ends
this lady rose again before she fell.