there was a contest to decide
which faerie queen to abide
contenders came from kingdoms near
each one clever, each one dear
gnomes, elves and brownies watched the game
hoping Faerie Guinevere, they would name
she had protected the fey all her life
Brownie king brought out his fife
Guinevere was selected that day
to the relief of the entire fey
If we'd lived in olden days
days of yore
the golden days
and I were a troubadour
I'd serenade you with my lute
unless I had a flute to toot
or go more than the extra mile
and sing a song to make you smile
not with the end of a lance
would I beg my lady's favour
but gallantly request a dance
mayhaps a carol we could savour
to fight and kill the dragon
and do it all with no fear
I'd pull Excalibur from the stone
for my dear 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 cried -
Were Lancelot and Guinivere sorry he died?
Well, Sir Lance furrowed his handsome brow, and said "heck,
We should legislate a sword control background check."
Misted, as some enchantress
A mythic age haunts
This Autumn's country; this day's.
Morn, noon. And beyond.
All the dazed while, what desires
Marvelled at, to be
Do get that sense of. And how!
Speak; I wont respond!
I hear girlish laughter beyond the bagged onions.
Imagine her swimming naked among green ripples.
Her white arms are lily stems, hips as sleek as an otter
flow in a neon moonlight.
A sound system promotes discount cookies.
Visions of idealized females fill the dairy product section.
A courtly love of grapes spreads to the potatoes.
In the toy aisle, Avalon, Camelot, and Tintagel
appear in plastic miniature together with rainbow painted ponies.
Between the crisp covers of Guns & Ammo and Cosmo,
Annales Cambriae, Historia Brittornum,
and the writings of Gildas shimmer in periodic reality.
I should turn the old legends off, but the Kimble audio
keeps me walking with Malory and Tennyson.
In toiletries and cosmetics, I find her.
A teenager shyly laughing as she texts a boy.
My imagination reaches for the forbidden,
a fruit that was fresh this morning –
a thousand years ago.
I hear girlish laughter beyond the bagged onions.
Imagine her swimming naked among green ripples.
Her white arms are lily stems, hips as sleek as an otter
flow in a neon moonlight.
A sound system promotes discount cookies.
Visions of idealized females fill the dairy product section.
A courtly love of grapes spreads to the potatoes.
In the toy aisle, Avalon, Camelot, and Tintagel
appear in plastic miniature together with rainbow painted ponies.
Between the crisp covers of Guns & Ammo and Cosmo,
Annales Cambriae, Historia Brittornum,
and the writings of Gildas shimmer in periodic reality.
I should turn the old legends off, but the Kimble audio
keeps me walking with Malory and Tennyson.
In toiletries and cosmetics, I find her.
A teenager shyly laughing as she texts a boy.
My imagination reaches for the forbidden,
a fruit that was fresh this morning –
a thousand years ago.
Lady Guinevere decided to follow her passion
By finding employment as a hired assassin.
She practiced technique
On her cousin Monique,
But found the guillotine to be out of fashion.
Eyelids gently drooping,
drowsing on the porch swing,
eighty-three years old and feeling grand,
reveries of cherished times
when he was a lad in Merry England.
In his hands the uniform
that he wore in childhood,
when he was a knight upon his steed,
a champion in his armour,
boldly defending damsels in dire need.
Ruler of the Empire,
everyone his subject,
all, that is, except for Mary Jane.
She made him blush and stammer,
he flushed like crazy when she spoke his name!
She was his Guinevere,
he her brave King Arthur,
she was six years old and he was too,
he loved her with a passion
and promised that he'd be forever true.
In later years he worried,
tried to do the right thing,
his wife was right beside him all the way;
he never had to wonder,
her faithfulness grew stronger every day
He had a fruitful life,
he could not complain,
all his needs and pleasures were foreseen
for he shares it with the girl
who still portrays King Arthur's lovely Queen!
Eyelids gently drooping,
drowsing on the porch swing,
eighty-three years old and feeling grand,
reveries of cherished times
when he was a lad in Merry England.
In his hands the uniform
that he wore in childhood,
when he was a knight upon his steed,
a champion in his armour,
boldly defending damsels in dire need.
Ruler of the Empire,
everyone his subject,
all, that is, except for Mary Jane.
She made him blush and stammer,
he flushed like crazy when she spoke his name!
She was his Guinevere,
he her brave King Arthur,
she was six years old and he was too,
he loved her with a passion
and promised that he'd be forever true.
In later years he worried,
tried to do the right thing,
his wife was right beside him all the way;
he never had to wonder,
her faithfulness grew stronger every day
He had a fruitful life,
simply could not complain,
all his needs and pleasures were foreseen
for he shared it with the girl
who'd once portrayed King Arthur's lovely Queen!
I long to meet a Guinevere
So many poems I'd pen
Like Guinevere by the Azure Mere
Or simply, My Sweet Gwen
I taste the sound of Guinevere
Tis salt upon my lips
Perhaps she'd be my Gwenhwyfar
Sweet wine of Arthur's sips
Smooth and fair my Guinevere
Of her so many songs be sung
I'd love you o'er and o'er, my dear
Tomorrow I'd have ye hung.
r ~ 4/22/14
Eyelids gently drooping,
drowsing on the porch swing,
eighty-three years old and feeling grand,
reveries of cherished times
when he was a lad in Merry England.
In his hands the uniform
that he wore in childhood,
when he was a knight upon his steed,
a champion in his armour,
boldly defending damsels in dire need.
Ruler of the Empire,
everyone his subject,
all, that is, except for Mary Jane.
She made him blush and stammer,
he flushed like crazy when she spoke his name!
She was his Guinevere,
he her brave King Arthur,
she was six years old and he was too,
he loved her with a passion
and promised that he'd be forever true.
In later years he worried,
tried to do the right thing,
his wife was right beside him all the way;
he never had to wonder,
her faithfulness grew stronger every day
He had a fruitful life,
he could not complain,
all his needs and pleasures were forseen
for he shared it with the girl
who'd once portrayed King Arthur's lovely Queen.
In this hell you hold the hand of our Lord.
Deep inside my heart troubles towards doom,
If I could cast it upon my own sword
And if I could request for just one boon.
Fear to accept what my heart proclaims true?
With no reasoning and poisoned with lies
My ambition can never be with you
I am haunted by your beautiful eyes.
There’s no profit from the promise we’ve kept,
Which cannot be honoured to ours above.
Denial and deceit we must both accept,
We must from our good lord both hide our love.
And inevitably darkness draws nears,
Discovery will realise our fears.
Through rain shall thy sunlight fall?
My maiden of springsome grace
as souls stand to meet thy call
but I alone see thy face,
for thy favour, I give all
my Guinevere, gracious queen
as thy knight, I’m standing tall
and marvel what I have seen.
And should my queen come to call
to grace me with love serene
on my knees I’ll surely fall
my heart in thy hands unseen
as my sword waits thy command
there is nothing left between
when I kiss thy sweetest hand
and lead thee behind love’s screen
Eyelids gently drooping,
drowsing on the porch swing,
eighty-three years old and feeling grand,
reveries of cherished times
when he was a lad in Merry England.
In his hands the uniform
that he wore in childhood,
when he was a knight upon his steed,
a champion in his armour,
boldly defending damsels in dire need.
Ruler of the Empire,
everyone his subject,
all, that is, except for Mary Jane.
She made him blush and stammer,
he flushed like crazy when she spoke his name!
She was his Guinevere,
he her brave King Arthur,
she was six years old and he was too,
he loved her with a passion
and promised that he'd be forever true.
In later years he worried,
tried to do the right thing,
his wife was right beside him all the way;
he never had to wonder,
her faithfulness grew stronger every day
He had a fruitful life,
simply could not complain,
all his needs and pleasures were forseen,
for he shared it with the girl
who'd once portrayed King Arthur's lovely Queen.
Eyelids gently drooping,
drowsing on the porch swing,
eighty-three years old and feeling grand,
reveries of cherished times
when he was a lad in Merry England.
In his hands the uniform
that he wore in childhood,
when he was a knight upon his steed,
a champion in his armour,
boldly defending damsels in dire need.
Ruler of the Empire,
everyone his subject,
all, that is, except for Mary Jane.
She made him blush and stammer,
he flushed like crazy when she spoke his name!
She was his Guinevere,
he her brave King Arthur,
she was six years old and he was too,
he loved her with a passion
and promised that he'd be forever true.
In later years he worried,
tried to do the right thing,
his wife was right beside him all the way;
he never had to wonder,
her faithfulness grew stronger every day
He had a fruitful life,
simply could not complain,
all his needs and pleasures were forseen
for he shared it with the girl
who'd once portrayed King Arthur's lovely Queen.
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