Long Guinevere Poems
Long Guinevere Poems. Below are the most popular long Guinevere by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guinevere poems by poem length and keyword.
Looking into the mirror…she allowed her hands to trace
the crinkles, the folds, the creases…all the wrinkles on her face.
She said, “Look how old I have become...do you still love me yet?”
He smiled, “I shall always be your Romeo...and you...my Juliet.”
“But I was once so beautiful...or have you, to my delight... forgot.”
He smiled, “You shall always be my Guinevere...and I...your Lancelot.”
“Age may mute the beauty of a painting,” he said, “but the beauty still endures
“You will always be a work of art, and I...a connoisseur.”
“That is the beauty of love”, he smiled...”for when love is in your eyes...”
“You will always see the beauty...age endeavors to disguise.”
I look towards the foaming sea
The clouds go by, the wind runs free
I stand upon the tremblin’ quay
And wonder now where you could be
I call your name but all in vain.
The crashing waves encroach the land
Never will I hold your hand
It is hard to understand
I am in tears and pain.
Hark, he cometh on sturdy steed
Sir Lancelot, I must concede
Would surely fill this empty need
His gentleness, of tender breed
Perhaps he'll cast his eyes on me.
Fair Guinevere had caught his eye
Though he left her with a sigh
As the king was standing nigh
Behold me; I am free.
---------------------------------------------------------
22nd August 2014
A Collaboration ~ Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
Contest: The Lady of Shalott
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Placing: 1st
O Camelot! O Camelot!
The winds have changed, the land got hot!
Though dromedaries are quite neat,
A bactrian's hard to unseat,
And so the knights still joust a lot.
At banquet feasts, the men are found,
And like the table, they are round.
The reason they are heavy-set:
Girls now see knighthood as a threat;
Who lives life chaste and honor-bound?
Sir Galahad, a handsy lad;
His boasting made the maidens mad.
Now saddled with the cursed #metoo,
Chivalrous days of riding through,
He gardens, in his armor clad.
And then there is Sir Lancelot
Sad, as he aged, he weirder got.
Exchanging quests for lowly toils,
He traveled far just lancing boils,
Relieving pustulence and rot.
And Arthur lost what he held dear:
His lovely bride, his Guinevere
The evil witch, Morgana Fay
Transitioned her without her say,
And as a knight she does appear.
O Camelot! I just cannot
Believe the damage time has wrought.
And now the lady of the lake:
A charlatan, a fraud, a fake!
Ran off with Merlin, on his yacht.
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.
The Strange Truces of King Arthur
by Michael R. Burch
Artur took Cabal, his hound,
and Carwennan, his knife,
and his sword forged by Wayland
and Merlyn, his falcon,
and, saying goodbye to his sons and his wife,
he strode to the Table Rounde.
“Here is my spear, Rhongomyniad,
and here is Wygar that I wear.
Now ready for war,
an oath I foreswore
to fight for all that is righteous and fair
from Wales to the towers of Gilead!”
But none could be found to contest him,
for Lancelot had slewn them, forsooth,
so he hastened back home, for to rest him,
till his wife bade him, “Thatch up the roof!”
Originally published by Neovictorian/Cochlea, then by Celtic Twilight
We must sometimes wonder if all the fighting related to King Arthur and his knights was really necessary. In particular, it seems that Lancelot fought and either captured or killed a fairly large percentage of the population of England. Could it be that Arthur preferred to fight than stay at home and do domestic chores? And, honestly now, if he and his knights were such incredible warriors, who would have been silly enough to do battle with them? Wygar was the name of Arthur’s hauberk, or armored tunic, which was supposedly fashioned by one Witege or Widia, quite possibly the son of Wayland Smith. The legends suggest that Excalibur was forged upon the anvil of the smith-god Wayland, who was also known as Volund, which sounds suspiciously like Vulcan. Keywords/Tags—King Arthur, Arthurian, Round Table, Knights, Merlin, Guinevere, Lancelot, England, Camelot, Excalibur, Grail Quest, Chivalry, Arms, Armor, Battle, War, Peace, Castle
Throughout history, we are lovers
Throughout history, we are soul mates
We are Romeo and Juliet
We are Anthony and Cleopatra
We are Lancelot and Guinevere
We are Tristan and Isolde
Scarlett O' Hara and Rhett
Elizabeth Barrett and Robert
Pocahontas and John
Jayne Eyre and Rochester...
Blended inside one another
Melted inside one another
Two hearts are one
Two souls are one
Throughout the ages
Throughout eternity
Forever was
Forever shall be...
You and I
The sweetest symphony,
and if there were to be
another life
than the one that we now live,
I know your soul would find mine
We would be
the next world renowned lovers,
our names immortalized
in the books that will be written,
for a love like ours,
this passion we share,
defies the boundaries of time
It's a living entity
infused with heaven's light
and its longevity
You and I
We lived; we live; we will live,
for we are the embodiment of love
We ARE love
Personified
You and I
Love's sweetest refrain
Yesterday, now, and forever
YOU and I
Collab between Tim Ryerson and Eileen Ghali
For Carolyn Devonshire's Contest
Past Lives
June 25, 2014
* A fictitious write
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.
My queen! He said, overcome with her beauty, and his feeling.
She too, had heartfelt emotions that were ethereally reeling.
They both knew the danger, and yet, they could not resist.
They had to have a taste of each other, a betrayer’s kiss.
King Arthur, loved emphatically by both of these two.
They knew in spite of their attraction, what they had to do.
They were valiant, and loyal, and brave, and they both adored.
The king of Camelot. His honor and majesty could not be ignored.
Maybe in heaven, Lancelot whispered, in another life time.
Queen Guinevere agreed. She knew “he can never be mine.”
They were discreet and honorable until the end of their days.
Both loyal to King Arthur in the most pure, upright ways.
"When stars align, and you're on track, she's all signs of the Zodiac"
~ the author, after a twelve-pack
If in your heart (a paradise) I'd delve,
'twould multiply my love for you by twelve.
I would be declared by any jury
completely mad, in a trice or hurry.
Your voice rings in a dulcet twelve-tone scale.
Your eyes enchant and wink behind a veil.
Each hour's an eternity on the clock,
as I wait, impatiently, to unlock
the latch on your affection's secret door,
I'll do the tasks of Heracles and more.
My Guinevere, the queen of ev'ry knight,
my love ever burns for you, twelve times bright.
Stories that were sung .
Minstrels of old, once, did tell, stories
in songs, we have come to know the glories
of times long passed, of Guinevere, of Camelot,
of the love of a brave, persistent knight, Sir Lancelot.
Minstrels of old, told us of Romeo and Juliet,
figures of love, we know of, yet never met,
except in the stories Minstrels told
as they travelled many a road.
From town to town, to town
they gave us songs of the renown,
sung their song of the many ways of love,
battles fought gallantly to raise the bar, far above.
B. J. “A” 2 ( Bill . )
April 12th 2014