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.
Categories:
shalott, art, beauty,
Form: Ekphrasis
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."
Categories:
shalott, 12th grade, dark, jealousy,
Form: Rhyme
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.
Categories:
shalott, sorrow,
Form: Rhyme
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.
Categories:
shalott, art, river,
Form: Terza Rima