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IC Mar 2020
Kiss me like its the last
Rather slow than fast

Dont threat me like you do
More like something new

Love me like you love me

Touch me like you want me

Hug me like you miss me

I want to feel adored
And be 'the wife of your life'
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Truces
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,
and 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!”

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, possibly the son of Wayland Smith. 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, armor, sword, Excalibur, spear, Lancelot, wife, domestic chores, war, peace, homework
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Pellinore’s Fancy
by Michael R. Burch

King Pellinore was famous for hunting the Questing Beast, a rather odd, fantastical creature. Does its name suggest that the beast was dreamed up, or invented for the purpose of questing after it? Perhaps Pellinore simply didn’t want to stay home and needed a good (if farfetched) excuse to furnish his wife . . .

What do you do when your wife is a nag
and has sworn you to hunt neither fish, fowl, nor stag?
When the land is at peace, but at home you have none,
Is that, perchance, when ... the Questing Beasts run?

Keywords/Tags: King Pellinore, questing beast, hunt, Arthurian, legend, myth, wife, nag
relahxe Apr 2020
To my wife

Sometimes I will come to you in your dreams
as unexpected and uninvited guest.
Do not leave me outside in the street -
do not block up the doors.

I'll enter quietly, sit down softly,
and gaze upon you in the dark.
When my eyes have gazed their fill -
I'll kiss you and depart.
A poem by the Bulgarian author Nikola Vaptsarov. Nikola wrote this poem under arrest. He was sentenced to death and shot down three months later.
David P Carroll Apr 2020
She's my happiness
And joy she's
My dream come true
She's my beautiful wife,
And I'll always
Love her
Forever In life...
My Beautiful Wife
David P Carroll Apr 2020
She's my beautiful wife
She takes my breath
Away every day,
She's my beautiful
Wife,
And I'll
Always love
Her forever in life...
Beautiful Wife
David P Carroll Apr 2020
She's a true beauty of life
And she's my
Beautiful wife...
Wife In Life
Donna Bella Mar 2020
Here’s the thing
I fell for you
I fell for you before you fell for me
I was head over heels
My heart flutters with every beat you pump
I look at your face and I see my happiness
I touch your body and I feel your warmth
With you the before’s doesn’t matter
With you it feels like another lifetime

To you,
My love
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2020
The language of Los Angeles
gets lost in translation.
Even the rain clouds
drop their contents
with an unfamiliar accent.
The peculiar way
she tilts her head,
the distinct way
she crosses her legs,
are every bit incorrect.
The uninvolved way
she sits, steps, speaks,
alludes to her lack
of the irrepressible nature
surrounding her day.
"The rest is rust
and stardust."

She is quite
American.

There is no turning of the shadow
under a European sun.
The silence of her heart,
the stillness in her limbs,
is barren, muted,
her leaves brittle.
In the breezy part
of the afternoon,
her core lay hollow
and unfelt,
regardless of...
He wakes her,
demurely she makes
an effort at soixante-neuf,
arbitrarily she bends for him.
"Her dream-gray gaze
never flinches."

She is quite
American.
Nothing wrong with being American, this just illustrates the differences in cultural behavior and belief systems.

Inspired by the poem "Wuthering Heights," by fellow HP writer B.
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