"excalibur" poems
Butte Magic of Ignorance
Butte Magic
Is the same as no-Butte
All one light
Old Rough Roads
One High Iron
Mainway
Denver is the same
'The guy I was with his uncle was
the govornor of Wyoming'
'Course he paid me back'
Ten Days
Two Weeks
Stock and Joint
'Was an old crook anyway'
The same voice on the same ship
The Supreme Vehicle
S.S. Excalibur
Maynard
Mainline
Mountain
Merudvhaga
Mersion of Missy
4.7k
Out of a **** he made Great Art
It was no ordinary **** no!
It was straight from the heart, that
****
It had lain too long in the dark
Now was it's time to start
To make its bid for freedom... and for stardom.
It flew like a dart that **** from the
heart
Like an arrow strung from Cupids
bow
Little did it know how luminous it'd
glow
Becoming one of the Greats in the
Farting Canon.
It was probably the greatest **** poem
ever written
In my own humble opinion
It was very daring and it smelt of
onion
It was certainly the fairest fartiest
poem I ever seen
If it was one of the three Musketeers
It would have to have been
D'artagoine.
It inflated like a balloon, blew up like
a great glass bubble
Then it popped and headed off
toward England
Flying further afield than any ****
had ever flown
It touched people's hearts, bewitched
every nation
Resounded around the world
Yea! was heard in every Kingdom.
It flew long, it rounded the Horn
Like a Lark, that **** it soared and
sung
It was no boring old ****
It was far fartier and fruiter than that
It was a King of Farts
Way above the fartiest of farters and
all the farting Arthurs
It was the real King Arthur
The King Arthur of all farts and
Farters.
A real Belter was that **** that came
from the heart
That had all the Angels singing in
their cloisters,
A real work of Art just like Mozart
Or remember... remember your
Shakespeare
"Hark! A **** a **** Whereforth art ?
Thou ****
It played its part, that **** yea! it
wielded its Excalibur.
O! there's nothing I'd rather do than lie here blowing sweet bubbles next
to you
You! on your little flutey flute flute and
Me! on my big Bass Trombone.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 7:24 PM UTC
when you pass my way, know that my Wi-Fi network
requires no password to gain entry,
thus it comes with a security recommendation:
there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable:
how came Excalibur into the rock,
will our children have better lives than us,
can we define accurately finite,
why can't we add new letters to our alphabet,
will my poems live longer than I
so when you pass my way
walk right in, sit right down,
greet madness,
thy new boon companion,
who will not ask you for the password...
8/27/17 11:43pm
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
The legends won't tell
of Arthur when he fell in love
when he swooned for the arm that held Excalibur
extended out to him
how he did a double take
and stuttered and gawked
at the simple beauty of her flawless freckled skin.
And in this moment
I behold the Lady of the Lake
her divine completeness:
holy and whole.
Elegant sloping shoulders
a regal neckline pleading to be united
with loving lips
in an everlasting caress.
Water droplets dripping from her form--
reluctant,
wishing they could reverse the laws of nature
fall up from the surface
to bead and cling to skin again--
desiring to be as close as we
as she entrances me with emerald eyes
rivers of red hair
enchanting lips that know no equal.
She's won me over
and she drags me under
below the water
beneath the lapping waves.
The ripples on the surface
echo my farewell to the world.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
Upon the farthest bank of legend’s secret lake,
At the very edge of a summer day,
The last long corridors of light, retract.
Bequeathing dusk his brief dominion
Over dreams and magic quests.
And there, upon the mind’s most distant shore
The ephemeral figure of an almost forgotten boy
Stood waiting for Excalibur to rise.
© James Rainsford 2010
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC
There is Excalibur,
the sword inside you, firmly stucked,
petrified along with your heart
inside of huge cold rock.
I will get it out,
it will melt in my hands as a snowflake,
in the very moment I put it on my palm.
The blood will come through the hole
warm, vivid, red as my lips when I bite it
to keep those two words from coming
and collapse the entire world of us.
It won't hurt you,
oh no,
on a contrary,
you'll be happy,
maybe for the first time in your life,
you'll be happy to feel
happy to touch
happy to share
happy too much!
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
The grapes haven't spoiled yet, but
will now never be tasted.
The cut flowers
still have some perplexing
life in them.
Hanging from a
tree branch, I find a message
written by a dead woman.
There's a bookmark
embedded between the
pages of a hardback, like
Excalibur lodged in
stone, and I
cannot pull it out.
It hurts to walk along
certain corridors,
past certain doors, with
no one behind them
calling to me.
The radio is tuned to Ghost FM,
and nobody with a pulse
gets airtime.
Digital photographs of
fading analogue memories.
Yet still small shoots persist
in breaking through this dark, cold dirt, and
inexplicably blossoming.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
I like spending time with people I like
Given, sometimes these people are imaginary
But once in a while I’ll sit
Circular,
Now and then surrounded by friends
Excaliburs and *** on the beach,
I’ve never had *** on the beach, I say
I’ll take *** in the shower, though, you say
We laugh.
We share our O-faces and laugh,
because my Adam’s apple is embarrassed
and you’re missing your fedora.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
As you wish!
On a short and sweet notice, in a sphere of dissent,
You pinned an Excalibur of youthful delight.
Like a bullet of laughter through most gloomy torrent,
You carved the initials of an enduring Nile,
Draining the cowardly anguish scent,
A torrent of sorrow that comes to an end,
Ending the story that failed to descend,
To the end of the Nile and further dissent.
You carved a dissimilar unusual scent, portrait of the Nile!
No grass, no forest, no human or beast,
No flowers, no crawling creatures or gods from the East,
No birds or ancestors, no suns and no mists,
No other cosmic body that firmly exists
Will ever grasp the humblest desire to smile,
You brought into essence in this ravaged cryptic empire.
…
It suddenly stopped! The comfort, the fog, the sand and the sea,
Have suddenly plunged and crumbled to form a new entity.
A matter of time or awakening call?
I fail to remember. Illusion or not,
I desperately cannot recall.
Be that a dream? A marvelous touch of phantasmic thrill?
That guides the spirit from real to ordeal?
that all was a myth, and legend will stay
until you get absorbed like a paralyzed prey?
I desire to risk, no incentives for me to obey!
And who can possibly name the unnamed sensation drafted to stay
that clutches to you, bewilders your mind and stretches the borders of time!
No wonder we die, a natural body can fit an unnatural smile
Just for a while…
And reaching the terminal stage of creation,
Contend once again without a swing:
-Irrational mind with chained understanding,
And a singular thought that is free-,
I surrender to life, to death I aspire.
But until then, I’ll be wearing the smile you gave me.
As I desire…
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
Stranger,
why do you choose
to stay wrapped in this mystery
when the sunshine beckons you
to leave behind the conch
that shelters you and listen
to a song other than that of the sea
step out of your (with)drawing room
be a guest for once
explore these gifts i bring you
choose which ones you’ll keep
discard the ones you don’t need
but do take a look at what is offered
hide not behind the curtains
forgo the fabricated veil
unwrap yourself hand and foot
rejoice in your own vulnerability
fall, get hurt, nurse your wounds
trust and be betrayed
in the end you’ll only find
these trials have made you stronger
to find your very own Excalibur
take a risk
take a chance
let me in
for i do wonder
what it is like
to be in your head
***but more than that
i ponder
what it is like
to be in your heart***
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
21.01.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
_The sun got me feeling defeat
I cannot get any relief
There's freaking no love in these streets
Mind over matter, it matters to see
every single one of you eat.
Be comfortable to make your bread and cheese
To death with my inner peace
Before I spell another lie, let it be
I'm going through gears to stay solid, to not crumble!
My name is not to walk on, it's not stairs or concrete.
You can run that on REPEAT.
I may lose focus of topic but I stay on beat!
Sad how some of you look at other or myself
as a piece of meat!
I will give anything for my beliefs.
An arm. A leg. Shoulders. My head.
I promise my son he
got nothing more to lose
other than his baby teeth.
Let that sit and sink in your heart.
I hope all of this hits hard and deep.
I have no issue with Karma
I will be ****** all honor
Before you dread another soul to reap.
Resisting Everything Accepting Peace
It's all a matter of what you perceive
I rather give love for, the universe
returns everything you put into energy to receive
I got enough people living out here
thinking they should call it quits and leave.
You could remove Excalibur from the rock
and bring the evil down to it's knees.
You know what it felt like
Running out of clues
When the Blues seep
and we thought we lost Steve!?
Your family won't be only ones devastated
You better in the name of all GODS
YOU BETTER believe!_
Aug 5, 2022
Aug 5, 2022 at 1:25 AM UTC
Mary, Mother of God--
Born without Sin
Conceived without Man
Gaia, Mother of All
Titans, Gods, the Land of Men--
She gives and takes away
Lady of the Lake
Guardian of King Arthur's Might--
Excalibur
Taylor Alison Swift--
undeniably gained Fame
through Boys' Misfortune
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
As the waves fall on stony shore
the sword just sits there,
blunting in the washing sea-foam.
England’s winds carry the sand
from England’s rock to the grazes
on our ankles, our feet and hands.
They from the toes of Cornwall to
rocky Dunnet head
will our courage forward
through the first crawl on cam-corder,
to the last drop to earth.
‘We all began at the seaside’
Though days are gone, we linger
snaking through London with those southern scrubbers,
those diamond white men,
the Caribbean accents, the Guajarati, the Jews -
‘A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better one’
- we all patter round Oxford Circus and
climb aboard the number 9 bus.
‘Who so pulleth out this sword is trueborn King of all Britain’
And we watch the waves fall.
‘Hold very tight’
It’s there behind our ray-ban’s, our fake ray-ban’s,
their halcyon glint.
It’s the same secret, not one of us can keep -
*Under the setting sun between
England's canals and sheep
the living live, cry and sleep.*
-
It was London and my mother that
raised the muscles in my thighs to look firmly planted
and my face to look resolute when turned to the sun.
It was my mother and London.
They grew me up to look like I could pull out
Excaliber.
‘Lay me down trepanner man, but take the stories with you, if you can’.
So I, always King Arthur,
not a yank, not from Roehampton’s towers,
or Peckham. Not Tintagel, or Camelot,
escaped on an eddie to Manchester,
to bury stories with distance
and stare at cobwebs after rain.
'I’ll hear easy music, find out it’s easy, man.'
But in Manchester’s plastic, in Manchester’s rain
It ran all the same.
Of a blunting blade, I dreamt,
until the Phrenologist came
and I asked him if I was torn up by London grit,
London loves and London’s spit.
But he said no,
no matter where you go
there’s just one secret that you’ll never keep
*Under the setting sun between
England's canals and sheep
the living live, cry and sleep.*
-
The sword just sits there,
honest as a dog.
And the sun has more secrets than any man on earth.
my shadow scuttles through the suburbs,
the seaside, the city, sideways like a crab.
The sandy cuts on my toes, ankles and knees
are bleakly investigated by a fly.
Has anyone sat at the round table?
It’s out of reach of my skinny wrists.
*Lash me to a pole and wait for the Avalon tide
to slowly roll my English soul.*
I better keep on living.
All stories, tears and sleep.
We are all just the living secret,
that not one of us can keep.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
With you,
I feel like my brokeness wears a disguised mask,
it doesn’t protrude out like splinters and spears
right through my rib cage where
thorn ladden tendrils grow, with everyone else.
With you,
I feel less broken.
Maybe even whole again.
Like I used to be.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
once there was a sword stuck inside a stonestanding in a lake standing all alonethe sword was excailbur who freed it would be kingand from miles around the people it did bringeach one tried to move it but it was far to tightthen suddenly from nowhere there appeared a knightin a suit of armour that gave off such a glowso he decided he would have agothen he pushed and pulled and gave a little groanthen realeased the sword and freed it from the stonethe people they were happy and they began to singnow they had the sword and also had a king
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 2:05 PM UTC
Message turned around to speak in her Coronation dress.
The Alliance Project slyly walked up beside her, and wished her the best.
She smiled weakly and said, I wish my father The Legate was here.
Her lower lip trembled as she wiped away from her face a tear.
Message held up her hands and said, I promised myself I would not cry.
The Alliance Project said, His advice-essence is in the Scepter, he did not die.
Besides, he would be proud to see you restored his planet back to its origin.
They kissed briefly and Message said, Let’s go downstairs to the Coronation.
Inside was a great hall, where all of the Federation had gathered to meet.
The Covenantial Project was to crown Message, by putting the Rexic shoes on her feet.
Message sat down on the throne and got up rapidly sayin, This throne is too cold!
Lady of the Night called out in the audience, Be prepared for it to warm, before you get old.
Message took the scepter in hand and recited the Federation pledge.
And then kneeled down, as The Covenantial Project took Excalibur and touched her with its edge.
She got up and the Federation crowd all cheered, because here was their new queen.
The Covenantial Project put the Rexic shoes on her feet, and Message stood to preen.
The Alliance Project and Message boarded the Isotrain Mechanism one last time, to head for their new home planet object
This planet is the new Dahomeyia, whose people were protected by Message and the Alliance Project.
THE END.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
theres a legend of sword from many years ago
its name it was excalibur that everyone would know
came from in a lake for a man who would king
and its power of magic excalibur would bring
cemented in to stone by the lady of the lake
the man who would be king from the stone would take
then along came arthur and pulled from the stone
now they had king to sit upon the throne
and a famous sword that the king would own.
was it just a myth or was it really true
what ever you believe that is it up to you.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
When you're a child, hotel rooms are magical, a place for pillow castles and blanket superheroes;
When you're a child, an empty paper towel roll is a telescope or sword, Excalibur in disguise;
When you're a child there's a man who runs on the telephone wires as you watch from behind car windows;
When you're a child you're told to act your age and grow up, to behave, sit nicely and mind your manners if you want special privileges.
So you do what you're told, and you grow up.
But when you grow up, hotel rooms become places for weary collapse in the stale cigarette burned blankets of a cheap road trip motel, or intimate rendevous with someone you can't take home.
When you grow up, an empty toilet paper roll is a reminder that you need to get groceries but you're running low on cash and payday is in a week and why don't we have any clean rags in this house?
When you grow up, you forget the telephone wire man because now you're driving and so help me I will turn this car around if you make one more sound back there!
When you grow up, you wish you didn't have to act your age or be grown up, you grumble at your boss and swear at the guy who cut in front of you because who the @#$% does he think he is?!
They don't tell you that when you grow up, you might lose your wonder.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
Gin-fueled hunger struck
I stumbled to the kitchen
Fumbling for satisfaction
Yet found myself
********* utensils instead
Peripheral glimmer seized me
I separated chef knife
From stone block
With righteous appetite
Like King Arthur
Oh, how I pictured
What it might be like
To plunge steel beast
Through hollow stomach
Tempt it to twist and saunter
Through tired spine
Would I feel pain
Succeeding shock?
Or would my skin sigh relief
Delighted to release
Pressure seething beneath?
I am still hungry
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
The Kiss of Ceridwen
by Michael R. Burch
The kiss of Ceridwen
I have felt upon my brow,
and the past and the future
have appeared, an eerie vapor,
mingling with the here and now.
And Morrigan, the Raven,
the messenger, has come,
to tell me that the gods, unsung,
will not last long
when the druids’ harps grow dumb.
Originally published by Songs of Innocence
Keywords/Tags: Ceridwen, white, witch, enchantress, sorceress, crone, cauldron, awen, throne, Morfran, power, Wales, Welsh, Druids, Banshee, Picts, Scots, Scottish, fairies, glade, raven, gull, King Arthur, Arthurian, Morgause, Merlin, round table, knights, England, stone, Excalibur, chivalry, Camelot, Uther Pendragon, Colgrim, Saxon
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
~
for T.M.R.
~
*We find our poems in many different ways. Of late,
I keep finding inspiration in the public and private messages that many of you send to me, regarding poems I choose to publish here.
So I repeat my disclaimer,
"any message you send, can and will be used as a poem."*
~
instant recognition at levels so deep within,
what are the odds, given the enormous differentials,
that the kin in kindred, would blossom across two lives,
where the oppositional factoids are exceptional
as if seeded in the fertile soil of the blank spaces,
between each of our poem's words and verses,
there secreted for each other, but gleaming visible
for all to see and uncover, even join in,
uncovering semi-hidden insertions and assertions of affinity
I confess
she stands behind me ofttimes in my mind, silently,
suggesting, reflecting, critiquing a word choice,
a nuanced pressure upon the hand redirecting,
with infiltrating suggestions imaginary
oh wordy me, four stanzas excised,
abstracted from the memories contained within my fingertips,
this, an accolade to the pleasuring of humanizing mystery connectivity,
when she, in the depth of her stylized brevity,
captures more than I, after hours of exercised trying,
in the succinct excalibur of her comprehension
"We are an unstated understood"
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC
He's the only one
who pulled out the sword and could
cleave her heart of stone.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC
If I could tell them the rocks I turn them to
When loud commotion start a hectic running war,
I grab, I throw, restock as the fighters do
Watching them hurl to the ground as mine beating, tore.
Where ever stepped on, these certain tiles will break,
One path is my home, God, I can not hold
Twisters and questions commence upon the shake
On ward! they call, where is the force to be bold?
No two sided blade as this was ever so fatal
Thus up pours the light blood from this narrow transaction
Bandage, if found my dear wanted Excalibur cradle
Rocks would soon fall and let my agony fraction
So come rubble, gather, and produce me mine sword
This one to mend cuts, a love of such needed rewards.
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 5:20 PM UTC