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The Celtic King and His Majesty
by J AG
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Not rated by the Author.
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           >> View all 102

For a dear friend and kindred poet....

from the misty moors he climbs

out over the rocks,

a celtic king with the rings of the moon

above his head,

the splendor of stars

at his feet,

every footstep taken an imprint of

thousands who've gone before -

their spirits living in the veins

that make their way over his majesty,

sculpted from the hands of thor,

hammered tones of bronze,

hard flesh covered in tribal clothes,

colors to show the clan's fire

as he travels down the road

wielding steel in the might of his hands -

  hands that in battle rip the enemy in two,

and in love mold his lover

with the strongest caress,

sending waves of urgency

that push the castle doors open to

the celtic king and his majesty,

turning over the throne and

surrendering the crown,

laying down arms,

making alliances that only  in dreams

can ever come true .




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Reviewed by Victoria's Poetry & Voices of Muse 3/6/2009
Jackie, this is Poetic DIVINITY!!
This poem is so supurbe in all the essence of your pen
Very Captivating!

Reviewed by richard cederberg 2/18/2009
Ahhh ... it be true young lassy ...
the mist hovers over the peaty soil
covered with heather and bracken and moss ...
It's where the King dreams the dreams and cries,
(don't tell the others mind ye)
cuz the storms do come ... aye ... they come
and try to ruin the dreams

And it came in of a sudden,
This bitter blustering thing,
Rumblin low and a-moanin -
As a fair bonnie woman in moil -
Stroking all the senses daft, this
Portend black of billowing clouds,
Bearing down on the heather bitter
With a sharp-set iciness that bit
Fiercely at the skin like the
Teeth of Serpents

But we prevail at all costs,
cause there's no other choice ya know.
Standin strong against the storms
And all the bloody naysayers
And all the sour pickles

you rock sis
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