Poetry Response to Camelot's Daughter
The Homepage, Poetry & Artwork of Steven R. McEvoy
This is my homepage but most of my web presence is on my blog, Book Reviews and More. It is a collection of my published and unpublished writing, mostly book reviews, with a few articles and reflection's. If you want to poke around here the key sections are Poetry, Artwork, and Lists.
I have written poetry for as long as I can remember. And I try and read a book or 2 of poetry each year.
Girded with your shining armour,
Only yesterday bloodied in battle,
Now you kneel calmly before me,
You hide your wounds so well.
Braced, steadfast and upright
Within your metal shell.
I watched you fight from the forest scrub
An unusual education for a princess.
I knew then how Adam & Eve felt.
When your sword dripped with blood.
Curses following the fallen men.
Collapsing in the mud.
I crept home with heart quivering,
Think you’d changed indelibly,
Your soft genteel charm vanished,
Each sword swipe a cruel blow
To me idyllic dreams,
of all I didn’t know.
I am the one who has changed.
I matched you wound for wound,
Though now I do so proudly,
True maturity arriving late,
Lord, lift up your eyes...
And recognize your mate.
Response to Camelot’s Daughter
You ask me who I am, My Celtic Warrior
Standing before me weary and battle-scared by life
You ask me who I am , My Celtic knight;
With heart in hand and kindly concern crossing your countenance
You seek to know my Celtic Prince
what beats deep in my heart...
A heart of fire full of passion and life
or one of ice ..., cold and unmoved, frozen in pain.
You seek to know, my Celtic Priest
who dwells in the depths of my very soul.
You seek to know, my Mad Celtic Poet
to open the box...,
once opened, ..., now tightly shut, ...
Of feelings, desires, need and wants, ...
This is your Quest, My Celtic heart
to seek ...
to search ...
to open ...
And Once your Quest has been fulfilled then what?
To you Camelot’s Daughter
I wish to be
--- S.R. McEvoy
— MCWPP (Mad Celtic Warrior Poet Priest)
--- Nov 14th 1999
Like breeze-tickled waterways,
Across her soft skin.
Beloved by her prince,
And entwined with his body,
Clear springs flow again,
Streams of pristine tears,
For fears spawned by war’s terror,
And gruesome caprice,
But her heart’s wellspring,
rather than tributaries,
Serves to revive him.
Shari Lynn Hewings