The Death Of Merlin

A Poem by Sandy Lulay


Vivian laughed...
It was her plan to trick him.

The ghost of Merlin sighs...
His surprise was the giving in

     To the dancing heat
     Of her soft glow...
     Her charms that
     Charmed him...
     He who thought he owned
     The charms of all a kingdom.
     Her Prince she called him,
     Playing with love's heart,
     Convincing even he
     That she adored him.

"Vivian," his spirit cries
As he weeps beneath the evergreen.

     Nothing but the angels
     Hear his tears
     That fall between
     The chants, the benedictions,
     The beat of Pagan drums.
     His tears...
     That fall between
     The fears that leap
     With every rope that sounds
     The monastery bell,
     Or hangs a witch,
     Completely dead, as well.

The bells were ringing when Vivian
Left him for a human dead.

     In the buttoned shadows
     Of the glen,
     She stole his magic
     With a breath of kisses
     While the stars came out,
     The moon shine smiled
     And crickets chirped
     Beneath the briars.

     His ghost only hears the bird
     That comes on snowy wings.
     The bird that brings the songs
     Back to him, remembering.
     The bird who sings
     The mocking words of Vivian,
     "Eat the grapes, taste the wine."

Even in his death
His sadness thrives...

     Hear it in the whisper
     Of the winds,
     In the chills that rattle
     Up his ghostly spine,
     Reminding him
     Of all the magic
     He once had
     Then lost so suddenly
     Because of giving in
     To Vivian.

His ghost does testify
Love's madness remains alive.

     Even in death
     This insanity
     Survives itself
     Curled within
     The root of every vine,
     In the flower,
     And all the grapes
     To live for always
     In the making of the wine.


["The Death of Merlin" was inspired by Idylls of the King by Tennyson]

· · · · · ·

Sandy Lulay, originally from Woodstock, New York, is a resident of Stuart, Florida. Lulay is an "Original Woodstock Girl" who has been writing poetry since age ten. Many of her poems have been published both in Woodstock and Stuart's Sleeping Bear Review. Sandy is a Swans' kind of girl, our in-house poet.

Do you wish to share your opinion? We invite your comments. E-mail the Editor. Please include your full name, address and phone number. If we publish your opinion we will only include your name, city, state, and country.

Please, feel free to insert a link to this poem on your Web site or to disseminate its URL on your favorite lists, quoting the first paragraph or providing a summary. However, please DO NOT steal, scavenge or repost this work without the expressed written authorization of Swans, which will seek permission from the author. This material is copyrighted, © Sandy Lulay 2002. All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
· · · · · ·

This Week's Internal Links

Beyond The Lesser Evil - by Gilles d'Aymery

Political Expediency, Media, And Democracy - by Eli Beckerman

Voter Apathy? Whatever - by Jan Baughman

Guerrilla TV - by Michael W. Stowell

Marching For Peace - by William Funke

The Fourth Estate - by Deck Deckert

Bad Novel - by Milo Clark

Iraq, The Ozone Layer, And The Hummer - by Gilles d'Aymery

I Am The People, The Mob - Poem by Carl Sandburg

Letters to the Editor


Sandy Lulay on Swans

Poems and Essays published in 2002 | 2001


Published November 4, 2002
[Copyright]-[Archives]-[Resources]-[Main Page]