The Celtic Queen Poem by Karl Stuart Kline

The Celtic Queen

No pallid bust of Pallas, but a bronzed Celtic Queen,
Her helm is on and her sword is drawn,
Her darkly bronzed skin shimmers with a metallic sheen.

A bearskin cape is loosely draped over her shoulders,
Exposing her chest and beautiful breasts,
Petulant breasts that hang like pendulous boulders.

Achilleos’ art, rendered by an unknown sculptor,
Beautifully done, she is the one
Watching me as I write, like a keen eyed raptor

She keeps company with the angel on my shoulder...
If they approve or they are moved,
They can only share their feelings with each other.

Sometimes wakeful or writing what comes to me in my sleep,
With my scarred heart that’s been torn apart,
I record tales that will make Angels and statues weep...