Philip Dodd

Philip Dodd Poems

The Round Table is broken,
to divide this green island, Britain.
Now I must obey the last words of Merlyn.
Take Excalibur, the sword of Arthur,

Four hundred years,
that is one hundred years less than half a thousand,
that is a long time to be absent from the stage,
a long time for your plays to go on and have no equal,

Worst is when you want to cry
when there is no reason.
It's just a summer passing by,
like any other season.

Panther black jungle night.
Monkeys screech,
parrots squawk in fright.
Muddy brown river,

I strayed into long ago,
somewhere in the east,
yes, the Orient.
Time moved slow,

The wren on the farthing coin I study.
Four of them made a penny.
Hard to leave my chair by the fire
this winter night, I think of old money.

White crane migrate
from one land of lakes to another,
long lane takes you over any border,
hold in your heart

Welsh wizards, Math and Gwydyon
conspired together, met in a wood,
to form a woman out of flowers,
petals of oak, broom, meadowsweet,

Farewell, my lord, King Arthur,
this may be my last farewell.
I go on the quest you gave us,
I go searching for the Sangreal.

Windmill and rainbow,
noon light and shadow,
canal and meadow,
busy stone worker,


Listen. Thunder clouds,
herds of black bison
stampede silent space.
Wait. Relief of rain.

She played her love in a minor key,
to say it was deep, not sad.
Her piano found her melody,
the best tune she ever had.

Faces of strangers life allows me to see,
but I know it is the same for so many.
It seems that is how it must be.
And I know I must not complain,


Ibis. He loved the word,
the bird even more.
Summer lay on the river,
he stood on the shore.

Still the dawn,
still the dew,
still the moments
dwindling down to few.

I was told I took part in a war,
to decide which side I fought for.
I laid aside whatever armour I wore,
to be a spirit naked and pure.

Inaccessible pinnacles,
dark mountain summits,
like cracked crowns,
axe hewn, broken helmets,

Philip Dodd Biography

Philip Dodd lives in Liverpool, England, has a degree in English literature from Newcastle University, and has been writing songs, stories and poems since he was twelve. He is the author of three books, Angel War, published in April,2013, Klubbe the Turkle and the Golden Star Coracle, published in March,2015, and Still the Dawn: Poems and Ballads, published in October,2015. He has had poems published in his local newspaper, the Liverpool Echo, The Dawntreader, a quarterly poetry magazine, published by Indigo Dreams Publishing, and Mallorn, the Journal of the Tolkien Society. One of his poems, The Redundancy of Gods, was published in Greek Fire, an anthology of poems, inspired by Greek mythology, which was published in June,2015 by Lost Tower Publications.)

The Best Poem Of Philip Dodd

Isle Of Apples

The Round Table is broken,
to divide this green island, Britain.
Now I must obey the last words of Merlyn.
Take Excalibur, the sword of Arthur,
that I alone could draw from the stone,
down to the edge of yonder mere,
Sir Bedivere, and throw it out on the water,
as far as your strength can,
to be your last deed for me,
as my faithful knight, a true courageous man.
Prepare in your grief to see a wonder,
as the Lady of Faerie takes my sword
away to her land.
Mordred is dead who came against me,
to take my crown and throne.
He lies with pale skin and empty hand
in the mud of the battlefield,
among crows and his abandoned shield,
like all betrayers he died unloved, alone.
My ideal I made real, if only for a short time.
That it came to ruin hurts me more than my wounds.
Look, the black barge comes towards me through the mist,
to take me to Avalon.
On the Isle of Apples may I be healed.
The dragon under the mountain was woken,
but now rain sweeps over the burnt field.
We who achieved the Grail will not be forgotten.

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