Location: Shire of Trisel, Trimaris

I am in my late forties, a proud husband, father, and a bard. I am a book pedlar by trade and a bookman by vocation. I am a romantic, a realist, and a Believer. I like a good joke, and a bad one even better. I admire all ladies for the innate beauty that is in each one, but my heart is sworn to the fair and gentle Lady Lorelei, who has consented to share my life and my name.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

The Wee One Kills With A Smile

Happy birthday, Nicole!

A pixie grin in an elfin face,
Tinkerbell in leather and lace,
Cuts to the quick with a dancer's grace,
She executeswith style.
A delicate hand cupped under her chin,
You wouldn't believe the places she's been
You're fooling yourself if you think you can win,
The Wee One kills with a smile.

She's a thief of hearts, you may understand,
With amazing powers at her command
For daring feats of slight of hand,
She pulls them off with style.
You may think that you are in control.
Don't flatter yourself. You're playing the role
She's assigned to you while she robs you whole.
The Wee One kills with a smile.

Many a fool with his towering pride
Has sought to hold her by his side.
With honeyed words her ears he's plied
With deviousness and guile.
But against those eyes his resources fail.
His knees go weak, his features pale.
Then she turns on the charm and he starts to wail
The Wee One kills with a smile.

So if you think that you'll succeed
Where all others have failed, I say take heed.
She'll steal your heart and leave you to bleed.
She's laughing at us all the while.
But never mind my point of view.
I can see she's already conquered you.
What can I say? I'm a victim, too.
The Wee One kills with a smile.

The Wee One kills with a smile.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

The Modern Middle Ages

Although we try to re-create the lore,
Connecting with the ways of those before,
I wonder just how accurate we can be
As we're encumbered by modernity.
How can we comprehend and understand
The motivations of medieval man?
We do not live our lives in constant fear
Of calamity and death so ever near;
Nor do we bear our arms into the fray
Expecting loss of limb or life today.
Our forebears ever answered Heaven's call.
Today, we hardly speak of it at all.
Completely foreign to us is the fright
Of all the nameless terrors in the night.
And when we gather to indulge in mirth,
Never seen is peasant, drudge, or serf.
Viking Theign sits next to Norman Knight
With a Persian Princess dining on his right.
We feast by candle light because we can,
Not because we must, as they did then.
Our garb and all our gear for chivalry
Owes less to craft, more to machinery.
The Middle Ages as they should have been
When modern conveniences are factored in.
Although great fun, our games are merely all
As true to life as shadows on the wall;
Reflections of a time that's ceased to be,
And lost within the mists of history.
We cannot really live within the past,
But in our play we let its echos last.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

A Fine Highland Lass

I've a dapper blue bonnet,
A rakish blue bonnet,
A fine Highland bonnet
Cocked over my brow.
All I need now to
Bestow grace upon it
Is a fine Highland lassie
To go with me now.

I've a bonny bright tartan,
A warm woolen tartan,
A fine belted tartan
Wrapped over my knee.
All I need now for
To make it more heart'nin
Is a fine Highland lassie
My sweetheart to be.

So come, lass and hear me,
Come sit down and cheer me.
Come lassie sit near me,
Take hold of my hand.
Justlet your heart guide ye,
And sit down beside me.
Come lassie and let me
Be your Highland man.

I've a basket hilt broadsword,
A bright gleaming broadsword,
A sharp warrior's broadsword
To hang by my side.
All I need now for to
Set my heart homeward
Isa fine Highland lassie
To come be my bride.

So come, lass and hear me,
Come sit down and cheer me.
Come lassie sit near me,
Take hold of my hand.
Justlet your heart guide ye,
And sit down beside me.
Come lassie and let me
Be your Highland man.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Spirits On The Wind

When Autumn's early chill turns leaves to brown,
And all things green retreat to wait the Spring,
Then wistful voices on the wind swirl round
The treetops, making barren branches sing.
Who are these spirits that ride on the breeze?
The ghosts of ages past that linger on
In old familiar haunts, though no one sees
Them wandering there. They play upon
Old memories to bring them back to mind
Like some faint melody but half-recalled,
Unable to make contact with our kind,
Except perhaps,when dreams leave hearts unwalled.
Their voices call to any that would hear
To cherish life in the dying of the year.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Checkbook Laurel

As if I have any room to talk...

You see her coming o'er the hill
In garb for which a queen would kill,
But his Lordship's looking rather ill
Cause she's a checkbook Laurel.

She doesn't cook, she doesn't sew.
She doesn't weave or spin, you know.
She learned to dance from a video.
She's a checkbook Laurel.

Her gowns and slippers, pearl hairnet,
Buttons of the finest jet,
She found them all on the internet.
She's a checkbook Laurel.

The merchants love to see her face.
She's always welcome in their space.
Her Visa bills are a disgrace.
She's a checkbook Laurel.

If she would but pause to reflect,
She'd maybe be more circumspect,
Cause one thing you can't buy's respect,
But she's a checkbook Laurel.

Yes, she's a checkbook Laurel.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Hint Of Color

Forgive me, if I look too long
And often at your face
I hope that I don't bring offence
Between us in this place,
And further that my weakness
Will not our friendship mar,
But I cannot help but marvel
At how beautiful you are.

I love how, when I tell you so,
The color comes to your cheek.
There's a softening in your eyes,
And you hesitate to speak;
But not out of embarrassment
At what you hear me say,
How I take great pleasure
In seeing you here today.

I know you've said that you don't want
To fall in love again.
You've been burned too many times
By those you thought were friends.
And I know I'm not anyone's
Idea of a catch.
I don't blame you if you don't
Want to make us a match.

Yet, sitting here at dinner
With you by my side,
I cannot help a bit of hope
From springing up inside.
And so I dare to look at you,
And so I dare to speak,
To see that little hint of color
Rising in your cheek.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

A Sad Tale With A Moral

A warrior proud came from the field
Carrying his loot,
And swiftly to his lady's side
In passionate pursuit.
She bragged about his prowess,
His honor, and his fame.
He praised her beauty, grace and poise,
Her talents, much the same.
He said, "Though evening cools the air,
My warrior blood runs hot.
Let's find ourselves a quiet place
Where all the crowds are not.
And let us take our pleasures there
As noble lovers should,
Forgetting all our troubles there.
'Twould do us both much good."
So they retired into the woods
To find a private place.
Anticipating the joys to come,
Their hearts began to race.
And there in a moonlit clearing
Behind a laughing creek,
Hearts and hands began to explore
The way to pleasure's peak.
But just as it seemed that Eros
Was going to rule the glade,
The lovers met with a crisis,
And their passion was dismayed.
For he who had known victory
On the field in so many ways
Now found himself defeated
By his Lady's corset stays.
The ties and laces, clasps and binds
That fortified her frame
proved unassailable ramparts
'Tween the warrior and his dame.
No matter how he labored,
No matter how he pressed,
He found himself frustrated
By his Lady's period dress.
The moonlight and mood were wasted
Their lover's ardor grew cold.
The noble knight began to curse,
His lady began to scold.
They spent a cold and lonely night
On opposite sides of their tent.
And in the morning they packed their gear
And unhappily home they went.
This story has a moral
That all lovers should take heed.
If you would indulge in courtly love,
To you ladies I would plead.
Although your gaments are lovely,
And accurate to your time,
Correct in all their interior
To create an effect sublime,
Don't make it too complicated
For a fighter's hands, clumsy and rough;
For what good is a beautiful period gown
If your lover can't get it off.