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.

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Vows: This Ring And With This Kiss

(My rates are very reasonable)

In the garden long ago
When the Earth was new begun,
The Lord took thought on Adam,
That he was all alone,
Without a true companion
With which to share his life.
So the loving Father made for him
Eve to be his wife.
Now as our savior loves his bride,
So do I love you.
And those His spirit has made one
No power can undo.
I'll cherish you, and treasure you
Till we share Heaven's bliss.
Here, now, I seal my promise with
This ring, and with this kiss.

As Ruth did with her Boaz ,
It's my honor to abide
With him who offers me his love,
And seeks me for his bride;
To shelter in his kindness,
And in his labors share.
And wheresoever he may go
I'll find my dwelling there.
Before our friends assembled,
I promise to you this:
Sealed this day with faith in God,
This ring, and with this kiss.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

The Knight And the Dragon

A knight rode out for adventure
One morning fair in May,
Looking for some monsters
That he could fight and slay.
He killed himself some kobalds,
Ran an ogre through the head.
And then he saw the shadow
Of a dragon overhead.

The dragon landed in his way.
It was an awesome sight,
Belching somke and fire,
And sporting for a fight.
The knight tookshelter behind a rock
While the dragon ate his horse.
He gripped his holy talisman
And prayed
to the Lord, of course.

"Oh Lord, who made King Arthur's sword arm firm;
Oh Lord, helped Saint George to kill the wyrm;
Oh Lord, who raises our spirits when they're flaggin';
Now, Lord, if you can't help me, then please don't help that dragon!"

He met the dragon in combat.
It was a terrible fight.
Theknight's sword swung from left to right
"Gainst the dragon's claw and bite.
About that time, the knight's sword broke.
The dragon let out a roar.
The knight cast his eyes to the Lord in the skies
And he prayed these word once more.

"Oh Lord, who made King Arthur's sword arm firm;
Oh Lord, helped Saint George to kill the wyrm;
Oh Lord, who raises our spirits when they're flaggin';
Now, Lord, if you can't help me, then please don't help that dragon!"

The dragon knocked the knight to his knees.
It was the end of the fight.
The knight prayed fora miracle,
That this dragon would see the light.
"Let this dragon get religion,
Be a Christian, just like me,
So that in holy charity
He'll let me to go free!"

To the knight's amazement,
The dragon bowed its head.
It didn't start to eat him,
but began to pray instead.
The knight cried, "Halleluia!
Let'sboth gofrom this place!"
The dragon said to him,
"Hush, Sir knight.
I'm trying to say Grace!"

"Oh Lord, who provides for the birds and beasts of the field;
Oh Lord,who makes these foolish knights with sword and shield;
And oh Lord, since you know how much that I like snackin'
Thank you for sending me this knight
For feeding this here dragon!"

Thank you for sending me this knight
For feeding this here dragon!"

Friday, January 26, 2007

The Pub Inside My Head

I’m by myself, alone again,
And restless at the thought
Of closing out another day
As I know I really ought.
I’d rather share some music
And some company instead,
But all I have to keep me
Are the phantoms in my head.

The music that I’m playing
Is pleasing, but it’s bland
Compared to the communion
In a pub with a good band.
And all my fairest fantasies
Are nothing to compare
To reaching cross a table
And finding some one there.

My walls close in around me.
I’m imprisoned in this place.
I’m more free in a smoke-filled pub,
Charmed by a lovely face,
A glass of scotch in front of me,
The music in my ears
Assuring me that I belong,
Surrounded by my peers.

But work awaits tomorrow.
Already it is late.
I don’t really have the scratch,
And I don’t have a date.
So I guess I’ll kill the lights
And stumble off to bed,
And dream about the good times
At the pub inside my head.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007


Valiant knight errant in service to his sovereign lord
Small in body, but mighty in spirit
Not afraid to appear romantically ridiculous
When he knows he is right
And has the Right on his side
Brave as a lion, though small as a mouse
Refuses to see the impossibility
And so accomplishes it anyway
To whom the honor is reserved
To sail beyond the sunset
To find the shining country of his King
A stout heart, a mighty sword
A gentleman’s gentleman and a scourge
To assembled villains and knaves
Though their numbers seem overwhelming
His joy is to burn bright
Shining in his Master’s service
Confident of the hero’s reward that awaits him
Further up and further in.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

A Lesson In Courtesy

The knight was in a hurry
As he lumbered toward the field,
Expecting his white belt to cause
All in his way to yield.
So when one man whose back was turned
Failed to move aside,
The noble knight took umbrage
At this insult to his pride.
He tapped the stranger on the arm,
And then he gave a push
To move the stranger from his path
into a holly bush.
The knight then hurried on his way,
And scarcely looked askance
At the stranger watching him depart
With a baneful rueful glance.
The knight then fought his battles,
And displayed his chivalry,
Then retired to the feasting hall
For the evening's revelry.
And at the heroes table,
With fighters of renown,
He feasted and made merry,
Drinking toasts unto the crown,
Roaring his approval
With a hearty knightly grin,
That the evening's entertainment
Would very soon begin.
And then a long-haired fellow
Stepped into the light,
Who seemed a tad familiar
To our brave heroic knight.
This fellow strummed his instrument,
And then began to sing
Of all the virtues to be found
In squire, and knight, and king.
He sang a tragi-comic tale
Of a knight whose chivalry
Was marred by his total lack of
A sense of courtesy;
A knight, who in his haughty pride,
Did show his social lack,
Till all the court made fun of him
And laughed behind his back.
Our hero at his table
Roared loudly with delight,
Until the singer caught his eye
And pointed at the knight.
Then realization hit him,
And the knight's great mirth did flee.
"By my belt and spurs! That knave
Is singing about me!"
The singer lifted a flagon
In a merry mocking toast.
And to the knight it seemed as if
His very flesh would roast.
He sank down deep into his chair
As laughter filled the room.
Knowing it was at his expense
Filled our knight with gloom.
His reputation in tatters,
The chastened knight soon fled.
And his name became a bye-word
For a pompous swollen head.

So take you heed, you proud young knights.
My lesson is not so hard:
Before you insult a stranger,
Make sure he is not a Bard.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

The Lady Randalin

I’m no grim student of the sword.
I study the arts with joy,
For the honing of my faculties,
That my sharpest wits employ.
But never have I given thought
To the peril that I’m in,
Until I dared to try the steel
Of the Lady Randalin.

Her face and gentle countenance,
Framed by golden hair,
Delights the eye and thrills the heart
To see her standing there;
A smile that would melt tempered steel,
And confound the wits of men.
She’s the Golden Rose of Talmere,
The Lady Randalin.

But don’t be fooled when you see her,
By the beauty of her face.
When she draws steel she’s a predator,
With a tiger’s killing grace.
The sweeter that she smiles at you,
The more she lures you in.
This fair rose has the sharpest thorn,
The Lady Randalin.

I met her with my blade in hand,
To try her wits and skill,
Confident I could match her sword
With my talents and my will.
With lightning strokes she gave the lie
To my hopes, and I gave in.
How quickly was I conquered
By the Lady Randalin.

There lies my rapier on the ground,
Cast at the Lady’s feet.
Yet still, there’s opportunity
To celebrate in defeat.
My sword will not avail me;
I must take out my pen
To ever hope to touch the heart
Of the Lady Randalin

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Winter Raid

Hey, at least the poem was good.

Load up the war wagons
On this Tuesday night.
We’re headed down to Talmere
Looking for a fight,
Weapons at the ready,
Armored up for war,
To make our precious shrubbery
Ours forever more

The wind blows from the southward,
Bearing this refrain,
Talmerians all on their knees
Praying it would rain.
Their duke prepares their battle plan,
Misgivings in his heart,
Knowing at first contact
It’s sure to fall apart.

All Talmerian ladies
In trepidation stand,
Wondering which Owl’s Nest lord
Is soon to take their hand.
Both fear and speculation
And fantasies sublime
Thinking of a chance to be
With men still in their prime.

No time for obfuscations,
Discussion or delay.
The battle lines are drawn up
Ready for melee.
Our Warrior Owls are flying
Over the southern pass,
Destination: Carroll Towne,
To kick Talmerian ***!

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

The Pact

No moon shone bright
As a nameless knight,
His hood pulled over his face,
With an unsteady sway
He made his way
To a dark and mystic place,
Where he sought within
Some smoke-filled den
For he knew there a stranger lurks
To welcome him there
With an eye most rare,
And evil and knowing smirks.

“Come in, Your Grace,
To my humble place.
Yes I know you despite your cloak.
Don’t think to hide,
For my eye sees wide
Through mist and steam and smoke.
Some weeks have gone by
Since you came on the sly
To beg me, a favor do.
Now once more you are here,
And you reek with fear.
Now what can I do for you?”

The hooded duke,
With a haggard look,
Leaned wearily on his cane,
Said, “To save my shire
From a fate most dire,
Again you must make it rain.
For from the north
Owl’s Nest comes forth
To harry our small domain.
And if we should lose
Our women might choose
Lords who don’t get around with a cane.”

With an oily smile,
And a laugh most vile,
The stranger’s voice said with a roll.
“The price is the same
As the last time you came.
The cost is a piece of your soul.”
So the duke stripped his pants
And his tunic to dance,
To prance and to gambol about.
And he said to himself,
Though embarrassed to death,
“It’s worth it to keep Owl’s Nest out!”

Monday, January 15, 2007

Rondeau: Thus I Am And Thus I'll Always Be

Set apart, as always I have been,
Somewhat distant, even among friends;
Seeking common ground
That’s nowhere to be found;
Always on the outside, looking in.

In truth I do not know how to begin.
I lack the means to gain my purposed end,
Disconnected from the crowds around.
Thus I am, and thus I’ll always be.

And so I mask myself, I just pretend,
And hide from outside eyes the void within,
While listening for the sound
Of another, like me, bound,
That we can free each other from our pain.
Thus I am, and thus I’ll always be.

Sunday, January 14, 2007


You are crazy unpredictable
I'm gasping from the ride.
Your fingers wrapped around my heart,
I'm tangled up inside
You make me want to hold you
And kiss your tears away,
Protect you and take care of you,
And listen when you pray,
Let you chase your dreams down,
Knowing I'm your safety net.
How did you get so close to me?
Please come closer yet.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Bad Thomas' Request

Alone at evening sits Bad Thomas, grim,
Pondering the thoughts that come to him
About our fortunes in the coming raid,
And who we can count on to be our aid.
For without all our strength we fight in vain,
And we might lose our shrubbery again.

Where are all those who used to come to play?
The Bastard seems more eager fro the fray.
And while he’s useful as a human pell,
Who else will dare to give Duke Trelon hell?
The names are there upon our marshal’s list;
Swords that for the battle will be missed.

Wherefore then’s the erstwhile mighty Tor?
Must we, without his sword arm go to war?
How can we from his chair pry up his hulk
To reinforce our center with his bulk?
He’ll let us fight without him, I suppose,
While he stays home and washes pantyhose*

And where’s our champion, Lord Vladimere?
While we make ready, why is he not here?
Does he think, that having his prize won,
He can sit back and think his fighting’s done?
But if he truly champions us all,
Then he should be the first to battle’s call.

I could name Lucius, Aldric, near a score
Of those we’d love to join us in this war.
But winter’s cold and bitter frosty bite
Seems to sap their willingness to fight.
We’ll fight with fewer numbers if we must,
While they sit home and let their armor rust.

The loyal sons of Owl’s Nest will go forth.
For honor’s sake they’ll fight for all they’re worth.
And if they are triumphant they will claim
The pride that victory well-earned will name.
But those who choose to sit out all the fun,
We’ll scorn them all as posers every one.

*BT wanted a reference to pantyhose. I don’t know why.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Everyday Heroics, Done Dirt Cheap

The armor’s kind of battered I’ll admit.
The sword may be a little rusty, too.
My banner has been torn and stained a bit.
My horse, for pasture, long is overdue.
But when you face a cold and lonely night,
With enemies on all sides circling round,
And you need an ally in the fight
You can depend on to help stand your ground,
Then know you have a friend who’s standing by
To be there when you need him, and you call,
To offer you a shoulder when you cry,
A gentle arm to lift you when you fall.
Heroic deeds done cheap, and rescues free:
I’m your friend whene’er you call on me.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007


This may come as a surprise to you,
But I am at a point in my life
Where I am more interested
In what’s between your ears
Than what’s between your legs.
I’m more turned on by
The workings of your mind
Than any fantasy involving
This part, or that position.
Not that I don’t enjoy a good messy romp,
But that is something I know I can live without
If I have to, and as I have done.
And I value you more
For the passion that drives you,
The rage that fuels you,
And the fight that is in you.
And I would rather stand beside that,
Admiring your blaze,
Though knowing you will never be mine.

Monday, January 08, 2007

Buyer's Market

Every way out has a cost,
A price which must be paid.
And you choose before you know the terms
Of the deal that you’ve just made.
For every compromise you make,
There always is a toll.
And if it’s not in money
It’s in pieces of your soul.

It’s rare to find the giver
Who wants nothing in return,
Who has no expectations
Of what his gift will earn,
Who doesn’t see your neediness
As opportunity
To bind you with a heavy chain
To his reality.

There’s men who’d offer you a hand,
Knowing all the while
The obligations hidden
Behind that friendly smile.
He may be a short-term answer
To a situation grim,
But he’ll tie you to him by your need
To drag you down with him.

If you take what he offers
You’ll compromise, no doubt.
And how can you refuse him?
You owe him, you’ll put out.
If you make his devil’s deal
You’ll find he owns you whole.
His terms are very easy,
It will only cost your soul.

It’s a buyer’s market
So girl, you’d best look out
At what you’re really selling,
And he’s buying, there’s no doubt.
You aren’t in control, here,
And if you don’t take my advice,
We’ve determined what you are,
We’re only haggling ‘bout the price.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

For You, Where Ever You Are

I can see that
Your sense of worth
Has been so battered down.
You have been attacked and hurt
So many times by those
Who should have defended you.
Your belief in yourself is so fragile
That you don’t believe me
When I tell you that
You are beautiful, inside and out.
I wish you could see yourself
As I see you,
Shining beautiful despite
All the muck you’ve been through.
I wish you could see
Why I believe in you so,
Why my heart beats with yours
And why I want to be there
When you cry in the night

Saturday, January 06, 2007


I’ve had my misadventures in the lists
Of love, and I suspect my time has been
And gone. And although my desire persists,
I don’t expect to find romance again.
At best, I hope to find someone with whom
I possibly can grow old gracefully.
But where’s the lady who I can presume
Is not averse to growing old with me?
For I am no suave lover, self-assured,
But must work slowly, to create a friend,
And prove my self, o’er time, by deed and word
Worthy of her heart unto the end.
But I grow weary; will I ever see
She for whom I wait most patiently?

Friday, January 05, 2007

Free Verse Rambling

I have read what you have written,
And though I know
I’ve only scratched the surface
Of beginning to understand
The workings that turn
Behind the jewels of your eyes,
I can tell you that
God, in His infinite humor,
Put you direct into my path,
And then, I am sure, He laughed,
Knowing as He does,
How I respond to anger,
Pain, cries of frustration,
And overall distrust of any
Who come, professing friendship.
And I know people lie most
When they believe they are being
Honest with themselves.
For the heart is deceitful
And to itself, most of all.
And I’m sure you suspect my motives
As well you should,
And not because I have designs
On your affections,
But rather, because mine
Is the sappy kind of caring
That blunders in, unknowing,
Doing more damage than good.
For though I am drawn by your fire,
The poetry of your being,
I don’t know where to begin
To reinforce your broken places.
And you don’t trust me
Enough to show me.
Nor do I think you want
To accept what I have to offer.
I know that I am not
What you believe you want,
And there are too many differences
In our beliefs, our backgrounds,
How we view the world,
And these would have to be reconciled,
Perhaps in ways where
Neither of us would
Wish to compromise,
Before we could begin to think
Of any happily ever after.
But I would not be me,
Nor could I be true
To my laughing God,
If I did not reach out my hand and try.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

You Don't Want My Opinion

Think a bluesy country rock melody for this.

You don’t want my opinion,
Don’t ask for my advice.
It’s biased and it’s suspect.
It isn’t very nice.
Don’t ask me what I’m thinking.
I’ll tell you what I see,
And all that I’ll accomplish
Is to drive you far from me.

I could tell the truth to you,
And maybe you might hear.
But I can’t make you listen,
So what’s the point, my Dear?
I can lay out all my reasons
Why you shouldn’t, and you can’t.
But the human heart’s not rational,
And you’ll do what you want.

You don’t want my opinion,
Don’t ask for my advice.
It’s biased and it’s suspect.
It isn’t very nice.
Don’t ask me what I’m thinking.
I’ll tell you what I see,
And all that I’ll accomplish
Is to drive you far from me.

I don’t want to make you angry,
I’m trying to make you think
About the consequences
That bring you to the brink
Of an emotional decision,
Ignoring all the facts.
But you’ll feel good for a little while,
Never mind that it won’t last.

You don’t want my opinion,
Don’t ask for my advice.
It’s biased and it’s suspect.
It isn’t very nice.
Don’t ask me what I’m thinking.
I’ll tell you what I see,
And all that I’ll accomplish
Is to drive you far from me.

Well, sorry, I’m not sticking round.
I just can’t stand to stay
And watch as you set yourself up
To lose again this way.
I hurt to think how you’re gonna hurt
When you go down in flames.
But since I told the truth to you,
I know who’ll get the blame.

You don’t want my opinion,
Don’t ask for my advice.
It’s biased and it’s suspect.
It isn’t very nice.
Don’t ask me what I’m thinking.
I’ll tell you what I see,
And all that I’ll accomplish
Is to drive you far from me.


Although I do my best to show a front
Of strength and confidence to hold my own.
I grow so weary, having born the brunt
Of years spent living by myself, alone.
While I’m determined to stay strong, indeed.
My insecurities weigh down my head.
Do you think me weak because I need
To be held, and to be comforted?
If I could lay my head upon your breast
And feel your hand lie gentle on my hair,
Then I’d take solace, knowing your nearness
Renews my strength, while leaning on you there.
Then there’s nothing I can’t face when I can see
Shining in your eyes, belief in me.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

To The Dark Lady

My dark-hearted muse keeps me twisted
With unfulfilled desire,
For she knows that I write better
As my threshold for pain climbs higher.
She callously frustrates my longing.
She’s laughing as she hears me curse,
Looking ahead to the end result:
My pain distilled into verse.
She smiles for she knows I can’t leave her;
She’s too much a part of my art.
She slides her knife into my psyche
Until words pour out of my heart.
She’s the bitch who rains torments on me,
Doing nothing to soften each blow.
She’s the sadist who makes me a poet.
Damn her, but I love her so.

Monday, January 01, 2007

A brief Commercial Anouncement

I've started a LiveJournal for non-poetic musings and commentary. If you can stand to read even more of me, come on over.


My Testament

The substance of the things we hope for most.
The sure existence of those things not seen.
Things that I always for granted, took,
Raised from birth, as a matter of course.
Belief was always constant, a given.
On Sunday mornings that was what one did.
No questions necessary, so none asked.
Though in time I came to understand
Questions and answers intellectually.
Emotion cannot carry me alone,
My mind must be engaged before belief.
And I knew all the rational answers
For that which I had, by instinct, believed.
But faith unpracticed, soon will atrophy,
Withering away under neglectful care.
Self-absorbed in my comfy little world,
I had no desire to cultivate
The half-grown seed of faith planted in me.
Until the day my world came crashing down,
And suddenly I found myself adrift,
With nothing solid to depend upon.
That is, except for my neglected faith,
Which proved a solid anchor then for me.
A God to cry to, rage at, even doubt,
But teaching faith by being faithful first,
Through all my storms, and helping me to heal,
Surrounding me with those who’d hold me up,
Held me together, loved me through the pain,
Through all my darkest nights when I did not
Have any real desire to go on,
Crawling back each agonizing step
From deep despair, to stand alone again.
That which I have believed has stood the test,
And it’s by faith that I reclaim my life.
Call me naïve’, but I’ve been to the well,
And brought, by faith, back from the depths of hell.