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.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Psalm: The King At War

Who may stand when the King comes forth in wrath?
Who can face the onslaught of his sword?
Who would thrust himself into His path
To draw a weapon on his sovereign Lord?

The King in anger strikes against His foe.
He tramps His enemies beneath his feet.
The Kingdom's weight is felt in every blow
That drags the rebel to the Judgement seat.

Before His royal fury they fall back,
Too late to plead for mercy of the Crown.
They melt before the might of His attack,
Shields and broken weapons scattered round.

The King, in glory, battles to the fore.
Let all despair, on whom the King makes war.

Friday, June 22, 2007

Red Headed Freckled One

Happy Birthday Mandy

Come friends and gather round me, and listen to my tale
About a merry gentle soul, that I love so well;
A little sister to me that I found along the way.
I know what I am speaking of, when you hear me say,

To tell you all about her, I don’t know where to start.
She may be small in stature, but she has a giant’s heart.
She has the merriest brown eyes that you have ever seen.
She’s the red headed freckled one, Rowena Bricin.

When first I met this merry lass, I saw what she could be;
A source of fine amusement, and pleasant company.
And so I invited her to join our happy band.
She fitted in quite handily, e’en better than I’d planned.

She took to our adventures with squeals of happy glee.
It seems her heart had always longed for tales of chivalry,’
And now she got to live out her own medieval dream.
Welcome to our fantasy, Rowena Bricin.

And who knows just how far this lass will go, now that she’s here.
She’s become a ready fount of merriment and cheer.
Who could e’er imagine how paler life would be
If the red headed freckled one had never come with me?

Little sister and companion, where ever we may go.
I’ll always have a hug for her because she cheers me so.
May all the skies be blue, and the meadows ever green
For our red headed freckled one, Rowena Bricin.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Blood Reivers

In the night they pass us by.
In our hiding place we lie.
See the swords on which men die,
Sent to Hell unshriven.
See their cold unbending glare.
Stand against them an ye dare.
There’s no human kindness there,
No mercy shall be given.

Swords and saddles in the hall,
Answering to danger’s call.
Let the circumstances fall.
It’ll be a bloody dawning.
A warning bell and a battle cry!
Border reivers on the fly,
Their bloody banner ‘gainst the sky,
For black work in the morning.

Border Reivers in the glen.
Souls dipped in the blackest sin.
Thirsting for the souls of men.
Hell on Earth comes riding.
Steal and plunder, burn and maim!
Ravage, murder, all the same.
Carry off the Devil’s claim!
Carrion birds abiding.

Sound the war horn, draw the sword.
Answer to your sovereign Lord.
Drive them back , this devil’s horde.
Your enemy’s before ye.
For your wife, your daughter, son,
For your home so dearly won,
Swords will shine bright in the sun.
Your place is here beside me.

Reivers lured into dispair.
Reivers trapped inside our snare
Cut down by our hatred there,
As they would do to us, man.
They raid us and we raid them.
Our hatred grows both black and grim.
Our sons face futures dark and dim.
A blood feud never ends, man.

We few still stand who once were great,
As son inherits father’s hate.
Each son, in turn, he cannot wait
To ride for death and glory.
These hills are steeped in death and war.
These fields grow green fed by men’s gore.
Yet, still we rise to fight once more.

Lost in the same old story.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Honor. Above All

We talk a lot of honor, how we play and how we fight.
But honor's nothing more than what is wrong and what is right.
Honor isn't something you can put on with your sword.
It remains how you conduct yourself, and how you keep your word.

Once your word is given, will it always be as good,
Five years or more on down the road, no matter what's withstood?
Does it waver with the situation that you find at hand?
Then your honor's as unsteady as a shifting pile of sand.

Does your honor stay the same no matter if it's night or day?
Does it depend on whether someone looks the other way?
Are you nervous for your honor if your deeds are brought to light?
Is your honor something you prefer to keep hid out of sight?

"My honor is my life!" Proud men have ever made the boast.
But honor becomes cheaply held, when it bears a cost.
When subjected to the testing flame it burns away like dross.
Where is one who'll keep his honor, suffering the loss?

Honor that is cheaply purchased carries no great worth.
Honor that costs everything's the rarest thing on earth;
That faces without flinching, the hardest judge of all;
The one that in the mirror waits to measure honor's fall.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Perfect World

Think very sixties folk rock, in a Simon & Garfunkle kind of way.

In a perfect world,
This would be the part
Where I lay my head back

Into a welcoming lap,
Looking up into
Sparkling eyes,

Let her feed me
Bits of cheese and grapes,
While I told her
Just how beautiful she was.

In a perfect world,
I can close my eyes
And I see it all,

Fingers brushing back my hair,
Eyes that change color
With the shifting light,

Drinking in her scent,
Like wine, till my senses reel.
She’s as real to me
As real can be, when I
Close my eyes,

In a perfect world,

Cloudy vision
Obscures my mind today.
Can’t keep my eyes closed,
Her memory slips away.
And I can’t stay in my

Perfect world.
All my castles come
Crashing down.
I call out to her
But she’s already gone.
Was she ever here?

I taste her kiss
Still upon my lips.
I reach out,
And touch the nothing that’s
Where she was.

She haunts me still.
I’m afraid, if I
Close my eyes,

All that I’ll find
Are the tattered rags
Of a fantasy

Of a perfect world.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007


Perhaps I believe in ghosts after all,
For I think I may have noticed one or two
As I visited old haunts and remembered;
Missing your company, and what we shared;
Walking over the graves of dreams that died stillborn;
Or that I killed off by carelessness, or neglect;
Never realizing how much was slipping away,
And how there's no going back to what used to be.
Happy memories gone bad can't be made over,
But always flavor whatever comes after.
And some pains just aren't supposed to go away,
But must be lived and relived until
They become second nature to ourselves.
And we are as much defined by the scars we carry
As the triumphs we record.
Somehow, the mountains are never as high
As the valleys are low.
At least that is what I tell myself
While chatting with my ghosts
Of what has been, and can never be again.