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.

Monday, April 11, 2011

The Unprepared King

He had never fought in battle,
And had distain for those who had.
Yet he had charm and was articulate.
He spoke well to the crowds,
Well versed in all the latest
Theories and interpretations
Put forth by the learned
Scholars and professors, who themselves
Had never felt the sting of war.
And when he spoke, his words
Excited those who heard
What they wanted to hear.
Even those supposed to be aloof
And above such motivations
Gave him undisguised support.
So through his charms, he won
The kingdom over. And the wise
Old men who questioned
His lack of qualifications
Were shouted down and maligned
For daring to suggest
A closer look before the coronation.
He took the sword of state to rousing cheers,
For he had promised much,
And now it was time to deliver.
Triumphant in his hubris,
He rode out to the sea shore,
Where he stood before the crashing waves,
Commanding the tide to go out,
Obedient to his word.
But waves and tides care not
For kings or lofty rhetoric,
And stubbornly refused to do
Any more than was their nature.
Beholding this, the paynim foes
Tested his resolve and found it
Wanting; the sword in an uncertain hand,
Striking at shadows of empty air.
The people, still singing his praises,
Were consumed by dragons, who
Finding him ineffectual,
Simply bypassed him, and his flowery speech.
For words accomplish nothing
When they are not backed by strength.
And he who had never been tried,
Nor fought a real fight;
Never faced the real consequences
Of losing to a genuine foe,
Was not up to the task.

But everyone agreed he looked just smashing in the armor.

Thursday, April 07, 2011

The Survivor

Deep within the shadows of a twilit antique shop
With cobwebs on the windows, neath a sediment of dust,
Behind forgotten artifacts, abandoned and unloved,
Sits a muslin bundle rolled up in upon itself.

Within this oblong package in a corner by its own,
Permeated with the tang of metal and of oil,
Lies a forged and polished length of good Toledo steel,
Wanting but a swordsman's hand to wake it from its dreams.

Nobles and conquistadores have borne it in the past
Strutting dandies haunting taverns looking for a fight;
To defend a lady's honor or to advocate some cause;
The arguments of centuries engraved upon the blade.

But now the wired hilt awaits a modern gentle's hand.
The spiral guard would sparkle should it catch the morning light.
Despite its age the blade is sound and ready to be drawn.
There are still a few fights in it if a swordsman could be found.

But steel no longer is the honor of a gentleman.
The arguments of latter days are fought with smiles and lies.
The sword is an anachronism cast off and forgot
By those who would not choose to leave behind so clean a wound.

So here within its wraps the sword awaits the coming day
When once again it will be borne with honor and with pride.
Well oiled, it rests within its scabbard til it's drawn anew
To serve a master who perceives the value of the sword.

To serve a master who can see the value of a sword.