OwlsNestBard

Danse Macabre

2012-02-09T15:30:00.000-08:00

The music is a lively step,
Though in a minor key;
Makes toes to tap and hands to clap
In gay festivity;
Invites the hearers all to dance,
The tune so fast it flies:
But look not at the piper who
Has holes instead of eyes.

Popes and kings and commoners
Are joined in merriment.
Mothers with their babes in arms
Are equally content.
Farmers, merchants, townsmen
Find the music opportune.
Ignore the fleshless fingers
That are tapping out the tune.

From palace down to marketplace
The melody is played.
From hovels and cathedrals
It is equally assayed.
It trills along the harbor,
It rings on castle stones.
None can escape the melody
That echos from the bones.

And when at last the dancers
Gaze upon their troubador,
The music ends and they forget
What they were dancing for.
All memories of daylight fail,
There's none can hope to save
Them all from their descent into
The silence of the grave.

No more for them the joys of life,
The final judgment waits,
Marshalled by Eternity
To their eternal fates.
While in the world they left behind,
As when the world was new,
Death takes up his instrument...

And starts the dance anew.

A Question of Fealty

2012-01-24T08:44:00.000-08:00

I am a bard, and though, perhaps I bow
Out of courtesy before your throne,
I give allegiance only to my art,
And to the truth that I'm compelled to speak.
While I might offer friendship to the man
Who wears the crown, I do not give my oath
to his office, or his pretty chair.
For I know that there may come a time
When I must speak hard wisdom in his ear,
Appropriate to a friend, but not a liege,
Regardless that he may not want to hear.
It is my duty and my honor,too:
To bear the burden of speaking the truth,
Sweetening the physik with my verse
To better make the medicine go down.
And so, Your Majesty, do not mistake
My courtesy for my obesiance,
But meet me as a man, our both heads high,
Standing as equals 'fore the higher truth.
For kingships come and go in their own time,
But I must be, and shall remain, a bard.

To Those that I Have Known and Loved

2011-12-25T08:59:00.000-08:00

I am at home where ever I may be;
On mountain, hillside, or beside the sea.
I have been gifted with a yearn to roam,
And where I hang my hat I make my home.

When I look back, remembering each place
Where I have been, instead I see each face
Of every person I have called friend;
Which makes me lonesome for each place I've been.

I look ahead desiring to see more
Of all the treasures this world has in store,
Regretting only those I've left behind;
Those whom I've loved, those who to me were kind.

The river of my life must ever flow.
And where the waters lead there must I go.
Yet fondly I look back upon each friend,
And dream of someday seeing them again.

Each passing moment is a precious jewel.
to think them lost or wasted is most cruel.
They should be savored in good company,
That they might shine in glorious memory.

Under the Cross Saltire

2011-10-31T05:07:00.000-07:00

Pict and Norman and Briton,
Anglish and Dalriadic Scot.
Shed blood is mingled together
In the soil and never forgot
Longbow and iron age hill fort
The windswept tower of a broch
Standing stones on a hillside
O'erlooking the shores of a loch
Gaelic clans of the Highlands
Lords and lairds of the Plain
Broadswords and lochaber axes
To drive out the English again
Days of battle and warfare
Nights of fire and fear
Iron bands forged together
All under the Cross Saltire

For My Lady

2011-10-30T21:09:00.000-07:00

Sultry nights should not be spent alone,

But should be shared with one whose company

Delights the eyes; illuminates the soul,

Completes the formula of "you and me".

Fair music, candle light, a table set

Beside cool waters, laid beneath the stars;

Low conversation, touched with knowing smiles

Punctuated with unspoken dares.

The evening beckons; no plans for the morn.

Let events develop as they please.

Audacity is bred within your eyes;

Familiar rhythms, as we take our ease.

The languid hours pass and we care not.

Scented by night blossoms opening,

Conjoined at hand and heart, we drink the breeze,

Yielding to a sultry evening.

When Did Vampires Get To Be So Hot

2011-09-23T04:27:00.000-07:00

with apologies to Sir Elton

Vlad the Impaler was a nasty snot.
The original Dracula, a nice guy...not!
He'd stick it to the Turks in a tender spot.
But when did vampires get to be so hot?

When did vampires get to be so hot?
Why are they romantic and zombies are not?
Soul-less evil undead seem to hit the spot.
Yeah, when did vampires get to be so hot.

Frankenstein's monster is a tragedy.
Anger and frustration's good for sympathy.
But fangs equal charisma, which he just ain't got.
And when did vampires get to be so hot?

Werewolves may be sexy for a little while.
They're always in the mood to do it doggie-style.
But they shed and wet the carpet and they eat your cat.
And no one ever has to house-train a bat.

So when did vampires get to be so hot?
Teen-age girls go weepy at the very thought.
Don't believe the sparkles, that's a line you've bought.
They're really undead monsters that refuse to rot.

Yeah, when did vampires get to be so hot?
It's not your love they want but all the blood you've got.
You're just an entree to them, ordered a-la-cart,
Or maybe a dessert that really hits the spot.

So when did vampires get to be so hot?
When did vampires get to be so hot?
All you need are fangs and you can get a lot.
yeah, when did vampires get to be so hot?

There's a Letting Go to Moving On

2011-08-13T10:50:00.001-07:00

There's a letting go to moving on;
One last look before you're gone
Fading to a memory:
Goodbye to who I used to be.

Piled around my feet appears
The detritus of passing years
Accumulated over time,
The landmarks of this life of mine.
I can't allow this bric-a-brac
To tie me down and hold me back.
It's time for me to fly, and so
I cut it loose and let it go.

There's a letting go to moving on;
One last look before you're gone
Fading to a memory:
Goodbye to who I used to be.

An open door is beckoning;
A mystery upon the wing;
A quest to take, adventure waits;
And loss to him who hesitates.
I brush the cobwebs from the door
To pass where I've not gone before,
Accepting what I've long ignored:
The journey is its own reward.

There's a letting go to moving on;
One last look before you're gone
Fading to a memory:
Goodbye to who I used to be.

And when my destination's reached,
And that final barrier's breached,
I'll look back without regret
At all the obstacles I've met.
For every challenge to my will,
The striving made me stronger still.
The stumbling blocks I've overcome
Were paving stones that led me home.

There's a letting go to moving on;
One last look before you're gone
Fading to a memory:
Goodbye to who I used to be.

Toomb Tabard

2011-07-30T18:51:00.000-07:00

Beware the prince
Who is all image and surface,
But with no grounding depth;
Who is all resume', and no performance;
Who is always restless for the next title,
The next accolade
Before the luster is even off the last.
Beware the man who has theories,
But no experience,
Credentials, but no accomplishments;
Who has learned all his answers
In the sheltered halls of academe,
And has never felt the hard trials;
Who has never contemplated failure
With real consequences.
Place no trust in the ruler
Who lives and dies
By his cult of personality;
For whom everything is about him,
And will hear no criticism.
He is an uncertain rood;
A bridge made of rotted wood;
New clothes without an emperor,
And all who rely on him will be consumed
When reality overcomes his folly.
Weep for those whose lives
Are in the hands of such a prince
And fortify your own house
Against the storms to come.

The Haggis King of the Highland Moor

2011-07-10T17:33:00.000-07:00

There's many a man that can make a heart flutter,
Cutting swathes through the lasses as if through warm butter.
But all ladies swoon, be they rich or they poor
For the Haggis King of the Highland Moor.

They say he hails from the U.S. Midwest,
But he speaks with a brogue that would rank with the best.
He fancies himself quite the sporting young lad,
Always decked out in his best highland plaid.

He makes his living, he happily relates
Importing canned haggis o'er to the States;
Plus knicknacks of tartan, the odd shortbread tin,
And all things suggestive of Scotland to him.

And if you should wonder at his business plan,
The Highland games industry counts on this man.
When tourists come begging with money in hand,
It's his merchandise that supplies the demand.

From plastic toy claymores, to fine Harris Tweed,
The Haggis King carries whatever you need.
With him on the job no promoter fears
That he might ever run out of Scotch souveniers.

But it is the haggis that most makes the man;
Cooked in a sheep's stomach, then sealed in a can;
That concoction of spices and oatmeal and meat,
Resulting in that inedible treat,

That Americans of Scottish descent,
Have to try once, by common assent,
To prove their Scottishness forever more,
While reminding them what their ancestors left for.

The Haggis King's happy to sell them the stuff,
Though he fears it would treat his digestion quite rough,
And never eats it himself as a rule.
He didn't get wealthy by being a fool.

When his factory kitchens begin smelling rank,
He cries in his Glenfiddich all the way to the bank.
For true Scottishness is, if you hear him speak,
In holding his shillings so tight that they squeak.

Lift a glass that he sold you, filled to the brim
With a libation, you also purchased from him.
And drink toast after toast till you fall on the floor
To the Haggis King of the Highland Moor.

Policy's Blade

2011-06-08T10:51:00.000-07:00

The honor of the State must oft depend,
For good or ill, on acts of subtlety
Done in the dark, while courtiers pretend
To diplomatic cordiality.

The Sovereign, though enemies surround,
Must still to them present a smiling face,
Unmindful of those deeds which might rebound,
Bringing disaster, or much worse: disgrace.

Relying on un-named' men who must
Be equally efficient and discreet.
The sort of man to gain a Prince's trust
Has need to be most dexterous on his feet;

To walk in shadows with a blackened knife
Where lamplight's gleam on metal costs his life.

A Jeremiad

2011-05-25T10:24:00.000-07:00

Old fields grown green which once were red with fire,
And young eyes that ancient virtues now despise,
Face once again the threat of angry ruin
As ideologies take on new forms,
And civil war prepares to turn the page.
Fresh barbarisms flush out decadence.
Those who believe in nothing will die first.
Though elites prat on of liberality,
With shutters barred against the growing dark,
None now speak of the end of history.
A culture dies one province at a time,
When, street by street, fanaticism rules;
A battle lost by minute increments,
Until there's nothing left but a facade
Of what once was, and quickly swept away;
A legacy of freedom finally lost,
Defeated by the emptiness within.

There's a Storm On the Horizon

2011-05-18T07:07:00.000-07:00

There's a storm on the horizon,
There is thunder in the night.
The metallic tang of danger
Makes the forest birds take flight.
Hear the alarums of battle
That are borne upon the wind;
They are calling me to rise
And leave my lover's side again.

Oh, I long to stay beside her
Taking comfort in her arms.
Great is my desire to linger
Drinking deeply of her charms.
But the strident call of duty
Orders me out from my bed,
To make ready in the darkness
With my sword and shield instead.

Hear the rattling of harness
As we wait to meet the foe.
I can see the captain standing
With his horn prepared to blow:
For Death's angel may be waiting
With the coming of the light;
And I curse the circumstances
That have led me to this fight.

For I know back in my home
My lady's eyes are filled with tears;
And she prays to every saint she knows
To listen to her fears.
So I grip my weapons tightly,
They are all I can control;
And my chainmail's not as heavy
As the weight upon my soul.

There's a haze across my vision,
All I see is shades of red.
Mingled with the screams of horses
And the silence of the dead.
I give myself up to the fury.
I live just to swing my sword;
Knowing cold steel and six feet of earth
May yet be my reward.

And with every life I take
I pray to God that he'll forgive.
I don't want to kill nobody,
All I want to do is live.
I hate what I must do,
And I hate every bloody stain;
And I hate that I might never
See my lover's eyes again.

At the point of desperation
With my back against the wall,
My splintered shield is cast away;
I know I'm going to fall.
I cannot lift my sword again,
No choice now but to yield.
Then I look and see the enemy
Is fleeing from the field.

I haven't got the breath to cheer;
In fact, I lack the strength to stand.
It is all that I can do
To pry my warblade from my hand.
As I drift back to my senses
My body's racked and sore.
And I thank God that I am still alive
To kiss my love once more.

As we stagger toward our homes
I cannot count who all we've lost.
We may have won the fight
But we can ill afford the cost.
We are grateful for the victory
But I can tell you son:
There's nothing sadder than a battle lost
Except a battle won.

Then I see her cross the meadow
And she breaks into a run.
She's kissing me and hugging me,
Her face outshines the sun.
And though I'm drenched with blood
I rest her fears that none is mine.
I have lived another day to taste
Her kisses sweet as wine.

There's a storm on the horizon
But I'll let it pass this night.
I will go no more to battle
Let some other fight the fight.
Let some other fool chase glory;
I know glory's naught but lies.
It's enough to see the passion
Burning in my lover's eyes.

The Unprepared King

2011-04-11T11:02:00.000-07:00

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.

The Survivor

2011-04-07T09:34:00.000-07:00

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.

The Way of Things

2010-12-07T09:02:00.000-08:00

The butterfly emerges from its tight-wound bed of silk;
Tests the morning sunshine and the promise of new wings;
Finds the freedom of the air and leaves the earth behind;
A fairy-dance of color as a new life laughs and sings.

The nature of the world is change as life begets its own.
The young are born and thus grow up to find where they belong.
They leave the nest to try their strength and join the harmony;
The chorus of existence all together joined in song.

This music is the undercurrent flowing through the bones
Of the very earth for those who have the ears to hear.
The echo of the melody is wisdom to the wise,
In tune with all creation with a true voice strong and clear.

And you who stand confused about your place within the song,
Struggling to understand the music and fit in.
The melody's within you written ere you first were born;
And you would sing if you would just get out of your own way.

Freedom comes from letting go of pre-conceived ideas.
Don't over-think the plumbing or you'll just stop up the drain.
You're as much a part of nature as the smallest butterfly.
The music and the dance await for you to find your joy.

Counter and Parry and Thrust

2010-11-29T09:53:00.000-08:00

Counter and parry and thrust! cries Steel.
Counter and parry and thrust!
Your sword to your arm to your heart to your will.
Counter and parry and thrust!

En garde and lay on, and the swords are drawn.
An instant. Your life's on the line.
No time for questions or doubts or fear
On the edge between livin' and dyin'.

Counter and parry and thrust! cries Steel.
Counter and parry and thrust!
The point and the edge clarify what's real.
Counter and parry and thrust!

Time slows to a swordpoint that seeks your life.
It hangs on your grip and your guard.
Focused upon the heartbeat of strife:
The fury unleashed and unbarred.

Counter and parry and thrust! cries Steel.
Counter and parry and thrust!
The charge of the moment is all you feel.
Counter and parry and thrust!

A lifetime can pass in a moment's grace
When you struggle just to survive.
You find then the closer you come to death
It's then that you feel most alive.

Counter and parry and thrust! cries Steel.
Counter and parry and thrust.
Your sword to your arm to your heart to your will.
Counter and parry and thrust: thrust home.
Counter and parry and thrust!

Counter and parrry and thrust!

Jason's Din

2009-04-13T12:43:00.000-07:00

It is said throughout the camp,
When the weather's soggy damp,
That tempers are on edge
And set to roar.
But nothing sets the fashion
For rage and ire and passion
As when Jason goes to sleep
And starts to snore.

Hear the rumblings from within him,
How it lacks all sense of rhythm,
Like a chainsaw with a headcold
It is plain.
Hear him snort and roart and bellow
Till each cabin mate and fellow
Has nothing less than murder
On the brain..

Then it's Snore! Snore! Snore!
Like a Harley run full bore!
Till the rafters shake and shingles
Are shook loose.
And he sleeps on there oblivious,
Unaware he sounds so hideous,
Till he wakes to find his friends
Have rigged a noose.

Well, friendship will win out.
He'll escape without a clout,
And our company will sleep
Till rising sun.
We'll forgive you for your sin,
And your sleep-preventing din
If Jason, you spring for the earplugs
From now on.

Three Days of Winter

2009-04-08T10:20:00.001-07:00

Dark clouds and cold rain
The heavens absorbed in the grief of loss.
Empty soul-aching groans
Rumble from the depths of the earth.
Sullen waters pool in the low places.
Wind moans through bare branches,
Bereft of life.
Moon and stars, for shame,
Hide themselves behind
Dark curtains of cloud.
No animals roam the wilderness.
The cattle in the field
Huddle together in their sorrow.
And even the carrion birds
Refuse to leave their perch.
For the life has gone from the earth.
The land stands barren and empty,
Hungry for a living touch;
A cultivating hand
To awaken the seeds lying dormant.
All creation mourns
The cold grip of winter,
Waiting for the spring to come
In three days.

Sirona's Shoulder Song

2009-02-26T07:34:00.000-08:00

I feel like a beauty queen
In my home made shoulder sling.
Getting hurt has never been so sexy.
I swung my long sword round about
Until I threw my shoulder out.
Its enough to make a nun have apoplexy.
But now I’m settled in my chair
With a sash from here to there,
While my man waits on my every need.
Yeah, my shoulder is a bust,
But I am still Miss cut and Thrust.
Excelsior! Yes, I’m a queen indeed.

Armored up with sword and helm,
Confident I’d overwhelm,
I walked out in my best gear feeling pretty.
I went out to strut my stuff,
And tore up my rotator cuff.
The pain is really something else that would rhyme here.
But now I’m settled on my throne.
The attention’s all for me alone.
My fans stand round me now with mouths agape.
My fellow says, “Hey, I’ll take care of ya”
Trade my helmet for a tiara.
That’s more like it. Boy, peel me another grape!

For Tammy on Valentines Day

2009-02-19T08:39:00.000-08:00

It’s been a while since this holiday
Has held any significance for me.
And so I take a moment, now to say
Thank you for the privilege to be
The one who stands beside you in the night;
The one who holds you at the break of day.
For you’re the one who fills me with delight,
And you’re the one who holds my heart in sway.
I cannot tell you what the future holds.
What lies ahead remains a mystery.
But the God whose love us both enfolds
Holds the future for both you and me.
You are my friend, my help, my love, my wife,
With whom it is my joy to share my life.

Crossroads of London

2009-02-14T06:36:00.000-08:00

Come one, come all,
To the Crossroads of London.
Let us make merry
In the Spring of the year.
Pleasures you’ll find
At the Crossroads of London.
A tavern awaits
To serve us good cheer.

Come warriors all
To the Crossroads of London.
We bask in good fortune,
Come show us your skill.
Rewards to be had
At the Crossroads of London.
Your display of valor
Your ladies to thrill.

Come poets and bards
To the Crossroads of London.
Come with your music,
Your stories and song.
Delights for the ears
At the Crossroads of London.
If you don’t know the words
You can still hum along.

Let everyone come
To the Crossroads of London,
For spring is upon us
Cold winter is past.
Let the revels begin
At the Crossroads of London.
Meridians come
To make memories that last.

For Edmund and Deanna

2009-02-12T07:39:00.000-08:00

Lady Deanna by your many charms
You have won Lord Edmund to your side.
He’s so thrilled by your smile which him disarms,
That you’ve become his life, his joy, his pride.
You’ve taken him from cold and lonely days
To his current state of wedded bliss.
He can’t but smile whene’er his mind replays
The pleasurable memory of your kiss.
He’s grateful for the privilege to share
His life with you, who makes his soul complete.
So he comes heart in hand before you here,
To humbly lay it at his lady’s feet.
For one so overcome with love, it’s hard
To make up words, and so he asked the Bard.

An Unsubtle Reference to Dull Black Metal Cookware

2009-02-05T08:02:00.001-08:00

Beware the one
Who claims to hate
Self-righteousness, hypocrisy,
And…”those people”;
You know who is meant,
The ones not like us
Enlightened ones who
Would never dream
Of condemning anyone, except
Of course, naturally those
Who it is culturally acceptable
To condemn.
Subscribing to only
Socially approved
Norms of non-conformity,
Following the tenets
Of the mass-produced
Conventions of allowable free thought,
It is so much easier
To sit in judgment,
Than to risk contamination
By taking the time,
And making the effort
To find out just who it is
That has failed to measure up
To the conventional wisdom;
A contradiction in terms anyway.
But then, the person
For whom this is written
Would agree with
Everything I have said,
Never once recognizing
The reflection in the mirror.

Wineskins

2009-01-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

Wineskins
Grow old and cracked
Dry and dusty as they age
New wine must breathe
As it expands
Old wineskins burst
When new wine expands
New wine must have
New wineskins

The message is
Ever fresh ever new
Without changing
For Truth is eternal
The message is new wine
And must always have
New wineskins

The message is eternal
But the medium is the wineskin
The message stays True
Though the form may change
Must change lest it grow stale
Dry and cracked
Bursting and spilling the wine
The message refreshes
But spilt wine
Refreshes no one

Let the forms be changed
So new wine has new wineskins
Let the message that is True
Refresh and rejuvenate
May the Truth that never grows old
Be delivered so the hearer may hear
For the Truth is the Truth
Not the wineskin in which
It is delivered

Pibroch

2009-01-12T07:04:00.000-08:00

Returning from an embassage gone wrong,
Receiving for our pains but haughty words,
Our pride insulted, we took recompense
To soothe the certain anger of our Laird;
No more than was our due: we are not thieves,
But warriors setting our accounts to right.
Thus had our fathers taught us from our youth,
And thus had all our ways been ever so.
A raid for raid, a balancing of strength;
Strong hands and arms to carry sword and targe;
Strong deeds to earn the music of a bard;
To ease the pangs of winter in our glens,
And teach our sons the way a man makes war.
Yet ere we reached the borders of our lands,
Disaster came upon us unawares.
Our enemies united, and in strength,
With naked swords to bar our passage home.
Too much for our small numbers, we were forced
To leave behind our rightful spoils of war
To flee in desperation for our lives.
Pursuit hot on our heels, we sought ahead
The saving sanctity of Holy Ground,
A hallowed kirk where we could shelter in
And wait the intercession of the priest,
Who would convey us to our homes again.
But we had not accounted for our foes,
Who would not be dissuaded from their prey.
As we took pause to rest within the kirk,
We heard the doors and windows hammered shut.
The orders given, brush piled up the sides,
Thatch and wooden eaves above our heads,
Wooden walls and paneling around,
And we were trapped inside to meet our fate.
We heard the licking of the fire without,
Smelled the smoke that promised us our doom.
We cried out to our God in our despair,
But God could spare no miracle for us.
The fire burned till naught was left but stone,
Burnt black and cracked with fire and with hate;
Holy ground unhallowed by our deaths,
And we remain encased within these rocks,
Waiting for a mercy that won't come.
You who pass this way may hear our cries.
We speak in voices carried on the wind.
Though centuries have passed since we were slain,
We still remember Strathmore, and we mourn.

Dunnichen

2009-01-05T09:48:00.000-08:00

North we rode,
Through foothills on good trails,
Chasing our prey, deep into the mists.
We see them, pursue them.
They fall back before us, and we--
We chase them onward,
Higher and deeper,
Through mists and heather.

Proud we were;
The finest of warriors,
Accoutred in steel;
Bright swords, maille shining,
Horses stong on the plain.
Not so footsure in the foothills.
And still the track goes higher,
'"neath arching trees, narrow passes,
Walls of stone, closing in around us,
And still we pursue.

And the hillsides move as men come alive
About us, clothed in the heather,
Rude tools in their hands
And no room to turn.
It is enough for us.
At our head, Aethelfrith falls,
And with him, our hopes.
Howling death surrounding us,
Spears and rocks defeating steel.
Horses scream as stone points strike home.
Dying men driven into the Nechtmansmere,
Never to be seen again.

The Pride of Northumbria,
Broken, driven back
Behind the Roman wall.
The Pursuers, pursued
By the devil Picts.
They lured us in
And cast us down.
How few we remain
to bear the tale.

The Claiming

2009-01-02T11:16:00.000-08:00

It happened on a moonless night
So many years ago,
When seasons, hung in balance
Between the freeze and thaw,
Part to reveal passageways
That lead to eldritch ground,
When first the Dreamer dared to lay
Upon the stony mound.
His reasoning was sound enough
Though perhaps his purpose queer.
If there be gates to the Otherworld,
There'd surely be one here.
To seek the elder magics
One had to take the chance,
And risk the madness born of
Seeing the Spirits at their dance.
To hear their words and learn their songs
Seemed such a simple thing;
To lie among their spells and dream,
To dance within their ring;
To let his soul be touched by fire
From an elven brand;
To know their secrets and their art
Among their airy band.
He lay himself upon the ground,
Pillowed by cold stone,
Surrendering his reason
Among the trees alone.
Owls and bats and nameless things
Circled overhead.
Shadows lurking in the mists
Whispered words of dread.
He let his conscious mind give way
Into the realms of night,
Until his waking dreams revealed
What had been hid from sight.
Where once there had been silence
Now rode a stately court
Of Elven lords and ladies
Of every shape and sort,
Mounted on fantastic beasts
That mystified the eye.
The glamour of their faces
Lit up the midnight sky.
Dressed in ragged elegance,
They passed on either side.
The music of their voices
Like seabirds on the tide.
Then they circled round him
In laughing arrogance
At this foolish mortal who
Intruded on their dance.
With golden knives against his throat,
Hands bound with silver chain,
The Dreamer felt dispair
At ever coming home again.
But then a voice like winter ice
Mixed with summer rain,
A voice that murmured of the greatest
Pleasures mixed with pain;
A deep intoxicating voice
That turned his head like wine.
Ordered his release and with
A laugh, she said, "He's mine!"
What mysteries he then beheld
He still cannot recall,
For human minds aren't meant to see
Such sights and hold it all.
One overpowering memory
Remained of all he'd seen;
The terrifying beauty
That was the Fairie Queen.
Dark eyes, dark hair, a cruel smile,
She held him in her power;
Posessed his soul entirely
Forever from that hour.
"You have a poet's heart," she said,
"A poet you will be.
Whenever you inscribe your verse,
You first will think of me.
I'll be your inspiration,
And I will be your Muse,
And save you from the madness.
But now you have to choose.
For always with an Elven gift
There also comes a price.
And nothing's ever given free
Without a sacrifice.
If I give you a poet's voice,
I want back what is fair.
For I am a jealous lover,
And I refuse to share.
Once you have received my kiss,
Your words will be like wine,
With meaning and with eloquence,
But always, you'll be mine!"
He looked upon her beauty,
Her eyes like burning coal.
Those eyes reached to his deepest parts
And feasted on his soul.
She knew his deepest secrets,
already knew his choice.
She kissed him once in triumph
And gave to him his voice.
He woke early next morning
On a bed of cold grey stone,
With the memory of cold dark eyes
That claimed him for their own,
Knowing in his deepest heart
He never would be free
To live and love as normal men:
He'd been touched by the Sidh.
So in the morn he left that hill,
A fever in his brain.
He never spoke to anyone
About that night again.
And through the years his poetry
Was closest to his heart.
All other earthly pleasures paled
When matched against his art.
It was his greatest solace
Whene'er his heart was sore.
But always it was colored by
A darkness at its core.
Friends and loves would come and go
But never satisfy.
For another owned him,
And these pleasures would deny.
For never could he shake the hold
Of that which he had seen;
The cold and cruel beauty
That was the Fairie Queen.
A fairy tale, you say? Perhaps,
A fantasy in dreams,
Where every meaning wears a shroud,
And isn't what it seems
To mingle with the elder race
Holds risks beyond degree,
For mortals were not meant to mix
With immortality.
To commune with the Elvenkind
Leaves marks down deep inside;
And owner's mark burnt into flesh,
A brand that you can't hide.
The fate of one who has survived
Is not found in the stars,
But written on his heart in blood.
I'll show to you the scars.

Crusader's Prayer

2008-12-31T07:00:00.000-08:00

The evening wind across the sand
Blows memories to me;
The thousand miles that I have come
To fight for Calvary
In answer to the call of Rome,
"Obey the will of God",
To stand before the Holy Gates
Where once my Savior stood.

A landless second son was I
With nothing but my sword.
No place for me, except to fight,
Obedient to my Lord;
To journey to the Holy Lands,
A servant of the cross;
A sword to defend Christendom,
Regardless of the cost.

In war against the Saracen
I've won my spurs and arms.
My sword and lance has dripped with blood
Till Gory's lost its charms.
I dreamt once of Jerusalem,
The city of our Lord.
But now my thoughts turn homeward bound
For Caledonia's shore.

Under Ben Loyal's heathered slopes
A lady waits for me,
To be my bride when I return
From far across the sea.
And so I kiss the cross and pray
Ere battle's joined anew:
Jesu keep me safe from harm
Whilest now I fight for You.

I pray, Lord, now for victory
Over the Saracen;
To liberate Jerusalem
For pilgrims to go in;
To bring to end this high crusade
To free the Holy Shrines,
That I with honor may go home
To cherish what is mine

The Rover Finds a Home

2008-08-27T06:48:00.001-07:00

The dust of long uncounted roads
Is caked upon my feet.
My wanderings have carried me
Down ways I can’t recall.
Faces in my memory
Encountered as I passed
Remind me that, for all I’ve seen,
I haven’t seen it all.

But now, I’m contemplating
Giving up my lonely ways;
A new adventure grounded in
A family and home.
The comforts of the hearth call me
To leave the empty nights;
To leave aside my wanderings,
Let some other minstrel roam.

Yes, the road has its appeal:
The pleasures of the nights
Spent entertaining strangers
By a campfire’s welcome glow.
But loneliness wears on the body,
Tires the very soul:
No life to grow old in,
And so I let it go.

Instead of stranger’s faces,
I want now, to see just one,
That loves me with my whole heart,
As equally I her.
And though sometimes, I’ll miss the road,
Still I have no regrets.
Of all the lives that I could choose,
I know which I prefer.

So I remove my traveling shoes,
And leave them by the door.
No more I’ll go a roving
Through the country far and wide.
Unless, some day there comes a time
To walk those roads again,
Not alone, but with my
Loving Lady by my side.

The Pirate Song

2008-08-27T06:34:00.000-07:00

Oh, I’m a pirate lad and I’m OK.
I drink all night and I fight all day.

I capture ships.
I drink my rum.
I raid the coast of France.
I steal King Louie’s treasure,
And make fun of his pants!

Oh, I’m a pirate lad and I’m OK.
I drink all night and I fight all day.

I capture ships.
I loot and burn.
I sail with Francis Drake.
We plunder Spanish shipping,
Then hold a big clambake.

Oh, I’m a pirate lad and I’m OK.
I drink all night and I fight all day.

I capture ships.
I wear my sword.
My crewmates, they all stink.
Why do I hang around them?
Cause they drive a man to drink!

Oh, I’m a pirate lad and I’m OK.
I drink all night and I fight all day.

I capture ships.
I fight for gold.
I kill the random Turk.
It’s not much of a living,
But it’s better far than work!

Oh, I’m a pirate lad and I’m OK.
I drink all night and I fight all day.
I’m a pirate lad and I’m OK…….
I drink all night, and I fight all day!

The Crab's Drinking Song

2008-08-25T09:43:00.000-07:00

Bring me a whiskey, Keelin.
I’m feeling risky, Keelin.
I’m feeling in the mood to
Try something dumb.
Don’t say I hadn’t aughter
Fill up with firewater.
The liquor’s calling me to
Come and get numb.

I’m in the food to frolic
With something alcoholic,
Parked by a campfire
With a bottle or three.
When I spit in the fire
See how the flames leap higher.
My veins have lighter fluid
Running through me.

Sitting beside the blaze,
Drifting into a haze,
Feeling my body functions
Slow to a crawl:
The temperature is dropping.
My insides all are flopping.
This wasn’t such a
Good idea after all.

The time now is oh dark thirty.
My mood is turning dirty,
Curled in a fetal ball
Inside of my tent
Oh God! When bowels attack,
Here comes my dinner back!
I’m hypothermic
And my innards are bent.

Unhappy circumstance!
Back up the ambulance!
My weekend’s over
And misery abounds.
But here’s a bitter lesson
That I have learned, I’m guessing:
Never get plastered
When the Bard is around.

A Note of Recognition

2008-08-25T09:27:00.001-07:00

Your Majesties, I pray attend
Whiles’t I speak of a worthy friend
Who’s proved himself in many ways
A credit to Meridies.
Quick to lend a helping hand,
Without waiting for command,
He serves his shire with a smile,
And always goes the extra mile.
He doesn’t brag; he seeks no fame:
Thomas of Owl’s Nest Is his name.
All His companions would agree,
His is the best of loyalty.
In recognition, I resort
To make to you this bard’s report.

A Victory Toast

2008-08-25T08:21:00.001-07:00

Let the heralds proclaim the news
To every noble lord:
The most audacious rapiers
Fight for the Red Sword.
Where ever earnest steel is drawn
In tourney or melee,
Rest assured the Red Sword
Company will own the day.
See how the proudest cavaliers
Let aspirations fade
When o'er the List they see the banner
Bearing the Scarlet Blade.
They take their loss and then enjoy
The hospitality
Most graciously provided
By the Red Sword Company
The crimson edge is sharpest
Evident for all to see
So lift a glass in honor of
The Red Sword Company

A Wedding Invitation

2008-08-25T08:17:00.001-07:00

Across the miles , our love has grown
A miracle that’s all our own
A gift of God to each our hearts
A joining of two separate parts
So now we come to pledge our love
Acknowledging our Lord above
And we invite our friends to share
The joy that God’s created here
For it is He who’s made us one
Come celebrate what God has done

Marks of Honor

2008-03-12T16:19:00.000-07:00

Bruises on my shoulders,
Abrasions on my arms.
Physical abuse but there's
No cause here for alarms.
There's a kinking in my neck,
And a creaking in my knee;
Aches and ailments that I
Bear away with childish glee.

If you ask have I been fighting,
I will give a wicked grin,
And I'll show you the welts
That someone raised down on my shin.
Yeah, my body took a beating.
My back muscle's on big knot.
But I'm proud to say I
Gave as good as what I got.

They're the body marks of honor
That I bear from every fight.
They hurt so good though I soak
In hot water every night.
It's a privilege to earn them,
Though the pain is nasty real.
It's just the price you pay
To stand with those who play with steel.

By tomorrow I'll have worked out
All the kinks and all the pain.
Then next week when I suit up,
I'll do it all again.
Why? Well it's the fighter's code
That's written in the stars:
Pain is short and glory lasts,
And ladies dig the scars.

One Flesh

2008-03-07T12:06:00.000-08:00

One Flesh

Lady of my heart, you've given me
Unprecedented access to your soul,
Laid in my hands the fierce ability
To wreak upon your heart a dreadful toll,
Yet trusting, that in love, I'll do no harm,
But cherish and protect what I've been given.
And so, before I offer you my arm,
I offer prayer for worthiness, to Heaven,
And further, place my own heart in your hands.
Thus trust for trust, I give you power o'er me,
And also trust that God has his own plans
In forging strong between us, unity.
As we're thus joined, I pray that you will see
I can't harm you without destroying me.

A Rebellion Against The Heralds

2008-02-28T10:28:00.000-08:00

Why should I submit my name
To a herald's rule?
He cannot tell me who I am.
I will be no one's fool.
I am a bard and master of
My own identity.
Obscure rules in dusty files
Mean not a whit to me.

We play a time in which there was
No standard spelling set,
No surnames as we know them,
No conventions to be met.
My free spirit balks at rules
On authenticity
Set by some snooty laurel
Who's more period than me.

So I am in no hurry
To jump through all the hoops,
Cross the i's and dot the t's
To join the proper groups.
I'm too busy having fun
To worry about my name.
It matters not what you submit;
It's how you play the game.

A Good Day To Make Someone Die

2008-02-27T08:32:00.000-08:00

The sky is clear
The sun is high.
Our banners stand
Against the sky.
Brothers in arms,
You and I
It’s a good day
To make someone die.

Swords are sharpened
Shields are bright,
Waiting for
The coming fight
Fighting for
Our kingdom’s right.
Let our foes
Quake at the sight.

Raise the signal
Sound the horn.
March out in
The early morn.
Let our foemen
Feel our scorn.
Make ‘em wish
They’d ne’er been born.

Choose your victim
Up ahead
He wishes that
He’d stayed in bed
Strike him cold
And loot the dead.
Let the green grass
Run with red.

Lift a glass
And drink it down.
Drink to honor
And renown.
Drink to our
Illustrious Crown.
Let our noble
Cheers resound.

The sky is clear
The sun is high.
Our banners stand
Against the sky.
Brothers in arms
You and I.
It’s a good day
To make someone die!
Make some other whoreson die!
Good day to make someone die!

A Soldier for the Fight

2008-01-27T09:43:00.000-08:00

You stand there in formation
With your armor and your shield.
Your bowels turn to water
As anticipation builds.
The time’s past for debating
What is wrong and what is right.
There is only weapons drawn,
And the moment of the fight.

Decisions made over your head
Don’t matter much to you.
But when the horns and drums sound out,
Well you know what to do.
Do it to the other guy.
His slaughter’s your delight.
As his blood spills on the ground
You revel in the fight.

You see a man on horseback.
You open up his side.
As his guts come spilling out,
Likewise so his pride.
He doesn’t look so noble now,
Death turns his features white.
You’ve no time to be noble.
You’re busy with the fight.

A drummer boy not more than ten
Lies broken on the ground;
Just another body midst
The corpses scattered round.
To the general in charge
A drummer lost is slight.
His death adds to the fury
That you pour into the fight.

Your arms and chest are red with blood,
Your face a mask of gore.
Spilling it in buckets
Is what your weapon’s for.
You’re just a lowly killer;
You’ll never be a knight.
But killers are what’s needed
If you’re going to win a fight.

And when the day is over,
And the end comes to the war,
It doesn’t really matter
What it was that you fought for.
You only know that you’ve survived.
You’ll see tomorrow’s light;
To march off to another war:
A soldier born to fight.

Her Excellency

2007-11-20T04:54:00.000-08:00

There is a power that’s not born in Swords,
Nor which is passed down by Royal decree,
But is a force before which mighty lords
Are swift to obey voluntarily.

The Lady who possesses this command
Wields it with a subtle influence;
The strength of steel made velvet in her hand;
Born of wisdom, and of common sense,

Not to exalt herself, or feed her pride,
But in the service of the common good.
Her kindness is renowned the kingdom wide;
Her merry spirit known, and understood.

The poet dips his pen in humble art
When in the presence of this noble heart

Sirona's Prize

2007-11-19T13:34:00.001-08:00

Who can flog you like a wrecking ball,
And then bake cookies, pleasing one and all?
Who’s skill with needle far surpasses art?
Who reigns o’er Bedlam with a mother’s heart?
Who dances with a rapier in her hand?
Could only be our Sirona Boann;
Who has found favor in our Royal’s eyes,
And comes today prepared to fight her prize.
For our Noble Crown’s appointed her
Companion of the Argent Rapier;
And she invites all students of the blade,
Upon this field, with banners all displayed,
To bring your swords, and put her to the test.
Come, members of the MOB, the CAR, the rest.
Come with your swords, held in a steady grip,
To revel in the Art of Swordsmanship.
The Lady’s pleased and proud to show her skill.
Just tell her who to feed, to clothe, or kill.

Randalin's Prize

2007-10-08T08:32:00.000-07:00

Attend ye gentles, one and all.
Come ye fencers at my call.
Follow to the rapier field
For Lady Randalin.
Our noble Crown’s anointed her
Into the Argent Rapier.
Today the Lady fights her prize
To be inducted in.

The honor of the Lady’s known.
Her prize, she now claims for her own.
And she’s prepared to meet with steel
All comers on the field.
Let sword and dagger, buckler ring.
Listen to her rapier sing.
When the Lady draws her blade
Her honor is her shield.

The masters of the Fencer’s art
Well understand her warrior’s heart.
She fights today to celebrate
Her bounty from the crown.
So follow me and bring your best.
Put the Lady to the test.
Draw steel with Lady Randalin
For glory and renown.

Attend ye gentles, one and all.
Come ye fencers at my call.
Follow to the rapier field
For Lady Randalin.
Our noble Crown’s anointed her
Into the Argent Rapier.
Today the Lady fights her prize
To be inducted in.

Period Swimming On Saturday Night

2007-10-05T06:39:00.001-07:00

I've travelled the world and seen many a sight;
Known things that would make a lion take fright.
But nothing has left me so shaken and white
As period swimming on Saturday night.

You might think at first I would be filled with glee.
There were no swim suits in the twelfth century.
The prospects sound good for lots of nudity.
But the swimmers are not the ones you'd want to see.

I'd heard sounds of partying over that way,
So I thought I would go there and join in the play.
But the bodies that I observed there on display
Drove from me any desire to stay.

Such an expanse of flesh I never have seen:
Jello-like masses of meat most obscene,
With unrecognizable pink bits between,
The sight of which turned my stomach quite green.

I do not object to beholding the nude.
I have a live and let live attitude.
But being subjected to such sights is rude,
Depressing and aesthetically crude.

Though we try to practice our medieval ways,
Happy am I if this in the past stays.
For given a choice I would avert my gaze
From period swimming for all of my days.

Lorelei

2007-09-27T21:15:00.000-07:00

It's a wonder that I make it through each day,
Distracted as I am by thoughts of you;
Your eyes, your voice, your touch, each little way
You've made yourself the center of my view.
By day I stumble round as in a fog.
And if one asks me why, the reason's this:
My mind replays a constant dialog,
Recounting all the pleasures of your kiss.
Your enchantment holds me in your snare.
My imagination is on fire.
The flames within encourage me to dare
And whisper in your ear of my desire:
To match our hearts together, you and I;
To hold you in my arms, my Lorelei.

The Baronesse's Tourney At Red Tower

2007-09-26T07:08:00.000-07:00

Another piece that was intended for Red Tower, but was not used due to a format change.

From the furthest reaches of Meridies
Are gathered here these students of the blade
To demonsrate our prowess in this glade
Under our fair Baronesses’ gaze.
Who has ever been the swordsman’s friend
Both a sponsor, and a patroness
Therefore, in honor of our Baroness
Let swords be drawn, our tournament begin.
Let’s hear the ring of steel on steel again
The flash of sword and dagger in the sun.
Let mighty acts of swashbuckling be done
For the honorable Lady Carol Jane
At your Excellency’s pleasure we’ll commence
This tourney of the Arte of Defence

The Queen's Challenge at Red Tower

2007-09-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

This was written for Red Tower, but due to a change of format in the fighting, was never used.

The Rapiers of Meridies here seen
Have gathered to pay homage to our Queen,
The honored Lady who inspires our swords
To show that our affection’s more than words,
Displaying for Her Majesty’s good will
The utmost of our talents and our skill.
And though we battle for a glittering prize,
‘Tis so much sweeter played ‘fore Royal eyes.
So, for the pleasure of your Honored throne,
We look to you, Milady, say “Lay on".

The Baron of South Downs

2007-09-21T05:56:00.000-07:00

Should you visit the Barony,
One personage you’re sure to see,
Luxuriant in his villainy:
The Baron of South Downs.

With bald pate and grey temples, he
Appears, for all intents, to be
The image of sagacity,
In whom wisdom abounds.

But under his façade you see
A wit as wicked as can be,
That strains believability,
More subtle than it sounds.

The Baron’s Favorite verbal style
Is offering up a pun so vile
That it would stun a crocodile,
So bad that it astounds.

Or rather, should the Baron please,
He can deliver up with ease
A law firm’s worth of legalese,
Though dubious the grounds.

And if his words inspire alarm,
The Barons says they’re simply from
A natural quest for “Lebensraum”.
Now that’s straining at the bounds!

The Kingdom marvels at the man;
Just a humble pelican,
Having fun as best he can;
The Baron of South Downs.

Bardic Circle at Pillage on the Plain

2007-09-18T20:10:00.001-07:00

How excellent at ending of the day,
When sword and shield hang safe upon the wall,
When all the tools of war are stowed away,
And all have feasted well within the hall,
To gather, then, around a blazing fire;
A company of mutual regard,
Together yielding to the fine desire
To listen to the music of the bard,
Delighting in such words of eloquence
Artfully arranged in melody,
Recording all the pomp and consequence
Of our storied Kingdom’s history.
A Kingdom’s unity is forged in song.
Therefore, gather round and sing along

Pillage on the Plains

2007-09-16T05:10:00.000-07:00

Set the beacon fires alight.
Let the horns ring great alarms
Heralding the coming fight:
Call our warrior host to arms.
Axe and longbow, sword and spear,
Knight and squire side by side,
Buckle courage, banish fear,
Armed whatever fate betide.
Warriors sweep o’er the field,
Choosing foes in grand melee.
Mighty blows ring out on shield,
Deeds of valor done this day.
Each noble heart anticipates
Rich reward which daring gains.
The glory and plunder that awaits
For each at Pillage on the Plains.

Lady of My Dream

2007-09-14T05:10:00.000-07:00

The whispers of the evening breeze
Speak of summer’s end,
The cool of autumn slipping in
Upon us on the sly.
And with the grey geese winging
Southward, my desires bend
To where my heart awaits me,
And with them I would fly.

I’m quick to smile, to share a laugh,
The soul of amity.
The pleasure of good company
Still fills me with delight.
But underneath my surface
Of congeniality,
My thoughts turn ever towards the one
Whose absence mars each night.

I have but to close my eyes
To hold her in my arms.
A most exquisite beauty,
Soft to touch, and fair of face,
Intoxicates my senses, but
I know that all her charms,
Like my dreams, come morning
Melt away without a trace.

What I would not give to have
My lady by my side.
But fate conspires to keep the miles
Between us, it would seem.
Until the day that I can bring
Her home to be my bride,
She remains my wistful longing
And the lady of my dream.

Gentlemen To Be

2007-09-12T13:41:00.000-07:00

Though boys you are, I speak to you as men
Capable of acting honorably
As warriors and members of your clan;
An asset to your chief and family.
At your age your first duty is to serve
Your mother, and to be obedient
To her instruction that you may deserve
To train to fight, once you’ve earned her consent.
For honor comes of learning to obey;
To give, instead of taking, in your pride.
Your deeds speak more than any words you say,
And prove your worth by what you are inside.
It’s my desire in you boys to see
The gentlemen I expect you to be.

The Privilege of the Crown

2007-08-28T06:21:00.001-07:00

Kingship is a privilege that’s spun
From equal parts belief and fantasy,
Earned partly by the feats of arms you’ve done,
And partly by our willingness to see
In you person worthy of our crown,
A noble we accept as fit to reign.
So voluntarily, we all bow down,
And name you sovereign of our domain.
So while by combat you have won the throne,
Receiving all the honor you deserve,
You hold that seat by our belief alone,
The people it’s your privilege to serve.
You serve as King as long as you perceive
You reign because it’s our choice to believe

A Toast to Meridian Rapier

2007-08-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

Here's to the Swords of Meridies

In honor may they stand:

The few, the proud, out-numbered,

Defiant blades in hand.

Long may they be celebrated.

Let cheers and anthems peel.

And may the foes of Meridies

Beware Meridian Steel.

The God's Honest Truth

2007-08-13T07:30:00.001-07:00

Can you keep a secret?
Don’t tell a soul.
I swear every word is true
You didn’t hear it from me
If anyone asks,
And I’ll say the same for you.

The rumor started Saturday night,
When the mead was flowing free.
Something went on down by the lake,
But it was too dark to see.
Were there two bodies,
Or were there three
Keeping out of sight?
But somebody saw,
And somebody told,
All on a Saturday night.

There were too many shadows
Where there shouldn’t have been
And the word began to spread.
Someone was going to get it tonight,
At least that’s what somebody said.
And somebody’s husband
Was out of place.
At least that’s what somebody heard.
And somebody’s daughter
Was out way too late.
Promise you won’t breathe a word.

And that’s when they started
The hue and the cry
To find out just who’s off with who.
And nobody bothered to stop and enquire
Was there truth to this hullabaloo.
It wasn’t long till the shouting commenced,
With some words better left unsaid:
Anger taking the place of good sense.
Hearts broken and friendships dead.

And the saddest detail
Of this whole sorry song
Is that none of the rumors were true.
But the stories went round,
And the damage was done,
Leaving nothing but wreckage to view.
Don’t think you’re immune
To temptation’s call
To repeat what you only half see.
Cause rumor will outrun the truth every time
Hey, you didn’t hear it from me.

Can you keep a secret?
Don’t tell a soul.
I swear every word is true
You didn’t hear it from me
If anyone asks,
And I’ll say the same for you.

Shield Wall

2007-08-10T08:56:00.000-07:00

A warrior fights for himself
To win himself renown,
A victory at tournament,
Or even gain a crown,
Increase his martial knowledge,
Display his skill at arms,
To earn the praise of poets,
To win a lady’s charms.

But when the warrior takes his place
Upon a battlefield,
Following his sovereign,
Bearing sword and shield,
He fights then, for his kingdom,
Not personal reward,
The greater glory and the good,
Which now command his sword.

His fellow warriors, left and right,
Stand guard upon his flanks.
And he, in turn, stands guard on them,
True brothers in the ranks.
United in their purpose,
They stand on holy ground.
And he would rather give his life
Than let his brothers down.

Weapons at the ready,
Their shields become a wall,
A veritable fortress
Protecting one and all.
A warrior seeking glory,
Who steps out from his place
Ensures his kingdom’s downfall,
And only earns disgrace.

No victory is certain,
However plans are laid.
But greater is the surety
When orders are obeyed.
Honor comes to him who waits
Upon his lord’s command,
The honor of the shield wall:
The integrity of the man.

Psalm of Returning

2007-08-06T07:25:00.000-07:00

Psalm of Return
By the rivers of Babylon
We took up our lyres
And wept with joy,
For we were going home.
Our exile was at an end:
No more wandering in the wilderness
Scattered to the winds.
The new Zion, the new Jerusalem beckoned.
Once more the milk and honey would flow,
And we would partake
Of our Lord’s bounty,
Never again to stray
Far from His altar.
By the rivers of Babylon
We packed our lyres for the journey.
We would need them
For the celebrations
When we entered in
To the fullness of our joy.

Selah

Kingdom Road

2007-08-03T10:51:00.000-07:00

There is a road that beckons
Us to follow on the way;
Calling us to let our
Mundane Lives be stripped away;
Responding to a memory,
Answering a star;
Our hearts desire revealing us
For who we really are.

Uncomfortable in modern skin,
We journey to the past,
Finding there the imaged form
In which our dreams are cast.
Putting on our other selves,
We answer to the call
To give allegiance to a crown
That binds us, one and all.

Behind us is our past lives,
Before us is a goal.
Our journey on the Kingdom road
Brings healing to the soul.
United in our service,
Obedient to the Throne,
Our greatest pleasure is to claim
The Kingdom as our own.

The Kingdom road’s not easy,
But we will never tire.
For we know that this rocky way
Leads to our heart’s desire.
We find ourselves by offering up
The loyalty that’s owed,
And claim the honor waiting all
Who walk the Kingdom road.

Kingdom Call (Meridian Grand Tourney)

2007-07-30T07:30:00.001-07:00

To the corners of the Kingdom
May my voice be carried high,
To all who claim nobility
Upon our Royal throne.
The demands of Honor summon you
To gather, armed and ready,
To perform upon your bodies
All that Honor may require.
Seek Honor’s satisfaction
On a field of martial prowess;
Mighty deeds of valor
Done with axe and sword and spear.
Let all the Heavens witness
The pride of fair Meridies
Assembled, bringing glory
Through the roar and clash of arms.
The Stallion and the Shooting Star,
The Southern Cross Saltire;
The banners of our Kingdom
Wave defiant in the breeze.
Sword shall ring on shield this day.
Heroes shall make good their boasts,
Ere the setting of the sun
Returns this field to peace.
Then Honor shall have its rewards;
Royal favor granted then;
Feast and revel’s pleasure
For the ladies of the court.
Heroes all shall take their ease,
Spirits moved to melody.
The music of the bards
Shall echo off the distant stars.
Let the years go rolling back.
Shed the centuries like rain.
Renew our oaths of brotherhood
Before the Royal throne.
Let all our knights and nobles,
All our courtiers and ladies,
Refugees from mundane living
Answer to the Kingdom call.

Kiss Me Lady

2007-07-23T20:13:00.000-07:00

Kiss me Lady, and be my Lady,
And I will be your Love.
Let me be the troubadour
That you’ve been dreaming of.
Take the hand I offer you
And stand here by my side,
And I will make my solemn vow
And take you for my bride.

I have heard the whispered longings
Hidden in your sighs.
And I can see the invitation
Dancing in your eyes.

I am no great armored knight
To ride in constant war.
I’m but a humble minstrel
With my songs, and verse, and lore.
But I too have a good steel sword
To keep your soul from harm.
And I’m as noble as any knight
When you are on my arm.

Walk with me through meadows green,
By waters fresh and clear.
Be for me the pleasant
Company I hold most dear.

See before us the road awaits
That leads to who knows where.
But where ever this road may lead
I know I want you there.
The journey’s a grand adventure,
But how dreary it would be
If I should have to walk that road
With out your company.

The journey’s our destination,
Let us walk it hand in hand.
Find that far horizon with
My lover and my friend.

So kiss me Lady and be my Lady
And I will be your Love.
Let me be the troubadour
That you’ve been dreaming of.

Your Royal Highness

2007-07-20T06:23:00.001-07:00

Were I to offer fitting words for thee,
Royal Princess of Meridies,
I would dispense with flourishing displays
Designed to flatter Royal vanity.

Instead, I’d seek to picture what I see:
Grace, and beauty, yes, in all your ways,
But guided by a heart which never strays
From seeking how the good, may better be.

Giving praise where due is never hard.
Your worthiness is shown in all you do;
How generosity within you lives.
It pleases then, this humble country bard
To offer verses for the lady who
Shows her nobility in how she gives.

A Word Picture

2007-07-13T15:17:00.000-07:00

We practice blade work underneath the skies,
Breathing sultry, almost liquid air.
And I draw inspiration from your eyes,
Watching from the side lines over there.
I don my mask and gear, pick up my sword,
Preparing as I would for any match,
Imagining myself, a noble lord,
Desiring his Lady’s eye to catch.
Tonight I’m not my solitary self.
I draw steel to impress my Lady Fair.
The pleasure of your smile my greatest wealth.
I raise my blade to you in fair salute,
A token of your favor in my breast.
Then face to my opponent, resolute
Come what may, to offer you my best.
My foe, a youth not half my age, and I
Circle round each other, holding back,
Tentatively probing on the sly,
Seeking an advantage for attack.
Then, thrust and parry! Disengage and strike!
Our blades, like spring-steel snakes writhe in our hands,
Approximating killing strokes belike
A brawl that ends when only one man stands.
We score our touches, balanced evenly,
Youthful speed against experience,
Until we’re both exhausted, him and me.
Shake hands and thank each other for the dance.
Retiring to the side, you meet me there,
A tankard of cool water in your hands.
I drink deep of your gift, push back my hair,
Hang my weapons back upon their stand.
Still winded from my bout, I take my place
Along the side to watch the next pair fight.
But still I look upon your lovely face.
Having you beside me feels so right.
My sword is strong and straight. My thrust is true.
All the more because I fight for you.

The Bardic Light

2007-07-06T20:06:00.001-07:00

The circle is formed, the fire is lit.
From across the kingdom we’re gathered tonight.
Joined by our love of words we are knit
Together to share in the bardic light.

Tourney and battle, revel and feast,
The ages melt away before our sight.
Now round the fire, all spirits released
To dance with joy in the bardic light.

United by music, story and rhyme,
Verses composed for the Muses’ delight,
And the pleasure of souls born out of time,
Living the dream in the bardic light.

Let the Muses inspire and flavor our song.
Let our voices resound through the hours of the night.
We invite all who hear to sing along,
And join with us in the bardic light.

Love Song

2007-07-05T15:15:00.000-07:00

Speak to me your true name.
Reveal to me your heart.
Tear away the barrier
That’s keeping us apart.
Let nothing stand between us,
Our union to deny.
Let there be a melding
Of our spirits, you and I.

What lies beneath your surface,
The dark depths of a stream,
A haunting sweet enigma
Wrapped within a dream.
Intrigued, I wander closer,
Your mysteries to explore.
Each hard-won fragment that I gain
Just makes me want you more.

We who have known the wounding
Of loyalty betrayed
Seek to find our healing
Within each other’s shade.
But fear defeats our purpose,
Keeping who we are concealed.
Our hope lies in the giving,
Our secret selves revealed.

I’m wandering in the wilderness,
Stumbling in the dark.
Are you as lost as I am,
Waiting for the spark ;
The touch of recognition
Within each other’s eyes,
A kindred soul with which to share
A love that never dies?

Reach to me across the miles.
Part for me the veil.
Let there grow between us
A hope that cannot fail.
Try me and see for yourself
Whether I am true.
Trust me to be faithful,
And I’ll keep faith with you.

Psalm: The King At War

2007-06-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Red Headed Freckled One

2007-06-22T05:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Blood Reivers

2007-06-21T08:32:00.001-07:00

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.

Honor. Above All

2007-06-13T14:11:00.000-07:00

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.

Perfect World

2007-06-10T16:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Haunted

2007-06-06T16:25:00.000-07:00

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.

Why They Are Shaped Like That

2007-05-30T20:07:00.000-07:00

Gently I caress her curves and take her in my arms,
Fingers lightly stroking as I coax from her, her charms.
As I seek out her secrets, revealing each delight,
She offers me a fresh and subtle mystery each night.

And when I touch her as she wants, how can I not rejoice
To revel once again within the magic of her voice.
There’s no one who ignites my soul as she does when she sings.
She’s such a giving mistress when I play upon her strings.

When I am melancholy, she sings both sad and low,
Offering a soothing balm to ease my sense of woe.
And when I’m in a lighter mood, then how she loves to dance.
Following me, move for move, in every circumstance.

She forgives my clumsy fumbling as I learn the art
Of drawing out her music from the echoes of her heart.
I’m yet a skill-less lover, ever striking the wrong note.
Still, the promise of her melody keeps all my hopes afloat.

Wiser heads than mine might not indulge in the conceit.
But when she’s nestled in my lap, that’s when I’m most complete.
So who can blame me if I take my metaphor too far?
There’s none who want me so I give my love to my guitar.

Contemplating the Poetics

2007-05-27T05:54:00.000-07:00

Tragedy has ever been the poet’s stock in trade,
Evoking fear and pity with the verses that he’s made.
A tale of woe and sorrow sometimes satisfies the soul:
Of noble heroes swept away by fates beyond control.

They’re always fair and beautiful. Their presence overawes.
And yet, to keep them humbled, they are touched by fatal flaws.
A geas that can’t be ignored, honor crossed by love;
Their feet of clay bring down their lofty finer parts above.

A ballad about broken hearts, can anyone resist?
Who’d have thought that Eros could make such a bitter fist.
When honor’s caught between two loves, someone’s got to lose,
Knowing he will face damnation for whichever way he’d choose.

When brother fights with brother, be it for the noblest cause,
The angels round them weep, and even devils might take pause.
The purest strains of fury answer to honor’s demands.
When the stain of brother’s blood is on a brother’s hands.

From the rising of the curtain, until all dramatics cease,
The words bring their recipients emotional release.
But who would want to live a tale that ends in tragedy?
For tragedy may make great art, but poor reality.

For My Daughter, Who's Beginning To Ask Difficult Questions

2007-05-25T20:34:00.000-07:00

My daughter, you are dear to me,
The essence of my heart.
But when you ask me about love
I’m not sure where to start.
I could say you are over young
To ask of such a thing.
But you later may not listen
To what wisdom I might bring.

Beware first of attraction.
What’s pleasing to the eye
Expresses only appetite.
Such love is but a lie,
And can’t sustain a lasting fire
When difficulties rise.
Such love is fine when all is well,
But in hard times it dies.

Don’t look for love in taverns
Or bars. That kind of love
May yield up a good time or two
But no life to speak of.
Good times are superficial
And won’t stand any test
But one who will stand with you
When it’s difficult is best.

And don’t ever deceive yourself
About a married man.
For one who will cheat with you
Will cheat on you if he can.
No matter how he tells you
That his love for you is true.
If he could be untrue to her,
He’ll do the same to you.

My greatest word of caution
Against a bitter fall:
The human heart’s a liar,
To itself the most of all.
To get what it believes it wants,
There’s nothing it won’t do;
Tell you what you want to hear,
Excuse the wrong you do.

My daughter, I can only tell
What I’ve known and I’ve seen.
I’ve loved and lost and staggered back
To start over again.
I’d spare you the hard lessons
I’ve suffered if I could.
But sometimes learning has to hurt
To do you any good.

Some day you’ll find your true love,
An honorable man.
You’ll learn to love the slow way
through the hard times, till you stand
Beside him to profess your love,
While I give you away.
My heart will break with love for you…
But that’s another day.

Line Sergeant

2007-05-17T10:56:00.001-07:00

Count your arrows careful, boys
And cut a few more stakes.
Dig the ditches deeper
Until the morning breaks.
For you know cavalry’s coming
With the morning sun,
And my orders are to shoot the first
One of you to run.
Shields and spears come forward,
Bowmen right behind,
And pray to every god you know
To strike those whoresons blind.
Last night we heard the speeches
About honor and the right.
The nobles want a glorious war.
We get a dirty fight.
Don’t give me talk of chivalry:
Too high above my head.
I prefer an ambush
And all my foemen dead.
Honor’s what the nobles praise
And for which they all strive.
For me a fair fight’s one in which
My boys come out alive.
Always kick ‘em when he’s down.
That way he don’t get up.
You’re fighting for your life here,
Not some pretty silver cup.
Your life depends on killing him
Before he can kill you.
Use any means at hand to run
The bloody bugger through.
You’ve heard the minstrels sing about
The glory that is war.
It’s naught but chopping bodies
Into bits of meat and gore.
And I can tell you now lads,
That the only way to win
Is rip the other guy’s guts out
And keep your own within.
Sharpen all your blades
And have them ready at your side,
The better to stick them into
Some unlucky bugger’s hide.
Put your weight behind your point
And make your killing stick.
The kindest mercy you can show
Is if you kill him quick.
I don’t care if you’re afraid:
Only a fool is not.
As long as you hold this line
With everything you’ve got.
If you stand in battle,
The enemy might, you kill.
But if I see you running
You know I surly will.
Too late now to turn about.
The horns are on the wind.
I can hear the clank and jingle
Of marching armored men.
Soon there will be battle
As far as eye can see,
And there’s no room for cowards
On either side of me.
Weapons at the ready.
Foemen to the fore.
Now’s the time we earn our pay
In bloody, dirty war.
Don’t worry that you may show fear
To the enemy.
Just make sure you always stay
Damn afraid of me.

Beloved

2007-05-11T19:12:00.000-07:00

We are lovers, but not in the usual sense.
For what is mere physical conjoining, compared
To the intimacy of the poet and the reader?
You, taking my words, my distilled essence,
Drawing them deep within you to where
Your hidden fires burn, and your secret
Longings await the poet's touch
To release them.

Do I reach that spot within you?
The Switch the releases the ecstatic
Joys of realization? The recognition
Of hungers you never knew you had?
Do you crave the caress of my words
Upon the tender places of your soul?

If I can awaken within, the desire
To feel, again and again, that
Eruption of meaning within your spirit,
Within your mind, your body, your being,
Then I am fulfilled as no lover has been,
Who only knows his lover's yielding flesh.
And the secret smile we share
Is ours alone together,
Though we be half a world apart
Or more.

Fair and Beautiful Lady, Good Eve

2007-05-07T05:36:00.000-07:00

For a new friend

Fair and beautiful Lady, good eve.
Never would I your young heart deceive.
Your company's been merry,
A Joy to receive.
It saddens my soul that it's now time to leave.

We've shared in the music, told many a tale,
Drowned all our sorrows with a glass of good ale,
Drunk to our health
That our luck might not fail.
It's been such an evening as I love so well.

But now the road calls and beckons to me .
That leads o'er the hills and down to the sea.
Lest I put down roots,
It's time I must flee,
For a bard has to wander to always be free.

Thank you for cheering my heart with your smile.
It will warm my journey for many a mile.
I'll always remember
Your dash and your style.
And if I return I might stay for a while.

Fair and beautiful Lady, good eve.
Never would I your young heart deceive.
Your company's been merry,
A joy to receive.
It saddens my soul that it's now time to leave.

What Are You Seeking?

2007-04-28T09:12:00.000-07:00

What are you seeking, my Bonny, my dear?
Are you sure that you'll want what you find?
Sometimes the having is not worth the hunt,
And you find that you've just changed your mind.

Do your eyes glitter bright for some shiny new toy
Wrapped up in paper and string?
Do you find your delight was all in the paper
Wrapped round some dull and base thing?

Would you cast your eyes where few look for value,
To what was discarded and tossed?
Can you see the worth that waits for renewal?
Will you turn and let it be lost?

Treasures are found where you least expect,
Hid by an unlikely facade.
Waiting for one with the courage to claim them,
A gift from the left hand of God.

Meditation on Honor and Truth

2007-04-26T20:30:00.000-07:00

When I claim the honor of a bard,
It is with the heaviest of hearts,
For I obligate myself to speak the truth
However much I know I'd rather not,
Without regard to how much it will hurt.
Knowing this reluctance, as I do,
I twist the blade deep within my own flesh
As much as I do in my listener.
For honor is a double-edged sword
That is made with neither hilt nor guard,
But must be gripped upon its razor's edge
That cuts away the falsehood from the truth
That may be hid behind the pretty words.
I am compelled by honor to speak true;
To break my silence for the truth entire,
With tears shed for the damage that I do,
Knowing that there is no guarantee
That any will be better for my words:
Rather with the expectation that,
More likely those that hear will be the worse.
So hesitate and think before you ask
That I speak only truth into your ear.
For I know the truth that you receive
May not be the truth you want to hear.

Cisco's Battle Cry

2007-04-20T07:17:00.000-07:00

Twas at the War of Fools
That the young lord took the field,
Wielding sword and board
To make all comers yield.
And over the battle could be heard
"All enemies must die!"
The mighty-bellied bellow
Of Cisco's battle cry.

The nobles did take note of him
And called him into court
To offer an Award of Arms
Upon his warlike sort.
And after someone fetched him
From the field, and told him why,
Once more the trees did echo
With Cisco's battle cry.

And then there were the parties
To celebrate the day.
And somewhere between beer and rum
All caution went astray.
The mighty belly did rebel,
There's few who wonder why,
And gave new meaning to the words,
"Cisco's battle cry.

Now came the morning after,
With the rising of the sun.
The warrior woke in great distress
At all that he had done.
While contemplating wisdom
And wishing he could die,
The entire camp was woken up
By Cisco's battle cry.

Now if you to the wars must go,
I'm sure that you'll fight well.
You'll demonstrate your prowess
With a warrior's mighty yell.
But if you over-celebrate,
Your wits will go bye-bye,
And all night you will fill the woods
With Cisco's battle cry.

A Dance Melancholy And Slow

2007-04-19T06:37:00.000-07:00

She sits on the bank of a slow moving stream.
The breeze blows her hair to and fro.
She searches the depths neath the stones and the leaves,
Wondering where did the fairy tales go.

She walks crowded streets with her eye on the clock,
No time to indulge in her dreams.
Her days are all shaded in patterns of gray,
And everything's less than it seems.

She lights candles over a dinner for one,
Macaroni and cheese and light beer,
Repeating the day's events to her cat,
Who catlike, pretends not to hear.

She looks out her window at soft falling snow,
Coffee cup warming her hand,
Remembering all the connections she's missed.
This wasn't the life that she planned.

She offers her world a bittersweet smile,
Accepting what she cannot change,
And passes from youth to old age fore her time.
The loneliness makes us all strange.

Our days play like music upon hidden strings,
Composing each verse as we go;
A melody played in a soft minor key,
A dance melancholy and slow.

Said With A Sardonic Smile

2007-04-18T06:22:00.000-07:00

In love, I have the patience of a glacier.
Ten years from now, when you have exhausted
Every other possibility, you will realize
That you have been madly in love with me all along.
Rushing to my side, you will find me
On my deathbed, where I have wasted away
For want of you. You will kiss me goodbye,
And I will die happy, with your taste upon my lips.

The Meridian Foreign Legion

2007-04-16T06:21:00.000-07:00

Although we were not born here.
Although we’ve wandered far.
Still we have found our place, here
Beneath the Southern Star.
Our Banner’s planted in this soil
And we will roam no more.
We’re the Meridian Foreign Legion,
And we’re marching off to war.

CHORUS
We draw swords for Meridies,
Our adopted land.
We’ve made our oaths of loyalty,
And here we’ll take our stand.
We are our Kingdom’s shield wall.
We’ll fight for the Cross and Star.
The Meridian Foreign Legion
Is marching off to war.

You can stick us in the front lines
In the thickest of the fight.
If you need a dirty job done,
You know who’ll do it right.
And when the dust has settled,
Our Kingdom’s foes shall yield.
The Meridian Foreign Legion
Will own the battlefield.

CHORUS

Though in the past we may have
Stood beside you in a fight.
Today we stand against you
In Meridian black and white.
We’re always first to battle.
We march forth with a cheer.
The sooner the victory’s ours,
The sooner we’ll have some beer!

CHORUS twice.

Fireside Bard

2007-04-13T06:22:00.000-07:00

There are those who prefer to perform at Court
For the nobles at their feast.
But I prefer the fireside
Where there there's room for the great to the least.
Those high proper rules of etiquette
Sound pretty, but after a while,
I start to long for a rougher crowd
Whose manners are more my style.

A goblet of wine and a maiden fair
Are the height of courtesie.
But I'm satisfied with a tankard of ale
And a buxom wench on my knee.
You can always count on polite applause
From the ranks of the Gentility.
But a boisterous crowd that roars and cheers
Is the audience for me.

At evening I head for the tavern
Or the campfires just off the road,
Happy to sing for my supper
And lighten a travellers load.
To win a smile from some pretty eyes,
With my verses, a song or a jest,
Where ever the company's rowdy,
I'm always an honored guest.

Performing at Court is an honor
And a priviledge that I enjoy.
But the Crown wants their entertainments refined,
So my delicate arts I employ.
But when my performance is finished,
And the Quality's had enough song,
I know there is waiting a place by a fire
Where the party will last all night long.

War Camp

2007-04-06T19:39:00.000-07:00

Gathered round the fire
Everybody brings
Some of this,
A bit of that
To create a feast for kings.
The meat begins to sizzle,
A bottle makes the rounds,
And talk looks back
To other wars,
And other battle grounds.

Then someone calls for music.
The bard begins to play.
A hush falls on
The camp as all
Await what he might say.
He spins a tale of valor,
Of honor in the fight.
A merry song
That resonates
Into the deeping night.

The golden glint on armor;
Reflections from the fire,
Dance before
The youngling's eyes
As they begin to tire.
Couples, arm in arm,
Exchanging knowing looks.
The night contains
More lessons than
Are found in history books.

Weapons at the ready
For the battle on the morn.
Tomorrow's deeds
Will shake the skies,
And legends will be born.
But tonight we feast and revel
Despite the cold and damp.
The fire burns
Within us all
Throughout our war camp.

Perspective

2007-04-04T05:27:00.000-07:00

It's not that I belittle what you feel.
I know that it is real enough to you.
Such heady moments do have their appeal,
And I've been down that road a time or two.

But since I have been where you are before,
Perhaps I've a more jaundiced eye than you.
The thrills that leave you gasping, hurting, sore;
I've seen them from a different point of view.

I've seen them come and go, through rise or fall;
Some pleasant, or some ending painfully.
The only constant: I've survived them all,
And bear away the marks they've left on me.

You've only just begun to play the game.
Just give it time: You'll find it much the same.

Wisdom Quest

2007-04-01T16:13:00.000-07:00

I sought the source of wisdom,
The legends where it's found;
In a potion or a fountain,
Or buried underground;
The cup that heroes quested for,
The scroll for which they fought;
The gift that cost them everything
And still could not be bought.

As I journeyed on my quest,
I met along the way
The lessons of experience
Attached to each new day;
The obstacles I struggled with,
The blows that left me numb,
That staggered my endurance
As I strove to overcome.

Friends and my companions
Who once walked by my side;
The loved ones who were dear to me,
No more with me abide.
They've passed into my memory,
From which they'll not return.
And yet for all my losses,
For wisdom I still yearn.

I've passed through nights of loneliness,
When all my hopes seemed dark,
In dispair of ever finding
The source of wisdom's spark.
And though the nights grow black and cold,
Still I soldier on
In pursuit of that elusive dream
Always one step beyond.

And what I have to show for it
Is less than joy sublime;
The lessons of experience gained
One footstep at a time;
Just random precious nuggets
Hidden amidst the dross;
And everything I've gained
Is balanced 'gainst a loss.

What I've gained I'll impart to you,
This last before I go.
My eyes have been opened
To what I wish I did not know.
Wisdom comes less from victory,
Than it's discovered in defeat;
And the lessons gained from wisdom
At best, are bittersweet.

The Heart Has To Be Tough

2007-03-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

The heart has to be tough
To be tender enough to feel,
Without giving way to weakness;
Strong enough to deal
With the conflict of emotions
From the tumult of events,
The frustrations, joys, and sorrows
That each new day presents.

True courage comes of facing
A thousand little blows
Aimed at your self-confidence,
And no one ever knows
The battles that you fight within,
The foes you've overcome.
Past victories don't matter
if the next makes you succumb.

The face that you present the world
Masks what you want to hide,
Cause no one wants the world to know
What's roiling you inside.
The greatest act of courage
That anyone can do
Is reaching out to someone else
Who's hurting, just like you.

When two wounded souls are joined,
They're stronger as a whole
Than individuals alone,
Paying a lonely toll.
The sum of them together
Is greater than the parts.
They find the key to healing
Within each other's hearts.

Yet we wear a brave face,
Meeting each new day
With the limited resources
At hand, in our our own way.
We don't make the connection.
And the only reason why
we do not heal each other
Is because we will not try.

Lines You've Already Rejected

2007-03-27T21:57:00.000-07:00

I wish I could write a poem
That was pure and true enough
To be a healing ointment
For the wounds within your soul.
For though I hear your cries I know
You don't want me to answer.
And any efforts that I make
Will be misunderstood
As clumsy, and self-serving,
When all my best intention
Is to ease your hurting spirit,
And to reassure your heart
That though the night is dark,
Though the path is steep and hidden,
Though storm clouds threaten overhead
Still you are not alone.
There's a hand, an arm, a shoulder
Standing ready, when you need them.
All you have to do is let me
Be there for you when you call.

So You Want to Be An SCA Bard

2007-03-25T13:47:00.000-07:00

So you want to be an SCA bard,
Then listen now, to what I say.
Get yourself an acoustic guitar,
Pretend it's a lute, and learn how to play.
And after long nights learning to
Master three chord harmony,
Then it'stime to go to an event,
Join a bardic circle,
And your verses vent.
Write a song in praise of the Crown
So the fighter jocks won't put you down.
Find your voice
In your verse and your song.
And don't forgt who you are,
You're an SCA bard.

Write and build up your repertoire,
And commit your songs to memory.
Go to events both near and far.
Build your reputation for barditry.
And when your name is known
And your songs are sung
Cross the Knowne Worlde wide,
You'll be a bard to be reckoned with.
Sing your songs with joy.
Speak your verses with pride.
Remember how you have come so far.
Don't forget who you are.
Just an SCA bard.
You know the dreaming's not too hard,
When you know that you
Are an SCA Bard.
When you know that you
Are an SCA Bard.

The Conflict

2007-03-23T06:56:00.000-07:00

Your head says to you one thing,
While your heart tells you another.
Thus, you suffer from the conflict
Of the one against the other.
Your head wants to be sensible.
Your heart wantsto be free
To chase after a dream's desire
That only seems to be.
You want to be protected,
Provided for, and safe
By one who's going to cherish you,
And guard you with his life.
And yet, you want to feel the thrill
Of danger's heady kiss.
So you follow down an unmarked path
Toward some forbidden bliss.
While your heart chases chimeras,
Your head knows there's a price,
With no certitude of payoff
For all your sacrifice.
You're determined to be practical,
But your heart can't help but cry,
Must the sensible be boring,
Predictable, and dry?
Your head and heart both war within
For mastery over you,
And only you can answer
Which is stronger of the two.

Honor Is What You Cling To

2007-03-19T08:33:00.000-07:00

When all your brightest fantasies
Dry up before your eyes,
And all your promised hopes turn out
To be just pretty lies,
And when you make your best move,
And find you're just a pawn,
Then honor is what you cling to
When everything else is gone.

I've tales of shattered romance
That would make a gargoyle weep;
Pledges of undying love
That no one means to keep.
Sadder is easy to come by;
It's wiser I'm still working on.
And honor is what you cling to
When everything else is gone.

I could speak of friendships ruined
By what has gone between
Those who seemed more close
Than any brothers could have been.
For the heart will always have its way,
Though reason be undone.
While honor is what you cling to
When everything else is gone.

What should I say of stiff-necked pride
That will not compromise,
Fighting past all pointlessness
To gain some empty prize,
And mark a hollow victory
That vanishes with the dawn.
But honor is what you cling to
When everything else is gone.

So what, then of the future?
I expect no different;
To be just as empty-handed
When my last strengh is spent.
I march into uncertainty,
Yet still I soldier on.
For honor is what you cling to
When everything else is gone.

Meditation on War

2007-03-15T18:49:00.000-07:00

When we play our games of swordsmanship,
Conscious of the rules to keep us safe,
Can we imagine the reality
Of actually fighting for our lives,
Striking blows in earnest, trying to kill,
To shove cold steel into another's chest,
Releasing thus the bitter flow of blood,
Letting life out of an enemy,
And knowing that his death is on your head?
We call ourselves, both warriors and knights
In imitation of our ancestors,
Who trained for war in deadly seriousness,
Knowing that to fail was to lose all
That they held dear, and ever hoped to gain
Mindful that a random arrow shot
Could cancel out their training and their skill,
Might leave them crippled, maimed, or helpless while
Their loved ones suffered ruin and rapine.
I find it difficult to write of war
For those who fight to die and rise again
For entertainment's sake, a comic sport
All done in fun, like any other game
That does not bear a price that's paid in blood.
I'll sing of love and matters of the heart,
Write comic verse about our knightly games,
Play melodies about our pageantry,
But never call it war that does not stink
Of death, destruction, corpses in the sun.
To do so honors not the memory
Of those who died to grant us this, our peace,
In which we play our games of Chivalry.

Sirona Conducts Avoidance Drill

2007-03-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

It's a simple avoidance agility drill
To improve your skills, she said.
You stand here and plant your feet.
Don't let it hit your head.
I'll stand here and swing the weight,
And you'll get out of its way.
'Twill serve to improve your fencing
As you duck, and bob, and sway.
So I took my stance upon the line
And waited for her attack.
A weight of polished stones
Tied up in a little sack,
Swinging on a cable
Which over a rafter hung,
Would theoretically fly at my head
When it with force was flung.
But in our haste to do the drill,
We took no time to see
An error in calculation
Of basic geometry.
So when she flung the sack of stones,
It flew not towards my head,
But impacted a tender place
Much further south instead.
Luckily, it was not too hard.
I was spared from undo pain.
Yet I was disinclined to try
And run the drill again.
What did you call this drill?, I asked.
"Twas then that she declaimed.
We call this the ball sack.
Well named, said I. Well named.

Kiss Me Once By Moonlight

2007-03-07T17:59:00.000-08:00

Kiss me once by moonlight,
Gentle, smooth and slow.
There's no one here to see us,
And only we would know.
You can't know how I've wanted
To let slip my control,
And finally tell you how I long
To taste you on my soul.

Although our lips have brushed before,
In friendly concourse met,
No mutual desire
Has passed between us yet.
I'm but a brother to you.
You're amiable, but chaste.
Still, this moment will not come again.
Don't let it go to waste.

For too long I have settled
For safe relationships.
Though I value the meeting of minds,
I treasure the touch of lips.
I can't read your emotions,
My brain's too dense and slow.
Please kiss me like you mean it
If you don't want me to go.

Marching On South Downs

2007-03-04T03:58:00.000-08:00

Because someone made a most 'unfortunate' reference to carpetbagging. (I won't mention any names)

Prosperity should be the norm
Throughout our wealthy land.
But some boroughs grow fat
While others may as well pound sand.
There is no justice found
In this inequality,
But our sword arms will provide
The needed remedy.

The haughty Lords of South Downs,
Grown complacent in their pride,
Assume their hungry cousins will
Always stand by their side.
Before they march to war,
And face a situation grim,
They’ll be surprised to find our swords
Are pointed right at them.

"To arms, to arms!
Let southern steel arise.
Bring down the proud
Meridian Skies.
Strike a blow to free our shire
From the shadow that there lies
When we go marching on South Downs."

South Downs, like a spider
Draws all into its web.
As the barony feasts well
All other fortunes round it ebb.
Many a lad and lass who’d be
A credit to their shires
Are drawn, instead to South Downs,
To stoke imperial fires.

To teach the proud humility
We’ll make our intent clear.
We’ve formed a grand alliance
Between Owl’s Nest and Talmere.
But we invite all warriors
To join us in the fun,
When we invade the barony
And make those proud lords run.

"To arms, to arms!
Let southern steel arise.
Bring down the proud
Beneath Meridian Skies.
Strike a blow to free our shire
From the shadow that there lies
When we go marching on South Downs."

The Baron issues proclamations
‘Gainst us, left and right.
Mighty brave for one who will not
Armor up and fight.
His edicts do not carry weight
Where honest steel holds sway.
They’ll make good kindling when we
Fight through to win the day.

The treasure rooms of South Downs,
Filled to burst with jewel and silk;
Finery considered way
Above those of our ilk
If we’re good enough to fight for you
We’re good enough to share.
We’ll prove our worth upon your shields
And strip your coffers bare.

"To arms, to arms!
Let southern steel arise.
Bring down the proud
Beneath Meridian Skies.
Strike a blow to free our shire
From the shadow that there lies
When we go marching on South Downs."

Pastoral Fantasy

2007-03-01T20:42:00.000-08:00

(Because I am, after all, a simple country bard.)

We sit before the evening fire,
My lady fair and I,
Resting from a day of work,
And letting the night pass by.
Any chores remaining
Will wait until the morn.
We've done all a body can,
Borne all that can be borne.
The wood is chopped, the plates are clean,
The washing is hung to dry.
Tomorrow's tools have been sharpened
And await use by and by.
Dogs, under the table, gnawing bones,
Children asleep in their beds.
Cat's on the prowl, hunting for mice
In the rafters over our heads.
We're common folk, not noble born.
We sweat for our daily bread.
Yet at night we rest much easier
Than many a noble head.
And if the work has made us bent
And gray before our time,
We remember those heady days
When we were in our prime.
Though wrinkles touch my lady's eyes,
She's still a beauty to me.
No paramours in golden bower
Love happily as we.
When my lady warms my bed and my heart
I'm still her tongue-tied beau.
Thus, I sit here and scratch these lines
That I might tell her so.

Setting Myself Up Again

2007-02-26T06:44:00.000-08:00

I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.
Cry upon my shoulder and your wish is my command.
I can't bend backwards far enough to serve, I must confess.
More the fool am I to put myself into your hands.

There is a pretty poison hidden in a woman's tears
That unleashes all my instincts to comfort and protect;
To kiss away her sorrows, and release her from her fears,
And drives out my last vestiges of reasoned intellect.

I always see the dangers, but I disregard the signs,
So eager am I to display my sense of chivalry.
But all my efforts fail to bring success to my designs
When all my best intents meet up with cold reality.

It's not that I'm naive about what's likely to occur.
I'm cynical enough to understand the game's a cheat.
And yet I gamble anyway, an addict as it were,
Compelled to hope that this time I will somehow not get beat.

And so once more, I leave myself unguarded and exposed,
To care once more and to reveal my vulnerability,
Dreaming that someday I'll find the one who is supposed
To offer in return the same concern and care for me.

Discernment

2007-02-25T13:55:00.000-08:00

When contemplating spirituality,
I find it most adviseable to know
What suffers most unpopularity,
For human nature dislikes hearing "No".
Faith is unwanted when it bears a price.
No one likes an inconvenient truth
That rquires self-denial, sacrifice.
So when I look for spiritual proof,
I look for what is hated and reviled,
Condemned and ridiculed, and called a fraud.
That which drives the common wisdom wild
Is likeliest to be the word of God.
Our fallen state's revealed in the remark,
The human heart hates truth, and seeks the dark.

My Evil Forty-Three's

2007-02-23T17:25:00.000-08:00

"So who was it using the evil 43?"

...some anonymous Talmerian.

They're more functional than elegant
As bladed weapons go.
Any beauty is an accident
Of practicality.
Not things to stimulate the lust
Of collectors in the know,
But cheap enough to serve my needs
With brute efficiency.

Their virtue's in their length,
A mere three inches past the norm;
that I must ask permission
To use one in a fight.
Yet no one has refused
To allow me to perform
Againt them with my forty-three
Clutched in my sword hand, tight.

But oh! Those three short inches
Are as good as any mile,
When the marshall cries, "Lay On",
And it's time to come to blows.
Advantages are rare enough,
And so I have to smile
When those inches make the difference,
And my opponent knows.

Still, I must be careful
That I don't rely too much
On my blade length advantage,
For a skilled opponent will
Turn that length against me.
So it cannot be my crutch.
I still have to practice
To be master of my steel.

I'll fight you with my right hand,
Or my left, or brace of swords,
With dagger, or with buckler,
Or any style you please.
But know that when the time is past
For making rhymes of words,
I'll meet you on the field
With my evil forty-three's

A Bag Full Of Fifty Cent Words

2007-02-22T21:22:00.000-08:00

Words have meaning, words have power
Words have consequences.
Consider well what is unleashed
On unsuspecting senses.
Frame the question, fix the answer
Redirect honest perception.
The picture is what you say it is,
The heart of self-deception.
Find the truth within the lie
With which the hook is baited.
It's closest to the altar
The Profane is situated.
Overloaded nuance,
Fluid ambiguity.
Sophisticates take pleasure in
A fine hypocracy.
Diplomatic phrases parsed
To maintain the illusion
That definition's malleable
Just add to the confusion.
Dally with prevarication,
Hidden inferences imparted,
Which only serve to bring us back
Around to where we started.
For despite our obfuscation
With pre-ambles and defences,
The words that pass between us
Still have their consequences.

The Revealing

2007-02-19T06:44:00.000-08:00

When you wish to know me,
What I think and what I feel,
How I see the world
And how I see you,
Then you will read me,
Seek out my poems
And experience my words,
Look into the window I provide
To see what burdens
Weigh most upon my heart,
And why I treat you as I do.
When your desire to know
Becomes an overwhelming necessity,
Then you will find me open to you.
I will yield to your touch
And offer you my arm.
I am here for you,
But I am not the one
Who maintains the veil between us.
If you want to truly see,
Then you must remove that veil yourself,
That all I have to offer you
May be yours.