Month: August 2013

Triolet: A Rosebud Rises

A rosebud rises from the earth,
In soil of finest virtue grown.
Nobly imbued upon its birth,
A rosebud rises from the earth
On hallowed ground of untold worth
Where cherished queens of old are sown.
A rosebud rises from the earth,
In soil of finest virtue grown.

Rhyme Royal: True Love

The new found love is bright as beaten gold,
A treasure that is easy to explain.
Of swooning maids we are so often told
And lusty lads who seek to be her swain.
But when the poet sings the last refrain,
We’re left to wonder where our lovers went
And how the gold of their new love was spent.

The fires of love cannot forever burn
As bright as when the coals were set alight.
Yet in their heat the skillful smith can turn
Dark iron into steel that shines as bright.
Though gold may seem the greater at first sight,
A golden lock will not hold fast your door,
Nor make a sword a knight would take to war.

Ask any craftsman which tool is his best,
And he will show you one with scuffs and stains,
The signs that year on year it’s passed the test.
With oil and stone he lovingly maintains
The cutting edge and wooden handle’s grain.
Love fills us with delight when it is new,
But only time can tell if it is true.

Rhyme Royal: The Ribbon

In days gone by, when I was but a youth
I tried my mettle on the tourney field.
No wife had I, a bachelor uncouth
To whom true love had yet to be revealed.
And so to a young lady I appealed:
“If I could win your favor, I foresee
That no man born could ever vanquish me!”

As evening fell I sought to make my case
By showing her I had some skill at dance,
For wars are won by those whose feet have grace;
No battle is more subtle than romance.
With kisses sweet she granted me my chance:
A simple ribbon she gave me to hold;
The alchemy of love turned it to gold.

Rhyming Couplets: The Fifth Pilgrim

Five pilgrims made their way upon the road;
From shining dawn to gloomy dusk they strode
On narrow lanes and ancient highways broad,
Through thoroughfares and pathways seldom trod.
A silk-clad noble walked with staff so fine,
His loyal servant always next in line.
Two sisters followed, standing always near;
Alone, a blonde-haired lady held the rear.
When evening came, the the group would sometimes stay
The night in stables, bedded in the hay.
Their hosts would offer food in charity;
The pilgrims would accept it gratefully.
One sister was with child and hungered more,
For her meal was split with the one she bore.
The one who walked alone, with golden hair,
Would always offer up some of her share.
They crossed over the rocky mountains’ height
That tested their endurance and their might.
Down a ravine the servant lost his staff;
The lady gave him hers and had a laugh.
Between two towns, as sunset crept to dark,
Three highwaymen thought them an easy mark.
They drew their swords and circled for the kill;
The sisters quailed, the servant froze quite still.
The noble called out to the lady fair
Then threw his gilded staff up in the air.
The lady caught the shaft of sturdy wood
And twixt the pilgrims and the bandits stood.
They laughed and charged, their blades raised overhead;
She struck three times and smote the robbers dead.
She asked the noble, who seemed not alarmed,
“Why give your staff to me and be unarmed?”
“Your pardon,” he began, “but your disguise
Is not enough to hide you from my eyes.
For fortitude you’ve shown, and charity,
Compassion, honor, and humility.
Though you’ve no armor, nor a sword to wield,
You bear six roses white on your red shield.
I know your army lost a battle near
The place where our new pilgrim did appear.
You home lies down this road but two more days,
And have no fear, I’ll not give you away.”
She smiled then, the unmasked knight in red,
And walked on where the pilgrim’s pathway led.