Have faith in me and ask not why
I take no map and just rely
On half baked notions, memories,
And intuition; it is these
That heretofore have got me by.
The trackless woodlands terrify
The timid traveler, but I
Think this way looks familiar; please
Have faith in me.
Your charts show roads, but not the sky;
Just take my hand and we will try
To find our way home on the breeze
And witness what the storm cloud sees;
I’ll show you why the few who fly
Have faith in me.
From Cupid’s bow there flies a dart,
And where it lands shall romance start:
Eternal lovers, strong and true,
Or passion’s pawns, thrust deep into
The storm tossed sea without a chart.
Yet paramours are seldom smart;
They drive the horse behind the cart
And later curse each shaft that flew
From Cupid’s bow.
Love is not science, but an art;
Not every hind will find her hart.
The arrows miss, or strike askew,
And when they fail it falls to you
To seek out other ways apart
From Cupid’s bow.
I saw the path; the signs were clear,
And then, O Lord, I lost my way.
With victory sure, the prize was near.
I saw the path; the signs were clear.
A heartless man who rules with fear
Is ever sure to win the day.
I saw the path; the signs were clear,
And then, O Lord, I lost my way.
The things we want are tempting bait
That lure us to participate
At tourney field or concert hall,
To run the race or scale the wall,
That we may thus accumulate.
Yet base desire may turn to hate
As we are crushed beneath the weight,
Hemmed in on every side by all
The things we want.
The wise among us contemplate
What we should choose to venerate:
Ignore the worldly goods that call
Like Atalanta’s golden ball;
Let charity and love dictate
The things we want.
Between three seas triskelions shine bright
Upon the crown and banners overhead,
But in times past those flags were black and white;
Meridies once ruled those lands. It’s said
That borders are but lines drawn with a pen,
And for ambition some will seek to tread
Across frontiers laid out by ancient men.
Dire news came that Trimaris moved to war;
She sought to take our southern lands and then
Redraw the maps that had been made before.
The knights cried out and bade King Thomas ride
To meet the threat that could not be ignored.
The Sovereign rode, he would not be defied;
His Consort followed closely at his side.
The morning light crept out across the field
Where flags argent and sable were displayed.
Across the plain an army was revealed:
The legions vast in shining steel arrayed.
Flags blue and white like flocks of seagulls flew
O’er soldiers who were keen to ply their trade.
The King was grim; his own knights were too few
To match the force he saw and win the day.
He needed counsel wise, so he withdrew
Back to the tent where his fair Queen still lay.
“What shall we do?” he asked his waking bride,
“If ordered forth my armies will obey,
But fortune has it I should be denied
My good sword arm by wounds from wars of old.”
He shook his head and, woefully, he sighed.
Fair Elisenda, Queen as bright as gold,
Took up a shining sword forged for her hand.
“Fret not, my love; this story’s not yet told.
In your place I will gladly take command
And guard the southern borders of our land.”
The host went forth, a lightness in each heart,
For at their head strode their beloved Queen.
Each soldier eager for the battle’s start,
Undaunted by the many foes they’d seen,
Knew glory lay ahead for them to claim.
Her Majesty, determined and serene,
Was guarded close by men she knew by name.
Hand picked for courage and for martial skill,
They wore her badge for love, and not for fame.
The armies soon stood in the Autumn chill,
Two walls of shields with blade and spear held high,
Brought to this place by fate and Royal will.
The calm was shattered by a general’s cry
To start the charge and let the arrows fly.
A hundred men against a thousand fought
And carved their names with valor into stone.
With every life another breath was bought
For Elisenda till she stood alone.
Her guards strove on until they gave their last;
Each took ten lives before they lost their own.
A voice called for the soldiers to hold fast,
And so they backed away and held their blows.
A man came forth – all kneeled as he walked past –
And stood before the Queen in regal pose.
“Krotuas, I presume,” she said with cheer,
As though she were not hemmed about with foes,
And gave a nod of greeting to her peer.
“Your Majesty,” replied the towering King,
“I am a bit surprised to see you here
With shield in hand and sword still poised to swing.
Lay down your arms and we will keep you whole
Til money’s raised to fund your ransoming.”
She laughed at this, and said “I’ll not be sold
Like apples in the market by the pound –
Your coffers I deny Meridian gold.”
The King drew forth his blade – a wicked sound –
And held it forth, his own expression grim.
“I ask once more to put your arms to ground.”
“I’ll never yield!” she cried, then came at him.
They traded blows, bold King and Queen so brave.
Her leg stepped out; his swift sword struck the limb.
Upon her knees, she knew her wound was grave,
But still she held her guard in ready stance.
The King stepped back. “Your life may still be saved!
Lay down your sword; I’ll give you one last chance.”
She shook her head, then gave him her reply:
“Meridies, through history’s great expanse,
Has ever had Queens not afraid to die.
By knife or poison, plague or treachery
They faced their end, and there, by God, go I.”
Her words had struck, that much was plain to see:
The great King could not swing the killing blow.
Yet war is war; he could not let her be.
“Seal her fate,” he said with head hung low.
The men advanced; their King had turned to go.
A dozen soldiers bore her body home;
As sorrowful as those who’d seen the fall
Of all the greatest emperors of Rome.
The honor guard, great knights and nobles all,
Returned the Queen held high upon a shield,
With flowing silk upon her as a pall:
A hero felled in valor on the field.
The shroud upon her body bore in gold
A rampant lion with teeth and claws revealed.
They laid her at her husband’s feet and told
Of how she stood so firm before the sword,
Resolved that naught but death would make her fold.
The men withdrew, and then her Royal lord
Fell to his knees and wept upon her breast.
He spoke to her of how much he adored
The gallant lady he had loved the best.
He felt a stir, then pulled his head away
To see a subtle rising of her chest.
“My lord, if you so kindly bid me stay,”
She said, “Then I shall die another day.”
This was written for Lord Cianan Carmichael’s bardic challenge in honor of HRM Elisenda’s battlefield prowess, and performed at Midwinter A&S in the Barony of South Downs, February 2, 2013.
Fealty with love, so swears my king
On monarch’s sword and prince’s ring.
I make my pledge: to give my all,
To go to war when I am called
And stand with him, unwavering.
What coin is this, this fleeting thing
Of which the bards and poets sing?
Is it enough to repay all
Fealty with love?
Yet love has power, enough to bring
The rich to aid the suffering,
Give life to art, make cities fall,
Turn cowards brave and meek men tall.
A worthy trade, then, honoring
Fealty with love.
Written late at night on January 16, 2013.
I hold your hand and ask your name,
A simple spark to light the flame
That burns within and shines without
Till soon enough I have no doubt:
My life will never be the same.
I bare my soul – I have no shame –
I bet it all to play the game.
And while we dance and laugh and shout
I hold your hand.
As each year passed, the next one came;
It’s nature’s way, no one to blame.
The flowered field gives way to drought,
So day by day the sands run out.
When Time arrives to stake his claim
I hold your hand.
Written December 13, 2012.
Remember me when I am gone,
And shades before my eyes are drawn.
Tell people that you knew me when;
That I taught you what you taught them,
So by my works I can live on.
Your face, lit by the rays of dawn,
Is in my heart, though you’ve moved on.
You stir, and wake, and smile, and then
Remember me.
A soldier born, I’m fortune’s pawn,
By fickle fate forever drawn
To fight and fall and rise again
So my name might be known to men
And every knave or paragon
Remember me!
Written December 12, 2012.
The gold shines bright upon the throne;
The King and Queen by all are known.
All fame is given from their hand
Throughout the wide and fertile land
But they cannot do this alone.
The quill she cuts, the knife she hones,
On parchment pounced with powdered bone,
A scribe performs her magic and
The gold shines bright.
With canine tooth and river stone
The luster and the shine is grown
To rival any burning brand
And match the royal words so grand
Through which esteem of deeds is shown:
The gold shines bright!
Written October 8, 2012 for my wife and all other under-appreciated scribes.
How fair the moon whose light shines true;
She climbs aloft and then peers through
The window high above my bed
To lay a hand upon my head
And with her touch my soul renew.
The hours when we may meet are few;
I listen as she whispers to
Remember after she has fled
How fair the moon.
‘Neath burning sun I paid my due,
With sword in hand the foe I slew
And from a hundred cuts I bled
That I might arms and armor shed
And see my love in midnight blue –
How fair the moon!
Written in late September, 2012, inspired by HRM Elisenda de Luna of Meridies