They say that it’s the clothes that make the man
And show you who he is with but a glance:
A silk and velvet dandy with a fan;
A huntsman clad in wool and leather pants.

Likewise a lady’s character is known
By viewing her sartorial array:
A modest mouse in veils with nothing shown;
A courtesan with assets on display.

This all presumes the contents never change
And clothing only names the thing within,
But outfits are a snap to rearrange
And we may live each day in different skin.

Our clothes are opportunities for art,
A shining stained glass window to our heart.

This was written for La Magnifica Justina di Silvestri and Maestro Ambrosius di Silvestri

Will you turn and look my way
And notice the new coat I made
In hopes that I’d see you today
And walk near you beneath the shade
Of trees here in your favorite glade?
I drank each word you said like wine
That time we danced as music played
And I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.

I picked each flower in the bouquet
And it is as my heart displayed,
To show you with each verdant spray
How your kiss like the sun has made
Me rise up proud and unafraid,
And for as long as you may shine
Your light on me I’ll never fade
And I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.

The years go fast and fly away
Like banners in a long parade
And though I try to make them stay
The march of time will not be swayed.
But you are still the pretty maid
I met that day, so fair and fine
Who holds my hand though I have grayed,
And I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.

I’ve felt the love for which I prayed
So dear to me and so divine
That through both storm and sunshine stayed
And I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.

This was written for Stella di Silvestri as bonus content for my contribution to the 2021 Bardic War.

The dream lives on after I rise
And veils of sleep lift from my eyes
Though details blur and drift away
Like midnight fog at break of day
Or dew that sparkles as it dries.

I wrack my brain to memorize
The imagery before it dies,
For this must be the only way
The dream lives on.

But even as the last bird flies
And I am left without my prize
My inward ears perk up and they
Hear echoes of that nighttime play
That fill my heart; to my surprise
The dream lives on.

This was written near the beginning of the 2020 quarantine.

My lady, you are like a rose,
A bloom of scarlet at your lips
And curves upon your rosebud hips.
As any worthy gardener knows
The rose is best that upward grows
Upon a trellis strong and true
So that it will not go askew.
And so, my rose, it’s plain to see
That I was clearly made to be
Entwined forever more with you.

My lord, your gardener astute
Would know which plants are worth their weight
And which are but to decorate;
The rose is pretty, bloom to root,
But in the end, it bears no fruit.
No climbing rose am I, you see,
But rather like an apple tree.
And your strong wood may serve me most
As, say, a bench, a fence, a post;
For my part, sir, I shall stand free.

This is a decima written in response to a poetry challenge. 

When Rome was at its height of power and pride
The curse of slighted Dido reared its head;
From Carthage came a fleet upon the tide
That sought to stain the sea with Roman red.

From Sicily to Tunis and beyond
The ships of Carthage faced the legions’ might;
In time the Roman navy would respond
And bring their blades to bear with raven’s bite.

To Hannibal did Carthage next resort,
His armies fierce, with elephantine strength,
But though he could bring down a Roman fort
He was defeated by the journey’s length.

A hundred years the cycle did repeat,
Until Rome handed Carthage her defeat.

This was commissioned by Countess Judith of Northumbria for Drachenwald 20th Year, to introduce a performance of a sword dance.

The men of Rome were stong; their legend grew
To strike fear in the hearts of all around.
Yet men need mates and Rome had precious few,
So they to fair Sabinium were bound.

In friendship’s guise they staged a daring raid
To bring back Sabine girls to be their brides,
But found that they would not be chattels made,
Demanding to be equals, side by side.

Sabinium rose up and rode to Rome
To take their daughters back by sword and spear;
They found the maids defending their new home
Between two armies standing without fear.

The Sabine women took charge of their lives;
They were not slaves, but willing Roman wives.

This was commissioned by Countess Judith of Northumbria for Drachenwald 20th Year, to introduce a performance of Pizochara.

When Troy’s great walls came crashing to the ground
Aeneas fled with father, son, and wife,
But as they ran he stopped and turned around
To see Creusa’s shade, bereft of life.

Across the sea to Carthage he then flew
And met Queen Dido, generous and fair.
Their love was great, but still Aeneas knew
That he must leave her, cursed by her despair.

Upon the shores of Latium he came,
To rule and make Lavinia his queen.
King Turnus, sword in hand, denied his claim,
But fell in war as prophets had foreseen.

Aeneas put down roots in his new home,
To father sons, a dynasty, and Rome.

This was commissioned by Countess Judith of Northumbria for Drachenwald 20th Year, to introduce a performance of Mercantia.

When ancient Troy was in the throes of war,
And Hector’s shining star had been brought low,
An Amazon arrived with her fair corps;
They vowed to deal the Greeks a fatal blow.

Bold Penthesilea, with shield and sturdy spear
Fulfilled her oath upon the bloody field;
She battled Ajax with no trace of fear
But in the end they both were forced to yield.

With shining helm and crimson-tinted blade
She challenged grim Achilles face to face;
The blood of Ares filled the warrior maid
Who leapt toward her foe with fearsome grace.

The two met with a clash of sharpened sword,
Though grief would be the victor’s sole reward.

This was commissioned by Countess Judith of Northumbria for Drachenwald 20th Year, to introduce a performance of Buffens.

In time so old that gods were yet new born,
When Chaos ruled and waters round it ran,
The earth and sky were named and given form,
And there were born the beasts and birds and Man.

Prometheus brought down the gift of fire
That Men, whom he had made, could light their way.
But still they shivered in their crude attire;
Mere hides would not keep winter’s cold at bay.

Aristaeus taught Men to tend their sheep;
Demeter showed them how to till the soil.
In time the flaxen fibers would they reap,
And wool would be the prize of shearing’s toil.

Yet Man’s new growth would find its highest bloom
When wise Athena brought to them the loom.

This was commissioned by Countess Judith of Northumbria for Drachenwald 20th Year, to introduce a performance of Tesara.