Saturday, June 13, 2009

Count Sven Orfhendur - Fighter Poem - Haiku

Count Sven Orfhendur
Victorious in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XLII

(Haiku)

Grinning through the leaves -
A slice of pizza in his paws:
It's good to be the king.

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Sir Kolfinna kottr - Fighter Poem

Sir Kolfinna kottr
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XL

Kottr, kottr, burning bright
In the tourney's morning light
Sister of the Chivalry
Hang your list shield on the tree

Call to action: hunting horn
Kottr faces Einar's Bjorn
Dancing 'round his battle axe
Leaves him paws-up in her tracks

Viscondesa modest maid
Strides forth with her bloody blade
With a swish of stripy tail
Jimena turns deathly pale

Challenge next is al-Mansur's
Kolfinna seems moons and stars
Swept up with a blow that's neat
Twisting, she lands on her feet

Fiery phoenix flickers near
Charmed, enchanted cat pays dear
Birds and cats are seldom friends
Korwyn kottr's day now ends

Kottr, kottr, eyes agleam
Basking in Orfhendr's beam
She and Sven will sit the throne
Some day, she will on her own.

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Alexander de Toulon - Fighter Poem

Alexander de Toulon
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI

A horseman rode the crest of waves
On Neptune's own, a milk-white steed,
And stepped to shore with manner grave,
His vision set on fair Caid.

Onto the tourney field he strode
Bedecked in armor fit for war,
And hailed a knight with challenge bold -
They clashed in combat sear and sore.

The bold attacker faced his fate
And fell to Sir Arion Buck.
Though rising with a limping gait,
He sallied forth to test his luck.

Caius of Umber heard his call
And joined in battle hot and fierce.
But soon the fighter felt a pall -
Though brave and stout, his heart did pierce.

The lovely Caitran does not morn
For Alexander de Toulon.
They ride together wave-crest borne;
The sea has swallowed up its own.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Thomas Blackkeep - Fighter Poem - sonnet

Thomas Blackkeep
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI

(sonnet)

The hourglass lies canted on the field,
Its ruby grains escaping through the cracks.
Just so the blood of Thomas Blackkeep spilled
To pool upon the earth in twain attacks.
Attila dealt an injury at first
That surely seemed to stop time in its flow -
Then Timothy drove home with one far worse
That smashed a fragile hope with killing blow.
Marina cups her true love's head with hands
That strive to stay the flow that stains her gown.
As likely might she stem the tide of sands
That spill unhindered to the hard, cold ground.
A gallant fighter's time has come and gone.
A soul departs, a memory lives on.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Charric van den Vliet - Fighter Poem - sonnet

Charric van den Vliet
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI

(dactylic sonnet)

Many a minstrel has sung of brave deeds.
Done by great warriors in service to kings -
Riding the high road wherever it leads,
Seeking and taking whatever fate brings.
Such is the business of any good bard
Gifted with talent to spin a good tale;
Able to capture a court with his word,
Trading his skills for a tankard of ale.
Think how more worthy is Charric's display:
Shifting his talents from string to the blade,
Throwing himself in the thick of the fray,
Living the stuff of which ballads are made.
Truly impressive the list, though not long:
Charric can champion his exploits in song.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Mahmud Ali ben Sinan - Fighter Poem - sonnet

Mahmud Ali ben Sinan
fallen in Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI

(sonnet)

Where hailed this son of Islam come to fight
With blade that stirred the wind like a scirroco?
Mahmud Ali ben Sinan he was hight -
Wither of Sahara or Morocco -
He graced Caid with quiet, gallant stance,
And caused many a head to turn his way;
The fighters took his measure, sword and lance,
The ladies, his fine raiment did assay.
With dervish style and flashing crescent sword,
He strove to reach his goal by dint of will.
Three doughty fighters by his blade were gored;
Two knights it took the desert wind to still.
Courteous both off the field and on,
The kingdom would have prospered had he won.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Njal Grimmsson - Fighter Poem - Norse verse

Njal Grimmsson
fallen in Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI

(Norse verse)

Frigid-water rigger, / Rider of the tide-foam,
Seeking after vict'ry / Satisfied in battle.
Grimm's son come to landfall / Claiming right of fighter,
Njal, weapon-wielder, / Warrior ripe for glory.

First to face, Valkyrie: / Vanquished fondest Bronwen -
Odin's daunting daughter - / Daring wrath of Asgard.
Risked the gods' displeasure; / Doubtless, won the bouting.
Called to plague his progress: / Kinsmen-fighters, writhing.

Now Njal knew vengeance, / Visited blades-bristling.
One and then another / Angry, knight and mighty,
For the maiden maddened. / Fought though over-wrought were.
Skills esteemed in killing, / Each sought best to teach him.

Rooted tree of battle, / Rocked and cleaved by grievers.
Whittled as they whetted / Appetites untiring.
For his part right-hearted, / Rents he gave aplenty.
One and then another / All sent to Valhalla.

Ferried to their reck'ning, / Four good knights misfortuned.
Two more blades were broken - / Brothers to the others.
Njal a dozen after / Heartsblood, struck no art'ry.
Hale, they did not kill him; / Hewed but cut not through him.

Mighty Viking fighter, / Fearing nothing, clearly!
Lone wolf facing all whom / Angry gods have sanctioned.
Smelling ale of victory, / Sensing happy ending.
Thins the pack attacking - / Two more fights till glory.

Comes to fore Sir Tim'thy, / Sister-fighter missing.
Keen his blows, unending: / Bends his will to killing.
Fierce his foeman, aiming / Artful wounds to heartwood.
Tree of battle feels it, / Injury enduring.

Last avenger, Ivan, / Illustrated killer.
Lone wolf bares his sharp teeth. / Thinking not of shrinking.
Brave in battle living; / Goes to death unfettered.
Odin's wrath is ended. / Welcome warrior-fellow.

Frigid-water rigger, / Warrior bent on glory,
Seeking for your fortune - / Finds Njal Valhalla.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Robyn Ryadh Mac Aonghusa - Fighter Poem

Robyn Ryadh Mac Aonghusa
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI

All is lost! all is lost!
The world, once green, is rimed with frost,
Loved ones and friends decry the cost,
Robyn Ruadh is dead.

Sir Caius of Umber -
Sent Robyn soon, soon to slumber,
To join the host without number,
The kingdom of the dead.

Far too soon! far too soon!
Robyn Ruahd was made to swoon,
The nether world would grant a boon:
Robyn back from the dead.

Then came Jared Blaydeaux -
To wield, with might, a final blow,
That brought Robyn at last to woe,
And commune with the dead.

Rest in peace! rest in peace!
From all your struggles find release,
The flesh must yield, the spirit cease,
"Robyn lives on," 'tis said.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Jared Alexandre Blaydeaux - Fighter Poem

Jared Alexandre Blaydeaux
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI

For Selene you did your best
The mettle of Caid to test
But Fate played you a heartless jest
And laid Jared Blaydeaux to rest.

Mahmud Ali bore down your sword
And drove your body to the sward.
To Selene you'd pledged your word
And so you rose to face the horde.

Robyn Ruadh next faced your steel;
You brought the doughty lad to heel.
Then Sir Caius was made to feel
The temper of your fighters' zeal.

Karolyi Attila then met
And caused your lady love regret:
Upon your life his sword to whet;
Upon the field your blood to let.

But even heartless Fate be moved
By protestations of true love.
To Selene your heart was true -
So life and love Fate gifted you.

-- Pippin Skylark

Knight of the Burnished Carapace - Fighter Poem - sonnet

Knight of the Burnished Carapace

(sonnet)

The sun is wont to bake him in the shell,
This creature of the hot embattled plain,
While salt seas burst their dikes to course and swell
In rivulets of sweat that fall like rain.
His arms and armor drag on flesh and bone
Until he thinks his legs must soon give 'way;
And only force of will is strength alone
To carry him to victory in the fray.
But when the tourney's o'er and court anon,
(If he be champion or contender just)
He still must ply his chamois e're he's done,
Intent on thwarting...incipient rust.
'Though single-minded warrior he must seem,
This fighting knight of Holland likes to gleam!

-- Pippin Skylark

~*~

I wrote this poem and held it awhile, until William was knighted, which happened between this Crown and Coronation.

William Schuyler - Fighter Poem - sonnet

William Schuyler
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI

Sweet William

(sonnet)

I deamt a lord attained for me the crown
By virtue of his prowess on the field:
As fast as knights advanced, he brought them down,
Until the best save one was made to yield.
He clasped the scepter with a steady hand
And bade me sit beside him on my throne
Attended e'er I went by ladies grand;
Arrayed in jewels and gems to match my gown.
And 'though I bore a crown upon my hair
And gathered gifts of every stripe and hue,
I dreamt a lie of sadness and despair...
The lord who made me queen -- he was not you.
Nor all the world nor all it's richest prize
Can match my gaze reflected in your eyes.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Gavin Malcoeur - Fighter Poem

Gavin Malcoeur
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVII

Nip and tuck and press and sew;
Measured stitches to and fro;
Gathered pleats, a cuff to roll;
Many parts to make a whole.

Tailor's eye and fighter's heart
Fashion sword craft into art.
As the needle darns the tear,
Gavin plies his sword with care.

Arianna holds her breath
Watching Gavin dance with death.
Dags that fly as fast as steel
Cause his lady's head to reel.

Gavin Malcoeur, tailor-made,
Cuts a swathe with shears or blade.
Though the tourney runs its course -
Gavin makes a dashing corpse.

-- Lady Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Wulfric Thjostolfsson - Fighter Poem - Drottkvaet hattr

Wulfric Thjostolfsson
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVII

(Drottkvaet hattr)

Out of icy waters / Wulfric stands, legs planted;
Tree of battle, rootless / Traversed trans-atlantic.
Now he's come to Caid / Questing mighty fighters;
Warrior whet for glory / Wielding weapons aptly.

One thing he lacks only / Heart's-ease of an evening;
One to share his hearth-stone / Salve his wounds and bruises.
Viking seeks Valkyrie; /Spies the Grey-clad Lady.
She to him well-suited / Holding herself boldly.

Prize he sets his mind to; / Seizing it to please her:
Gifted with a kingdom / Can she turn with spurning?
Warrior sorely tested / Tempted past his tempering;
Sword so battle-hardened / Breaks instead of bending.

Back he comes, crown-lacking / Braves the Grey-clad Lady.
Bitter ale is fitting / For his heart's-loss, mourning.
Wonder at the fashion / Which her greeting meets him!
Robynne, Grey-clad Lady, / Love she holds above all.

Wulfric, come to fullness / Keeps to home, done roaming;
What can far lands offer / Liking to this Viking?
Heart's-ease he won't part with: / Wander-lust mistrusting.
What can take the place of / Wulfric's own Valhalla?

-- Lady Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Sestina for a Crown - Fighter Poem - sestina

Sestina for a Crown

(sestina)

Well shaded from the vernal heat
And dangling on silken thread,
The leaf-bright tree worms sway and dream -
Oblivious to passers-by
Who pluck them off of breast or crown,
Intent upon the tourney field.

Assembled on the sun-drenched field
A host of fighters brave the heat
Presenting consorts to the Crown.
Entwined in one unbroken thread,
They stand that all might know them by
Their dedication to the Dream.

The least of fighters has his dream
Of besting on the battlefield
Each hapless knight who happens by;
He might be addled by the heat
Or following a Norn-spun thread
That leads him to a kingdom's crown.

The king who bears the crescent crown,
Acceding to his fondest dream,
Will weave it with a common thread
That binds contenders on the field:
Cool heads that temper battle heat
And trust to skill to carry by.

The consorts silently stand by
And try to dwell not on the crown
That shimmer wraith-like in the heat -
To all but one a hopeless dream.
Well-wishes they try best to field
While through murk woods their thoughts do thread.

In tattered cloth or silken thread,
The populace will know him by
His chivalry upon the field
That brings to one a princely crown:
The culmination of a dream
That finishes with evening's heat.

Rosemary thread into a crown;
Good will for-by the one whose dream
To win the field transcends heart's heat.

-- Mistess Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

~*~

My first sestina.

Sir William Schuyler - Fighter Poem - sonnet, acrostic

Sir William Schuyler
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVII

(double acrostic sonnet)

What geas was laid upon your head 'er now;
xxWhat spirit - sprite or demon - rides your brow?
Is there some driving force you must obey,
xxImbuing you with strength to sieze the day?
Lest it grow weak, is there some valkyrie
xxLends shoulder to your shield in victory -
Likewise, can you, when trial weighs your sword,
xxListen...and draw courage from a word?

I marvel at the skill with which you play,
xxImagining how far you'll go this day;
And though I make a pretense of protest,
xxAs you progress, I wish you all the best.
Mayhap one day you'll click and win the thing:
xxMy dear, I would be proud to call you king.

-- Philippa

Fionnabhair Kyriath INghean Vi Niel - Fighter Poem - Englynion

Fionnabhair Kyriath INghean Vi Niel
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII

(Englynion)

Kyrieth, your hour has come -
xxConfident, you faced the day
Flew your griffin at the fray.

Kyrieth, your hour has come -
xxLoosed your griffin on the air
Snatched away to dragon's lair.

Kyrieth, your hour has come -
xxTaken to the sky once more,
Griffin pierced by arrow sore.

Kyrieth, your hour has come -
xxNoble beast to give its all
Owned the sky until its fall.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Luke of Caerleon - Fighter Poem - Rondel

Luke of Caerleon
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII

(Rondel)

The sweep of wings that brush the sky -
The passing of an Argent Loon.
A brave young fighter felled too soon
Who took the field to win or die.

The Queen's own captain let sword fly
And Luke of Caerleon did swoon.
The sweep of wings that brush the sky -
The passing of an Argent Loon.

Then Saracen took up the cry:
The Moor did to his eagle croon:
"This noble bird shall be your boon."
But not without a valiant try.
The sweep of wings that brush the sky -
The passing of an Argent Loon.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

~*~

The Argent Loons were what the Volksloff team called themselves. They ran the Tustin Marine Base Volksloff in '93 in armor!

Conner Thornhill - Fighter Poem - Englynion

Conner Thornhill
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII

(Englynion)

Conner lifts his horn no more --
xxKnight of Umber tested him,
Made the light of life grow dim.

Conner lifts his horn no more --
xxViking stranded far from home
Conner sent no more to roam.

Conner lifts his horn no more --
xxTerrible his battle foe;
Tino's sword has laid him low.

Conner lifts his horn no more --
xxSunlit hills he will not stride
'Til he's called to Arthur's side.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Sir Donald Cathchern - Fighter Poem - Celtic buried rhyme

Sir Donald Cathchern
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII

(Celtic buried rhyme)

Whose grave is this but newly marked,
Estrewn with bark and blown leaves?
Midst columbine and campion
What champion, and who grieves?

A fellow warrior and a Celt,
A lady knelt on cold earth,
And driving blade into the silt
Up to the hilt, claimed his berth.

"Rest well, good knight, Donald Cathchern.
In battle stern, in heart bold.
You made the very woods to sing;
With clash and ring, the steel tolled."

She rises with the fall of night
And sets to flight small beasts near,
Who'll make their bedding in the loam
He calls home, whom she called dear.

"Slumber away, my great black bear."
She turns with care, head dipped low.
And wond'rous sight: the moon casts down
On grave mound...a wolf's shadow.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Eichling von Amrum - Fighter Poem - limerick

Eichling von Amrum
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII

(limerick)

There once was a fighter named Eichling
Who always rejected that knight-thing.
xxTo accept as a gift
xxWhat she'd much rather lift
Goes hard 'gainst the grain of a Viking.

-- Pippin Skylark

Ragnar of Sandcastle - Fighter Poem - Anglo-Saxon verse

Ragnar of Sandcastle
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII

(Anglo-Saxon Verse)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxRagnar questing:
Sea-foam skimmer / seeking his wierd,
Riding swan's road / ripe for glory,
Comes to Caid / cresting ridges.
Eager earth-stepper / striding to battle,
Mien unmeasured.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxMaid of the Greymist,
Heart's ease, hopeful, / hears the clamor -
Steel bites steel hard, / sparks are flashing,
Bright the battlefield, / brave the contenders -
She waits and watches.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxWoe to Ragnar,
Bested, battle-weary. / Bold of spirit,
Luck-only lacking. / Lost to Tino,
Tried and tested. / Terrible outcome:
Fierce the fighting, / fair encounter.
Heart-horde heavy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxHopeful Katherine,
Greymist maiden, / much enduring.
Brave, unblushing, / bent on paying
Hero's homage / to her consort,
As best she's able.

xxxxxxxxxxxxAnd forth goes Ragnar
Once-killed, undead, / Arab-seeking.
Husam harkens, / hearts are gladdened.
Blood-thirst building / blades are eager.
Flashing fire, / foes are well-met.
Desert-dweller / dread doom-bringer,
Sand-skimmer strikes; / Sandcastle topples,
Death-blow delivered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxDoleful Katherine,
Maid of the Greymist, / moved to tears, she
Woefully wishes her / warrior good-journey.
Valhalla-bound Viking, / Valkyrie-greeted.
Ragnar, sea-steed rider, / roams no more. He
Heads for heart-home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxHealth resored them,
Well-met warriors / Valhalla are liking:
Death-blows daily / deal in battle;
Rise each, rested, / ready for feasting.
Merry the mead-hall!

xxxxxxxxxxxxMeeting nightly,
Eased of earth-bonds, / aerie-dwelling.
Brave in battle, / bouts unending,
Tall the tales are / told of Ragnar!

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Sir Caieth of Umber - Fighter Poem - Englynion

Sir Caieth of Umber
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII

(Englynion)

Sir Caieth of Umber sleeps -
Gilbert Rhys fought for Morann,
But he died by Caieth's hand.

Sir Caieth of Umber sleeps -
Baron Thurston tried his luck;
Caieth set him in the muck.

Sir Caieth of Umber sleeps -
Baron Joseph had his way;
Bested Caieth in the fray.

Sir Caieth of Umber sleeps -
Sir Padraic faced him next;
Sent this baron to his rest.

Sir Caieth of Umber sleeps -
Came Sir Donald, doughty Celt;
Caieth gave him quite a welt.

Sir Caieth of Umber sleeps -
Alas, this Knight of Umber
Jarl Ivan sent to slumber.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Sir Gar of Loch Carron - Fighter Poem - limerick

Sir Gar of Loch Carron
Victorious in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII

(limerick)

Sir Gar, Loch Carron, gaunt and stark
Pledged his sword for the Crown on a lark.
xxRistil smiled, called his bluff,
xxBut his skill proved enough;
He just needed a litle aard-vark.

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Jacob Maxamillion of the Balck Forest - Fighter Poem - Tagelied minnesong

Jacob Maxamillion of the Balck Forest
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIX

(Tagelied minnesong)

Fast within our leafy bower,
Nestled 'til the fateful hour
Dawn must tear me from your arms,
Heedless of your ample charms.
For the moment, banish sleep;
Nestle closer in my keep.

Cruel fate to play us so!
Why is it you have to go?
Stay with me and tarry on;
Give no credence to the dawn.
'Thought the sun should streak the sky
Tarry longer, by and by.

Would that I could, dearest one.
Yet I depart with the sun.
See, it paints the shadows lighter -
Quickly, kiss your ardent fighter.
Do not weep! You'll see me soon.
And I'll return with such a boon!

What care I for crown or throne
If you leave me here alone?
You say you mean to make me queen -
I'd settle for this bower, e'en,
If my pleas you'd only heed;
'Tis all the kingdom I would need.

Alas! Her words fell on deaf ears.
Already he could hear the cheers
His skill with arms would rightly reap;
Upon his head such praise they'd heep!
And he'd return to share his spoils,
The bounty of his mighty toils.

She fretted through the afternoon -
The evening couldn't come too soon.
But come it did - and darkling, too;
And tasted of the bitter rue.
She waited till the sun did set...
And mayhap she is waiting yet.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a 15th century Burgundian cloth merchant who thinks she's a 10th century Viking weaver, and who occasionally falls under the influence of the poetic Muse.

~*~

Tagelied, or Dawn Poem, laments the imminent parting of two lovers, often told in alternating verses, in German minnesinger tradition.

Sir Karolyi Attila Laszlo - Fighter Poem - Norse verse

Sir Karolyi Attila Laszlo
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIX

(Norse verse)

Well-favored warrior, / wielding dragon's claw
Fell to fighting / foemen, boldly.
Battle-bringer, / bearing war scars,
Ardent Attila, / avenger of Vikings;
Christina's consort, / come for conquest
Questing Caid's / crown and kingdom.

Fierce the field, / festooned with fighters:
Knights and nobles / and nimble killers.
Sven unswerving; / Valrik, valiant,
Dealt the dragon / deadly damage.
Rose this roamer / of the swan's road
Determined dragon, / yet undaunted.

Now the field narrows, / knights need killing:
Attila obliges, / eager as ever.
Yaroslav slain; / Sir Donald severed.
German Jacob / just-so troubled.
Left is Luther, /last to master
'Fore he can / face the final trial.

Fate is fickle, / favoring fighters;
Saving some for / sallies elsewhere.
Attila tested, / thus it must be;
Luther has left him / lifeless, finished;
All Attila's / ambitions ended.
Game now progresses, / gone beyond him.

Final fight will / favor Ivan:
Wierds have wrought this; / words were spoken.
Christina cries now, / consoled by no one,
Yearning yet for / her young dragon.
Alas! Attila, / ever-eager!
Vying for victory, / vaults to Valhalla.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a 15th century Burgundian cloth merchant who thinks she's a 10th century Viking weaver, and who occasionally falls under the influence of the poetic Muse.

Tournawocky - Fighter Poem

Tournawocky

'Twas springtime and contenders strove
To gyrate nimbly on the field.
All wistful did the consorts prove
And the populace was thrilled.

"Beware the tourney rounds," my son,
The swords that bite, the shields that catch.
Beware the Florentine, and shun
The furious pike and axe."

He took his rattan sword in hand -
Long time the fearsome foes he fought -
Till rested he by the Crown list tree
And stood awhile o'er wrought.

And as in breathless thought he stood
The master herald did call his name.
A champion of fighting-wood,
To eric field he came.

One two, one two, and fro and through,
The silvered swords went smack and crack.
He knocked him dead (wrap to the head)
And went triumphant back.

"And did you fight in Crown today?
Come bear your arms, and raise your crest!
Oh fabulous day! Huzzah! Hurray!
You're one of Caid's best."

'Twas springtime and contenders strove
To gyrate nimbly on the field.
All wistful did the consorts prove
And the populace was thrilled.

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Kyr Yaroslav the Persistant - Fighter Poem - rondel

Kyr Yaroslav the Persistant
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIX

(rondel)

The Phoenix rises toward the sun
From ashes of its funeral pyre.
The tourney day is well-begun
With Husam lying in the mire.

When next combatants clash with fire
The death of Phoenix Tristan's won.
The Phoenix rises toward the sun
From ashes of its funeral pyre.

The Phoenix fights another one
But Brand, possessing more desire,
Has ended Phoenix' royal run.
But he is destined to climb higher:
The Phoenix rises toward the sun
From ashes of its funeral pyre.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is an empty vessel for the Muse

Sir Alisander du Mont St. Michael - Fighter Poem - sonnet

Sir Alisander du Mont St. Michael
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIX

(sonnet)

A unicorn, with horn honed bright as day
Did take the field in spirit light and gay
To prove his love for Kyrieth his goal
(As well to glean for them a royal role).
So prancing to the field he tossed his mane
And challenged all to fight him for the reign.
He fought a gryphon, Norman, visigoth;
A Viking and a huntsman faced his wrath.
Though fierce as any mighty battle-steed
The 'sembled throng of fighters made him bleed.
Tail dragging, he retired to forest glen
To lick his wounds, uncertain he would mend,
'Till Kyrieth her well-spring let him tap
And gently laid his head upon her lap.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is an oft-time harried cobbler of words

Llewellyn Flinthaven - Fighter Poem - Englynion

Llewellyn Flinthaven
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXX

(Englynion)

Llewellyn Flinthaven lies -
Far away from hearth and home
Nevermore to trod the loam.

Llewellyn Flinthaven lies -
Huntington has cut him down
Sent him to another round.

Llewellyn Flinthaven lies -
Sir Donald took up the slack
And dealt him a mighty whack.

Llewellyn Flinthaven lies -
'Neath the cold and headless land
Sword and shield near to hand.

Llewellyn Flinthaven lies -
Marina's tears, they are keen
Until Crown comes with the Spring.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...always pleased to spin a yarn

Sir Donald Cathchern - Fighter Poem - Norse verse

Sir Donald Cathchern
fallen in Fall Crown Turney, A.S. XXX

(Norse verse)

Cast off by Celts, Cathchern wanders
Destined for Denmark, undaunted,
Where horde-friends welcome his sword-arm;
Meat and mead now his measure.
Bear-brother's heart is unburdened;
Close-held companions his comfort.

Comes a great contest: Contenders
Seeking success, skills will sharpen.
Cathchern encouraged, crown-clambers -
Tourney-bound to test his mettle.
Doughty Don dares dream of glory
Kingdom and Crown Cathchern yearns for.

Agelos advances, ever hopeful;
Donald dispatches Donwenna's sweatheart.
Likewise Llewellyn left lifeless;
Marina mourns, missing her man-son.
Just so he jousts with Sir Joseph -
Silveroak sends Donald sailing.

Donald redoubles his efforts;
Gathers more gold-horde from Gavin.
Crescent Crown now calls to Cathchern,
Bekoning bear-brother onward.
Airily approaches the Aardvark;
Loch Carron leaps - Donald's leveled.

Contest continues without him;
Donald's dreams, once bright, are dampened.
Cathchern comes to his consort;
Scannlach consoling, gives comfort.
Gone is the goal and the glory -
Brother of bears' best was bested.

-- Mistress Philippa Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal

Kyr Yaroslav the Persistant - Fighter Poem

Kyr Yaroslav the Persistant
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXX

"M'lady, may I have this dance?"
Asked the phoenix, flickering red.
Awesome in his fiery stance,
He feared to fill her heart with dread.
But the snowy griffin maiden
Boldly joined the firebird.
They reeled around the wooded glen
Like fire and ice, without a word.
And when the dance was done, she smiled,
And batted lashes white as snow.
"M'lord, I've never danced so wild.
We surely gave them quite a show!"
Consumed with joy, he flew away,
"Perhaps we'll dance another day!"

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a weaver or words and wadmal

Syr Valdemar den Ivrige - Fighter Poem - Terza Rima

Syr Valdemar den Ivrige
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXX

(Terza Rima)

Syr Valdemar a'viking he did ply
Across the dolphin road to Caid's shore;
To test his skills in battle he would try.

To win a kingdom worthy of the chore
De Barri was the first to cross his path;
Den Ivrige rocked the baron to his core.

Then Lord Phillipe was next to face his wrath;
Cassaundra might have known her lord would fail
But nothing could have changed the aftermath.

Lord Sasha kissed his lady, feeling hail
But all too soon he bid her fond farewell -
The Viking plucked the feathers from his tail.

Sir Luther raised his hammer, but he fell,
And Valdemar began to think he might
Win through to capture Caid's crown as well.

But good Sir Jacob gave Syr Val a fright
As through the forest he was forced to flee;
He met his match in Maxamillion's might.

"The woods are filled with giants, here, I see,"
Thought Valdemar, as Silver Oak strode forth
And proved a Viking could fall to a tree.

Syr Valdemar had hoped to prove his worth
And win for Vanentina rosemary;
Perhaps in fall his hopes will find rebirth.

-- Misteress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...spinning yarns while she plies her craft

Sir Jacob Maxamillion of the Black Forest - Figher Poem - triolet

Sir Jacob Maxamillion of the Black Forest
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXX

(triolet)

Nuela waits with baited breath -
The sight of Jacob fills her eyes!
To strive for Crown his holy quest.
Nuela waits with baited breath
As Jacob battles very Death -
His reach falls just short of the prize.
Nuela waits with baited breath;
Last sight of Jacob fills her eyes.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a 15th century Burgundian wool merchant who thinks she's a 10th century Viking weaver

Edric's Ode - Fighter Poem - Ode, Sapphic

Edric's Ode

(sapphic measure)

Rosemary I'll place on your head with pleasure
Just for thee I'll garner a kingdom's treasure
Fair Caid has never beheld your measure -
Albra Regina!

Black as coal, your tresses I'll grace with silver
Like the moon, the brighter for night's encounter,
Caid's Crown will shine on your head as never -
Albra Regina!

Take your rightful place on the throne beside me
All Caid shall bask in your grace and beauty
"Populace, behold your new Queen, the lovely -
Albra Regina!"

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...in thrall to the Muse

Gilbert Rhys Maclachlan - Fighter Poem - sonnet, acrostic

Gilbert Rhys Maclachlan
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXI

(sonnet and acrostic)

My lady, I would win for you a crown
Of palest silver, fitted for a queen.
Rare jewels I would scatter on the ground
As numerous as fallen leaves they'd seem.
Never would a fairer grace the land
Nor walk among the populace adored.
With purity of heart, all I command -
I'd bring them to their knees upon the sward.
Let me but don your favor for display;
Let it remind me whose honor I bear.
Opponents may defeat me in the fray
When tested to my mettle, I do swear:
Evening might grant another royal part;
Never will another rule my heart.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a 15th century Burgundian wool merchant who thinks she's a 10th century Viking weaver.

Lupus of Arundel - Fighter Poem

Lupus of Arundel
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXI

The Wolf of Arundel set out
With Tekla Doria
For Gyldenholt's Crown Tourney field
And battles glorious.

"I'll gnash my teeth, I'll lash my claws,
I'll hunt them one and all.
I'll sweep the fighters from the field
And make you Queen this fall."

The first to face this fiercesome foe
Was Conal, heavy-heart.
Arundel nipped and he limped off;
It was a valiant start.

Alas for Arundel, the next
To face him on the field
Was Lady Eichling, warrior maid
Who bade Arundel yield.

Then Drogo, son of William
Came hunting Arundel.
And sad-eyed Tekla Doria
Looked on as Lupus fell.

The day progressed without the Wolf
Who licked his wounds in peace.
And with his head in Tekla's lap
He found his heart's surcease.

-- Mistess Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a weaver of words and wadmal

Master Al-haadi abd-al-malik Husam ibn Khalid - Fighter Poem - triolet

Master Al-haadi abd-al-malik Husam ibn Khalid
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXI

(triolet)

Husam and Elsbeth journeyed for today
To win a prize of great renown.
Four fighters faced Husam in mighty fray
And drove him finally to ground.
Husam and Elsbeth journeyed far today
As courtesy and honor ruled the day.
Although they did not win a Crown,
Husam and Elsbeth journeyed far today
And won a prize of great renown.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a spinner of yarns and a weaver of tales

Master Al-haadi abd-al-malik Husam ibn Khalid - Fighter Poem - carol

Master Al-haadi abd-al-malik Husam ibn Khalid
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXI

(carol)

Hark! the herald/pelican
Fights in Crown the best he can.
First to fight, Thorvald Olafson
Husam chops him up for fun.
Wolves might caper with Ciaran
For this dance, Husam cuts in.
Sasha's osprey strikes a blow
Husam's spirit plummets low.
The Silver Oak commands the field
Husam at last is made to yield.

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Sir Gavin MacDhomhnuill - Fighter Poem - riddle

Sir Gavin MacDhomhnuill
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXI

(riddle)

Light of heart, I came to Crown
And cast my double axes down.

First a Welshman came to me -
I sent him packing to Cymry.

An English lord then got a whim -
I really made time fly for him!

Came a Viking worker in wood -
I whittled him away for good.

Another Viking, hardly slow!
I dealt to him an off-hand blow.

A dragon flew at me for fun -
Like all, I bent knee to this one.

To the tourney came this Gaul -
I rode him to his final fall.

Through the forest, what do I see -
The mighty oak that toppled me.

My name by now you should be havin' -
(But just in case you aren't: it's Gavin.)

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is an empty vessel for the Muse

Njal Grimmsson - Fighter Poem - Englynion

Njal Grimmsson
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXI

(Englynion)

Pass around the drinking horn -
Welcome Njal, son of Grimm
Fill his mead-cup to the brim

Pass around the drinking horn -
Tell us, brother, of the fray
How you fared Crown Tourney day

Pass around the drinking horn -
I did bash a fiercesome knight
Sent him up with angels' flight

Pass around the drinking horn -
Then a Scotsman, awesome foe
Sent me where the thistles grow

Pass around the drinking horn -
Up I popped without a beat
Mindful of a royal seat

Pass around the drinking horn -
Silver oak stood in my way
Put an ending to my day

Pass around the drinking horn -
Hale and welcome to Njal
Come to join us in Valhall

-- Mistress Philippa Llewely Schuyler

...is an empty vessel for the Muse

THLord Sven Orfhendur - Fighter Poem - ballad

THLord Sven Orfhendur
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXI

(ballad)

Good Sven Orfhendur came to town
The sloth hangs low in the shade-o
With one eye on a royal crown
A'dangling his orfend blade-o

He challenged Sir Charles of Dublin
The sloth hangs low in the shade-o
Sven gave the bard quite a drubbin'
A'dangling his orfend blade-o

Emboldened, Sven faced Mighty Joe
The sloth hangs low in the shade-o
Alas for Sven, he was too slow
A'dangling his orfend blade-o

Undaunted, Sven charged Lord Philippe
The sloth hangs low in the shade-o
The outcome caused fair Gwen to weep
A'dangling his orfend blade-o

The tourney day was fought with zest
The sloth hangs low in the shade-o
And Sven can do what he does best
A'dangling his orfend blade-o

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

THLord Brand Armond of Lancaster - Fighter Poem - riddle

THLord Brand Armond of Lancaster
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXI

(riddle)

I fly to battle high
Across the fiery sky
I spy a bull a'field
And soon his fate is sealed
I mow the thistles low
As skimming by I go
A raven rises 'fore
His tallons rake no more
An aardvark bars my track
He clips me with his axe
An armorer I found
And pound him to the ground
But mighty silver oak
Has stood my final stroke
(A winged sword I be
And Brand who wielded me)

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a 15th century Burgundian wool merchant who thinks she's a 10th century Viking weaver

Wulfric Thjostolfsson - Fighter Poem - Drottkvaiett

Wulfric Thjostolfsson
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXII

(Drottkvaiett)

Far from frigid waters - / farthest Northern shorelands
Wulfric went a-Viking / wanderlust his muster

Exiled from the Aesir / as his comrades cast off
(Stalwart Wulfric stumbled) / stranded and abandoned

Gone his glad-heart gore-friends / gold-encumbered boldly
Sundered from his shipmates / sword-brothers missed sorely

Now he's come to Caid / coursing Southern shorelines
Wilted by the weather / (warmer than his far-home)

Wulfric won't be daunted / won't be found a-wanting
What's a little weather / when the sun's ascendant?

Gold and silver glitter, / glimpsed from any angle
Bright and bold the colors / brandished from the standards

Treasure-trove a-tempting / trial-by-combat vying
Come Caid's combatants / called to face all comers

Wulfric's heart is willing / weapons fit for reaping
Facing fields of fighters / fortified for war-games

Challenges a champion: / Kirk of castle-working
Guile and cunning Guy has / great and mighty fighter

Besting one the other / battle-joined combatants
Wulfric - not the winner / wrests his way to safety

Crown and kingdom craving / casts the dice, decisive
Norns his fortune knowing: / none find Wulfric wanting

Freshened, Wulfric faces / fiercesome Dante, fearless
Wielding mighty weapons / warriors clash for glory

Field of blood o'er-flowing - / fresh meat for the gore-birds
When the winds blow warmly / Wulfric lies a-dying

One stands by a-weeping, / winsome lass, sweet Lassar
Heart-wrung now and hollow / heavy-burdened, hurting

Wulfric tried to win her / wonders without number -
What he sought to woo her / wrought her only sorrow

Southland sun descending / singles out a kingling,
Slantwise shade enshadows / Shroud-clad warrior, shore-bound

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a 15th century Burgundian wool merchant who thinks she's a 10th century Viking weaver.

Missing Poems

Poems I know I've written but haven't come across anywhere yet.

Iamb Immortal, the Highlander fanfic poems (probably in one of my Highlander fanzines)

Eichling's Drottkvaiett (boy I hope she has a copy, 'cuz I haven't a clue on that one -- maybe I can find my collection of bardic works I used to take to bardic circles?)

Eard-stappa -- earth-stepper, another Norse verse

They Only Watch... -- poem about ladies-in-waiting

At least one poem about a squire -- I recall writing a few SCA poems around then







Sir Guy of Castle Kirk - Fighter Poem

Sir Guy of Castle Kirk
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXII

Course on course and stone on stone
Slaked with lime and blood and bone
Ev'ry surface cut and hone -
Rises Castle Kirk

Firmly rooted on the land
Tier on tier the years to span
The hand-work of an artisan -
Guy of Castle Kirk

Of one purpose, working long
Toiling through the dusk and dawn
Building to his own drum song -
Raising Castle Kirk

Every battle lifts a tier
Firm of heart and duty clear
Facing foemen with a cheer -
The Duke of Castle Kirk

Wulfric, Viking, Thjostolf's son
Challenged Guy in headlong run
Brick on brick, another one -
Building Castle Kirk

Sasha, Lady Eilidh's dear
Faced the duke without a fear
Now he's added to the tier -
Expanding Castle Kirk

Charged a bull from distant Spain
Thought to make the mortar rain
But the mason trawled again -
Tamping Castle Kirk

Dietrich, Duke from Vogelsang
Clashed with Guy 'til armor rang!
To meet with him his friends must gang -
To distant Castle Kirk

Rustam, one of Allah's knights
On Guy's towers set his sights
Now he spends his days and nights -
On guard at Castle Kirk

Then Sir Gar, an aardvark tall
Fought Sir Guy and made him fall
Undermined the castle wall -
Sapping Castle Kirk

Undeterred, Sir Guy held sway
Facing Dante in the fray
Ground him down and made him stay
Slaking Castle Kirk

Portico to tower high
Ev'ry course is checked by Guy
While he waits upon the Bye -
Spanning Castle Kirk

Erecting is a tricky thing
Prey to fickle fortune's swing
Duke Sir Guy may be the king -
Of his own Castle Kirk

Roirke fought this tourney day,
Toppled Guy in frenzied fray
Sent the builder on his way -
Back to Castle Kirk

Stone on stone and brick on brick
Slake the mortar good and thick
Lay the course and make it stick -
Rebuilding Castle Kirk

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...was inspired by Lord Will Schuyler (who knew he'd have to write it if his mother didn't!)

THLord Sven Orfhendur - Fighter Poem - villanelle

THLord Sven Orfhendur
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXII

(villanelle)

Do not go lightly into that good fight,
Orfhendur needs to rave till close of day;
Rage, rage against the vying of the knight.

Ofhendur at your end know might makes right
Because your wounds and dents proclaim it- hey!
Do not go lightly into that good fight.

Good Sven, from tree limb hanging, set your sight
On Ivan, your first challenge of the day;
Rage, rage against the vying of the knight.

Wild Sven, you catch with sword the sun in flight
And learn - sad fate - duke cleaves you where you lay;
Do not go lightly into that good fight.

Brave Sven, near Dieter, tremble at the sight,
Orfhendur blazes brightly in the fray.
Rage, rage against the vying of the knight.

Oh Sven, Orfhendur, hanging from your height,
Courteously and chivalrously I pray:
Do not go lightly into that good fight.
Rage, rage against the vying of the knight.

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp.