iambisaid

Last Poet Standing - Challenge #2 - Sonnet

2011-07-16T15:28:00.000-07:00

No Power in the ‘Verse

He aims to misbehave does Cap’n Mal,
Peripatetic rebel just because.
Serenity’s the name and rationale
He gave his little piece of Earth-that-was.

Zoe’s got his back and Book his soul
Inara owns his heart, if he but knew;
Simon has a River to control
Wash and Jayne and Kaylee round the crew.

Bedeviling Blue Sun seems all the game
To wrest away the spoils Alliance took.
Any job with honor bears no shame
It fits the hold, it’s worth a second look.

He’s simply drawn to trouble – it’s a knack.
No power in the ‘Verse can hold him back.

-- Ellen Shipley

40th Issue - 20 Years of Fighter Poems

2011-05-14T10:46:00.000-07:00

This will be our 40th issue of the Fighter Poem Collection. We've been doing them for 20 of their 34 years. The first one was in our Principality days, A.S. XI, spring of '77. We started doing them fall of '91.

Ironically this will be one of our smallest books, with only 16 contenders. Sadly it will also contain some elegies for Rorik, who just died in China.

Last Poet Standing - Challenge #1 - Elegy

2011-05-14T10:39:00.000-07:00

Elegy for a Garden Lizard

Little sun basker, stretching in the light
Soaking up rays your singular delight
Sidewalk surfer, always under foot
Darting and dashing when you should stay put

Stucco trekker, clamoring up the wall
Tiny tree hugger, wonder you don’t fall
Sure-footed gripper, snacking on a gnat
Patio streaker, quicker than the cat

Grass blade wriggler, leaving naught a wake
Skittering lightly, stealthy as a snake
Suburban jungle wee backyard creeper
Grim victim of the rotary Reaper.

-- Ellen Shipley

Sir Halfdan Haroldsson

2010-11-04T11:44:00.000-07:00

Sir Halfdan Haroldsson
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A. S. XLIV

Fornyrðislag

From far cold climes             Comes Halfdan Haroldsson
Seeking good fortune            Fame for great deeds
Journeys to fair Caid             Jewel of the Known World
Like Constantinople             Land of his boyhood

A crown for the taking          A kingdom to rule
Tempting to Halfdan            To try his sword hand
Eager for battle                      Against great warriors
Fighters of renown                From many lands hailing

Steps forth Ilia                       Stalwart bodyguard
Man of the Rus                     Merchant protector
Falls to Haroldsson             Felled by the dragon
Another steps forward        Answers his challenge

Ketill the armoror                Keen to test his meddle
Fights bravely but                 Falls to Halfdan’s blows
Buoyed by his fortune         ‘Burdened by victory
Halfdan calls out Rhys        Horseman of Ravenscroft

The fighting goes fiercely    The foeman triumphant
Suffering the loss                  Steady Halfdan fights on
Caid’s lands                           Call to the Varangian
Another fighter now            Answers the call

Christian, a knight               Closely matched in skills
A worthy opponent             A warrior seasoned
Proves Halfdan’s undoing Unlooked for outcome
Halfdan is bested                 Heralds proclaim it

Thus ends the saga of          Throne-seeking Halfdan
Far-traveled warrior            Fit for great battles
Another is destined to         Attain the Crescent Crown
Dragon-blazoned Halfdan   Dreams of future victories

--Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Spring'10

Sir Mons von Goarshausen

2010-11-04T11:31:00.000-07:00

Sir Mons von Goarshausen
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XLIV

(Rondel)

By rosemary we’ll know the one
The fates have smiled upon this day.
Sir Mons had hopes to end his run
In rosemary

But Snorri worked to bar his way--
A rabbit bounding in the sun.
A butterfly flew out to play--

He swatted Rudolph just for fun,
And Valrik’s dragon hit the clay.
'Til Vlad killed dreams that had begun
With rosemary.

— Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Spring'10

Conde Francesc Miguel Joaquim Inacio

2010-10-31T09:52:00.000-07:00

Conde Francesc Miguel Joaquim Inacio
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XLV

The Running of the Bull
(a pantoum)

From Nordwache, the land of silver trees
A mighty bull embarks upon a quest.
To crown his lady with a wreath his geas;
To prove his right to rule by martial test.

A mighty bull enbarks upon a quest
The valley of the serephim the place
To prove his right to rule by martial test
He faces off a pack of wolves with grace.

The valley of the serephim the place
Where some have come to die and some to kill.
He faces off a pack of wolves with grace
And lands a blow that deals a deathly chill.

Where some have come to die and some to kill
--The nature of the game he’s come to play--
He lands a blow that deals a deathly chill;
Then leaves a demi-maid in disarray.

The nature of the game he’s come to play:
To face a friend across a tourney field,
Then leave a demi-maid in disarray
To sally forth again with sword and shield.

To face a friend across a tourney field:
A screaming eagle, talons dripping red.
To sally forth again with sword and shield
He's wounded sore, life hanging by a thread.

A screaming eagle, talons dripping red
Lays low the bull, his head-long charge assailed.
He's wounded sore, life hanging by a thread...
But this is not the end of the bull’s tale.

Laid low the bull, his head-long charge assailed.
Rise once more to gore a man a’horse.
But this is not the end of the bull’s tale
Though horseman puts an end to the bull’s course.

Rise once more to gore a man a’horse
--Flesh may fail, but ever spirit willing--
Though horseman puts an end to the bull’s course
Spring will bring Francesc more battles thrilling.

Flesh may fail, but ever spirit willing
To Crown his lady with a wreath his geas.
Spring will bring Francesc more battles thrilling
From Nordwache, the land of silver trees.

—Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal.

Fall'10

Will's fighter poem: Rudolph Fekter

2009-11-03T11:52:00.000-08:00

THLord Rudolf Fekter
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XLIV

(virelai - Smith’s Song)

Heart of the furnace give weight to my hand
Glowing before me the shape I command
Fashion a fate from the bones of the land
Gage for the dolphin’s crown.

Stand fast fortune is bountiful
Strike sure victory’s sting
Heart’s oath honor in flowering
Hand’s craft raises a king

Breeze on the battlefield lifts me to wing
Clothed in the fruit of the favor she brings
Gifts of the Lady whose grace I will sing
She of my soul’s remand.

Heart of the furnace give weight to my hand
Glowing before me the shape I command
Fashion a fate from the bones of the land
Gage for the dolphin’s crown.

Cold bite blades overpowering
Blows fall darkens the field
Head bowed grace at the boundary
Knee bent bested I yield

Quenched my ambition, my anguishes healed
Spirit resounds in my duty revealed
Honor the kingdom and stand as its shield
Rising to serve the van.

Heart of the furnace give weight to my hand
Glowing before me the shape I command
Fashion a fate from the bones of the land
Gage for the dolphin’s crown.

-- Lord Will Schuyler the Younger

... is a 15th century Englishman of uncertain destination: apprenticed to the wit of arithmetic, he still at times endeavors to court the muse.

THLord Bryan Gard Yale

2009-10-24T17:27:00.000-07:00

THLord Bryan Gard Yale
fallen in Summer* Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIV

(awld gywydd)

Day dawns hot and clear and bright.
All delight in pageantry.
Colors bold and pennants rare
Fill the air with bijoutry.

Ericward strides Bryan Yale
Fighter hale with sword and shield.
Like his namesake beast of old
Makes so bold to claim the field.

Warrior maiden, duchess, knight,
A fighter hight Kolfinna
Smiles yet declines to move
And proves to be the winner.

Bryan rises from the dust.
He must continue questing.
His eyes alight on Miriel,
His swelling heart attesting.

He challenges Sir Ragnar,
Their sparring proves a good brawl.
He fights well, but takes a hit.
Alas it is his downfall.

Bryan Yale and Miriel
A fond farewell accord all.
Jubilant without a care
Repair now to their great hall.

--Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...a weaver of words and wadmal.

THLord Lorccán hua Conchobair

2009-10-24T13:11:00.000-07:00

THLord Lorccán hua Conchobair
fallen in summer* crown, A.S. XXIV

(Pantoum)

Swirl of green and flash of gold:
Lorccan takes the tourney field.
Wind the warp with colors bold,
Thread the cards with strands unreeled.

Lorccan takes the tourney field,
Honor for Svetlana sought.
Thread the cards with strands unreeled,
Dress the loom and keep it taut.

Honor for Svetlana sought:
Rosemary to crown her head.
Dress the loom and keep it taut,
Turn the cards and clear the shed.

Rosemary to crown her head
If he makes it through the lists.
Turn the cards and clear the shed,
See the pattern in the twists.

If he makes it through the lists...
First he has to face Francisc.
See the pattern in the twists,
Pass the shuttle and release.

First he has to face Francisc:
Lorccan hands the Count defeat.
Pass the shuttle and release;
Tug and turn and clear and beat.

Lorccan hands the Count defeat;
Dante proves a stouter foe.
Tug and turn and clear and beat:
The shuttle flies fast to and fro.

Dante proves a stouter foe.
Andrew falls to Lorccan's blade.
The shuttle flies fast to and fro;
This is how a band is made.

Andrew falls to Lorccan's blade,
Gareth now brings Lorccan's doom.
For this is how a band is made
By nimble fingers on the loom.

Gareth now brings Lorccan's doom;
Svetlana sees her champion die.
Nimble fingers on the loom
Weave a binding by and by.

Svetlana sees her champion die;
Battles rage 'til setting sun.
Weave a binding by and by;
Lorccan ends his shuttle run.

Battles rage 'til setting sun.
Another's victory is sealed.
Lorccan ends his shuttle run:
A thing of wonder is revealed.

Another's victory is sealed.
Wind the warp with colors bold.
A thing of wonder is revealed:
A swirl of green, a flash of gold.

--Mistresss Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler
...an empty vessel for the Muse

Sir Dante Lizza de Benvento

2009-10-24T13:04:00.000-07:00

Sir Dante Lizza de Benvento
fallen in summer* crown tourney, A.S. XXIV

(terza rima)

The wood is dark and perilous.
Sir Dante picks his way with care,
His mood is somewhat querulous.

A horseman with a baleful stare
Hight Richard Clerke holds fast the way.
The battle that ensues is rare.

Sir Dante leaves him where he lay
And travels out the wood to spy
A swordsman with a vert cachet.

Now Lorccan proves a plucky guy.
They weave their way across the ground
'Til Dante cuts him down to size.

His will is strong, his skill profound,
And Dante thinks he may just make
It through this trial with corpus sound.

'Tis honor for Johanna's sake
That moves Dante to face Mansur.
They close and cause the earth to quake.

The fight is somewhat of a blur,
And Dante shakes his head to clear
The fog as he begins to stir.

Wait! Bearing down a bull austere
Meets Dante as he gains his feet.
The clash this time is quite severe.

It ends for Dante in defeat.
His noble run is now complete.

-- Pippin Skylark
...always tart and crisp

*fall crown is now held in aug. -- does that make it summer crown?

Christmas QED

2009-06-30T11:39:00.000-07:00

Christmas QED

(Triolet)

Clippity-clop! Is it reindeer on the roof?
Just branches a-scratching at the shingle.
The skid of the sleigh, the prance of each hoof;
Clippity-clop! It’s reindeer on the roof!
Santa is coming – there’s no clearer proof!
A trick of the wind set icicles a-jingle.
Clippity-clop! Hear the reindeer on the roof.
Scratch go the branches against the shingle.

--Philippa Schuyler
~*~

I wrote this for Kyrieth's poetry project in '03, where there were monthly assignments, sometimes with parameters of form or subject matter. This one was for a triolet, but it was Christmastime, so I went with a Santa theme.

Problems with my blog ;- \

2009-06-15T09:26:00.000-07:00

I'm having a problem with this blog. It started yesterday, just after I added my last (and ironically first) fighter poem. Now just about every other time I view my blog I get that "Internet Explored has encountered an error..." message and it shuts down the internet.

WTF?! I've never encountered this problem with blogger before -- and I have 18 blogs. I've only ever encountered it occasionally when a site I'm trying to access doesn't work for some reason. So why is this blog in particular acting that way now?

I'd think perhaps I've made too many entries, but in poking around the settings, I think that's more like a limit of 500, not 100. So what gives?

My experience with blogger is that they have no way to contact them with a question. They have generic questions that will be answered generically, but none of them seem to fit this problem.

Bill doesn't have any idea. Perhaps Will will have a clue.

Now to see if this post will actually load, or bring my blog down again. ;- \

~*~

Yep, it brought the blog down, but at least it took the entry first. Now let's see if it will accept this addition.

~*~

It took it, but it came down again. I can do this all day. I think I've made my point. Now to figure out why....

Lord Blaine de Navarre - Fighter Poem - my first

2009-06-14T14:06:00.000-07:00

Lord Blaine de Navarre
fallen in Caid's Crown Tourney
16 Avril A.S. XXII (1988)*

What brings a lad bedecked in chain
To win or die in drizzling rain -
xxxxHis art along?

Or is there one whose beauty fair
And gentle ways belie compare -
xxxxHer heart to own?

They say that Lord Blaine de Navarre
Espied Cassaudra from afar -
xxxxAnd favor sought.

He plied his sword against the best;
And 'though he fell, it was with zest -
xxxxThat Lord Blaine fought:

Earl Edward Ian Anderson
Who bested Blaine, and sent him on -
xxxxTo fight again.

Then Baron Sir Richard of Blackiron threw
A blow that cut poor Blaine in two -
xxxxAnd he was slain.

But when a one as Blaine does say:
"I did for you my best this day" -
xxxxTo claim the crown.

Honor and Courtesy as one
Pay homage to this Erin's son -
xxxxWho gained renown.

-- Philippa Schuyler

*Natalya was the editor

Here it is at last: my first fighter poem. Not knowing the first thing about writing poetry, I cheated and copied the pattern of a song: What Is a Youth? from Romeo & Juliet

Christine Ariadne of Gwenedd - Fighter Poem - ballad

2009-06-14T13:51:00.001-07:00

Christine Ariadne of Gwenedd
fallen in September Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIII*

(ballad)

Hast thou laid eyes on the maid
With dusky tresses flowing
Whose tempered charm and strong right arm
Bespeak a blade worth knowing?

From Gwynedd's height with gay delight
This lass makes battle merry.
And stronger foes fall to her blows
Should they bethink to tarry.

But every blade - be lad or maid -
Must one day meet a better;
Or fight awry and know not why
The Fates choose to beset her.

She drew by rights two gallant knights
Whose prowess on the field
Soon put to rest in mortal test
The sword she donned to wield.

The peerless maid with practiced blade
This day saw dreams forsaken.
Yet for her part with steady heart
Her spirit soars unshaken.

The die is cast - the crown is past -
The new prince we have seen.
Yet may it be that one day we
Shall crown Christine our queen.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

*Edward and Eichling edited this book

Davin Kinnard Macailean - Fighter Poem

2009-06-14T13:40:00.000-07:00

Davin Kinnard Macailean
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIII*

The meadow green was tinctured red
Where Davin laid his noble head.

Esquired to one whose fame was known
Young Davin chose to seek the throne
But youthful dreams were overthrown
Where Davin laid his noble head.

His lady wept and dried her eye
As Davin chanced the wind to try
Which struck him numb and sailed by
Where Davin laid his noble head.

And then a lord from Hunting came
Who quickened to this better game
The battle brief did neither shame
Where Davin laid his noble head.

Great deeds were done e'er fighting o'er
As many good men fell before
The blows of fighters known of yore
Where Davin laid his noble head.

His gentle lady knelt to weep
And rock her lord in final sleep
His memory vouchsafed to keep
Where Davin laid his noble head.

-- Lady Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

*No credit on the book, but probably one of the ones edited by Edward and Eichling

Sir Colin Wynthorpe - Fighter Poem - sonnet

2009-06-14T13:27:00.000-07:00

Sir Colin Wynthorpe
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIII*

(sonnet)

Lady: Pray, my Lord, what makes you so down-hearted?
XXXXXThe very sun doth pale to see you frown.
Lord: Good Lady, I had hopes when first day started
XXXXXOf placing on your head the silver crown.

XXXXUnto this end I took up sword and shield
XXXXAnd would have held my ground 'gainst all Caid,
XXXXBut Fate stepped forth at last and bade me yield.
XXXXAlthough I tried my best, I failed the deed.

Lady: Good Sir Knight, trouble not on my account,
XXXXXFor I would have your heart above all things.
Lord: My heart, dear Lady, never was in doubt.
Lady: What matters, then, this talk of queens and kings?

Lord: You do me honor, Lady, on this day.
Lady: 'Tis only but your honor I repay.

-- Lady Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

*The book doesn't give credit, but I believe this is one of the books edited by Edward Ian Anderson and Eichling

Eichling von Amrum - Fighter Poem - sonnet sequence

2009-06-14T13:12:00.000-07:00

Eichling von Amrum
fallen in September Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIV*

(sonnet sequence)

I.

When martial skills and regal zeals collide,
Then one must hold dominion o'er the rest,
And make of him whose victory betide
A prince to bear the crown beneath the crest.
Many a doughty fighter plies his sword
To test his fellows with alike display,
And lays his case before the Fate's accord,
But Fortune casts her gaze another way.

Such a one was Eichling on the field,
Who strove with grace the kingdom crown to clasp,
Relying on her gifts with sword and shield,
Although the reach exceeded yet her grasp,
So bear in mind when answering Caid's call:
'Though you would win, to play the game is all.

II.

Though you would win, to play the game is all:
The Lady of Amrum holds this thought dear
And shows her worth to others, great and small.
For equinamity, she has no peer.
This lady seeks not honors to receive
But would convey them gladly on the lord
Who bears her favour, by his lady's leave.
True friendship shows itself by act and word.

Mayhap one day Caid shall know a queen
Whose grace and chivalry may claim the throne
And then shall be an age as none have seen:
Queen in her right for all Caid to own.
When that day dawns, may Fortune grant this boon
To Caid's daughter, Eichling von Amrum.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

*Dietrich was the editor

Kyr Yaroslav the Persistant - Fighter Poem - ballad

2009-06-14T12:32:00.000-07:00

Kyr Yaroslav the Persistant
fallen in Crown Tourney, September, A.S. XXV*

A fierce wind breaks against the door
In gusts to split the wood.
And shrieking zephyrs claw the panes--
T'would enter if they could.
xxxx"Unquiet night! It gives me fright.
xxxxWhy, such a din might raise the dead!
xxxxBecalm thy nature, cease thy airs
xxxxAnd greet my lord with peace instead."
Thus speaks the lady of the hearth
To still her flighty mood.

A knock, a knock, and thrice a knock--
The door departs its frame.
And there before her stands a man
Alight as if by flame.
xxxx"My lord!" cries she and makes to rise
xxxxBut wonder checks her in mid stride.
xxxxAs he advances on the hearth
xxxxHe does not walk so much as glide.
"I've come to see thee once last time,
And to a-quit my claim."

"What talk is this?" She feigns a laugh
That hits the flags like glass.
"You've but return'ed from the fray.
My vigil ends at last.
xxxxI've set your chair before the fire--"
xxxx"I'll no more feel it's rosey glow
xxxxNor watch its embers fade to ash.
xxxxOne moment more and I must go."
He shrugs his spectral shoulders as
The light of life burns fast.

"How can this be?" she cries aloud.
"No knight's your equal, Kyr!"
"Indeed, it took a brace of knights
To fell one bogatir!
xxxxAnd now I hear the call-to-arms
xxxxThat draws all fighters in their time.
xxxxFarewell, dear lady. Fare thee well."
xxxxHe lifts his arms in eldritch mime.
His mortal raiment falls like flame-
Bright feathers on the air.

"Farewell, my lord," she whispers as
His spirit lifts o'er head
Like some bright bird that takes to flight
In whisps of gold and red.
xxxxIt makes a circuit of the hall
xxxxThen seeps like mist back through the door.
xxxxNo more contained by walls of stone
xxxxThe soul of this brave knight must soar.
Yet Catriona can but weep
Kyr Yaroslav is dead.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

*Thoron was the editor

~*~

I seem to recall searching for some Russian form or folk tale to hang this poem upon. I must have found one, tho I don't remember any details.

Sir Corwin du Mont - Fighter Poem - Petrarchan sonnet

2009-06-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

Sir Corwin du Mont
fallen in Crown Tourney, April, A.S. XXIV*

(Petrarchan sonnet)

A knight did ride forth from Abbey of Leng,
With the Hammer to stay him in his pose,
And to show him the way, the compass rose.
Black was its visage, and bright was his mien.

In silver sunlight link'd ring on ring
As if 'twere forg'd by some elvish hands
To gird him safely through these troubled lands
That foundered since the passing of the king.

To try his sword, Sir Corwin did depart
His bless'd Abbey where his soul might rest.
A higher purpose called him to the deed.

But 'though he had great spirit and pure heart
A knight with strong clain did win the test,
Think well on one who strove for fair Caid.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

*Thoron was the editor

Vicount Sir David Morgan - Fighter Poem

2009-06-14T11:56:00.000-07:00

Vicount Sir David Morgan
King's Champion
Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIV*

Into the hall the Lady sweeps
She does not weep
Nor duty slack,
She stood her ground when first she heard,
And took the word
With stiffened back,

"She's cold," some say, and turn aside.
"The Vicount's bride
Doth serve him ill."
They cannot know the strength it took
To wear that look
By force of will.

A final task she can't forestall
A dismal pall
Has gript the room,
As little babes she gathers 'round
To hear the sound
Of life's brief bloom.

"Red as the dawn, black as the night-
An awesome sight,
All will concede.
Thy father fought with head held high
To win or die
For fair Caid."

"Nine warriors fierce he did engage
And battle wage
To gain the crown.
But two did deal him grievous blows,
And in death's throes
He was brought down."

"Think never that he loved ye nought
Nor thee forsloth
To seek this thing.
But know thy father had a plan;
He was the man
Who could be King."

And now she kisses each in turn
And aches to learn
They understand.
At last she can let fall a tear
For one so dear:
David Morgan.

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

*Thoron was the editor

Eadric of Mansfield - Fighter Poem

2009-06-14T11:29:00.000-07:00

Eadric of Mansfield
fallen in Crown Tourney, September, A.S. XXV*

The lady loosed her milk-white dove
To scour the plains of woe,
And watched it scale the silver clouds
And dither to and fro
In search of news of her true love
Somewhere ensconced below.
To lift the corners of the shrouds
If need be - she must know.

She watched the light of day grow dim
And ember into night.
And still she waited on the bird
Whom she had given flight.
Her cheek against the window rim
Grew cold from stone, and fright,
Yet stay she must to hear the word
To make her heart delight.

"He's tarried with his Abbey friends
To lift a cup in cheer.
Or mayhad he has stopped awhile
To stay another's fear.
My lord is like to give amends
When once he does appear,"
The lady told herself to while
The time that cost so dear.

The dark took on a rosy glow
That kindled into dawn,
And found the lady at her post
Now wearisome and wan.
She spied a speck and watched it grow
As to the window drawn
The dove returned with what she most
Desired to dote upon.

"What news! What news! My messenger?
What word do you bring me?
What keeps my Eadric from my heart,
Now duty's set him free?"
With flutt'ring wings the harbinger
Of sorrow made to flee,
But her cool hand was quick to dart
And catch what she must see.

Her fingers closed upon the prize
The bird loosed as he fled,
And raised it to the light of day
To see it streaked with red.
And stark the truth banished all the lies:
A lock from Eadric's head,
Once-tender heart now turned to clay.
Toline's true love lay dead.

-- Lady Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

*I wasn't the editor, Thoron was, 1990 (before he conned me into doing it) ;->

A Fallen Bard - For Lord Goldwyn of Britain - Will's Poem

2009-06-14T10:45:00.000-07:00

A Fallen Bard
For Lord Goldwyn of Britain

There is a place inside the soul
Where hope and dreams can start-
The lights of deeds shine down upon
This stage upon the heart.

For on this stage our dreams are born,
And from it they take wing;
We all can say it shapes our thoughts
'Tis true, "the play's the thing."

The one who walks the stage must be
The one who touched us all,
Who made us laugh, and gave some joy
To elders and the small.

On Hastings green, some years ago
The dream first on you laid-
Since then you've proved with words and deeds
Its flowing accolade.

For small I as when first I heard
Your boisterous voice ring out
You told the world your lesson
And we heard without a doubt.

We heard you chart and plot new worlds,
Our thirst for laughts to slake:
Where Butch and Studley demonstrate
The Laurel's secret shake.

You were an institution
Of a time and place apart:
So true it is, you graced the stage.
The stage upon the heart.

You taught us well, your tricks, your trade
You gave us in our trials.
When we performed your skits and plays
Your wit made people smile.

We gave you ninety-nine percent
Then strove to give your more;
Directed by your wit and skill,
An actor to the core.

Your cloak is draped across a stool,
Its vacant folds lay bare...
But still your spirit gives it weight-
We know your warmth is there.

And though the curtain's weight has come
And gone's your final part-
In all our dreams we know you've won
The stage upon the heart.

-- Lord Will Schuyler the Younger

...who learned from Goldwyn to "make it fun"

(c) Fall 1999

Considering the Prose Poem

2009-06-14T10:16:00.000-07:00

Found a new form recently, a Prose Poem. It's like a concise essay. My Potrero essay is almost a prose poem. With a little more editing, it could be. It's a one-thought mini-essay with extreme word pictures, a totally enjambed poem with no line breaks. Instead it calls on alliteration, assonance, feminine rhyme, metaphor, etc.

Lately I've been reading - and writing - poetry with enjambment in mind.

Star*Line is calling for prose poems for an up-coming issue. I want to try my hand at a speculative-themed one.

Zombie Haiku

2009-06-14T10:09:00.000-07:00

So Lin threw down the gauntlet, and this is what I came up with. Talk about deathly prose...

How can I convince you
I only love you for your brains?
The zombie's lament.

What a dish!
Life is a movable feast
To a zombie.

Tall and wan and young and jerky
The girl from Ipanema does
The zombie bassa nova.

"Drill here! Drill now!"
The energy savvy zombie
Gets with the program.

Tangle on the turnpike--
Drivers gambled with their lives;
Zombie jackpot.

Blood on the gridiron--
Zombies lurch across the field.
Hey, who moved the ghoul post?

Zombies on the rise!
The world is coming to an end!
Film at eleven.

A Hail Mary pass--
The quarterback has lost his head.
The zombie found it.

Heads will roll:
The ghoulie ate the ball.
Zombie soccer.

The zombie lolcat
Ivites the loldog to lunch:
Nom, nom, NOMMS.

I'll lose my mind
If I have to write one more
Zombie haiku.

Count Sven Orfhendur - Fighter Poem - Haiku

2009-06-13T22:43:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T21:15:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T20:41:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-13T20:33:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T20:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T20:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T19:40:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-13T19:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T19:22:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-13T19:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T19:06:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T18:51:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-13T18:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T18:13:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T17:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T17:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T17:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T17:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T17:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T16:50:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T16:26:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T16:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T16:06:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-13T15:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T15:36:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T15:30:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T15:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T15:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T14:49:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T14:38:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T14:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T14:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T14:16:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T13:44:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T13:40:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T13:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T13:08:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T13:02:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T12:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T12:37:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-13T12:17:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T12:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Marcel Longueville - Fighter Poem

2009-06-13T11:57:00.000-07:00

Marcel Longueville
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXII

Tyger! Tyger! rampant run
Flashing argent in the sun,
What rough beast can make you yield
When you leap to take the field?

Comes an aardvark, axe in hand
Green as grass to take a stand,
(Green in color, not in skill)
To the aardvark goes the kill.

Rise up, Tyger, limp to shade
Lick your wounds and watch them fade,
Feel the fire coming back
Ripe and ready for attack.

Swoops to battle from the blue
Winged lion, azure blue.
Sharp of claw and long of fang
Locked in mortal trial gang!

Lion - Tyger - who will rise
From the clash to chase the prize?
Not the Tyger in this frey...
Mend to fight another day.

Tyger! Tyger! rampant run
Flashing argent in the sun,
What rough beast can make you yield
When you leap to take the field?

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Sir Dante Lizza da Benevento - Fighter Poem - Terza Rima

2009-06-13T11:44:00.000-07:00

Sir Dante Lizza da Benevento
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXII

(Terza Rima)

Contenders come from near and far to test
Their valor and their mettle on the field
To win a Crown or earn eternal rest.

Sir Dante Lizza signed the Lists and sealed
His fate for glory or obscurity
As through the day from fight to fight he reeled.

Virginia's swan-like love and purity
To buoy up his heart and battle arm
Were all he needed for assurety.

FitzWilliam was the first to come to harm;
Sir Guillaum's squire fell beneath the blows
That filled Drogo's fair lady with alarm.

Wilhelm of Thunderhall to battle rose;
Sir Dante squared his stance to meet the charge
And sent the Visigoth to feed the crows.

Then Eorl Gar of Loch Carron loomed large;
An aarvark with an axe should give one pause -
The Scotsman slowed Sir Dante's headlong barge.

But up he rose, in time to meet the claws
Of eagle-taloned Eowyn's Jamal
Who fell to earth to further Dante's cause.

Emboldened, Dante stode into the hall
Of Baron Dietrich, Adrianna's dear;
The Teuton knight fought bravely, till the fall.

Sir Dante then faced Grimmsson without fear;
What could Njal do no one else could do?
Alas, the Viking sent him to his bier.

Virginia plaits her hair with bitter rue
And contemplates life's oft-time cruel jest:
Not all who start the journey end the quest.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is an empty vessel for the Muse.

Ciaran Blackrune - Fighter Poem - Englynion

2009-06-13T11:35:00.001-07:00

Ciaran Blackrune
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIII

(Englynion)

Ciaran charted the stars -
The Indigo Rose to guide
Through rough waters and low tide
With Jumana by his side.

Ciaran charted the stars -
That brought him to Caid's shore
In search of a treasure store
To adorn his paramour.

Ciaran charted the stars -
Where fighters and consorts kneeled
And battle washed o'er the field,
His fortune was met and sealed.

Ciaran charted the stars -
That danced in his lady's eyes,
As bright as the jeweled prize,
Who watched him with fretful sighs.

Ciaran charted the stars -
And met with a duke and earl,
Great weapons and swords awhirl,
Who whittled him down to burl.

Ciaran charted the stars -
That brought him to try his lot
In battles hard and well fought;
His grasp missed the prize he sought.

Ciaran charted the stars -
The Indigo Rose to sail
Through calm waters and through gale,
Jumana beside the rail.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal

THLord Jamal Damien Marcus - Fighter Poem - awdl

2009-06-13T11:08:00.000-07:00

THLord Jamal Damien Marcus
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIII

(embelished awdl)

From the land of Cedars tall
Came the eagle hight Jamal
To the land where beauty's call
Snared his heart to love's enthrall
For lovely Amberdrake.

Hour after lonely hour
Perched atop his Cedar bower
While his thoughts grew dark and dour
And his taste for life grew sour
Helpless in fair beauty's power
Fixed his eyes upon the tower
Of aeried Amberdrake.

Stately in her might and mane
Mistress of her own domaine
Wings that beat to love's refrain
While they scoured the sky of rain
The awesome Amberdrake.

How to catch her eye? he thought
What great bauble could be brought
What amazing treasure wrought?
High and low the eagle sought
To flatter Amberdrake.

But what jewel could e'er aspire
To match the color of her fire
And fan the flames of love's desire
Lest it spark disdain and ire
In fiery Amberdrake?

Then it came to him in need -
He must do a daring deed
Win the throne of all Caid
To present his case and plead
His troth to Amberdrake.

High into the air he flew
Where the sky was barely blue
And the world took on the hue
Of golden Amberdrake.

Feeling that he faced his doom
And his heart would fairly swoon
Boldly did he beg a boon
Of favored Amberdrake.

Musing on Jamal's request
Thinking he must speak in jest
She plucked a scale plate from her breast
And made to him a grand bequest
That he could fight on the behest
Of graceous Amberdrake.

Feeling that his heart might break
Or his pinions fail and quake
He swore to fight for honor's sake
For regal Amberdrake.

So the eagle came to ground
Where all the fighters of renown
Fore gathered on the field of Crown
And took his fate and cast it down
To fight for Amberdrake.

First to face the eagle's skill
Was the champion of Rhael
Madog was Jamal's first kill
Hoisted on the eagle's quill
Bringing to his heart a thrill
Of hope for Amberdrake.

Next an eorl crossed his path
And the eagle faced the wrath
Of an aardvark with an axe
Who attacked with great dispatch
The champion of Amberdrake.

As Jamal lay on the field
While the sky around him reeled
Thinking that his fate was sealed
He could not bring himself to yield
His dreams for Amberdrake.

As his claws to hope did cling
Suddenly his ears did ring
And his heart did swell and sing
At a most amazing thing
Around him beat the golden wing
Of mighty Amberdrake.

Buoyed by this draught of air
His foul prospects turned to fair
And bold Jamal could once more bear
To strive for Amberdrake.

Onto the field did bound a hart
As white as snow and quick to start
Which gave the eagle strenth of heart
To try to take this foe apart
To please his Amberdrake.

But fate did not arrange it so
And fortune favored Whitehart's doe
As Jamal's heart was wracked with woe
The mighty eagle was laid low
And left as fodder for the crow
Bereft of Amberdrake.

But just when home was nearly gone
A vision 'lighted on the lawn
And dragon wings began to fawn
Their healing ministeries upon
Jamal who knew the heart he'd won
Of tender Amberdrake.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...an empty vessel for the Muse

THLord Johathan Whitehart - Fighter Poem - villanelle

2009-06-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

THLord Johathan Whitehart
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIII

(villanelle)

A flash of white across the verdant green -
The whitehart flies, a pack of beasts gives chase.
The royal hunt is perilous and keen.

As whitehart streaks away one Brut is seen
To strike a glancing blow with little trace:
A flash of white across the verdant green.

The trumpet of an elephant goes clean
Through quivering whitehart, freezing him in place.
The royal hunt is perilous and keen.

As eagle in a cedar swoops to glean
The carcass of the hart, who leaps to race,
A flash of white across the verdant green.

Alas, whitehart falls to the Thuringian -
Though fleet of foot, he's no match for his Grace.
The royal hunt is perilous and keen.

The day's awash in blood and bone and spleen,
And whitehart burst his heart to fly apace,
A flash of white across the verdant green.
The royal hunt is perilous and keen.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Sir Ciaran MacDarragh - Fighter Poem - awdl

2009-06-13T10:33:00.000-07:00

Sir Ciaran MacDarragh
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIII

(awdl)

Ciaran took the field of play
On Autumnal Crown Tourney day
Amid the pennants flying gay
And nobles in their fine array
To see if his skills would hold sway
And keep all challengers at bay
Through fight on fight in battle fray

Paganus was first
Come to do his worst
In arch'ry well-versed
In this battle cursed
His heart fairly burst

Duryn the Red Baron
Came to fight Ciaran
Blows that should hit square on
Didn't work for Duryn

Ciaran's Lady Chretienne took heart
Her champion had made a gallant start
How powerful to strike, how quick to dart
In battle he could take his foes apart
But sweetest dreams can turn to bitter tart

Dietrich was the next to fight
Dressed in colors blue and white
Few could face the Teuton knight
And not feel his cold steel bite
Though it was an awesome sight
Sir Ciaran's hopes took flight
Giving Chretienne a fright

Ciaran bounded to the field
That one loss could not make him yield
As 'round the eric fighters reeled
Ciaran knew his fate was sealed

An aardvark with an axe
Ciaran-ward made tracks
He parried Garr's attacks
But finally grew lax
And paid the final tax

Crown Tourney Day has come and gone
The kingdom knows Tomuki won
The fights they fought were all in fun
And come the spring they'll fight anon

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Earl Garr of Lock Carron - Fighter Poem - acrostic

2009-06-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

Earl Garr of Lock Carron
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney A.S. XXXIII

(acrostic)

Airily he takes the field
Aardvark with an axe to wield
Round the eric trading whacks
Downing foemen in their tracks
Verily be dents his blade
Anvil-like upon a maid
Red-pawed wolf completes the bout
Kingdom dreams are put to rout

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Wolfe Thoraldsson - Fighter Poem - rondel

2009-06-13T10:21:00.000-07:00

Wolfe Thoraldsson
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIII

(rondel)

Ambrosya's heart leaps at the sight:
A bloody paw print on the strand
Where Wolfe set foot to take a stand
And try for Crown by tourney right.

He bested four with belts of white
(Though Patrick brought a blow to land)
Ambrosya's heart leaps at the sight:
A bloody paw print on the strand.

A Jelling Beast, a Blackwolf hight,
A Pegasus and Aardvark grand -
They all succumbed to Wolfe's command
'Til Thistles' prickles sapped his might.
Ambrosya's heart leaps at the sight:
A bloody paw print on the strand.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Dawud ben Jibriel - Fighter Poem

2009-06-12T19:21:00.000-07:00

Dawud ben Jibriel
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIV

Clouds fore gather overhead
Portending an air of dread
Elementals sieze the day
Who will chance Crown Tourney day?

Stepping forward, one who shall:
Doughty Dawud ben Jibriel
Mivanou stands at his side
Facing what the fates betide.

Dawud cahllenges a knight
Malachi of Brightskull hight.
Fighting skills sorely tested
By the Rus Dawud is bested.

Next to face with battle board
Mighty Duke of Holdingford.
O'er the field Sir John holds sway
Brings an end to Dawud's day.

Sweet Mivanou dries a tear
There will always be next year
When Crown Tourney comes in spring
Who knows what the fates may bring?

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal

Gilbert Rhys MacLachlan - Fighter Poem - triolet

2009-06-12T19:16:00.000-07:00

Gilbert Rhys MacLachlan
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIV

Triolet for an Armorer

Strike the metal while it's hot
And test the mettle of the man.
To see what armor can be wrought
Strike the metal while it's hot.
To see if he will bend or not,
To temper one who'll rule the land,
Strike the metal while it's hot
And test the mettle of the man.

-- Pippin Skylark

...aways tart and crisp.

Sir Malachi Halfdan Brightskull - Fighter Poem - Anglo-Saxon verse

2009-06-12T18:49:00.000-07:00

Sir Malachi Halfdan Brightskull
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIV

(Anglo-Saxon verse)

Cold is the homeland / of Halfdan Brightskull
Southward he quests / seeking fame and fortune
Warming the journey, / his wife Aleksina,
Wellborn maiden / Mistress of his heart.

Bound for the Black Sea / Brightskull plies his trade
Raiding and trading / as trinkets he gathers
To adorn his lovely / Aleksina Taisiya.
On such a journey / one treasure enthrawls him:

Crown and bright scepter / Caid's high king seat.
Boldfaced and brazen / Brightskull sets forth
To capture a kingdom as / keepsake for a queen.
Brightly glints the sun / off Brightskull's helm -

An omen of victory - / emboldens his heart.
Dawud ben Jibriel / dares to bar his path.
Swift is the swordplay / that sends Dawud reeling
Back to the ministrations of / Mivanou his lady fair.

Then Calam encounters / cold steel of the Rus
And seeks the succur of / Sylvia Dragomani.
The claws of a tyger / test Brightskull's skill
But Marcel soon longs for / Leonora's cool balm.

Bright now the splendor / beaming from the sun
On Galen it glistens / glancing from his shield
Blinding Brightskull. / Bravely he fights on
To clash with an eagle / Eowyn's champion.

The eagle falls earthward / to amberdrake's tending.
Emboldened once more / an earl he chances
Sea skimmer and serpent / steel clashing like thunder.
At last it is settled / Edric the victor -

Soon to be king / Caid's chosen son -
Brightskull is bested / by Battista's champion.
Dark now the dreams of / dear Aleksina,
Cold comfort awaits / the consort of Brightskull.

But warm is the fire / free-flowing the mead cup
Ne'er ending the tales / told in Valhalla
As Brightskull the Rus / recounts all his victories
Here in life, / now houseguest of Odin.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Fall Harvest - Fighter Poem - rondeau

2009-06-12T18:36:00.000-07:00

Fall Harvest

(rondeau)

The fruit hangs ripe for all to see,
The gardeners espalier the trees
To better let the branches grow,
And till the fields and pull the weeds
As Caid puts its best on show.
A gust of wind or sudden blow
Can knock a fair crop on the breeze,
Then just as quickly tenders seize
The windblown few the better so
The fruit hangs ripe.
Industrious as honey bees
The gardeners of the list trees go
About their Crown-appointed deeds
Until but one is left aglow -
The fruit hangs ripe.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is an empty vessel for the Muse.

~*~

This was written in honor of Lists, who keep the tourneys running smoothly.

THLord Paganus Grimlove - Fighter Poem

2009-06-12T18:25:00.000-07:00

THLord Paganus Grimlove
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXIV

A contest was declared to see
Which woodland beast could fight the best
And Paganus the wolf thought he
Would put his marshal skills to test

Sir Arion, a pegasus
Did beat his wings upon the air
And 'tho the wolf the vic'try wist
For Arion the herald declare

Undaunted by this first defeat
The wolf next sought the lioness
Fair Guinevere proved quite a treat
And Paganus put her to rest

Emboldened by this test of skill
The tyger now the wolf's next prey
Alas - To Marcel went the kill
And Paganus retired from play

The day wore on, the wolf sat out
To lick his wounds in leafy shade
And dream a time to come, no doubt
'Twill see this archer regal made

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Spring Breezes - Fighter Poem - sonnet

2009-06-12T18:16:00.000-07:00

Spring Breezes

(sonnet)

Their dagg'ed sleeves like penants breezes fly
That whisper Zephyr-fashion o'er the field
To raise the hopes of consorts on a sigh
That just as quickly dash when swords are wiel'd.
As numerous as sands upon the shore
Warriors bold surge forth to scour the ground
And blow like a Scirocco through the score
Of battle-bound contenders for the crown.
Mischief-making magic must ensue
Where Zephyr and Scirocco come to play
And one among the many is imbued
With battle-battered prowess to hold sway.
The winds of chance and fortune toss and fling
To buoy the champion up undoubted king.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal...especially now that she has her new warp-weighted loom...!

Richard Clerke of Rowanwood - Fighter Poem - triolet

2009-06-12T18:11:00.001-07:00

Richard Clerke of Rowanwood
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXV

(triolet)

The Rowanwood is dark and deep
Where Richard Clerke persued his fate.
A pithon made Ceara weep
But Rowanwood is dark and deep.
A tyger, as the day grew late,
Sent Richard to his final sleep.
Now Rowanwood is dark and deep
Where Richard Clerke persued his fate.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Patrick O'Malley of Uldia - Fighter Poem - filk

2009-06-12T18:00:00.001-07:00

Patrick O'Malley of Uldia
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXVI

The lion and the pussycat came to Crown
In a handsome new horse-drawn cart.
They brought along armor (and a fancy new gown)
Determined to act out their part.

"Oh Pussy, dear Pussy, I'll make you a queen!"
Said the beast to his lady love fair,
And he charged to the field with a wink and a gleam
And a toss of his mane in the air.

A challenge accepted, the battle was met
And a butterfly buzzed 'round his head.
A flick of his paw dealt the pesky insect
A swat that left butterfly dead.

A lion rampante now stalked to the field
And roared to his cousin erased.
A cat fight ensued until one had to yield -
Pussy smoothed ruffled fur back in place.

So restored, Pussy's love took the eric with pride
Where a mongoose regarded him, 'ware.
Feline worried the weasel and gnawed on his hide
'Til only the lion stood there.

But tigers are cats of a different stripe
And the next battle proved his undoing:
Their furious fight made the feline fur fly -
More battles the lion's eschewing.

Well the lion and pussycat came for a crown
But they went home again in their cart,
With armor now dented (a slightly used gown),
And an unfulfilled dream in their heart.

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Marcel Longueville - Fighter Poem - Petrarchan Sonnet

2009-06-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

Marcel Longueville
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXV

(Petrarchan Sonnet)

"Forgive me, dear Contessa, for my part
I'd hoped to lay a crown upon your hair.
For I could think of no jewel so rare
As Caid's Own to show to you my heart.

"But Fate was ranked against me from the start
As Ivan illustrated, with a care.
Though I dispatched a trio with a flair,
Sir Maachi, alas, took me apart."

"Do not despair on my acocunt, my lord.
What care I for a jewel-bedecked crown?
Your high regard is good enough for me.

So put away your helm and sheath your sword;
Stow your armor and lay your banner down.
But come the Spring...well let's just see, shall we?"

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a weaver of words and wadmal

Battling Bards of Caid - Fighter Poem - villanelle

2009-06-12T17:28:00.000-07:00

Battling Bards of Caid

(villanelle)

The battling bards of Caid ply their swords
With equal grace, dispatching on the field
As they apply their pens to parsing words.

Be they knights and peers and fighting lords
Or fighting ladies with conviction steeled
The battling bards of Caid ply their swords.

And once they've put away their sticks and boards
They'll turn their skills to epic tales revealed
So they apply their pens to parsing words.

From seacoast, desert winds and frigid fjords
And all the lands where weapons they might wield
The battling bards of Caid ply their swords.

But all the while they're battling with the hordes
They're searching for poetic themes concealed;
As they apply their pens to parsing words.

So know when these words strike some bardic chords -
A carillon of martial music's yield -
The battling bards of Caid ply their swords
As they apply their pens to parsing words.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is an empty vessel for the Muse.

~*~

It dawned on my this Crown Tourney (XXXV, or 2000) that over half of our bards were also fighters. So I wrote them a poem in honor of the fact.

O Chiurgeon - Fighter Poem - filk

2009-06-12T16:37:00.000-07:00

O Chiurgeon

(to the tune of O Susannah)

It rained all night the day we camped;
By midday we were fried.
The sunscreen never got unpacked -
Chiurgeon, save our hide!

The mead was strong, the will was weak,
The toasts contained no bread.
Chiurgeon give me something for
This drumming in my head.

Chorus: O Chiurgeon,
Won't you look & see -
I come from tourney battle
With a boo-boo on my knee.

The site is like a dustbowl
And the ragweed's on the breeze.
My allergies are acting up,
I cough and sniff and wheeze.

Is that a snake or just a stick?
The bees are really mad.
I set my helm in fire ants -
Worst rash I've ever had.

Chorus:

I stepped into a gopher hole
Quite early in the fray -
I didn't check my ankle till
The end of tourney day.

It's grown to three times normal
And my aromor I can't doff.
Hey wait a minute -! Whatcha mean
You have to cut it off?!

Chorus:

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Master Jamal Damien Marcus - Fighter Poem - Terza Rima

2009-06-12T16:27:00.000-07:00

Master Jamal Damien Marcus
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXV

(Terza Rima)

An eagle lights atop a cedar tree
And casts his gaze upon the tourney field
Where arm'ed warriors met in battle glee.

A dance macabre, a brasle of sword and shield
To choose an heir to wear the Crescent Crown
Has every champion pledged to win or yield.

The eagle owns himself a skill renowned
And glides to earth to cast his battle gage -
Ears prick - he's drawn a seasoned battle hound.

So Norman wolf and eagle thus engage
And 'round they dance as fur and feathers fly
Till well-timed blows the eagle's doom presage.

Undaunted, battered bird takes to the sky
To stretch his wings and test his talons' steel
So once more he an raise his battle cry.

A bersark lumbers forth to dance a reel
In answer to the eagle's piercing call
And bear and bird engage with awesome zeal.

The mighty eagle gives the dance his all;
He worries bear with blows both quick and smart
But in the end the bear makes eagle fall.

So bravely did the eagle play his part
He's caught the eye of one with wings of gold;
In doing so he's won a she-drakes's heart -
But that's a tale that's better later told.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal

Snorri Snarfari Bjornsson - Fighter Poem - Englynion

2009-06-12T16:22:00.000-07:00

Snorri Snarfari Bjornsson
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXV

(Englynion)

Snorri drains the drinking horn--
Honors Secca for his skill
'Tho to Secca went the kill.

Snorri drains the drinking horn--
Baron Mahmud took the field
Snorri made the baron yield.

Snorri drains the drinking horn--
Faced the knight who would be king
Alaric made his helmet ring!

Snorri drains the drinking horn--
As the starts, "Remember when--"
Valkyries fill it up again.

--Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

THLord Conrad Breakring - Fighter Poem - triolet

2009-06-12T16:18:00.000-07:00

THLord Conrad Breakring
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXV

(triolet)

Conrad circles round the field
So it ends as it begins:
Full of verve with blade to wield
As he circles round the field.
Hefting honor as his shield
Facing fate with crafty grins,
Conrad circles round the field
So it ends as it begins.

--Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Sir William Schuyler - Fighter Poem - villanelle

2009-06-12T16:09:00.000-07:00

Sir William Schuyler
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXVI

(a villanelle)

An awesome foe assaults the castle wall
As William stands his ground with sword and shield
The battlements may shake, but cannot fall.

Th first to storm the stronghold is Njal.
This son of Grimm determined not to yield.
An awesome foe assaults the castle wall.

On William's hopes the Viking casts a pall.
Sore wounded, at his lady's touch he's healed.
The battlements may shake, but cannot fall.

Emboldened, comes forth Saracen Jamal,
His breadth and girth enflex the very field.
An awesome foe assaults the castle wall.

Burgundian and Saracen now brawl
And William to the very ground is wheeled.
The battlements may shake, but cannot fall!

For Philippa, Sir William gave his all.
In striving for the Crown his fate was sealed.
'Tho awesome foes assault the castle wall
The battlements may shake, but cannot fall.

--Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal

Silent Sentinels: The Barons' Pantoum - Fighter Poem - pantoum

2009-06-12T15:51:00.000-07:00

Silent Sentinels: The Barons' Pantoum

(pantoum)

As silent sentinels the barons stand
Amid the penants and the panoply
The stalward pillars of our Crescent Land
On verdant fields of sands along the sea

Amid the penants and the panoply
Azure, argent, purpure, gules and or,
On verdant fields of sands along the sea
Where regal hopefuls battle to the fore

Azure, argent, purpure, gules and or
Pavillions gay enring the tourney field
Where regal hopefuls battle to the fore
With whirling blades that cut and kill...or yield

Pavillions gay enring the tourney field
The consorts clasp their hands as champions
With whilrling blades that cut and kill...or yield
Advance their cause or bring it to an end

The consorts clasp their hands as champions,
Their eyes upon the scepter and the throne,
Advance their cause or bring it to an end
For only one can win the day alone

Their eyes upon the scepter and the throne
--But spare a glance each challenger to gauge--
For only one can win the day alone
And set the course of Caid's coming age.

But spare a glance each challenger to gauge
For one among the rest might gain the chance
And set the course of Caid's coming age
A'whirling to his new unmeasured dance

For one among the rest will gain the chance
By martial might to lead the populace
A'whirling to his new unmeasured dance
While some stand by to minimize the fuss

By martial might to lead the populace
Is royal perview won by skill and main
While some stand by to minimize the fuss
That naturally blows from reign to reign

This royal perview won by skill and main
--Sometimes a bracing wind of zephyr force--
That naturally blows from reign to reign
Is tempered by the ones who stand the course

Sometimes a bracing wind of zephyr force
Meets stalwart pillars of our Crescent Land,
So tempered by the ones who stay the course
As silent sentinels the barons stand.

--Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Andre Miguel Rodriquez de la Rosa - Fighter Poem - villanelle

2009-06-12T15:43:00.000-07:00

Andre Miguel Rodriquez de la Rosa
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXVI

(a villanelle)

Floppy ears and flapping wings
Buoyant on Crown Tourney day
Dancing while the steel rings

Ready for what challenge brings
Charging rampant to the frey
Floppy ears and flapping wings

James of Nayland battle flings
Rabbit spirit must give way
Dancing while the steel rings

Up he hops and challenge sings
Calling Ragnar out to play
Floppy ears and flapping wings

Cracking blow his helmet dings
Dizzy rabbit hits the clay
Dancing while the steel rings

Kathrine to his honor clings
As she mourns her brave Andre
Floppy ears and flapping wings
Dancing while the steel rings

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal

Brian de Barri - Fighter Poem - Englynion

2009-06-12T15:37:00.000-07:00

Brian de Barri
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXVI

(Englynion)

Huzzah to the golden bear!
Ambling off to face the fray
Combat on Crown Tourney day.

Huzzah to the golden bear!
Castle in the sand stands tall
Good de Barri hits a wall.

Huzzah to the golden bear!
Black the oak on a silver field
Lady Eichling made to yield.

Huzzah to the golden bear!
Wolf who sports a garden rose
Brings this crown quest to a close.

Huzzah to the golden bear!
Brian ambles in the sun
Cecelia's heart the prize he's won.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Sir Ragnar of Sandcastle - Fighter Poem - Villanelle

2009-06-12T15:29:00.000-07:00

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

(a villanelle)

Mind your step as you stride across the strand,
Great was the battle that raged here today.
A mighty castle crumbles into sand.

Brian de Barri answered Crown's command
And threw his helmet into the list fray.
Mind your step as you stride aross the strand.

Spanish Andre hopped up to try his hand.
Though Ragnar stood and Andre limped away,
A mighty castle crumbles into sand.

James of Nayland came forth with sword in hand.
Ragnar's hopes began to melt away.
Mind your step as you stride across the strand.

Njal put paid to Ragnar's tourney plan.
Fierce was the battle that ended Ragnar's day.
A mighty castle crumbles into sand.

Great were the warriors who fought for Caid's land,
Terrible the price Ragnar had to pay.
Mind your step as you stride across the strand,
A mighty castle crumbles into sand.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...an empty vessel for the Muse.

Conde Cristian del Leon Rampante - Fighter Poem - sestina

2009-06-12T15:14:00.001-07:00

Conde Cristian del Leon Rampante
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXVII

What is the Worth of a Knight...?

(sestina)

What is the worth of a knight in battle
If it is not to favor his lady
In honorable combat on the field?
She trusts to his skill to advance their claim
To the Crescent Crowns on this august day.
He can hope to do no more in her eyes.

So it was Cristian gazed in Crystal's eyes
And cast his lot to the lists of battle,
Hoping to grace her brow at the end of day
With rosemary fit for a king's lady.
To accomplish this task and press his claim
Sir Cristian strode forth to face the field.

Reyni-Harekr chose him from the field
Of knights and others fresh with shining eyes
Upon the royal prize that each would claim
If the fates were kind. And so the battle
Was engaged for honor of his lady,
The first of many battle of the day.

In victory Chistian began his day
Advancing toward his second battle field
With a smile and wave for his lady
Fair. But who should taunt him with such twinkling eyes
Of mischief but his squire, come to battle
With the leontine sire and win acclaim.

James the merry trickster did press his claim
Home. Cristian had his first loss this day,
Next Rudolph Fekter went down in battle
And Cristian recovered on the field,
And Snorri Snarfari Bjornson's eyes
Went white, laid low before his fair lady.

But Sven Orfhendur honored his lady
And Cristian retired his regal claim.
Although he was a champion in her eyes
The Rampant Lion did not win the day
For Crystal, and the two must quit the field.
But there is always another battle.

To do battle for a favored lady
On the field: 'tis the hope to win acclaim
In all eyes, but especially hers, this day.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is an empty vessel for the muse.

The Favor - Fighter Poem - villanelle

2009-06-12T15:04:00.000-07:00

The Favor

(villanelle)

A scrap of cloth, a bit of colored string --
To beg a boon he makes to be so bold.
The path to victory's a chancy thing.

The lady, well inclined to favoring
A brazen, boastful champion unforlds
A scrap of cloth, a bit of colored string.

He mounts his steed, gay token dangling
Against his tabord for all to behold.
The path to victory's a chancy thing.

He knocks opponents flying, lance tilting
While flashing in the sunlight, bright as gold:
A scrap of cloth, a bit of colored string.

Advancing through the Lists, imagining
The kind of tales the troubadors have told,
The path of victory's a chancy thing.

But Fate will play a part for knave or king.
Beneath him in the dust as day grows cold:
A scrap of cloth, a bit of colored string.
The path to victory's a chancy thing.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a weaver of words and wadmal

Sir Luther Anshelm - Fighter Poem - Englynion

2009-06-12T14:58:00.000-07:00

Sir Luther Anshelm
falled in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXVIII

(Englynion)

Smite the metal, make it ring!
Axe and glaive or sword and shield,
Armor crafter weapons wield.

Smite the metal, make it ring!
Kitty-kitty come and play,
Pity Kitty smashed to clay.

Smite the metal, make it ring!
Double boars take battle heart
Otuell makes poor Luther smart.

Smite the metal, make it ring!
Conrad throws him for a loop:
Luther jumping through a hoop.

Smite the metal, make it ring!
Luther's mettle on display
Shining on Crown Tourney day.

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp