Sir Colin Wynthorpe - Fighter Poem - sonnet

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

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

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 Kolfinna kottr - Fighter Poem

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Knight of the Burnished Carapace - Fighter Poem - sonnet

Knight of the Burnished Carapace

(sonnet)

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

-- Pippin Skylark

~*~

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

William Schuyler - Fighter Poem - sonnet

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

Sweet William

(sonnet)

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

-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Gavin Malcoeur - Fighter Poem

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

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

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

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

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

-- Lady Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Wulfric Thjostolfsson - Fighter Poem - Drottkvaet hattr

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

(Drottkvaet hattr)

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

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

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

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

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

-- Lady Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Sestina for a Crown - Fighter Poem - sestina

Sestina for a Crown

(sestina)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- Mistess Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

~*~

My first sestina.

Sir William Schuyler - Fighter Poem - sonnet, acrostic

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

(double acrostic sonnet)

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

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

-- Philippa

Luke of Caerleon - Fighter Poem - Rondel

Luke of Caerleon  

fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVIII 

(Rondel)  

The sweep of wings that brush the sky -  

The passing of an Argent Loon.  

A brave young fighter felled too soon  

Who took the field to win or die.  

The Queen's own captain let sword fly  

And Luke of Caerleon did swoon.  

The sweep of wings that brush the sky -  

The passing of an Argent Loon.  

Then Saracen took up the cry: 

The Moor did to his eagle croon: 

"This noble bird shall be your boon." 

But not without a valiant try.  

The sweep of wings that brush the sky -  

The passing of an Argent Loon. 

  -- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Sir Donald Cathchern - Fighter Poem - Celtic buried rhyme

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

(Celtic buried rhyme)

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

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

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

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

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

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Eichling von Amrum - Fighter Poem - limerick

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

(limerick)

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

-- Pippin Skylark

Sir Gar of Loch Carron - Fighter Poem - limerick

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

(limerick)

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

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

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

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

(Tagelied minnesong)

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

~*~

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

Tournawocky - Fighter Poem

Tournawocky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

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

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

(sonnet)

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

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

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

Sir Donald Cathchern - Fighter Poem - Norse verse

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

(Norse verse)

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

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

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

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

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

-- Mistress Philippa Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal

Kyr Yaroslav the Persistant - Fighter Poem

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

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

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...is a weaver or words and wadmal

Edric's Ode - Fighter Poem - Ode, Sapphic

Edric's Ode

(sapphic measure)

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

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

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

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...in thrall to the Muse