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
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Conde Francesc Miguel Joaquim Inacio
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
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
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Will's fighter poem: Rudolph Fekter
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.
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.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
THLord Bryan Gard Yale
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.
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
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
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
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?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Christmas QED
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 sets 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.
(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 sets 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.
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