Something Silly

 A Knight to Remember

(a silly poem)

The ancient knight (the battle o'er)
Returned bone-weary, saddle-sore,
But when his winsome lady 'spied,
His spirits rose--or 'least they tried.

In urgent haste he bade her leave
To matrimonial battle cleave.
Love-locked he did give blow for blow
'Til vanquished by that tender foe.

The battle proved too hard a test,
The knight did earn eternal rest.
He gasped his last (the furs upon)
True knight: he died with his spurs on.

 

--Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

More Found Poetry

 The Squire's Lament

(Celtic Buried Rhyme)

The time grows short, he hurries 'round
The battle ground with mended hilt.
The fighting has drawn to a halt;
'Though not his fault, he bears the guilt.

His lord assails him with a stare--
How eyes do glare--'though he makes haste.
The armory was quickly packed;
Who knew it lacked the part he chased?

A kindly soul advanced a clamp;
His brow grew damp, his hand did shake
As he affixed it to rattan
This fighter's man, for his lord's sake.

The erik wide his welcome heard,
A cheerless word; he answers naught.
He takes what comes for good or ill
And bends his will: a squire's lot. 

 

--Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

Poem for Lin

I found this poem in a box of old letters and writings.  I've been going thru boxes and finding amazing things.

 

Keyboard Fancies

  (a silly sonnet)

Have you met the lady of the South
Whose skill with keyboard rivals all I'm told?
Her gift of story travels word-of-mouth
Just like the gifts of troubadours of old.

Her creatures come to life upon the page
And tell their tales to eager listening folk
Who laugh or cry or fly into a rage
As they are wont, just as her words evoke.

But do not think her fame will end just there,
For she has skills entirely from the norm
That conjure wondrous spirits from the air
And coax them into programs to perform.

Pursuing fancies, watch Lin's fingers fly
Across the keys, as words and bits apply. 

--Ellen Shipley

Highlander: Immortal Rimes in Iambic Pentameter

 Highlander:  Rimes for Immortals in Iambic Pentameter

for Duncan:

Who Wants to Live Forever

 (a Petrarchan Sonnet)

 He prowls the years, stark justice in his eyes, 
This self-appointed champion of the weak,
For though it's said the world goes to the meek
He's set his sights upon a higher Prize.

 "There can be only one," his battle cry
When evil-bent Immortals cross his path.
With clash of steel they're made to face his wrath
And lightning rips the skies when loosed heads fly.
 
But friend or foe, he'll outlive one and all--
A Gilgamesh condemned to span the years;
Immortal friendships he can ill afford.

 For in the end, they'll fight and one must fall.
The Gathering's impervious to tears:
Who wants to live forever wields a sword. 

 

***

 for Amanda:

Thief of Hearts

(a Terza Rima)

What bastion is proof against her skill--
What vault, what gate, what strong hold can prevail 
When light-fingered Amanda bends her will?

What guard draws breath whom she cannot assail
With just a glance--but what a glance!--those eyes,
Half-hidden depths her curtained lashes veil;

 

Or that come-hither smile she quirks with ease,
Beguiling some night watchman from his post
So she can liberate him of his keys?

And many rich and hopeful man's played host
To this enchanting thief (to his dismay!)
To find she's pilfered what he treasured most.

She takes by night what she has cased by day;
Museums are not safe from her assault
If they flaunt tempting baubles on display.

 
The wall was not erected she can't vault
Should circumstances dictate urgency;
She's find a way, persistent to a fault.

 
The treasures of a dozen centuries
Have drawn Amanda with their flash and fire;
She goes where e'er she likes; takes what she please.

 
The thief of hearts steals all her heart's desire--
So catch her if you can, she's quite a tease!

***

 for Methos:

Reflections in a Glass

(a Shakespearean Sonnet)

I stood on Santorini just at dusk
And watched the color drain into the sea;
It took me back to Thera....Now this husk
Of land is all that's left of memory.

 
I saddled up a roan and rode her out
To gallop o'er the hillsides drenched in sun...
But once I raced across the steppes to flout
My power over life and death--for fun.

 
Cuneiform and hieroglyphs were new
When I carved my graffiti on a span;
Now every bridge abutment sports the view
Of any city sage who sprays a can.

 
Thinking back--  I'd have to say the tops
Would be the day I cultivated hops.

***

for Richie:

On Guard, You Fool

(a Shakespearean Sonnet)

He's cocky, brash, a tabby alley cat
With lives enough for curiosity.
He'll travel far on brains and charm and chat
(Though further yet than even he can see).

His hard, protective shell of impudence
May rub you wrong, but crack it and you'll find
He's loyal to a fault without pretense;
A friend for all time, passionate and kind.

He doesn't always do as he is told--
It's not the way a street kid looks at life--
But in a pinch he'll come through good as gold,
No stranger to the winds of storm and strife.

In tux and tie or racing colors gay:
On guard, you fool--he'll wink your heart away.

--Ellen Shipley

Found My Highlander Poetry

Found my Highlander poetry.  Going thru boxes of papers after our move to Owings Mills.  I'll add them in here.

THL Gunner Von Lichtenburg

 

THL Gunner Von Lichtenburg ~ Spring '23

 

Pantoum for a Warrior

 

A good day dawned for Caid’s warriors’ dance:

Another spin around the tourney field.

A golden eagle sprang from an argent oak

In a cloud of silver dragonflies.

 

Another spin around the tourney field –

All those hopefuls vying for the crown –

In a cloud of silver dragonflies

Strode forth a doughty lord from Lichtenburg.

 

All these hopefuls vying for the crown,

A horseman among them with sword and spear.

Impaled, the doughty lord from Lichtenburg

Sought the healing balm of the oaken bower.

 

The horseman progressed with sword and spear

To battle on; the eagle flapped his wings,

Sought the healing balm of the oaken bower

And rose restored to take the field once more.

 

To battle on the eagle flapped his wings,

Espied a baron from his lofty height

And rose restored to take the field once more

To fight a warrior for the crescent crown.

 

Espied, the baron, in his lofty height

Of golden towers took up the challenge

To fight the eagle for the crescent crown.

Victorious, the Baron Somerset

 

Of golden towers bested the challenger,

Gunner, the hapless lord from Lichtenburg

Who fought a knight and baron for the crown,

Now lying on the cold Caidan ground.

 

Gunner, the hapless lord Von Lichtenburg,

A golden eagle sprung from an argent oak,

Though lying on the cold Caidan ground

Had a good day in Caid’s warriors’ dance.

 

Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

What Churl Has Pluckt ~ Fighter Poem for Andrea

 

Sir Andrea

(ballad)

 

What churl has pluckt the yellow rose

And cast it to the ground,

As if ‘twere but a common weed

And not a fleur renowned?

 

Who was it who did not admire

This prize in full fair bloom,

Who cut it to its tender stalk

And wrought untimely doom?

 

What fellow crushed it’s yellow head—

Tore petals from the boll,

And set them spiraling to earth

Asunder from the whole?

 

Whose foot then trod them in the loam,

As from the field he strolled,

Abandoned with their heady scent

Commingling with the mold?

 

It must have been a loveless soul

To wreak such wanton woe,

For all Caid, ‘tis surely known,

Esteemed Andrea so.

 

--Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

 

Not sure which Crown this was, but it's for Andrea and calls her a yellow rose.  I'm sure I can find it somewhere.  It may be in here already, just don't know what it's called.