Baron Rudolf Fekter ~ awdl gywyth

Baron Rudolf Fekter
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. L.

(awld gywydd)

Dancing on an errant breeze--

Flit and freeze and dart and play--

Butterfly with iron heart

Come and start your tourney day.

Alejandro hopes to flick

Pesky insect from the field--

Bat and swat and shoo away--

Rudolf stays; Castillo yields.

Amicia has taken hope--

Eric's rope confines her fears

As Sir Mons strides to the fray.

Rudolf sways; Amicia tears.

Sweetest nectar from the flower,

In her bower, Amicia tends

Rudolf's wounds.  His soul takes wing!

A tender thing, his heart mends.

Once more to the eric fly,

Butterfly, and take your stand.

Killian, a trenchant knight,

Wins the fight in battle grand.

Poor, bedraggled butterfly

Made a try for Caid's crown.

Amicia will soothe your brow,

Rest for now; you've gained renown.

— Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

... weaver of words and wadmal.

Fall Crown'15

Lord Duncan Rose ~ englyn penfyr

Lord Duncan Rose

fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. L

A Fox Tale

(englyn penfyr)

Come, sit by the fire’s glow.  Hear a tale

            Of each baleful strike and blow:

            Duncan’s crown tourney tableau.

Pennants gay and flags a drift on the breeze.

            Heralds’ geas on fighers swift:

            Advancing or given shrift.

Isolde in vert and purpure be-garbed,           

            Lady bard with quill a-stir

Is pleased Duncan’s heart to spur.

Sir Artus, Romano-Brit, takes the field.

            Sword and shield help not a whit;

            Duncan’s head is mighty split.

Isolde soothes his brow, knits his sore wounds.

            Ne’er to swoon, she urges grit

            Duncan finds he’s once more fit.

 Duncan stides upon the field.  Eric ‘round

            Hopes abound; fighters' fates sealed.

            Ketill struck and Duncan reeled.

Duncan Rose fell in the fray.  His lady bard

            Heart en garde, lauds him this day.

            Pray tell, what does the fox say?

           

 -- Pippin Skylark

-- always tart and crisp

Fall Crown Tourey '15

            

THLord Gunther of Orkney ~ Will's poem

THLord Gunther of Orkney

fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XLIX

(rondeau prime)

A heart of flame alights in fierce display

Uncanny mirror of the desert sun

That seeks the hour when will and deed are one

And dolphins dip their heads in chief array.

The shade of bold Aquila swiftly plays

Across the spread of fortunes that become

A heart of flame.

Though bending stream and oak your flight constrain

And severed pinions tell of hopes undone

From passion's end shall newborn passions run;

No wounds nor tempered twilight long can stay

A heart of flame.

-- 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.

Spring Crown Tourney'15

Baron Rudolf Fekter

Baron Rudolf Fekter
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S. XLIX

(common measure)

From the land where dragon’s breath                            

Can freeze a man mid-step                                               

Came Rudolf with his sword so bright

The baron of the steppe

To win by prowess for his dear

Amicia a wreath:

Yellow roses of Caid

A kingdom to bequeath.

Niccolo a Landsknecht

And armorer renowned

Tried to repousse Rudolf,

Got hammered to the ground.

Buoy’d by this auspicious start

The baron took the field

To face Liam the son of wolf

But Ulfsson made him yield.

Never one to give it up

Rudolf regained his feet.

With a bow Amicia-ward

He didn’t miss a beat.

Rushing forth to meet a Rus,

Sir Ozmund he was hight,

Rudolf tried his best to win;

Was bested by the knight.

Rudolf’s tourney journey’s done

Amicia wears no cirque.

“Never fear, my dear,” says she

“My love you cannot burke.”

-- Pippin Skylark

...always tart and crisp

Spring Crown Tourney'15

Sir Niccolo d'Angelo

Sir Niccolo d'Angelo
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney A.S.XLIX

(Celtic buried rhyme)

Crown Tourney field is smartly dressed

With pennants gay and raiment grand

As doughty fighters strut and stride

With dauntless pride across the span.

An armorer with lion’s heart

And martial art, Sir Niccolo

Lays hammer down for tools of war

Inured to gore and ructious blow.

A fellow anvil devotee

Agrees to trade him strike for strike.

The battling baron takes the round;

A sound blow brings Niccolo brike.

Retiring to a leafy glen

He’s on the mend with Ciar’s aid;

Once more he strides upon the field

A’wielding arms by fear unswayed.

A plucky knight-to-be skips forth

To show his worth to one and all.

Niccolo strikes a mighty blow!

Lo, Makandro has won the brawl.

Crown Tourney day progressed apace:

The Crescent chase that crowns a prince.

Niccolo met his royal writ:

The spirit of Caid evince.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...weaver of words and wadmal.

Spring Crown Tourney'15

Scarlet Sparhauk

Scarlet Sparhauk

fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXIX

(Englyn Penfyr)

The pegasus paws the ground—takes the sky

            In friendship to vie for crown

            She circles the eric ‘round.

The pegasus spots a boar—sinister

            Blades a-whir midst the roar

            Battle goes to duke of lore.

The pegasus tends her wounds—rests awhile

            A consort’s smile is the boon

            That buoys and spirits attune.

The pegasus strikes a Romano-Brit

            A knight blazoned with chi-rho

            Has laid the pegasus low.

           

The pegasus flutters down—wounded sore

            Her consort in bloodied gown

            Honors her champion’s renown.

           

When pegasus takes the sky—in the spring

            And steel’s ring calls fighters nigh

            Scarlet shall once again vie.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

…weaver of words and wadmal

Fall '14

Sir Gamel of Mottrum ~ fought in Spring Crown Crucible, A.S. XLVIII

Sir Gamel of Mottrum

fought in Spring Crown Crucible, A.S. XLVIII

The Gamboling Gamelyon

(sonnet)

From the land where serpents roam o’er the sea

Where desert siroccos whip up the sand

A dragon-winged lion travelled the land

Answering the call for a battle spree.

Eight were assembled from far-flung Caid:

A fellow knight and two knights soon-to-be;

None were slighted, neither lord nor lady

In this crucible so royally decreed.

The fighting was fierce on the battleground

And Gamel of Mottrum gamboled along

Whacking and thwacking and having a ball.

No better pastime this gamelyon had found,

His spirit soaring, his heart filled with song.

And a raucous good time was had by all.

—Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

... an empty vessel for the Muse

Spring ‘14