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

Duke John at Gwyndaf of Holdingford

Duke John ap Gwyndaf of Holdingford

(Shakespearean Sonnet)

A knight from Holdingford came to Caid

The Crown to win by might and martial skill.

A brace of bears to slay e'er he proceed

To knock a raven from the sky to kill.

Duke John surveyed the field with spirits high,

The ground awash in blood and target rich.

The better to display his skill and ply

His swordsmanship to scratch a Royal itch.

But now the stakes are raised for Holdingford;

The battle of the dukes a mighty fray.

First Mansur drove John to the bloody sward

Then Patrick put paid to John's tourney day.

The Royal fight advanced as day wore on.

Twined rosemary enwreaths another one.

Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...an empty vessel for the Muse

Sir Omar ibn Haroun Al-Askari Al-Rumi

Sir Omar ibn Haroun Al-Askari Al-Rumi
fallen in Spring Crown Tourney, A.S.

(sonnet)

A soldier of the Byzantine set forth

Across the Levant bound for distant lands.

To win a kingdom for his fair Katrin

He braved sirocco winds and burning sands.

Sir Omar crossed snow fields and storm-tossed seas

As foreign to his nature as the stars

That led him ever onward to his goal:

A kingdom he might gift his paramour.

Caid is such a land whose throne is won

By one who bests the best who fight this day.

Beset by Vikings: Snorri, Haldorr, Sven

He bested one, then fell in mortal fray.

No accolades, no wreath of rosemary.

But Omar lives to fight another day.

-- Mistress Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler

...a weaver of words and wadmal.

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

Last Poet Standing - Challenge #2 - Sonnet

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

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

Sir Corwin du Mont - Fighter Poem - Petrarchan sonnet

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

Thomas Blackkeep - Fighter Poem - sonnet

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gilbert Rhys Maclachlan - Fighter Poem - sonnet, acrostic

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.

Spring Breezes - Fighter Poem - sonnet

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...!

Marcel Longueville - Fighter Poem - Petrarchan Sonnet

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

I Wander Sleepless - Sonnet

I wander sleepless, alien to calm
Through ruined hours where late the mad birds sang,
Craving but a drop of healing balm
That slumber would afford my nerves so jangled

By these creatures lacking any sense
Of time or fellow feeling for my plight.
Of shattered dreams, where is my recompense?
Why must they ply their troth all hours of night?

These mockingbirds who mock me with their song--
Devoid of melody, cacophonous--
Can they not see the sun has set? 'Tis wrong
To twitter atonally, as often as

Not. Alas, my night's rest is shot once more.
Tormented by these birds I can't ignore.

--Ellen Shipley

~*~

I wrote this way back in the way back when Will was in grade school and the mockingbirds used to nest in the trees next door (before the neighbor cut down all their trees, the bastard). Will, or Billy then, used to call them car alarm birds, because they could sound just like a car alarm going off...or a watch alarm, or a jack hammer for all I know. Urban mockingbirds. We used to hear their song coming from down the block, each batch of birds repeating the irritating car alarm that was going off somewhere.

Kinda fun to think about -- now, when they aren't plaguing my sleep. The young ones couldn't carry a tune in a bucket when they were first learning to sing. It nearly drove me mad, before I learned to chuckle.