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Jubal's Poems
This thread contains most of my poetry and song lyric writing from the past decade, and is still being added to. There's no particular organising principle to it, and most years only have a poem every few months, in quite a range of styles, from the sad to the satirical to the embarrassingly teenage to the ridiculous. At some point I really should sort out a full index of poems, but in lieu of that the below list of years will take you to the first poem written in any given year, from which you can scroll through the thread further and see what else I was writing at that time. I hope you enjoy the read, and please do leave a comment at the end of the thread if you see anything you want to comment on!
2009 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg14926#msg14926)
2010 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg18862#msg18862)
2011 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg24872#msg24872)
2012 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg41434#msg41434)
2013 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg56998#msg56998)
2014 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg70140#msg70140)
2015 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg95497#msg95497)
2016 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg100663#msg100663)
2017 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg114362#msg114362)
2018 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg116761#msg116761)
2019 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg129976#msg129976)
2020 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg136344#msg136344)
2021 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg143031#msg143031)
2022 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg147212#msg147212)
2023 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg150480#msg150480)
2024 (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=536.msg153478#msg153478)
The original first post of the thread is below:
These poems are random msuings on the world and life in general, I'll post ones realted to something in particular in a different thread.
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This first one is a few years old now, prolly from 06 or 07, can't remember. I worte it about being a nerd/geek (hence neek). If anyone spots the tangential Dylan reference (Bob Dylan, not Dylan Thomas) I will be impressed.
The Neek
Flashing digits.
On a keyboard, on a screen,
Free in his own world,
Free on his own turf,
On his own terms.
His creation is launched
On a never-ending journey
Into Cyberspace.
Then It is gone.
A frail form battered into a swivel chair,
A mountainous pile of books lies at his side,
Rows of teddies’ eyes stare down from shelves and from the bed,
A stuffed toy looks to the ceiling as if it had died,
His mind rests not on worldly things,
What’s ‘cool’ what’s ‘in’ he doesn’t care,
But stare
Right past the vacuums of his pixellated eyes,
Into the freedom of his mind,
And the infinity beyond,
You will see
An untamed wilderness,
Wilder than his hair,
A place where he can roam,
Unfenced and unchained.
Flashing digits.
On a keyboard, on a screen,
A world of digits,
A digital world,
The world of a Neek.
My world.
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I like it ... Especially this part :
"A place where he can roam,
Unfenced and unchained."
Good old computer... The only place where you can be completely free and pretend to be the God
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Thanks. Yea, the internet is a place which I think makes people very different.
I wrote this today, just thinking about someone, and then wrote it. Lang is a bit old-style, but I like it that way. The "fresh and rosy-fingered dawn" is an Odyssey reference by the way.
Swanwing
The fresh and rosy-fingered dawn caught me;
I was ensnared by the beauty of the light.
The cold light of dawn that lit my weary face
Turned thine to a miracle of elegance and grace
The beauty of the sun, and the envy of the night.
Was it thy grace that sent my head thus whirling?
The ochre locks of thy hair so free
Thy voice that into mine head crept
The thoughts I had; the times I wept
Are still turning in my mind, and drawing me to thee.
Upon my face dwells no such noble visage;
Outwardly I am unlovely to behold
Although we two may think as one
When I leave thee, from your mind I am gone
But in mine thou stay, more fair than fine-spun gold.
My mind shall dwell upon thee ever;
Its fevered thoughts cannot now turn away
And still I hear your voice so blessed
Yet I cannot to thee confess
That in my mind thou art, for ever and a day.
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My third poem for this thread is utterly wierd beyond belief. It's not entitled Mind Roaming for nothing... I wrote it a couple of months ago.
Mind Roaming
In a tavern,
In a an alley,
In a town somewhere,
There’s a man chained up behind a wall that isn’t there.
His mind is hidden in a storm of sleet…
In a backroom,
In a rat-trap,
In a backwards street,
There’s a man lying there in chains.
Behind a glass brick wall,
A façade of ice,
If he wants to stay alive he knows he has to pay the price,
But the sad thing is…
I know that man’s in pain.
And he dreams of…
A castle,
On a mountain
On a great back crag,
Where the dragons and the gryphons all just started taking scag,
Because the knights are dead and gone,
In the castle,
In the tower,
In an unlit cell where day and night are one,
There’s the last romantic lying looking down on the world from above…
Behind a glass brick wall,
A façade of ice,
If he wants to stay complete he knows he has to pay the price,
But the sad thing is…
I know that man’s in love.
And he thinks of…
A princess,
In a palace,
In the centre of the realm,
A girl in a world that’s covered by the press,
Because the realm outside’s unable,
To see her bedroom,
Like a cellblock,
Nothing but a bed and table.
And the girl’s surrounded by cameras and maids….
Behind a glass brick wall,
A façade of ice,
If she wants to stay on top she knows she has to pay the price,
But the sad thing is…
I know that girl’s afraid.
In a classroom,
At a desk,
In a secondary school,
Where the foolish man is wise, and wisdom makes a fool,
And the people forgot how to dream,
On a pile of paper,
In a pair of old young eyes,
There’s a mind that can see things that aren’t as they seem,
And a roaming idea waiting to be free,
Behind a glass brick wall,
A façade of ice,
If I want to stay around I know I’ve got to pay the price,
But the sad thing is…
The sad thing is…
I know that man is me.
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Naelian
iea Estarrioe oetoe;
ouranael, oni esta.
astumavale oni;
oetoe Lahoie irtar.
-
Just wrote this.
A Wind-Dream
I dream
Of catching the whistling wind
That whirls through the treetops
Buffeting and tossing the oak leaves
And swaying the branches.
I dream
Of the whirling, twirling leaves
Catching in your hair
And then pulling free
Onwards along the breeze.
I dream
Of your wondrous eyes
Enigmatic, shining and bright
The radiant sun kept within
Trapped, to shine upon the world.
I dream
Of nothing at all
But a wet and windswept wilderness
The place where I can almost dream
That I could speak with you freely.
I dream
Because I know in the end
That nothing can bring me solace
That I am not worthy
That my heart quests in vain.
I dream
Of you...
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Wrote this sitting in a tent.
Breeze of Misfortune
Like the pennants of a doomed battalion
That fluttered in the last wind of freedom;
I see your hair flying in the breeze
The greatest, deepest treasure of a hidden kingdom.
The wind moves with the flow of time
It moves our weariness on each day;
Yet still it takes all or it take nothing
My dreams and wishes blown away.
I will never know the joy of speaking freely of my thoughts
I shall never tell you how I clearly, truly feel;
Ne'er let you realise I wrote this lost and wistful poem
Forgotten name, forgotten dream, a hope that was not real.
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You are a great poet... Maybe you should find some agency to publish some of your songs :)
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I just get poems in my head and write them down, sometimes they come out good.
Most of my recent output has been at the love-poem end of the spectrum (girl I like, obviously doesn't like me, so what else to do but write poems?).
I should try and get a bit more normal poetry done maybe.
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Last thoughts
The guilt comes creeping
A whisper at the door
A gnawing at the floorboards
A subtle finger on the latch.
The guilt. Speaking.
The voice of ghosts gone by
The thoughts of lost pharaohs
And the faces of the dead.
The guilt is breathing
Taking your breath for its own
Feeding on your memories
The last gasps of your dying love.
The guilt will follow
And find you waking
And find you sleeping
Until
In the end
You surrender to despair.
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Paved with good intentions
"Was this the last stand?"
The ealdorman thought,
As he rallied his men
For the journey to hell.
The muskets were blazing
The sabres were flashing
The guns pounded out
The men's funeral knell.
For god and for country
For family and king,
For friend or for brother.
They died as one regiment,
Man by man by man,
One, then another.
Then another.
Another
Another
Another
Another soul trudging the long road to the banks of the Styx.
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You are a poem writing machine xD .... No seriously, I like your songs very much and i think that you are a great poem writer
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More! More! More!
And these come into your head...
WOW!
Never knew it.
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A falling shadow...
I see shadows fall
across the darkling road
I see darkness draped
over the last house in the town.
I have seen what men can do
I have seen what they have done
To hear the sound of pike and shot
To see the foe and turn and run
I see shadows fall
across the darkling road
I see darkness draped
over the last house in the town.
There are faces in the mud
There are mothers weeping still
Will you remember the noise and blood?
I have been there; I always will.
I see shadows fall
across the darkling road
I see spirits soar
and people who I thought I knew.
I see shadows fall
across the darkling road
And what other man
What other man
Will bear this dead men's load?
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The Waiting Cloud
The clouds darken the horizon.
Harbingers of thunder and bright death.
Oh, foolish world below
Foolish life clinging on to a ball of rock
In the vast emptiness of the universe.
Each tree, each beast, is at the whim of fickle nature
Even if it knows it not.
The clouds remain though
Ready to give the rain that life needs
And as ready to strike the ground and take it away
As the thunder gets closer.
I, standing here.
Of a species too weak to kill, too slow to flee
Evolution's afterthought
And yet masters of a constructed fantasy
Man expands himself onto his world
And his loves and lives
Desires and dreams
Are painted
Across the world on which he lives.
That battered ball of rock
Hurtling through space
And he believes.
Believes in his triumph
Believes in his victory
And he hopes
Hopes for a future
Hopes for a better life ahead.
In his arrogance, he is lord of the universe.
But it is only the universe of his belief.
His power seems to extend forever
But the clouds sit on the horizon
Brooding
Waiting
And ever ready to prove him wrong once more.
-
Crowds
In a crowd
All are together
United
One cause
And yet, in an inescapable way
Alone
Behind the cries of joy
Shouts of anger
Screams of grief
There are people
Silent thought drift through red mists
Each to their own
Each to themselves
And
At last
Alone.
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Shoes
What do shoes show us?
The footsteps of a wandering monk
The frayed laces of a Londn urchin
The worn soles of a favelador.
What do they mean?
The paths we have travelled
The memories of feet long gone
The first step to a distant star
What can we learn?
The pain and blisters of a long-harried messenger
The firm tread of a marching warrior
The piles upon piles of the shoes of the dead.
Who were they?
The small-footed yong and the bloat-footed old
The gallant young hero, the merchant, the nurse
And all of their shoes lie in the high walls of dread.
A bump against the neck
A person gone
Another shoe's journey's end.
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Suzanna's Song
Do you need a friend?
Follow that road, I'll tell you why;
There's a friendly face there
Who will gather up the air
And lift your soul to the sky.
And when at times I find I'm down,
Suzanna comes to talk me round.
And when the road is getting tough
Her kind remarks are praise enough.
Are you broken on the trail?
Find Suzanna, and lift your feet
Though your boots may be lead
And your will be dead
You'll be running again after you meet.
And when at times I find I'm down,
Suzanna comes to talk me round.
And when the road is getting tough
Her kind remarks are praise enough.
Is it all too much?
Fly away from Calvary, leave the past behind
And find your strength again
When the bell tolls in the rain
And see the light, stop being blind
And when at times you find you're down,
Suzanna will come to talk you round.
And when the world's destroying you
Suzanna will help you too.
-
Night
The day is the story of our world.
Vivid.
Bright.
The unruly and wild sun beating down
Or the cold rains of winter shining in their leap to earth.
But after that?
A soft blaket begins to envelop the wolrd
Blotting out the night
And pulling us from the madness of our lives
I am still there in those darkling hours
Restless but resting
Trying to forget
To forget
To forget
The day, and the ills of the day
And the painful memories of the light.
Then. In the night.
In the day
There is shouting, fighting, anger,
Narrowed, jabbing eyes
That are softened by the night
And closed.
So then, in the whispering minutes
The wolrd turns to me
And the roads are paved with silver
The people are bold and unafraid
The trees sway in a wavering wind
And all the blossom falls in a whirlwind of white.
Then.
In the darkness
Of the night.
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The Rising Sun
The high and heavy branches
Are moving in the breeze
Like a newborn, silent owlet
I look down from broadleaved trees.
And my silent eyes look
To the dew-covered grass
And the birdsong, in the rising sun
Can find me peace at last
In the sun
The rising sun.
There are cygnets on the shining lake
Cotton cloudlets in the air
Blackberry flowers bloom gleaming white
There are oak-leaves in my hair
And my silent eyes look
To the dew-covered grass
And the birdsong, in the rising sun
Can find me peace at last
In the sun
The rising sun.
I look up from my old oak-branch
To the swifts that rule the sky
The sunbeams warm me like your smile
And I want to spread my arms to fly
But my silent eyes look
To the dew-covered grass
So the birdsong, in the rising sun
Can find me peace at last
In the sun
The rising sun.
We'll never sit on branches
That are swaying in the breeze
Never huddle up like young birds
And listen to the trees
So my silent eyes look
Past the glittering mere
And your face, in my mind's eye
Can show me why I'm here
In the sun
The rising sun.
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The guilt is breathing
Taking your breath for its own
Feeding on your memories
The last gasps of your dying love.
That is so true its amazing. All of that poem is tbh.
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hmm does poetry have to be depressing to be a masterpiece?
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Hell no, I tend to wirte depressing crap but nonsense poetry can be just as masterful if not more so.
Jabberwocky, the Jumblies, and other such poems are awesome.
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Fighting on
So why? Why? Why? Why?
I'm feeling pretty down today,
The world got up and span away,
It left me shivering in space
The sunlight cold upon my face
And nothing but nothing beneath my feet.
So why am I here? Why?
To fight, to fight the long defeat.
I looked out over the egret's lake
Ran to the water to find it was fake
The trees were plastic, the bushes too
The flowers were dead, devoid of dew
The people were all happy and upbeat
So why was I here? Why?
To fight, to fight the long defeat.
The last time I ever saw your eyes
I knew that something had to die
I couldn't chain down my flying soul
I couldn't drag you from your social role
And so we couldn't ever really meet
So why did I try? Why?
To fight, to fight the long defeat.
If your aims can't be met
If your life's another gamble
That's a sure loser's bet
In a sliding downhill scramble
Then all you can ever do
Is fight on until you lose
And fight for every yard
Til they come down so hard
That you get beat.
And finish up the long defeat.
No-one's got a song to sing
No-one thinks the kindly King
Will ever find his shining seat
So why does he try? Why?
To fight, to fight the long defeat.
The soldier in the wartime zone
His weapon is a mobile phone
Every person's happy now
Everyone soul is dead or cowed
And I went with the fleet
To sail the seas
To roam the breeze
And fight the last defeat.
Fight the last
The lost and damned
Fight the foe
I'm never gonna beat
And fight
And fight
And fight
And fight
And fight the long defeat.
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Winter's Child
A child looked out
On wars of frost
And pillared towers
Of icy cold.
To see a small face
Staring back
From sparkling jails
With bars of gold.
He stepped outside
And took his knife
But all was chill
And all was bare
And in that waste
He lost his life
Searching for that
Face so fair.
And will this world
E'er wet and thaw
And free the young
To walk fearless and bold?
And will that child
Ever see my eyes
Staring back
From sparkling jails
With bars of gold?
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Okay, some spoof songs of mine.
The first is to the tune of "Will ye no come back again?"
Will ye no use MSN?
Bonnie geeks are noo awa'
Safely powerin up the mains,
Will ye link up with them all
Will ye use your MSN?
Will ye no use MSN?
Will ye no use MSN?
Send your pics and files tae me
Nice and quick on MSN.
Ye trusted in yer nerdy men
They trusted ye to Facebook them
They know of course when ye're online
They can check your MSN.
Will ye no use MSN?
Will ye no use MSN?
Change yer status or PP,
Be yourself on MSN.
We watched thee in thy busy hour
On Mercury we saw ye stay
Offline, through a software bug
That says "invisible" clear as day
Will ye no use MSN?
Will ye no use MSN?
Even if it's not as good as Mercury,
We still all have MSN.
Will ye no use MSN?
Will ye no use MSN?
We will bug you constantly
'Til you use your MSN.
To the tune of Grease is the word...
A PC for Nerds
I troubleshoot problems
And I check the light
We gotta plug & play
Feed the leads in alright.
There is a chance that this PC could go far
If we re-wire it now
And see what the issues are
We're PC nerds.
A PC for nerds,
It's got Access and Word,
A VDU that needs cleaning.
Resetting the time, setting programs in motion
It can affect how we're feeling.
They think that Excel's just a growing pain
Why don't they understand that it's a crying shame.
Clippit is lying, only docx is real,
We'll just press Start right now
And we can run what we feel,
We're PC nerds.
A PC for nerds,
It's got Access and Word,
A VDU that needs cleaning.
Resetting the time, setting programs in motion
It can affect how we're feeling.
Is this bug an illusion?
The help doesn't work
And I'm filled with confusion
What's this button here?
A PC for nerds (it's for nerds) (just for nerds) (just for nerds)....
-
J'attend l'amour
Which face is yours,
That I am searching for?
Which hair flows over fair shoulders
Which eyes look back to my nervous glances?
J'attend l'amour, my faithful friend,
J'attend la femme,
My friend, a love.
J'attend, j'attend, j'attend
J'attend l'amour.
Why do I walk through swaying reeds,
And watch the birds
And see the clouds
And never go to the world of men?
To gaze away to a world alive,
With the wind in my hair,
And you at my side,
But who am I speaking to?
J'attend l'amour, my faithful friend,
J'attend la femme,
My friend, a love.
J'attend, j'attend, j'attend
J'attend m'amour.
The concrete and flashing lights
The blocked and trapped life
Of a world I can never enter
Whoever lives there.
So will you come to the blackberry fields with me
And sweep away your past life with the will to be free?
Can we both look out over fields of gold,
From the boughs of a tree, so stately and old,
And with your head on my shoulder
We'll watch the living world go by
As the ants-nest young people
In concrete cities
Grow older
And die.
J'attend l'amour, my faithful friend,
J'attend la femme,
My friend, a love.
J'attend, j'attend, j'attend
J'attend m'amour.
And in the end
Is forever for eternity?
The life of immortality
Is the wish to be part of the world.
Ozymandias has looked over the fall of New York,
And the Pyramids have outlasted the Towers of Trade
And if man is to kill off his own living land
He shall murder himself with his own drunken hand.
And still I walk through swaying reeds,
But back over the road to my old home and creed,
And stepping up to an old wooden door,
And I still wait; J'attend l'amour.
J'attend l'amour, my faithful friend,
Et j'attend toi,
My friend, my love.
J'attend, j'attend, j'attend
J'attend toi
Toi, m'amour.
-
Sides of the Wall
What have I got to lose?
Everything.
What've I got to gain?
Everything.
As I see your smile
And I feel my pain
Is it worth the trial
Is it worth the gain?
You're on the other side of the wall...
So everything's on both sides of the wall
Everything's on both sides of the wall
Everything's on both sides of the wall.
What am I searching for?
Everything.
What have I got to look in?
Everything.
The mountain spires of high Bhutan
The streets of New Orleans
The garden of old Babylon
The English pastures green
And all cut up by endless walls...
So can we travel over the wall?
Everything's on both sides of the wall
Everything's on both sides of the wall.
What can people show us?
Everything.
What have people got to find out?
Everything.
The Jew who scribed a holy scroll,
The galley slaves on quinquiremes,
The man who killed and killed his soul,
The man who stood and had a dream
Staring through invisible walls...
So can we break down this wall?
Everything's on both sides of the wall
Everything's on both sides of the wall.
Can we do it?
Can we do it?
Can we break down this wall?
Everything's on both sides of the wall
Everything's on both sides of the wall.
Everything's on both sides of the wall
Everything's on both sides of the wall.
-
Many excellent poems here, Jubal. I'm more in favour of poetry that rhymes, normally, but I like these as well. :)
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I sometimes write rhyming stuff, but often I just write blank verse as it comes into my head.
-
Let Us In
A silent prayer from a darkened cave
Where lions prowled and crept around
A crack of light shone down from above
He cried to the sun with a last mourning sound;
"I've committed no crime
Let my punishments cease
In the vastness of time
I can find you your peace
In the end, in the end
All you've got to do is let me in...
Let me in."
A woman in a cold stone cell
In tower high in Burgundy
From the parapet she fell
And thus she lost her fight to be free
She'd done nothing ill
But fight for her land
The glory of France
Was restored by her hand;
In the end, in the end
All they had to do was let her in...
Let her in.
A naked child in the winter's chill
A pit of blood and fear and death
A bump against the neck, a kill
A fall, a gasping final breath.
Just one among millions
Another lost face
In the desperate struggle
Of the whole human race
In the end, in the end
All we could have done was let them in...
Let them in.
I'm watching as you celebrate
In dance and mirth and flowing love
From cave to cell to Birkenau
The outcasts saw the holy dove
I drank the poisoned cup
I served my long years
To you my soul I offer up
Can you bring me from my fears?
In the end, in the end
All you've got to do is let me in...
Let me in.
Please, oh please, just let me in...
Let me in,
Let me in.
-
Great stuff. :)
-
The Caged Bird
There's a bird in a cage
It's a bird that I love
It's not a great eagle
Or a wren, or a dove
There's a bird in a cage
And it longs to be free
But if I should free it
Will it come back to me?
I lifted the latch,
Threw open the bars,
And like a long-suffering pilgrim
It flew to the stars.
It sang to the emperors
It charmed a princess
It sang in Cathay
And it sang to Queen Bess
And the Princess, called Kate,
Gave it drink from a bowl
And some seed from a plate
(It ate all the seeds whole)
And that beautiful bird,
With its cello-like song
Forgot the small house
Where I waited so long
There's a bird that is free
And I just have the cage
With its small golden key
And I sit here and age
For my bird has left me
I won't cry or weep now, my little birdie;
I hope that you're happy, wherever you be.
-
Lovely poem there. :)
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IF DIE WE MUST
The man walked out of his house one day
And watched his family fleeing away
Was he palest white?
Was he Muslim or Jew?
Was he black as the night?
I couldn't tell you.
But he saw the rockets in the sky
And he saw the guns, saw his family die
And he turned to me, as we stood on that hill,
And sang me his song: I remember it still...
"If die we must
And if we must weep
We shall stand here and fall
While the world is asleep
If die we must
Shall we die on our feet?
Is there any last glory?
No - there is but defeat."
He talked of death and he talked of life
Of Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith
Of the lost broken men
Who knew they were through
And still - even then -
Stood before you.
But the lives of the people that die every week
The bold and the fearless, the feeble and meek
Are the pawns in a game of man against men
Where the winner must lose, and the loser is slain.
"If die we must
For some foreign belief
For some stranger's ideal
For another lord's fief
If die we must
We die for no-one;
We do not need to lose
To the point of a gun."
The man walked away down the streets of Tehran;
He looked back up towards Madrid;
He turned to Cape Town
And then to Petrograd
To Tianamen Square
To a bombed-out Baghdad.
For the man who died in that forgotten land
Died not by any soldier's hand
But his killers were us - the world looking on
And not lifting a finger until all is gone.
"If die we must"
His voice echoes still
From the halls of mind
Comes his face, soft and still;
"If die we must
Then we don't have a place
In the suffering struggle
Of this cursed human race."
-
Mercutio's Lament
(Dedicated to Miss Katherine Backler)
In Verona cemetery one day
Gone to lay some flowers on my father's tomb
I saw a man by a fine stone grave
His face was full of deepest gloom.
I stepped towards that marble stone
To see who merited such grief
To find what kind of man it was
To whom death had been such a thief.
He was a dancer, talker,
Moonlight walker,
And this the stone did show;
He was Mercutio.
He lived a man of merry wit
Of poise and laughter, life and light;
And this saddened face that I had seen
Remembered his glory, life, and might.
He was a wordsmith, fighter,
Heart-fire's lighter,
And his deeds did spark and glow;
He was Mercutio.
But in the mad hot days, so bright
Two houses fought, and he stood tall;
But bright blades crossed, and he was lost
To rest behind a churchyard wall.
He was proud and passionate,
Merry and fair,
And even in his overthrow,
He was Mercutio.
Plaguing two houses with his death
A torch fell dim; a bell unrung
And as he fell to being worm's meat
A final dirge was left unsung.
None could forget him,
Boldest of men.
And thus all must miss him so;
Miss this god,
This merry sprite,
Mercutio.
-
A Window in my Mind
Get up
Feel fine
The world
Is mine
Look out
I find
I'm trapped
In my own mind
From the high mountain passes
To the rolling sea
From the deepest caverns
To the broad oak tree
I look out the window
Out the window,
Out the window.
I look out the window
To be free.
Concrete
And steel
Is this
Place even real?
These words
They say
Mean nothing
To me today
There's nothing left of bravery
And love's river's run dry.
The flower's dead of chivalry
And it's time for hope to die...
But I look out the window
Out the window,
Out the window.
I look out the window
To be free!
-
Good stuff! I love all three. You write very poignant works.
-
Today and Tomorrow
Now is the time
When words shall speak louder than guns
When fingers on a keyboard shall topple Empires
When each nation puts the reporter above the statesman
When the news of war is of greater import than the outcome.
Now is the time
When the fractured world shall pull ever closer to falling
When the work of one man can bring the ruin of thousands
When the bombs fly and the fear spreads
Now is the time when the hate comes.
So what of tomorrow?
Tomorrow shall be the day
When human voices shall drown out the bombings
When a bright dawn shall arise over Kabul
When the faces, black and white, shall look on each other in pure wonder
When the reign of humans shall end, and the reign of humanity shall begin.
I shall be there
I shall be singing
I shall be standing in the sun-trail
I shall be laughing in the brighness of a new day!
-
Siren Song
I thought my thoughts were almost gone
Nothing left to grab and hang on
Bitter at the faithless dove
I thought my life was almost through
I looked for a way out of love
But you...
You're like a siren,
Singing through to me.
Like a lighthouse,
Shining out to sea.
Like a lullaby, sending me to sleep
To dream of you and me.
Some say words will hurt me sore
Or gun, or sword, or lion's roar.
Or even mighty dragon's teeth
And not a word of it is true.
Nothing pierces my skin
But you...
You're like a siren,
Singing through to me.
Like a lighthouse,
Shining out to sea.
Like a lullaby, sending me to sleep
To dream of you and me.
Just like a siren,
Singing through to me.
Like a lighthouse,
Shining out to sea.
Like a lullaby, sending me to sleep
To dream of you
Just you
And me.
-
The Road to Magalie
(Dedicated to Miss Maggie Bridge)
I walked one day to Magalie
Where that place is I cannot say;
I crossed a bridge to get there though,
For Magalie is far away.
I crossed a bridge to Magalie,
I met a maiden standing there.
She had a strange and wistful smile,
A mane of wondrous gold-thread hair.
"You're on a road to Magalie"
She didn't even look away
Just stared down to the river sea
That glinted in the early day.
"I was told to go to Magalie
To find what I was searching for
And until I come to Magalie
I shan't returnto my own home door"
She looked me in the eye right then
With eyes of azure, winter blue;
"I doubt you'll get to Magalie
Unless it wants to get to you."
We talked a while, and laughed a while
Gazing down or to the furthest shore
Until I'd found a fine new friend,
And thought I wanted nothing more.
But then dawn came upon the bridge
And Magalie still seemed far away;
I bade my friend well, and put on my boots
And stepped into the fresh, new day.
As I stepped off the bridge to Magalie
I looked right back with a mournful cry
Realising I'd found Magalie;
And in my haste had passed her by.
-
Cello
(Dedicated to Ellie Bishop and Tom Isaac, for making their music)
Shivering at the light touch of a finger.
Throbbing in motion
Emotion moves them, for it is emotion
Behind the human
Behind the hand
Behind the bow.
And so they sing. Strings, singing.
A choir to captivate a choir
A cry of pain or the soft talk of lovers
Captured in the strings.
And the strings do not stay silent.
Praying to the angels
The gentlest hand moves them far from human reason.
If one were to do as Odysseus' men
And block up one's ears to that siren call
Perhaps then would be seen the beauty of the cellist
Benath the columned grace of a concert hall.
Perhaps then the soft smile would draw you in
And wish your heart stood behind a wall.
But no, but no, alas, but never;
For there is nothing there but the bow on the string
The fingers moving, pale in the light.
And - oh, gods! - the music.
Just the strings
And their music
And me.
-
A Kakapoem
(Dedicated to all Kakapoes, past, present and future)
I wandered in the summer rain
I saw a bird who looked at me
And so I looked at him again
And he jumped down from a tall forest tree.
And the bird didn't fly off, but walked
And so, that bird and I, we talked.
A parrot he was, and large at that
He strode along the leaf-strewn ground
He looked like Cardigan (without the hat)
And boomed to his mate with a long, lonely sound
He sat in a hollow and made it his own
And looked o'er the valley, his state to bemoan.
The Kakapo just made a sigh;
There's too few left for when I die
Though I boom all day, and though I try
There's too few mates, I say; oh, my!
"A thousand of us once strode here
Until the rats and rodents came
And all of us lived a hundred years
And feared no foe, for all were tame.
But now there's men and sharp-clawed beasts
And for them Kakapoes are well-killed feasts"
"Kakapo", I stand and cry
"Kakapo, why don't you fly?
Kakapo, take to the sky!
Or, Kakapo... you might die."
"My bones are heavy, my wings too small
I cannot leap into the air
Just try and hide among the leaves long and tall
And hide in my long-lost forested lair
For as man has come to these islands here
The Kakapoes have lost out, year by year."
Kakapo, since you cant fly
Let us sit and wistfully watch the sky
As planeloads of humans go cruising by
And the last of the Kakapoes die.
-
An Atheist's Prayer
Christmases come, and Christmases go;
Still, the same Christmas.
People come, and people go;
And yet people, alas, never change.
The world comes, though, and goes, and turns and moves.
The world changes.
And so god
If there was ever god
Looked away
And so this is my prayer.
This december, this month
A child will be born near Bethlehem
And they will be living in a world
Of bomb and rocket and fatwa and death
And I pray that that child will live to see a better world.
But god
If there was ever god
Looked away
And so this is my prayer.
The snows of winter will melt
On the icecaps, and a cub, meek and mild
Will look up at its mother
And its mother will have nothing to feed it
And no-one will take that young beast and flee to better lands
And no-one will bring it gifts
So I pray that my children's world will still the have animals in that mine did
But god
If there was ever god
Looked away
And so this is my prayer.
From the east there came no wise men, in this day in this age
For they were in jails and prisons
In cells and in graves
And the gold was spent on guns
And the frankincense smelt like rotten flesh
And the myrrh was discarded, too little for too many.
I pray that wisdom will prevail
I pray that wisdom will prevail
That the madness will end
That wisdom will prevail
But god
For there never was god
Stood still
And so this is my prayer.
My lost and damned prayer
My howl to the blizzard
This is an atheist's prayer.
My prayer.
The world's future.
Amen.
-
The Most Beautiful Word
And look!
Here you are another night
Stepping across dream-clouds
Mind-warps, time-waves
Until you're gone with the light.
And hear!
Sounds like your voice once more
Speaking through thought-haze
Singing with my song
'til it fades with the dawn.
Looks like I've fallen to yearning
Your smile and a long look of trust.
I think that I'm finally learning
The most beautiful word is us.
So feel
Feels like our embrace again
Two people trying to be one
Eyes like deep gem-wells
Hugging tight in the rain.
And think
Hands twisting into finger-knots
Glances quick and smiles slow
The taste of something wonderful
Wishing for time that time forgot.
Looks like I've fallen to yearning
Your smile and a long look of trust.
I think that I'm finally learning
The most beautiful word is us.
The most beautiful word is us.
-
Snow Days
Ice covered treetops
Snow filled deep ditches
Snowflakes like fairies
Sledges like witches
Dancing in waltz-whirls
The snow glides to earth
The blackbirds that huddle
And nurture their girth
Snowdrift and snowmelt
And bust pipes and cars
A nation in snowfreeze
- thank god that it's ours.
The children that laugh loud
And throw snowballs too
The pale quiet treetops
And me, thinking of you.
-
The Beacons
Yesterday
They lit the beacons again
Along the wall where they once were
A thousand years and half again
Ago.
Yesterday
People came to the wall once more
They did not need the Empire; the Empire had gone
They did not need the soliders; for they were dead and buried
They did not need the wall; for the wall was in ruins
But the people were there.
The people could light the beacons.
The people did not change.
Tomorrow
We may look at a darker earth
Where danger lurks and people suffer
And death is as bitter as painful birth
And we are alone.
Tomorrow
People will need to light their hopes again
They do not need a nation; the nations are failing
They do not need an army; the guns are useless
They do not need to hate; for hate breeds hate
They just need themselves.
The people can light the beacons.
The people, still, can look to the light.
Hope remains.
-
Three Bridges
The remains of broken bridges stand in front of me today,
And the world that they connected stands to fall in disarray,
The dark clouds roll and the long rivers swell
And the sound of breaking bridges
Pulls us onwards into hell.
A bridge once hung over gorges deep
With great iron chains to hold it fast
And even when the planks were gone
The bridge was fought over as a base for future planks
And a country's future.
But did anyone win, at the last?
There was a path among seven hills
That led across the waters deep
It stood proud for the work of an Empire
But when the Empire was gone, the bridge fell
Until it led to nowhere.
And so the past falls, in time, to sleep.
I looked out then on tarmac'd streets,
And longshoremen in work-filled calm
Yet none of them dared to be themselves,
And when one did the law and justice fought
Nobody won
But I mourn the villain still, with a certain... alarm.
The remains of broken bridges stand in front of me today,
And the world that they connected stands to fall in disarray,
The dark clouds roll and the long rivers swell
And the sound of breaking bridges
Of man and mundus breaking bridges
The sound of breaking bridges
Must be heard... so mark it well.
---------------------
Challenge to the reader: can you work out which bridges they are? :P
-
A Bloody Awful Day In Norfolk
I walked down the fenland track
And met a man coming the other way.
Both hooded
Both booted
On a normal Norfolk day.
The rain pattered down
Bringing life from above
And drawing life upwards
To the newly wet mud
And the raindrops hung from the laden trees
Like pearl earrings.
The mud oozed under my feet
Trickles of black gold
From which trees grow
In which the multitude of life exists
From which the riches of the fen were gained.
And the trees stood around me
Like the pillars of nature's cathedral
Ancient, unfeeling,
Immune to the petty cares of man.
And for their strength
And their reality
They were beautiful.
The reed-beds whispered
In the Norfolk wind
Which bit my face a little
And then whisked onwards
Windswept horses stood in the distance
Wind-tossed buds shook on the bushes
I looked at the other man again
And all I heard him say was this:
"It's a bloody awful day in Norfolk".
-
Shouldn't you be revising instead of writing poems?
-
Shouldn't you be revising instead of commenting on them? :P
-
Making them probably takes longer than commenting on them :D
-
The Norfolk poem is awesome, and I love 'The Most Beautiful Word'. Great poetry, Jubal. :)
-
Thanks! I'll get back to it once exams are over hopefully, the GCSE system is crushing my latent creativity. :ermm:
-
Thoughts About People
Some see red, and some see blue
Some see black, and some see white
Some the sun and some the moon
Some the day and some the night
Are the people we know
The people we think we know?
Do we only know
Our own ideas of the people that come and go?
If I imagined another, could they be real?
Are the ideas in my head as human to me as the living bodies that think and feel?
Some are soldiers, some are priests
Some are dark and some are fair
Some from west and some from east
Some from here and some from there.
Are the dreams we are shown
A mirror on reality, or reality of our own?
Is what make us us our will to create?
Do we know more than the mere whim of fate?
You, the reader, may be evil or just
But to know that I know you I have only trust.
You are fey and you are wise
You are foolish, you are calm
You clean my doubt with shining eyes
We will keep each other safe from harm.
-
The Fairy
The Queen of Faery followed me,
Through wood and hill and greenwood tree.
The Queen of Faery followed me,
And bounded through my dreams...
She wore a dress of purest white,
And stood on a hill in the morning light.
She wore a dress of purest white,
With pure swan-feather seams.
She looked at me with an ice-cold glance,
And whirled me round in a desperate dance.
She looked at me with an ice-cold glance,
And shook her hair in bright sunbeams.
I tried to run away for good,
But only found a darker wood.
I tried to run away for good,
But I was bound by her beautiful schemes.
So what can we two do, my dear,
When she is close and you not near?
And will I, waking, ever find,
Queen Mab, the ruler of my mind?
-
A few nursery rhymes, updated in the light of the comprehansive spending review:
Baa Baa Black Sheep
Baa baa, black sheep, have you any wool?
No, sir, no sir; DEFRA* took it all.
Some to test for skin mites
And find out who to blame
And more to sue the farmer with his petting farm AGAIN.
* UK govt. Department for the Environment, Food, and Rural Affairs
Humpty Dumpty
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,
All the king's men looked quite sorry and said
"Our budget's been cut," then they left him for dead.
Hey Diddle Diddle
Hey diddle diddle, the taxes were fiddled,
The banks were over the moon.
The chancellor laughed to see such fun;
Hurrah that it's bonus time soon!
The Grand Old Duke of York
The Grand old Duke of York had lost a thousand men
He marched them up into Lashkar Gah
Then his funds were cut again.
When they were cut, they were cut
Equipment was down, it was down
They had no boots nor guns nor tanks
So they got run out of town.
-
You were scratching a little with Grand Old Duke of York weren't you? :)
Just kidding, its all really good. Especially the Beacons. I have to ask, Rome Total War or King Arthur?
-
There was an event a year or two ago where people re-lit beacons right along Hadrian's Wall. Rather epic. :)
-
Heh, I like them. Nice work!
-
There was an event a year or two ago where people re-lit beacons right along Hadrian's Wall. Rather epic. :)
Aaah I see. Nice. ;)
-
Why I Am Mad
A lot of folk write poems
About death and war and love
And how the stars watch over them
From darkened skies above.
They say they're like the sunlight
A swan, a dove, the moon
That flies and dances gracefully
And finds its lover soon.
It's all in one direction,
A path to Timbuktu,
Where fate guides people ever on,
They think they find the truth.
However.
I
d
o
n
o
t
t
h
i
n
k
l
i
k
e
m
o
s
t
p
e
o
p
l
e
.
So I will not say I am like the sunlight.
Or a dove.
Or the moon.
Instead I will say
That I am like a manatee playing an occarina.
Unsightly.
Ridiculous.
Impossible.
But brilliant.
-
The Metal Angel
There wasn't much left;
It was almost too late.
The gunfire ever rattled on,
The cries of bitter hate.
Bursting forth from clear skies,
With desert sand below,
And ragged people fighting for
Our ruler's overthrow.
Dishevelled and defeated,
We didn't stand a chance.
'til streaks of blinding flame destroyed
Our enemy's advance.
We didn't all quite make it,
Yet loved that blinding flash
For what man lives and hopes to see
His child and wife in ash?
I sit with eyes alert still,
As evening light grows dim,
And ponder how we now live on
The metal angel's whim.
-
I like it. I've never been very good at topical poetry, myself. I can rarely just sit down and write about something specific. But this is good, I like the imagery used.
-
Another quick nursery rhyme rewrite, of Little Boy Blue this time:
Little Dave Blue
Little Dave Blue's coalition is torn;
The Liberals are mellow, quite truly forlorn.
But where is the Clegg who looks after them all?
He still doesn't know that the country's appalled.
Will you tell him? No, not I - for if I do, he's sure to cry.
-
The Journeyman
‘til we meet again;
‘til we meet again,
The journey still beckons, the road calls,
‘til we meet again,
‘til we meet again
I’ll just have my memories when night falls.
I could bear your arms,
I could fight your wars,
I could carry your favours,
And heal your sores
And if you should fall down and
There’s no-one to hear
I could walk across continents
‘til you are near
‘til we meet again;
‘til we meet again,
The journey still beckons, the road calls,
‘til we meet again,
‘til we meet again
I’ll just have my memories when night falls.
I could fly with you,
How high we could go,
Til Babel was just left
A dot down below
But Babel is falling,
My banner’s unfurled
And I must ride on
And leave you for the world.
‘til we meet again;
‘til we meet again,
The journey still beckons, the road calls,
‘til we meet again,
‘til we meet again
I’ll just have my memories when night falls.
So I’ll leave my trance,
Such was not my role,
Yet for just one glance
Satan gained my soul
But if damned I shall be, love,
Then damned I shall be
For they can’t take my soul
Unless you set it free
But if we meet again,
If we meet again.
Please don’t let me stay when the road calls,
If we meet again,
If we meet again,
Then spur me on well before night falls.
Oh, my love, make me leave before night falls.
-
Excellent! Very well-held together.
-
On The Internet
You
And I share a lot
I help you sleep at night
But I've never met you
You
Are my philosophical opposite
A person I might have little reason to even meet
But we're the best of teams
You
Talk to me quite often
Just brief, friendly chats
But from ten thousand miles away
You
Advise me, help me
As if I were family, or at least the family pet
But you've never seen me cry
You
Have been at my side for so long
Building, coding, creating, managing
But I barely know what you look like
You
Have made me laugh and smile
Taken over my mind with kindness
But I've never heard the sound of your voice.
-
Is it about me or some girl? :P
-
Every stanza is a different person. :P
-
I could probably guess one or two of them.
-
On Destruction
Destruction is not an action
Or a verb, or a word
Destruction is no mere idea,
The fall of a tower, the death of a bird
Eyes.
All is encapsulated in red-rimmed retinas
Taking in nothing, exuding daggers.
The mouth.
Tightened a little, or perhaps slack
But with teeth like grindstones beneath.
A brow
Not furrowed in thought anymore
Not stretched by smiles anymore
Exhausted. Flat. Without room to care.
A slight shake in the wrist.
Fingers jitter
Hands twitch for
a stone, once, long ago
a sword only yesterday
a gun today
a bomb tomorrow.
Not knowing. Not seeing. Not able to anymore.
That is destruction.
The only ruin is the self;
To see pure red is blind.
Destruction can be nothing
But destruction of the mind.
-
Wheres Andalus when you need him to laugh at you!!
EDIT: Sorry about that. At least you actually put your poetry on Exilian... that just gave me an idea. :D
On The Internet: I think I could possibly be 2,3 or 6 :P
-
Wheres Andalus when you need him to laugh at you!!
Hm? What am I meant to be laughing at?
Re:Destruction - It's a good poem, good imagery. I think having the opening and ending quatrains as the only rhyming parts has a nice effect. Works almost like a prologue and epilogue. A line that perhaps doesn't work is "Destruction is no concept". I think to say something isn't a concept comes across as nonsensical. Of course, it could be so wrong that it's right, but I think a better word could be used there.
-
Changed to "mere idea" - thoughts?
-
I was just saying that I like your poems better.
-
Changed to "mere idea" - thoughts?
Yep, I think that's definitely improved now.
-
The Minstrel
I sing of swords and dragon-scales,
Of sundered shields and shining mail,
With eyes aflame, with words that fly
I sing of days gone by.
From Arthur's Seat to Cam Long Down,
From Milford Haven to Yarmouth Town,
Beneath, this isle, above, the sky;
And songs of days gone by.
Of Lancelot and Robin Hood,
Of Gogmagog and Hereward,
The lives of heroes flicker and die;
And fade to days gone by.
When I am dead and gone to rest,
Then lay my lute upon my breast;
And sing for a man, with head held high,
Who sang of days gone by.
-
Song for Snufkin
When summer comes, and the valley's green,
I'll stay for a month or more;
When summer comes, so too come I,
A-knocking at your door,
But when the autumn winds blow cold on the windows of your home,
You'll find that I am southward bound and walking on my own.
I'll walk away
To Mandalay
Or Nineveh or Timbuktu
Caring for nothing and nobody's rule
Knowing I'm wise while seeming a fool
So far away from you,
So far, so far away from you.
When summer comes, and the valley's green,
I'll stay for a month or more;
When summer comes, so too come I,
A-knocking at your door,
But when the autumn winds blow cold on the windows of your home,
You'll find that I am southward bound and walking on my own.
With hat of green
Unfolding scenes
Will spread before my wandering shoes
Sitting in tents in the high Pyrenees
No money or passport, just living at ease
No care for "what's" or "whose",
No care, no care for "what's" or "whose",
When summer comes, and the valley's green,
I'll stay for a month or more;
When summer comes, so too come I,
A-knocking at your door,
But when the autumn winds blow cold on the windows of your home,
You'll find that I am southward bound and walking on my own.
Perhaps I'll speak
On Ararat's peak
Inspiring all who hear;
Spreading my tales with the prints of my boots
Whistling my way to taste tropical fruits,
No home, no lies, no fear.
No home, no home, no lies, no fear.
When summer comes, and the valley's green,
I'll stay for a month or more;
When summer comes, so too come I,
A-knocking at your door,
But when the autumn winds blow cold on the windows of your home,
You'll find that I am southward bound and walking on my own.
When winter comes, and the valley's white,
I'll leave 'til the icicles thaw;
When winter comes, then leave must I,
Far from a friendly door,
But when the spring buds all burst forth with flowers around your home,
You'll find my song comes ringing out... until the north winds blow.
-
The Danger of Humility
Based on "Ozymandias"
I met a scholar from a well-known land.
His eyes were lead, his face a mask of stone;
He was a sad and strange and lonely man.
He smiled, began to cry, then laugh, then frown;
He could delight, beguile, or command.
And yet the scholar ill those passions read
Which come to pass in all true living things,
On which our appetites for joy are fed:
He spoke just once for me to hear:
"My name is truly meaningless, though my words have wings:
I look upon all works; though mighty, I despair."
He fell quiet. There was nothing left to say;
From that poor dead-eyed wreck, alone in his lair,
I turned, to leave his wisdom far away.
-
Wow Jubal. Your very, very good.
-
That is indeed a good one. Thoughtful inversion of the original.
-
It felt more like a story to me. When you only make the last four lines rhyme it doesn't sound so good. I still liked it though.
-
Ink-Cap And Nightshade
Ink-cap and Nightshade and Hemlock all danced
And the flowers of the forest stood silent, entranced,
In a blaze of dark colour, in a cold shivering breath
In time to the music, a waltz to the death.
Ink-cap stood tall, with his hat dripping tar,
And he played a slow dirge on a fungal guitar;
He whistled and laughed and he sang and he cried,
And he moved to each chord 'til the last phrases died.
Nightshade twirled round in a Tyrian dress,
That dark Belladonna whose gentle caress,
Was caring with love and was deadly with hate,
The slow spreading danger no man could abate.
And Hemlock looked on, with a cruel violin,
Playing melodies, reeling and calling for gin,
And his smile was warm as the couple's embrace,
As his notes pulled them on to a dank resting place.
Ink-cap and Nightshade and Hemlock all danced
And the flowers of the forest stood silent, entranced,
The poisons of beauty flowed freely and whole
A fair trade to be sure; one last dance, for one soul.
-
Not entirely sure how to use this yet, but Jubal I absolutely adore Ink-Cap and Nightshade. I can certainly see it being in my anthology, amongst your other poems. :)
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Probably the best I've read from you, Jubal! Amusing and beautiful.
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The best one so far Jubal... Simply amazing.
Maybe you could post your poems on Deviant art? One thing is certain, you would sure get a lot of publicity.
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Yeah, I'll think about publicising it a bit more. It'd be nice to get more people visiting this area of the site really...
I once was mate of a sailing ship
Am Em
Her name was the Endeavour,
Am Em
You never saw a craft so fine,
Am G
For calm or stormy weather;
Am Em Am
Her captain, though, was a cruel hard man
Am Em
The like you ne'er did see,
Am C
And so that hardy crew and I,
G Am
We set to mutiny.
Am Em Am
And so we'll roam the waves,
Am F
All English sailors bold;
C G
And soon we'll gain
Am
On the Spanish Main
C
Five hundred pounds of gold.
G Em Am
The Ballad of the Endeavour
I once was mate of a sailing ship
Her name was the Endeavour,
You never saw a craft so fine,
For calm or stormy weather;
Her captain, though, was a cruel hard man
The like you ne'er did see,
And so that hardy crew and I,
We set to mutiny.
And so we'll roam the waves,
All English sailors bold;
And soon we'll gain
On the Spanish Main
Five hundred pounds of gold.
We set that captain soon ashore
All with pistol and with powder,
And when he wept and when he bawled,
We only laughed the louder;
The navy then gave chase to us,
But our ship was the faster.
And when their ship was still at night,
We soon slipped gently past her.
And so we'll roam the waves,
All English sailors bold;
And soon we'll gain
On the Spanish Main
Five hundred pounds of gold.
And so we robbed and raged like men,
And so we roved and swore,
'til all the navy's captains vowed
That we should sail no more.
They caught us running by Cape Horn,
And the Endeavour faltered,
But none of my gold did they find,
For I had sent it homeward.
And so I'll breathe no more,
And swing 'til I am cold;
But I've left my son
In Portsmouth town
Five hundred pounds of gold.
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Nice one! Very old-timey feel to it.
Though - "All with pistol with and powder," - should that be 'and with'? :P
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Yes, yes it should. :P
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Ballad-writing time. :P
The Walker On The Way
I once was roving round the woods
On a frosty winter day
I met a pale-faced wanderer there,
A-walking on the way.
His face was pale, his hands like ice
His breath was heavy as lead
"O I'm the walker on the way,
A thousand years been dead"
"Were you a mighty warrior?
A king from long ago?"
"No, I was but a poor farm-boy
when I died in the snow."
"My love was taken far from me,
To serve the lord's great hall,
So one cold night I walked the way,
As snow began to fall"
"And oh! It fell and it fell deep,
With no relief or thaw,
But such was my desire that I
Was bound to walk still more"
"And when I died, my veins were ice,
Too cold for heav'n or hell
So I am bound to walk the way,
And wander where I fell."
"If e'er you die, and there you find
My maiden, fair as day,
Please, tell her that I died for her,
And walk here on the way."
I looked at that pale figure who
Had once walked out so bold,
But died for lack of heat and warmth,
All white-faced in the cold.
If you pass by that frosty path,
On a snowy winter's day,
Then light a fire, my friend, to warm
The walker on the way.
-
Love it! Great ballad. :)
-
Ten Seconds
A silly and sentimental song of romance for those of an intellectual persuasion.
So you might not be Russian; this is still a revolution.
I'm not just some douche checking out your normal distribution.
That said, I don't know what to do,
And this time there's no answer in Sun Tzu,
I'm pretty sure this is exponentiating
Perhaps we should try radiocarbon dating
With all that said, I guess I'm still myself,
Optimised to infinity for sitting on the shelf.
And even after singing this ten million times through,
It'll never be a substitute for ten seconds with you.
I haven't checked those logs yet, but they're feeling pretty natural;
And it's getting more radioactive than Henri Becquerel.
I may not look like Ryan Giggs,
But I'll beat Newton, find the Higgs,
And prove with graphs for you to see,
This attraction's just like gravity.
With all that said, I guess I'm still myself,
Optimised to infinity for sitting on the shelf.
And even after singing this ten million times through,
It'll never be a substitute for ten seconds with you.
So maybe I think about this all far too mathematically,
But then again, part of all this is me just trying to be me,
Alas, though, when push comes to shove
There's no real molar mass for love
Just Caesar on a loop crossing the Rubicon,
With no chance in this dimension to re-live what's gone.
With all that said, I guess I'm still myself,
Optimised to infinity for sitting on the shelf.
And even after singing this ten million times through,
It'll never be a substitute for ten seconds with you.
I guess this must all seem like an impossible mission,
But then again they said that about nuclear fission.
Who cares for arrows to the knee?
That won't get 'twixt you and me.
And when you go to bed each night,
I'll try and make sure the Orcs don't bite.
With all that said, I guess I'm still myself,
Optimised to infinity for sitting on the shelf.
And even after singing this ten million times through,
It'll never be a substitute for ten seconds with you.
And though I hope, imagine, dream, and make some dreams come true...
All I wish for in the end is ten seconds with you.
-
Sorry, that last one was rather a return to mushcrap.
I've been putting tunes to a few of my better ones, lately. :)
-
This one's not too bad, the chorus is a popular phrase famously asked by John Ball, leader of the 1381 Peasants' Revolt in England.
In all the towns where I have been,
Am C
In all the places I have roamed,
F C
There's always been a wealthy man
C G
Would take from me my house and home
Em Am
When Adam delved and Eve she span,
Am C G
Who was then the gentleman?
Em Am
Adam and Eve
In all the towns where I have been,
In all the places I have roamed,
There's always been a wealthy man
Would take from me my house and home
When Adam delved and Eve she span,
Who was then the gentleman?
Our parson takes his yearly tithe,
Spends it all on meat and bread,
Smiles at a starving child,
In his robe of golden thread.
When Adam delved and Eve she span,
Who was then the gentleman?
Our lord was to his manor born,
Never had to work the land,
Takes from us the woods and deer,
Takes the work of calloused hands.
When Adam delved and Eve she span,
Who was then the gentleman?
Moneylenders, wealthy men,
Who give us five and then take ten,
Judges, baliffs, noble lords,
Take the pasture, field, and fen.
When Adam delved and Eve she span,
Who was then the gentleman?
They say our God obedience bids
But there can't be truth in what we're told;
No man who wore a crown of thorns
Could look with love on crowns of gold.
For when Adam delved and Eve she span,
Who was then the gentleman?
Yes, when Adam delved and Eve she span,
Who was then the gentleman?
-
Good one, and nice historical reference.
-
The Longbowman's Tale
I was just a boy of eight
When first I took a creature's life,
Shot a rabbit in the field,
When first I held a longbow
It tried to dart but tried too late,
I skinned it with my pocket knife,
From that day on my fate was sealed,
To always wield a longbow.
My black bow is a work of god and man,
The wood that was blessed to be cut to its core,
Though I'm a young lad from a small country farm,
I'll take my black bow off to war.
I followed my lords to foreign wars,
Across the fields of Normandy,
And many were the shafts each day
I loosed from my black longbow
We burned the towns as people flew,
The harlequins of death were we,
We killed them in a chevauchee
All victims of the longbow.
My black bow is a work of god and man,
The wood that was blessed to be cut to its core,
Though I'm a young lad from a small country farm,
I'll take my black bow off to war.
And then one day by some French town
I saw a maid in a thin white gown
Fleeing from the Englishmen
She looked at me in terror.
My arrow nocked, the string was taut,
But all the battles I had fought,
Had not trained me for those dark eyes,
My bow was slowly lowered.
The bow leaves knights in armour slain,
Slain by humble peasants bold,
But a thin white gown could still turn back
The wrath of my black longbow
I took that girl and nursed her pain,
Shared my food in winter's cold,
And took her home when, with a crack,
I broke my old black longbow.
Our child's bow will be a work of god and man,
The wood that was blessed to be cut to its core,
Though he's a young lad from a small country farm,
He'll follow his father to war.
-
The Fenland Maiden
There was a Thetford merchant man
Inherited his father's lands,
He'd the finest clothes and the finest mare,
And the finest three rings to be found found anywhere.
He once set out to Lincolnshire,
When with the fenlands drawing near,
He spied a maid with the darkest hair,
And slender form beyond compare.
He went and asked her for her name,
She smiled, and asked him just the same,
But tarry he could not that day,
And so he swiftly rode away.
He soon returned to that fenland lea
But no maid was there for him to see
There was just a boy in cap of green
Slender, light footed, and lean.
"I see you seek a maiden, sir,
Lost in the forest's leaf and burr"
"Good sir, find she for who I pine,
And you shall have my clothes so fine."
"I can find the maid for you,
But will you love her if I do?"
"Find for me the lass I need,
And you shall ride my coal-black steed."
"Oh you must love this maid quite well,
To give your horse up, I can tell"
"If you can find the maid for me,
I'll give you my fine rings, all three."
The boy then doffed his cap of green,
There were the darkest locks to be seen,
As then the revelation came
That boy and maid were both the same.
"Sir, you owe me your finery,
And coal-black mare, and rings all three,
But have them back as my dowry
When I am wedded soon to thee."
2022-3 update: this has been written up into a song by the folk duo Two's Company, which you can find a recording of here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JHKAmADvv0 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JHKAmADvv0)
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Very nice one, well told! You definitely have the knack of writing these ballads in the traditional style. I've been struggling to get anything ballad-y out lately.
The Longbowman's Tale has quite some influence from Bernard Cornwell, methinks? :P
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It probably comes partly from listening mostly to folk music, the ballad style is just so common that it sticks around... and yeah, there's a bit of Cornwell in there, nothing specific but the feel's definitely there.
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You write wonderful poetry, Jubal. I hope to read more as time wears on.
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Thankyou! You should post some of your own stuff sometime...
Wartime Lullaby
Hush, my dearest little one;
The noise is drawing near,
And mother might not be here soon,
To hide you from your fear.
For a rattle you'll have gunfire,
For toys the scrap of war
Your cradle in a shell, my love,
Your room a weapon store.
Your father won't be coming here,
To watch you growing tall,
He's gone to other places, where
The bombs will never fall.
Stay here, quiet now, dear one,
Until the day is light
And then you will pick up the gun
Tomorrow's war to fight.
-
Beautifully depressing :'(
-
The Wise Woman
The wise woman sat in the road and she sang
That Johnny would never be passing that road again
He looked down at her bent back
And he followed on down the farmer's track
And I can't say if he died in peace or was slain
The wise woman sat in the road and she said
That Mary's father and mother would shortly be dead
But a year, all told,
Feels like barely a second to one who's so old
So I can't say now if they're sleeping in graves or in bed
The wise woman sat in the road and she cried
That all the people around her must surely have lied
From the babes in mothers' arms
To the pastor chanting the holy psalms
But I can't say what any were thinking inside.
The wise woman, speaking in doggerel verse,
Proclaimed her final thought; that being wise was a curse
Then before she uttered why
She died and offered her soul to the sky
So I can't tell you more now, for better or worse.
-
Atonement
The water drips, at first
Trickles, and then pours
Glistening a little, as if mocking
The hands that it cannot quite clean
The shaking fingers that it smoothly slips past
And the eyes that watch, themselves bathed
In more bitter and salty pools.
For it is a cold, cruel wind that blows forgiveness.
Frightened. At long, long last, frightened.
Of himself. Of who he might have been.
A lamb in the wind, with hands that are still not clean.
A child, walking through his mind to freedom
Through a wilderness of snow, a barren kingdom
The words he should have said, the things he should have done
Grasp at his ankles, hands, waist - but the chance is gone.
Truly, it is a cold, cruel wind that blows forgiveness.
The pieces lie in the snow
Shaking hands, marred eyes, a mind struggling with its greatest foe
The foe that is within, the evil the wind is there to blow
Away. Away, away, away.
Stripped bare, the enormity and, yet, the minuscule nature of his faults
Are shown to the wind, he embraces the wind, weeps and howls and sings a song to the wind
As he stumbles forward, starts finding the pieces
Of who he was, is, should have been, could have been
Wants to be
Will be?
It remains to be seen.
C'est la vie - perhaps in time the hands will be clean
But for now, he must find himself again.
Atone.
Atone - at one.
At one with all the possibilities.
At one with the wind,
At one with himself.
For it is his breath, soft and laboured, which he gently feels on the backs of his two wet hands, cold as a whisper.
And that breath is the wind, the cold, cruel wind, the only wind in the world
That can bring forgiveness.
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Your poems leave me speachless.
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I find the key is to be speechless myself, one cannot encapsulate emotions truly except at the times you're really feeling them yourself I think.
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I need more of your awesomeness Jubal, just to tide me over until Andalus gets writing again.
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Sappy emotional crap time, writing a poem addressed to someone with no intention of showing it to them. Woots.
Little Things
Did you know that beauty is about the little things?
It's not the mountains rising in the background,
It's the glint of sunlight on the peak of the highest one
Not the vast redness of the desert,
But the way a pebble almost glows in the mid-day sun
Did you know that beauty is about the little things?
A quantum state of perfect balance
It can't be captured, or analysed, or in any way refined,
Just a miracle in miniature,
Forged between the world and the human mind.
Did you know that beauty is about the little things?
No vast serenities for beauty
Laughs, wry smiles, and wit will call her to flight
On wings of purest shimmering joy
The little things have great and untold might.
Did you know that beauty is about the little things?
Your hair sometimes glints in the sun
When you're happy, your eyes start to shine and glisten and almost dance
Your voice changes a bit when you're saying something funny
The little things, the little things keep me entranced.
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I really like that one. :) Really good. You'll reel them in with that. ;)
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Jubal, do you have a deviantart accaunt? If not, you should make one and post your poems there so more people can admire them.
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I do, I never quite got on with DA somehow though. Might look into it again sometime.
I'd rather people came here really. :P
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Is it alright if I post a thread on a forum with some of your poems and update it with your new poems?
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Of course, though do link me to it and preferably have the thread link back here as well. :)
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OK, will do. Thanks. It's a part of my Exilian recruitment scheme, showing everyone how awesome we (you) are.
EDIT: Thread is here (http://sizaelrpg.com/topic/4905131/1/?x=0#post579641).
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Three poems based on the first world war, produce of this week's residential course:
This is most meant to emulate a classic war poem in the style of Wilfred Owen or Siegfried Sassoon.
Please
Please tell me of riverbanks,
Tell me of hay,
Tell me of sun on a hot july day
Tell me that England is still somewhere near
And the willows still weep into waters so clear.
Please sing me a song now
And tell me of dreams
That somewhere are children
With strawberries and cream
Tell me the names on these endless long lists
Are on there for something that really exists.
Don't talk about mud
Don't talk about guns
Or fathers back home
Who can't bury their sons
Please tell me in this sea of fear, madness, gore
That there's someone can tell me just what it's all for.
This focusses more on the dehumanising element of warfare.
Steel, Ice, Fire
Steel, ice, fire
That has to be the reality
It is not a case of what is,
But a case of what must be,
What to become.
Steel - a hardness
Rigid silver under the cold heat
Of an unforgiving star.
The key, oddly, is not the way
The curiously still pipe points at the other side
But the way it points at you
(Or I, he, she, we, it)
Points into you
Gives you its hardness
For you must become steel.
Ice - a coldness
Around you
(Or us, we, it)
Quivering, stiff fingers
Become numb
Quivering in time and rhythm
Your (its) mind follows.
Fire
Enough to melt the ice? No.
Enough for what, then?
Enough to kill.
Perhaps more than enough
But it doesn't know or care
Not time to be released
To be glad
To be or
Perhaps
Not to be
But there is no question
No answer
It is dead. In the mud.
It. Or... you?
This last has more of a personal element; my great grandfather was responsible for a tracing department in WWI - he oversaw the copying of all the maps used by British forces in Europe.
The Map Maker
Transparent in the half-light
Underneath, a world appears
Contours, villages, and streams
Rivers, forests, lakes and meres.
Tracing over line by line
A trench, a field, a winter flood
He settles back, then English camps
Appear in inks as red as blood.
Neatly, eyes sharp, hand poised, still
The maps are drawn to show the way
That men will stumble, shaking, blind
Upon some muddy autumn day
At last the man lays down his pens
His night's work done, with one slow breath
He thinks of men fighting for the world he has drawn
And shivers a little to think of their death
-
I got all excited when I saw the update :P What can we write with if not experience and emotions? They are pen and paper to all literature. Great new stuff :)
-
Lindisfarne
This is really a set of song lyrics, so it's an odd scheme for a poem admittedly.
Sing hey, ho
Rolling down the sea along to Lindisfarne
I'm going to take some gold back home to my love
Who waits for me on the shore.
And it's hey, ho
And the wind blows southward bound
The wind blows southward bound, my boys,
Oh, the wind blows southward bound.
The wind's the huntsman at our back
And we are its hunting hound.
We've a hundred miles of sea behind
And a hundred miles before
So sing hey-ho and haul the sails
'til we land on an English shore.
Sing hey, ho
Rolling down the sea along to Lindisfarne
I'm going to take some gold back home to my love
Who waits for me on the shore.
And it's hey, ho
And the wind blows southward bound
The south wind sets us free, my boys,
The south wind sets us free
We'll find rings of gold and sword of steel
And new lands o'er the sea.
No care for church, no care for king
As the threads of fate are spun
We'll sing hey-ho and take our fill
And sail home with the setting sun.
Sing hey, ho
Rolling down the sea along to Lindisfarne
I'm going to take some gold back home to my love
Who waits for me on the shore.
And it's hey, ho...
Sing hey, ho
Rolling down the sea along to Lindisfarne
I'm going to take some gold back home to my love
Who waits for me on the shore.
And it's hey, ho
And the wind blows southward bound,
Yes, the wind blows southward bound,
The wind blows southward bound!
And the wind blows...
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Snowball: Cambridge
I
Am
Not
Here
To see
All the
Things I
Could e'er
Know or the
Knowledge I
Can never e'en
Know it but I am
Here to find out
I am discovering
What knowledge is.
-
What is it?
-
If I knew, the second last line would be in the past tense. :P
That was more a stylistic exercise in snowball poetry anyway, it means more or less nothing. Sadly.
-
Nothing? I've been pondering over the meaning of it all day. It's been driving me insane!
OK not really.
-
I think it means something and I like it.
-
Economics
Homes that aren't homes,
Gutted tortoise shells now.
As a lone old man looks on with gnarled, knotted brow.
Factories silent,
No cars on the road,
Bar a single ford escort, starting to corrode.
It isn't our bad luck, nor caused by our faults
We watch - just watch, as the numbers waltz.
A whirlwind of dead leaves
Careers down the street,
Picking up fag-ends and wrappers from sweets,
And the relics of the land,
That we saved in our wars,
Are mere litter, and wondering what it was all for.
And as fate grimly spins her wheel,
Watch - just watch, as the numbers reel.
We can still wait for waiting,
And look up to the sky
We can still hope for hope, or still hope to die.
We can pray to the gods,
Who, in suits and on screens,
Command dancing numbers, which dance on our dreams.
And we can only sit, in a deathly trance,
And watch - just watch, as the numbers dance.
-
Good one, though some sad truth there. And perhaps a spot of sarcasm? ;)
-
Pearl-Thoughts
A thousand pearls surround me,
A million stars and candle-lights
Cloaked in stone and flesh and steel,
They haunt their cases, ghosts and wights.
A darkness falls upon the world,
A hope returns then slips away,
Masked enigmas pass me by,
And will do, each and every day.
The silence of a human voice,
Written tracts to please the blind.
We scrabble for the pearls within
In hope we'll see another's mind.
-
Queen of Summer
My love is queen of summertime,
My love is queen of spring,
Of autumn leaves and winter snows;
Would that I were their king.
Spring buds bring hope and white cascades
Of blossom for her hair,
And birds to sing her melodies,
And breezes in the air
Summer brings the golden sun
That shines to light her way,
And green-leaf canopies, to shade
Her from the heat of day.
Autumn's court has dead-leaf thrones
And bare the realm now looks,
As songbirds leave, a harsher song,
Is croaked by crows and rooks
Winter's kingdom comes the last
The ground turns into steel,
Until the thaw, for then, once more,
The seasons start their reel.
My love is queen of summertime,
My love is queen of spring,
Of autumn leaves and winter snows;
Would that I were their king.
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That was nice. :)
-
Solitude
The softness of a willing hand
Or, at least,
Half-willing, and
Hopeful that the dawn will never break
Hopeful that the dream will never end
And its dreamers never wake.
Hope? It seems unfair to have to now
But Hope, somewhere behind a knotted brow
Sits holding hands with Memory
The past and present then entwined
They eat of a forbidden tree
Memory smells of the east
Soft but heady
The senses feast
As long-lost hopes
Like fiddle tunes
Then play across a distant sea
And memories
Of might have beens
Will dance and play
Like autumn leaves
Of laughing voices
Climbing trees
Tangled arms
And legs and knees
Then vision fades; truth, at last revealed,
Dispels the magic, casts away the shield,
To leave a solitude that cannot die,
To leave only the black beauty of despair,
And the bleakest thought; to live without a lie.
-
Jack Of All Trades
They called him Jack, a roving blade,
The man who plied a thousand trades,
With sword and ploughshare, pick and spade,
He travelled all of England.
Young Jack was first a farming lad,
But all his efforts soon went bad,
His plough broke and his hands grew sore
So Jack gave up and went to war.
Bold Jack was then a soldier man
Who marched off at the king's command,
To Naseby where one foggy day,
All the king's men fled away
So Jack went working down a mine
With pick and shovel, gold to find
But then the cave roof tumbled down
So Jack gave up and went to town
Butcher, baker, potter, too;
Cobbler of leather shoes
All these and more Jack tried in vain
'til he gave up and went home again.
So come and listen all of ye
To why like young Jack you should be
Though his tale ends where he'd begun
And off all trades he'd mastered none.
For though they all called Jack a fool,
The rover smiled and kept his cool,
And then he laughed, for he was wise;
The fool's he who in sorrow lies.
-
Excellent!
-
Thanks! I'm sorting out paper so I'm typing in a couple of things to decrease the amount I need to bother filing. :P
This one's not that good I think, but I may as well write it out anyway.
Maundy Thursday
Oh, weeping willow
Don't weep 'til you die
I'll make you proud 'neath a foreign sky
Oh, weeping willow
Don't weep and don't cry
I'll be home on Maundy Thursday
I'll fight dragons in Norway
And Turks on crusade,
Board ships when at sea
And then storm barricades,
I'll soon return, dear, but I cannot stay,
For I have been ordered to soon march away
Oh, weeping willow
Don't weep 'til you die
I'll make you proud 'neath a foreign sky
Oh, weeping willow
Don't weep and don't cry
I'll be home on Maundy Thursday
I'll win all my battles,
I'll wear coats of red,
And I'll wrestle a lion
And bring you its head;
Come my dear one, and please weep no more
The recruiter is stern and he stands at the door
Oh, weeping willow
Don't weep 'til you die
I'll make you proud 'neath a foreign sky
Oh, weeping willow
Don't weep and don't cry
I'll be home on Maundy Thursday
And if I die, my final
Commandment to you
Is to love your next love well,
Be honest and true;
I'll come and kiss you if I am so blessed,
If not then be glad, love, for I am at rest.
-
Winterfell Lullaby
Don’t fret about life, dear,
For life’s not that long,
But live whilst you can
And do right and no wrong
It’s a dark and a cold night out here,
And winter is coming, my dear.
So look to the sky, love,
And look to the wall,
Cherish each moment,
For the snow may soon fall,
You’ll learn what to love, what to fear,
For winter is coming, my dear.
Don’t give up your sword,
And don’t give up the fight.
For even in winter,
Hope brings its own light.
Stand firm as despair shakes her spear,
For winter is coming, my dear.
So my darling dear,
We’ll be safe and warm.
I’ll hold you til’ morning,
Away from the storm.
For it’s a dark and a cold night out here,
Yes, winter is coming, my dear.
-
Love it.
Reminds me of The Game of thrones. Perhaps because of "winter is coming" reference. :D
-
Yes, it's basically the sort of thing I imagine the Starks would use as a lullaby. :P
-
Once again I am left with only my jealousy tinged awe :P Hurry up and update!
-
Another Game of Thrones one. :P
The Dornishman's Revenge
I once was a sellsword brave and proud,
But now I am surely none
My blade is broken, shield is cleft
My armour now passed on.
But I remember three words spoken;
Unbowed, unbent, unbroken
It was in battle on a far-off shore
I struck a man for death,
A Dornishman who looked on me
And with his final breath
Chose those words, his passing token;
Unbowed, unbent, unbroken
There was a bright fire in his Dornish eyes,
A dark dagger in his hand,
And as he sank there he stabbed my leg
Then sunk down upon the strand.
My wound was deep, my leg felt oaken;
Unbowed, unbent, unbroken.
So now you know, child, now you know,
Why I must walk no more,
And how a Dornishman's revenge
Struck me down on that shore,
So fear these words, should you hear them spoken...
Unbowed! Unbent! Unbroken!
Chords:
I once was a sellsword brave and proud,
G D Em
But now I am surely none
G D
My blade is broken, shield is cleft
Em E Em
My armour now passed on.
C D
But I remember three words spoken;
Em C
Unbowed, unbent, unbroken
G D Em
-
And now the Arryns. This, like the previous, is basically written like a folk song, and if you wish to read it as one swapping "Harys" for "Henry" throughout should do the trick :P This is a song for the Vale; Harys the Falcon Knight seems like a suitable "folk hero" for the Arryn family.
The Falcon Knight
There once was a knight, Harys his name,
A young knight of the vale,
Who loved a lass and loved her true,
Of this I'll tell the tale.
His true love she was beautiful,
Her eyes blue as the sky,
But when he came to her chamber fine,
His love he could not spy.
Oh, the badger's low as mud, my boys,
The lion's proud and gold,
The fish does shine for duty fine,
And the wolf howls of the cold;
The dragon's fire and blood, my boys
The swallow swift and free,
But the falcon's high as honour
And so was brave Harry!
He rode up hills and rode down streams,
To find his lover dear,
"For if she's lost," young Harry cried,
"I'll have no honour here."
"Yes if she's lost I'll mourn and weep
For twelve years and a day
I'll search for her until I'm cold
And dead and in the clay"
CHOR
At last he came to a darkened cave
In which there lived a crone,
"You'll find your love on the mountain top
Where you must go alone"
For though I'm blind I see it true
Your babe is in her womb,
But guarded she is by a monster fierce
To send you to your tomb.
CHOR
He rode unto the mountain top,
The monster he was there,
"O, I am Harys of the Vale,
Come for my love and heir."
"Well you may try but you shall fail,
Your love is mine to keep,
I've been told I'll live 'til a falcon blue
Should climb my hill so steep."
CHOR
Then Harys drew his vorpal sword,
And took his shield strong,
Then the monster quailed and wept,
"Now I shall not live long."
For Harry's arms were a falcon blue;
The monster he did slay,
So there the monster fell and died,
And Harry won the day!
CHOR
Harys found his love above,
And kissed her there that morn,
He took her home and married her,
And there her babe was born.
So remember, you young squires
Who hear a battle's cry,
Fly to war like the falcon knight,
And hold your honour high!
CHOR (x2 optional, use judgement and watch for rotten eggs in audience, do NOT perform in Gulltown on a Saturday night)
Chords:
There once was a knight, Harys his name,
Am G
A young knight of the vale,
Em D
Who loved a lass and loved her true,
G C
Of this I'll tell the tale.
G C
His true love she was beautiful,
D G
Her eyes blue as the sky,
D C
But when he came to her chamber fine,
G Em
His love he could not spy.
C D
Oh, the badger's low as mud, my boys,
G C
The lion's proud and gold,
Em D
The fish does shine for duty fine,
G C
And the wolf howls of the cold;
G C
The dragon's fire and blood, my boys
D G
The swallow swift and free,
Em C
But the falcon's high as honour
G C
And so was brave Harry!
D G
-
that was rather beautiful :P
did i detect a bit of 'cold blows the wind/ the unquiet grave' influence there? :D
-
First rule of folk songs; every folk song references or borrows from at least three others. :P
Greyjoy time! This one's really a sea shanty, which seemed appropriate for obvious reasons. :)
We Do Not Sow
Heave ho, haul and row,
The Ironborn reap but we do not sow.
Heave away,
Haul a black flag high
For it's said
What is dead
Can never die!
Heave ho, haul and row,
The Ironborn reap but we do not sow.
There's gulls on our tail,
And a whale on our bow
For we fight
And we bite
And we never plough!
Heave ho, haul and row,
The Ironborn reap but we do not sow.
When we land ashore,
And a horn blows thrice,
Then we'll pay
Our way
With the iron price!
Heave ho, haul and row,
The Ironborn reap but we do not sow.
Heave away,
Haul a black flag high
For it's said
What is dead
Can never die!
-
The turn of the Tully family, this time we have something specifically placed within the timeframe of the books, so I won't give too much detail for those who haven't read that far. The Tully emphasis on honour seemed initially similar to the Arryns, but I opted for a much more survival/endurance sort of honour mechanism in this than the rather jingoistic Arryn ballad.
Song for the Blackfish
Your duty’s to your honour,
Though it may seem like the river,
Carries all hope downstream flowing,
Honour’s still there to be true,
And your duty’s to your family,
And your duty’s to survive,
Until the darkness ends and morning
Dawns again.
The night is long and fearful,
And the river drowns so many,
As the stars watch coldly over,
And the moon shows no regret,
But it’s then you must keep going,
And up the running river swim,
To keep going until the sunlight
Dawns again
Though you maybe couldn’t save him,
Though you maybe should have been there,
Though the home you still remember,
Has his killers in its hall.
It’s now you must keep swimming,
For a black fish in the night,
Can keep its promises when daylight
Dawns again.
Family, duty, honour,
The things that truly matter,
The things you shall pass on,
Whether you stand or bend the knee,
The things that shall remain here,
When the stars begin to weep,
When the moon bows low and dawn
Can break again.
-
And the Baratheons, with plenty of references to Stannis' defence of Storm's End.
Ours is the Fury (Baratheon marching song)
Been on this land since the Storm King fell,
Been here forever and we know it well,
Come the wind or rain or sun,
Fear the storm, for it hasn't gone.
In the dark forest or the middle of town,
Ours is the fury when the sun goes down.
Though you might have a feast of bread,
Storm's End will stand until you're dead.
Come we with axe or spear or knife,
Fear the storm, fear for your life.
In the bright day or the dark of night,
Ours is the fury when it comes to a fight.
All you standing there forlorn,
Boots and onions are as good as corn.
And when the stag comes charging home,
You'll be gone and we'll still roam.
Over the land or across the sea,
Ours is the fury when we conquer thee.
So fear us now if you'd attack;
Ours is the fury when the stag fights back!
-
The Knights of Summer (Song for the Tyrells)
My son is a lancer, his sword-arm is long,
O'er rivers and moors he will roam,
But the crops and the harvests they'll still be growing strong,
When the Knights of Summer come home.
To win at the lists,
And to win in the field,
In search of the glory that battle may yield,
All questing for honour,
And questing for truth,
So why do I wish him back under my roof?
My son is a lancer, his sword-arm is long,
O'er rivers and moors he will roam,
But the crops and the harvests they'll still be growing strong,
When the Knights of Summer come home.
He's a fine sword of steel,
With pommel of gold,
And where e'er he goes my son's sigils shine bold,
All clad in fine armour,
Of silver and black,
So why am I fearful my son won't come back?
My son is a lancer, his sword-arm is long,
O'er rivers and moors he will roam,
But the crops and the harvests they'll still be growing strong,
When the Knights of Summer come home.
He's brave and he's honest,
He's gentle and true,
And all knights who face him, that day they will rue.
But battle is fearful,
With the Stranger's harsh cry
And I want to see my son again e'er I die.
Yes, my son's a lancer, his sword-arm is long,
O'er rivers and moors he will roam,
But the crops and the harvests they'll still be growing strong,
When the Knights of Summer come home.
I just pray that my son will come home.
-
I feel slightly worried I'm now trying to alter that to fit "Boys of Summer". Still all of the awesome :)
-
I'll record them at some point when my voice isn't annoying me too much. :P
-
I look forward to it :) Your voice isn't annoying :)
-
Last one done :)
The Black Flower (The Targaryen Loyalists' Song)
A black flower grew on a field of bone
When the first lords came unto cold Dragonstone.
Their wings were the whirlwind, their breath was the flood
As a storm came to Westeros with Fire and Blood.
The dragons are silent, their scales are rock
Just boulders - a chest of gold with no lock
As the stag stands tall, and the black flower in bud
Seems to know not Valyria; no Fire and Blood.
The dragons shall waken, the storm it shall rise
With swords in the field, with fire in the skies
And a blooming black flower shall then in the mud
Herald The power of true Fire and Blood.
-
Excellent as always, congratualtions on finishing the AGoT set!
-
Do these all have tunes, Jubal? :)
-
Yes, they all do :)
-
You realise I'm going to force you to sing them/ teach them to me? :)
-
A confused and longwinded Whovian poem, with a number of switches of verse style.
A Promise You Make
What makes me who I am?
What makes any of us who we are?
I once thought it was our skills,
The memories of days gone by
Our way of life, our knowledge,
Soaring towers under a golden sky.
But it was not enough.
With science that science could not have imagined
Ageless, perfected and wise,
Worlds of worlds of wealth and wisdom at our command
Books and texts scanned by eager eyes.
But it was not enough.
And
Then I
Discovered
Everything
All the stars and suns
All the wonders and worlds
The truths, the lies, hopes and fears
Loves and wonders and dangers and
I then found out that there was no-one
On any world who was unimportant
So everything was not enough.
Because everything was broken
Is broken
The hurt
Unspoken
The clocks that cannot be turned back
The angels and demons that cannot be blinked away
The stars that gutter, the sky that turns black
Even times when a man who runs is forced to stay.
So I had to heal it.
And that was how I discovered
The secret
Myself
My name
The things I did for peace and sanity,
The reasons why a good man needs no rules and I need them all.
The power, grace and strength of mere humanity
Even when I seemed a god in my powers who could never fall,
Only healing was enough.
I am the Doctor.
I can't fix everything.
I won't fix everything.
I can't succeed.
I won't succeed.
My work can never be complete.
My work will never be complete.
I can't fix everything.
but
I can try.
And just wait
Until you see me try...
-
There was a singaround at Sidmouth Folk Week with the theme of "Chaste or be Chased" so I wrote a song for it on the bus on the way there and this was the result :P
Lord Morrison's Maid
And all the people whisper still
Lord Morrison's riding over hill
He'll ride until his mind is gone
For he chased a maid of Avalon.
Lord Morrison rode
Lord Morrison rode
Lord Morrison rode
To the stream one morn
When he spied a maid
In a sunlit glade
King Arthur's maid
From Avalon
And all the people whisper still
Lord Morrison's riding over hill
He'll ride until his mind is gone
For he chased a maid of Avalon.
Lord Morrison cried
Lord Morrison cried
Lord Morrison cried
"Oh Maid so fair
Come eat my bread
And warm my bed
With your fair pretty head
Of golden hair"
And all the people whisper still
Lord Morrison's riding over hill
He'll ride until his mind is gone
For he chased a maid of Avalon.
But the lady sighed
But the lady sighed
But the lady sighed
"That I can't do
Don't press me so
'twill bring you woe
For I shan't go
Along with you"
And all the people whisper still
Lord Morrison's riding over hill
He'll ride until his mind is gone
For he chased a maid of Avalon.
Lord Morrison raged
Lord Morrison raged
Lord Morrison raged
And with a frown
Said "I'll have my right
And I've my might"
So he held her tight
And laid her down.
And all the people whisper still
Lord Morrison's riding over hill
He'll ride until his mind is gone
For he chased a maid of Avalon.
Then Arthur came
Then Arthur came
Then Arthur came
And he did say
You've shown your will
And had your fill
Now chase her 'til
Your dying day
And all the people whisper still
Lord Morrison's riding over hill
He'll ride until his mind is gone
For he chased a maid of Avalon.
Then Arthur went
Then Arthur went
Then Arthur went
And took his maid
Vanished in the air
Left Morrison there
With desperate memory ne'er
Shall fade
And all the people whisper still
Lord Morrison's riding over hill
He'll ride until his mind is gone
For he chased a maid of Avalon.
And all the people whisper still
Lord Morrison's riding over hill
He'll ride until his mind is gone
For he chased a maid of Avalon.
-
Tune?
It reads very well but is difficult to judge without music.
-
Yes. I'm not sure how to get the tune across on a forum. Dum dum da-dum dum daa daa dummm doesn't really get the gist over that well. :P
-
Youtube?
-
But ewmyvoice
I will do at some point I guess.
-
You're voice is lovely, you idiot :)
-
Thucydides
The fingers that tap on my keyboard
And the pen that you put to your scroll,
The fragments of knowledge I try to eke out
Of what you once believed was a whole.
I'm writing the tale of your history;
Though you didn't know that's what you'd made,
Instead seeing a tale that would teach me of man,
Eternity's lesson that never would fade.
The fingers that tap on my keyboard
Are now resting; so, somewhere, are yours.
The first of my kind, as we both read our works
Upon Athens of old, and her wars.
-
Short but nice. I like it.
-
And hey, guess which historical figure my essay was on this week? :P
-
Leonidas?
(http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs43/f/2009/077/f/d/Obama__This_is_Sparta_by_Pizzasemmel.jpg)
-
Wrong war, Thucydides was the Peloponnesian; for Leonidas you want the account written by Herodotus of the Persian wars. :P
-
Keine scheisse. :P
-
This is fairly obviously a set of song lyrics rather than something that works well as a poem. But ah well.
Newborn
One day I will crawl like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will crawl like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will crawl like you
Or like you did until you grew
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I will walk like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will walk like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will walk like you
With the whole world for me to walk through
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I will dance like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will dance like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will dance like you
And all the world will be dancing too
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I will trudge like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will trudge like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will trudge like you
Between the brown earth and sky so blue
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I will limp like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will limp like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will limp like you
Remembering when the world seemed new
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I'll be dead and gone
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I'll be dead and gone
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I'll be dead and gone
And another young babe will sing my song
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
Chords (for my reference really):
Capo on II
One day I'll be dead and gone
C D
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
C Am G
One day I'll be dead and gone
C Em
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
C Am G
One day I'll be dead and gone
C Am
And another young babe will sing my song
Em G
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
C Am D Em
Nb final Em -> an E in last verse
-
you want the account written by Herodotus of the Persian wars. :P
lol. ::)
-
You guys don't seem to realize that I was kidding. :P
-
I knew; that's just British humour for you I'm afraid. :P
-
So much folk song. You're just missing the doleful ghost :P
Up for any triumph points? :P
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All the folk song. :P
An actual poem for once:
Dwellings
I was born in a land of reed and hay
I grew upon the chalk and clay
And yet with books I spent my day
For I could them call my home
But for a little while.
These four walls are not my own
This sacred hall, this cold bare stone
This windswept town, these towers of bone
And yet I shall call this home
But for a little while.
And so you found me weeping there;
I shook like grass; you touched my hair
Then vanished in the morning air
And I smiled in sadness, for you felt like home
Oh! to have a home...
But for a little while.
On this wide earth of gods and men
Never shall I rest again
Except to tarry, now and then
For all the world's a home
But for a little while.
-
Tears and tears
See, this is my tattered flag
Buffeted by the wind on a cold winter's day
The shouts that rain down upon it
The rain that soaks it until it can no longer
Whistle in each gust
And sing its song to the world
The people who pass it by
Who have been told not to know what
A square of fabric can be
They hope without thinking
Or think without hope
And I watch them, body, brain, eyes
I watch them
They pass the tattered flag by.
See, this is my tattered life
Buffeted by the wind on a cold winter's day
Pieces almost torn away in the gales
That try to break me
Barely seeming real any more
Thoughts and hopes lie there
Barely remembered
As I struggle to stand
Struggle to think
Hope
Breathe
Hope
Breathe
Mind
Cannot think
Cannot not think
Hope
Breathe
Hope
Breathe
Silence.
But
See, these are my tattered dreams
Buffeted by the wind on a cold winter's day
They remain, breath after breath.
Real things in a real world
With my real brain to dream them
My real legs for them to stand on
My real lungs to be filled with them
My real voice to speak them
Word by word by word
As I sing the song of the future that is known only to me
As real ears hear my words, real eyes see
The bags under my eyes, the trembling of my hands
The slow smile.
Come then, friend. These are my dreams.
Share them if you wish
Leave them if you must
Take them from me?
If you dare.
-
A short refrain, not actually to music but I've called it a song nonetheless.
Song for Cepheida
And so let us be that which we are.
The lost and damned, ever flying
To seek another world, another star
Our home is everywhere; with each sun a new dawn comes.
And it shall be said of each one who steps into the night
That they shall walk in the darkness, and so find the light.
-
Nice and festive one here! :P
Cthulu's Carol
Now rest ye merry Elder Gods,
Let nothing you awake,
Not eldritch lord nor daemonkin
Nor witch burned at the stake,
Lest this fine world we live upon,
You suddenly unmake,
O tidings of everlasting doom (lasting doom)
O tidings of everlasting doom!
So fear the burning pentagram
That's painted on your floor,
And shun the warlock covens that
Are beating down your door,
For fear that great Cthulu shall
Soon walk the earth once more,
[CHORUS]
So gather round in friendship now
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace,
For you won't get another chance
When Baal devours your face!
[CHORUS x2]
-
Wow. This is brilliant.
-
Thankyou :)
-
It is lovely :)
-
In honour of the recently departed Doctor:
Oldborn
One day I'll be born like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I'll be born like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I'll be born like you
My cells on fire, my face anew
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I will laugh like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will laugh like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will laugh like you
A billion souls I'll give hope to
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I will dance like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will dance like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will dance like you
And a thousand worlds will dance here too
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I will fight like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will fight like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will fight like you
Death in my eyes and my box so blue
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I will limp like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I will limp like you
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I will limp like you
Remembering all the friends I knew
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
One day I'll be burned and gone
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai)
One day I'll be burned and gone
(With a hey-ho, hey-o ai!)
One day I'll be burned and gone
And another new face will sing this song
(With a hey-ho... hey-o ai!)
-
Decisions
The thousand roads we are given to walk
Past smoke-stacks, forests, crags and bays
The crossroad meetings, the hidden sights
Running through fields on mad march days
The ten thousand eyes we are given to learn
Under hair, under hat, above frown, above smile
The dark solemn waiting, the hope and the love
As the road stretches on for another short while
The ingredients, all, that cook up our lives
We must learn how to use them, through reason, or rhyme
But one above all; the one thing that is ours
Not parsley, or sage, or rosemary... but time.
-
:'(
-
More of a monologue/ramble than a poem, but ah well. I scribbled it a few months back and just got round to typing it in.
History
In the past, I stood.
Today, I sit.
Tomorrow, perhaps I shall stand again.
I do not walk in eternity
Fort to move, to push, was never my call.
I sit, I stand, I talk,
I speak, write, talk and talk,
And hope that my words are caterpillars that can grow wings
And not just slugs, condemned to lumber and never see the world
I am, after all, a historian
Not a warrior, not a surgeon.
I observe and observe, in terror and fascination
Knowing not from whence man came
But trying to explain
I, master only of myself
No leader; no hero; no father.
But I cannot escape time.
I never would have let it escape me;
It only seems fair in the end
Voices cry out from battered pages
Dreams of gold-forged greatness wall my mind -
To help, oh to help
So how can I be what I know I am
When this world around me is not what I know it is
And I stand at last.
These battered pages will not record my failure.
Nor, though, though, will they tell of my sorrow.
Historian; heal thyself...
-
As God Made It
I was but a pauper's lad,
Who lived on the street,
'til a merchant with a pamphlet
I then chanced to meet
He told me of Virginia
And since I was poor
I sold him my freedom
As an indenture.
On up, my boys,
Rise up my boys,
The ship sails today;
Give your lives to the smoke
Of the Chesapeake bay.
For five years good service
By law I was bound
To be worked to the bone
To be crushed to the ground
With four of my comrades
I tried to run free,
But I was soon brought back,
And my master beat me.
On up, my boys,
Rise up my boys,
The ship sails today;
Give your lives to the smoke
Of the Chesapeake bay.
When I had my freedom
My mind turned to land
To start finding coin
By the work of my hand
I found a small plot
And I found a sweet bride;
We'd been married not a year
Before she soon died.
On up, my boys,
Rise up my boys,
The ship sails today;
Give your lives to the smoke
Of the Chesapeake bay.
From the buildings of Jamestown
To the Accomack shore
The air's foul, the swamps deep,
But still they grow more.
Where there's sickness and fevers
That took my love's life,
Many's the lost planter
And the lost planter's wife.
On up, my boys,
Rise up my boys,
The ship sails today;
Give your lives to the smoke
Of the Chesapeake bay.
So go all you fellows,
Live the tale that I tell;
Of the Chesapeake Bay
And the charnel of hell
If it's coin that you wish for,
Then coin it will yield
But the smoke will leave scars
And they never quite heal.
On up, my boys,
Rise up my boys,
The ship sails today;
Give your lives to the smoke
Of the Chesapeake bay.
Chords:
I was but a pauper's lad,
G D
Who lived on the street,
G Em
'til a merchant with a pamphlet
G C
I then chanced to meet
G D
He told me of Virginia
C G
And since I was poor
D Em
I sold him my freedom
C G
As an indenture.
Em
On up, my boys,
G
Rise up my boys,
G
The ship sails today;
Em C
Give your lives to the smoke
G D
Of the Chesapeake bay.
D Em
-
The Magpie
Quoth the raven "nevermore"
Quoth the crow just "caw, caw"
The bright-feathered jay just swooped overhead;
The sly black rook gave the stare of the dead.
Just one bird was missing from the murder that day,
He'd taken their all; he was now far away
This, then, is the why of the corvids' displeasure;
Just ask the magpie, who stole all the treasure.
-
portugaling magpies!
-
Pluto
Far out at the end of the planets' long race,
A cold ball of rock sits there, whirling through space.
The littlest planet, it danced its long jig
But was it a planet? It wasn't... that big...
Put swiftly on trial, the scientists found
That the rock wasn't big enough, measured around,
A dwarf it was labelled on that very day,
And the saddest of rocks was then sent on its way.
It moped passing Neptune, and cried to the sun,
Mars was indifferent; young Venus no fun
And its only friend Charon could not dry its tears,
As it looked to a future ignored by its peers.
But then a thought came to the rock, small and pale;
"Dwarf planet", means "planet", just smaller in scale,
And the rock glowed a little; because, after all,
A planet's a planet - no matter how small.
-
I really like this one. :) Good work.
-
An Age of Kings
Uneasy lies the head
That wears a jewelled crown
Fate turns her wheel high
Then casts her suitors down
Shadows in the moonlight shrink and grow,
Blades hang by the fireside glinting bright;
There's only one mistress he may know,
Fate holds him close at dead of night!
And furrowed is his brow
And worried is his frown
Fate turns her wheel high
Then casts her suitors down
Figures on a chessboard slay and sin,
Pay for his ambitions dearly
They ride to war
They sing and cry
But still he sits there,
Plays trapped in the game that fate must win
It's whispered in his halls
And out into the town
Fate turns her wheel high
Then casts her suitors down!
-
The Oak Tree Dancer
Verses:
For the fireworks ended
E
The last notes died down,
Am
In the final, fading light.
C G Am
With a swift "nice to meet you"
C
You smiled, raised your hand,
G
Then vanished into the black night.
C G C
Choruses:
Yet still music plays in the dark of my mind,
Am E
Still held there by your glance;
Am G Am
So 'til the last oak dies, my dear,
Am E C Am
There'll always be that dance!
G (E opt) Am
Bridge:
And the fireworks shone
C
And the dance carried on,
G
Your eye was a gem, a pool, a flame,
Am C Am
And the music seemed endless,
C
But come the next day,
G
I was left with only your name.
Am E Am
The evening was falling,
The music began,
A summer breeze crept through the trees,
With an unwary mind
With a crowd all around,
A world that was resting at ease.
Perhaps the oaks were mocking me,
Perhaps it was by chance;
But I turned to see you at my side,
And there I saw you dance.
You smiled at the music,
That gave you your wings,
As you almost seemed to glide,
You whirled like a dervish,
And flew like a bird,
As I hopelessly capered beside.
Further the band pulled us onward and in,
Drawn forward in a trance;
And for all my good deeds and for all my sins,
I was there to see you dance.
And the fireworks shone
And the dance carried on,
Your eye was a gem, a pool, a flame,
And the music seemed endless,
But come the next day,
I was left with only your name.
For the fireworks ended
The last notes died down,
In the final, fading light.
With a swift "nice to meet you"
You smiled, raised your hand,
Then vanished into the black night.
Yet still music plays in the dark of my mind,
Still held there by your glance;
So 'til the last oak dies, my dear,
There'll always be that dance!
CHORDS
Verses:
For the fireworks ended
E
The last notes died down,
Am
In the final, fading light.
C G Am
With a swift "nice to meet you"
C
You smiled, raised your hand,
G
Then vanished into the black night.
C G C
Choruses:
Yet still music plays in the dark of my mind,
Am E
Still held there by your glance;
Am G Am
So 'til the last oak dies, my dear,
Am E C Am
There'll always be that dance!
G (E opt) Am
Bridge:
And the fireworks shone
C
And the dance carried on,
G
Your eye was a gem, a pool, a flame,
Am C Am
And the music seemed endless,
C
But come the next day,
G
I was left with only your name.
Am E Am
-
I read a rather good short story recently and wrote this based upon it :)
Heartsong
The King was old and weary,
His sword had lain to rest,
When came to him a peasant girl,
Little Sooz, the peasant girl,
Cam for fear of a Gryphon's claws
With a heartbeat hard in her breast
His unicorn banner hung forlorn,
His castle quiet lay,
But he remembered the unicorn,
His banner's moon-white unicorn,
So the hero took his sleeping sword
And the beast he swore to slay.
The king and girl they found their foe,
The gryphon proud and tall,
In a lion's breast there beat a heart,
In the eagle's breast there beat a heart,
Two hearts, one mind on malice bent,
Upon them it did fall.
The King stood firm and he stood fast,
One heart he pierced and broke,
But then the gryphon threw him down,
Tossed him up and threw him down,
And he sprawled in the dust with the girl at his side
And not a word he spoke.
The girl and king lay on the ground,
Two hearts beat fast in tune,
A tune to bring a unicorn,
Amalthea, the unicorn,
Sped to them through the wildwoods,
As bright as a harvest moon.
The duel was short; the fight was fast,
The eagle-heart killed dead.
The two hearts of a gryphon slain,
The one heart of the bold king slain,
And little Sooz, the peasant girl,
Lay cold on an earthen bed.
But that is the power of a unicorn,
The girl she did awake
And so the girl lived ever on,
And so may you live ever on,
But remember the hearts that beat for doom,
Or for our lives would break.
-
One of the poems I wrote on holiday:
The Teller's Epitaph
My voice and lungs are spent at last;
I leave to join the growing past
The tale continues ever on
But think not, friend, that I am gone
For every word's a planted seed
Each story to a tree may lead
The trees grow from my dying mouth
In all the places, north or south
Where I have spoken. Though I die
My stories live - thus, so do I.
-
The Churchyard Wall
I am the writer on the churchyard wall
I come here for an hour every day
And it's here stories start, on the churchyard wall,
To grow to song, to tale, or to play
I am the writer on the churchyard wall
My friends they are the squirrel and the wren
My enemies the giants and the monsters of today
As my heroes grow with each stroke of the pen
I am the writer on the churchyard wall
I sit between the living and the dead
Past and future, rock and pen, to fight a present wrong
My weapons are the tales that fill my head
I am the writer on the churchyard wall
Though still I wish the tales had not called me
Alone with pen and paper on a churchyard wall
A slave's work this, to set a story free
I am the writer on the churchyard wall
I with they wouldn't leave me lost up here
Bemused, the smiles and frowns they flicker by and flicker past
Strange faces that will ne'er be close or near
I am the writer on the churchyard wall
Gatekeeper to a thousand worlds I stand
Alone to set my stories on the demons of the earth
My pen, the key of heaven, in my hand.
-
And some song lyrics now:
Kett's Call
Arise you lads
And hear the call
And follow it
Until you fall
Arise, arise!
Arise, I say
To the commons' call
To the break of day.
Arise, then, lads
And hear me cry
And stand tall 'til
The day you die
When your lips go cold
When your eyes are pale
Half Norfolk lies
In Dussindale
Arise, you lads
In Wymondham town
And bring the jail
Walls crashing down
We'll chose our priests
And own our land
Obey none but
Our King's command.
Arise, then, lads
And hear me cry
And stand tall 'til
The day you die
When your lips go cold
When your eyes are pale
Half Norfolk lies
In Dussindale
Arise, you lads,
And wake to see
A host of men
In the duke's army
From Lincolnshire
And Germany
Their cannon bells
Do toll for thee.
Arise, then, lads
And hear me cry
And stand tall 'til
The day you die
When your lips go cold
When your eyes are pale
Half Norfolk lies
In Dussindale!
-
And another!
The Heron Is King
Where the fens and the dry land
Both meet with the sea
Over sky, over water, the birds cry and sing
There's a place where each year
The leaves fall from the tree
Over sky, over water, the heron is king
Without leaves, without shelter,
The tree must remain
Over sky, over water, the birds cry and sing
'til the year turns around
And it finds them again
Over sky, over water, the heron is king
In the pale light of winter
Birds hide from the cold
Over sky, over water, the birds cry and sing
As all men must do too
When the year's growing old
Over sky, over water, the heron is king
Just one bird stands tall
In the frost and the snow
Over sky, over water, the birds cry and sing
By the shade of wide wingbeats
Then all folk shall know
Over sky, over water, the heron is king
So when you see a heron,
A baron or squire,
Over sky, over water, the birds cry and sing
Spare a thought for those who
Have no feathers or fires
Over sky, over water, the heron is king
-
The Beekeeper
The Beekeeper sits
In a field full of hay
And he watches the flowers
That grow day by day
And he won't understand
If you turn and you flee
For he knows his life depends
On the honey-bee
The weaver she sits
In a cottage so small
Where the cobwebs and threads
Grow to cover the walls
And her fingers are strong
Though her strength starts to ebb
But the threads they make her home
Like a spiders' web
The tinker he stands
For he's nowhere to rest
He'll sell trinkets today
Then he'll head to the west
And he'll move slowly on
To find more things to sell
With his life upon his back
Like a snail-shell
The soldier she stands
With her head and heart sore
For the loss of the friends who
She followed to war
And she still doesn't know
What the morning will bring
But her coat is coloured bright
as a beetle's wing
The story I sing
Is my story as well,
For we wandering tellers
Need stories to tell
And we need all the beasts
Of the land, sea and sky
So my words can take their wings,
Like a dragonfly.
CHORDS:
The story I sing
Em
Is my story as well,
G
For we wandering tellers
Em
Need stories to tell
G
And we need all the beasts
D Em
Of the land, sea and sky
D Em
So my words can take their wings,
G D
Like a dragonfly.
Em
-
Lost In The Hallows
To feel like a ghost
In a town you once knew
Like the back of your hand
Might take some getting used to
CHORUS:
But the sky has grown dark
And there's no time to grieve;
The world's growing strange
And it's All Hallows' Eve.
It's a magic of sorts
That can leave you alone
Where your strengths make you weak
Where your home's not a home
CHORUS
And the drinks I have drunk
And the clothes that I wear
They will fade and will break
As the beech trees turn bare
CHORUS
There are people I've lost
Those I haven't yet found
Some that just pass me by
As the year turns around
CHORUS
So what's to be done
When the spirits grow bold?
Nothing left but to dance
Let the witchcraft take hold!
CHORUS
-
Firesong
Hear the fire's song
The hiss, the gentle roar
That whistles on a winter wind
Beyond the cold, before the thaw
See the fire's glow
As it weaves into the air
The forks that fly into the dark
But that never linger there
Feel the fire's burn
The heat upon your face
Fire for a moment fills the world
And then is lost in darkened space.
-
Ballad of the Pholidota
I've been to many foreign shores
C Am C
But of all I saw across the seas
G Am
One creature stood most strange of all
C Am C
The beast called the pangolin!
Am Em Am
She'd scales for a skin, so
Am C
Her foes could never win-oh,
G Am
One creature stood most strange of all
Am C
And they called her Pangolin, o!
G Em Am
I've been to many foreign shores
But of all I saw across the seas
One creature stood most strange of all
The beast called the pangolin!
She'd scales for a skin, so
Her foes could never win-oh,
One creature stood most strange of all
And they called her Pangolin, o!
She'd armour all along her back
And claws so sharp and tail so strong
She stood there like a faery knight
Thus her tale does begin..
She'd scales for a skin, so
Her foes could never win-oh,
She stood there like a faery knight
And they called her Pangolin, o!
Well first she fought the termite horde
Went marching to their fortress grand
She smote their walls with claws like steel
And slew them all within!
She'd scales for a skin, so
Her foes could never win-oh,
She smote their walls with claws like steel
And they called her Pangolin, o!
Then next a lion roared at her
But she stood firm and she held fast,
She curled up in her armour bold
And he could not get in!
She'd scales for a skin, so
Her foes could never win-oh,
She curled up in her armour bold
And they called her Pangolin, o!
Yet as all heroes, she did fall
When grasping giants she did meet
The giants boiled her in a pot
To serve her to their kin!
She'd scales for a skin, so
Her foes could never win-oh,
Yet giants boiled her in a pot
And they called her Pangolin, o!
But there are more of these brave knights,
That we should aid and honour true,
So raise a glass and raise your voice
For the wond'rous pangolin!
She'd scales for a skin, so
Her foes could never win-oh,
So raise a glass and raise your voice
And call her Pangolin, o!
She'd scales for a skin, so
Her foes could never win-oh,
So raise a glass and raise your voice
And call her Pangolin, o!
Chords:
I've been to many foreign shores
C Am C
But of all I saw across the seas
G Am
One creature stood most strange of all
C Am C
The beast called the pangolin!
Am Em Am
She'd scales for a skin, so
Am C
Her foes could never win-oh,
G Am
One creature stood most strange of all
Am C
And they called her Pangolin, o!
G Em Am
-
Our Shadow
What's the shadow falling
In the dark behind your eyes?
What's the night wind calling
As it whistles softly by?
It's a voice always a stranger's
And a cold that starts to creep
One the gnaws at you by daylight
Leaves you too afraid to sleep
It's a voice that's always been there
Since the earth was new and bare,
And when the final light is dimmed
Its chill will still be there
The Greeks and Romans knew it too,
But would not grant it fame
Of all the powers of sea or sky
One god they dared not name.
The shadow is our loneliness
It fights the light forever
So yes, I'll march to hell and back
- but please let's march together.
-
No prizes for guessing who's been to a ceilidh recently. For those who don't know, the rosza is essentially a ceilidh waltz, by far the most common you'll find called. And if you want to know how to dance it, this poem gives a rough description! A more condensed form of the steps is available here (http://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=4588).
The Devil's Dance
Don't ever dance a rosza,
Not by night or shining day;
For it's the devil's dance, and it
Will steal your heart away.
You hang upon their fingertips,
As right and left you sway,
Then turn into each others' arms,
And hear the music say,
Don't ever dance a rosza,
Not by night or shining day;
For it's the devil's dance, and it
Will steal your heart away.
Step left, step left, and right and right,
Then out of the hold you spin,
The band plays on, your heart is trapped;
You listen to it sing,
Don't ever dance a rosza,
Not by night or shining day;
For it's the devil's dance, and it
Will steal your heart away.
Step in, then out, with right hands held,
You're lost within their eyes
Turn under, steps, then turn again;
Your hunted heart it cries,
Don't ever dance a rosza,
Not by night or shining day;
For it's the devil's dance, and it
Will steal your heart away.
And then at last the ballroom hold,
Your hearts pressed close and near,
And as you waltz, entrapped, entranced,
You may just faintly hear,
Don't ever dance a rosza,
Not by night or shining day;
For it's the devil's dance, and it
Will steal your heart away.
-
Two new ones (I wasn't just doing politics at LD conference...)
Rivermoon
I remember a time when the world seemed more free,
When the moon was a river that flowed on the sea.
Hope had I then
On a green-golden day,
Where the petals were falling
To run down the way,
To where half the wide world nestled in an oak tree,
Where the moon was a river that flowed on the sea.
The earth it is open,
We close it by choice;
Choosing fear as our master
And rage as our voice,
In the harsh tread of life people choose not to be
Where the moon is a river that flows on the sea.
And the walls, closing down,
Spread the fear ever more,
But no ship will bear us
There is no safe shore;
And as much as we will it, we still cannot flee,
Down the moon, the white river, that flows on the sea.
So then help me, my friend,
As the candles burn low,
For there's light to be kindled
And seeds yet to sow,
For our children - and theirs - join hands now with me,
And remember the river that flows on the sea.
For every cloud passes, and sets the moon free;
And its river, forever, shines on out to sea.
In Memory of Forgetfulness
Memories
Are not forever young
They blur and age and melt - and grow
Like secrets passed
From tongue to whispered tongue
Like drips flow out from ice to crystal snow.
And so
For memory we mourn
As things fall out of place in slow decay,
We lose the joy we feel when comes the dawn,
In shadows at the fading of the day.
But in that haze,
The blurring of the mind,
A whirl of colour spins and paints anew,
Each memory fractures, yet repays in kind,
With newfound thoughts the days we kept it through.
Weep not, then,
When memory recedes
And takes past glories soft into the night.
Past forests, faltering,
Sow tomorrow's seeds,
New thoughts to bring, afresh, tomorrow's light.
-
Fear Not
Fear not the day, they said,
When the silence falls;
When the lost ones huddle cold
Beneath the lamplit walls.
Fear not the time, they said,
When those who can will flee,
Better off alone, they said,
To stare to open sea.
Fear not the sight, they said,
Of streets in disrepair,
The old with none to care for them,
The young their pockets bare.
Fear only this, they said;
That others take what's yours
Fear for the scraps you own
And close the open doors.
I am afraid my country's flower
Is broken at the stem -
But this I pledge, for all my fear
I shall not fear them.
-
The Herald of Frost
The herald of frost he drew his sword,
And galloped through the scene;
The leaves swirled round his horse's hooves,
Trees lost their coats of green,
For the glory of his queen.
The herald of frost he blew his horn,
And winds roared through the land,
The sky grew cruel, the earth grew naught,
By the workings of his hand,
Just as his queen had planned.
The herald of frost he called his name,
And dressed in a dead-leaf cloak,
From pavement's grey to nature's earth,
All things fell to his yoke,
As his queen's commands he spoke.
The herald of frost had raiments brown,
But at last they turned to white,
The trees, now bare, would shine with frost,
From the first short rays of light,
To the fall of winter's night.
The herald of frost he bowed his head,
And shed a single tear,
His Queen she came, and soon she'll leave,
'til he shall reappear;
For November he comes each year.
-
It's not like he takes a vacation for the rest of the year, he's just moved to the southern hemisphere. :P
-
That's basically a vacation :P
-
So a friend recently posted the viral thing of asking people to post how they met but not tell the truth, looking for the most interesting responses. This was mine:
A Strange Meeting
By forest tree and tower cold,
We met by streams that swiftly ran,
That washed beneath the lime-green skies,
From mountains dark where they began.
To stay a while and tarry there,
Bethought not one or both of we,
For there did grow the wyrling-fruit,
That grew upon a tulgey tree.
The fruit we shunned, the forest too,
Down fulgent streams we wandered on,
To where the brandips make their homes,
And rest beneath a purple sun
Rejoicing in their mimsy pools,
The brandips laughed and gaily played,
'til when the year turned syrup-sour,
One of us left, the other stayed.
There parted we, in brandip-halls,
The one to stay; the other, go,
To where the thunder-gnats fly fast,
And gently falls the pulchrous snow.
This second one was written for a poet interweb-friend of mine, for her birthday:
Cloudspoken
A day is born, a cloud will form,
That passes in a dappled sky,
That whitens ere the passing storm,
That wanders where the birds may fly.
Where light it wanders over sea,
Or pauses on a mountain height,
And yet the cloud must burdened be
With all that falls beneath its sight
Another year the sun sets on,
And falls in golden filigree;
In golden reds the cloud moves on,
That drank the mead of poetry.
And this one is just silly:
My Donkey
Alack and alas, I had a little ass,
And it said hee-haw hee-haw;
But away it went,
To heaven it was sent,
And my donkey was no more, no more,
My donkey was no more.
-
Donkey one is what I'm talkin' 'bout.
-
Why are you talking about my ass? Rather personal. :P
-
It's been a while - first poem for this thread of 2017!
On Threads of Silk
Wine-dark the languid silks hang down,
Adorning walls with Tyrian dyes,
Where ghost-lights play,
I tread my way,
Beneath the eagle's watchful eyes,
Beneath the wings that time defies.
I trespass here in times far gone,
The threads that bind us woven thin,
And colours flow,
That boldly show
Prides and hopes and foe and kin,
That some lost hand has woven in.
Wine-dark they hang there, warp and weft,
The art of ages past and yet
Still-present threads,
In purple-reds;
Their makers shall not e’er forget,
Whose hands and mine these threads have met.
-
The Nothingness
I lost my face in a game of dice,
I lost my hands to ice and snow,
I lost my heart to a roving lass,
I lost my hair to a dark fire's glow.
I lost my legs in a winter storm,
I lost my dreams in an autumn fog,
I lost my eyes to the turning years,
I lost my sleep to a fallen log.
I lost these things and so much more,
And yet am vast beyond compare...
For I am nothing, nothing more;
But nothingness is everywhere.
-
Tarasthalay
Perhaps there's a land where the bluebells grow
In song and silence shadowing, in hope and hopeful flowering,
Where soft are the summers and brief the snow,
In leaf and root meadow-grown
In Tarasthalay
Perhaps there's a land that is over the sea,
Past great grey sails billowing, and breeze and zephyr following,
Where the harbours are sound and there's light in a window
In welcome and kindness
In Tarasthalay
Perhaps, o perhaps, there too shall go I,
And never more a-tarrying where cold gales oft are harrowing
I shall build the world found in my mind's quiet eye
And on earth and in hope-song
Build Tarasthalay
Chords:
Perhaps there's a land where the bluebells grow
G D G
In song and silence shadowing, in hope and hopeful flowering,
C G D Em
Where soft are the summers and brief the snow,
C G D
In leaf and root meadow-grown
Em
In Tarasthalay
G D
-
Displacement
I sit in hope that dimming light
Will move me on another day
To tales I someday hope to write
Where mind-eyes smile and thoughts can play.
And the old city breathes out slow
I sit connected and alone
A paradox in fading glow
I am a thousand miles from home
This is the home I shall now know
And the old city breathes out slow
I sit before a pompous past
That sleeps before a falling sun
To write anew my tale at last
My pen ne'er falls, my work undone
And the old city breathes out slow
I sit here like a babe newborn
That cannot read and cannot speak
I, young and old and new and worn
Am changing each and every week
And the old city breathes out slow
It all changes, all we are, you know;
Even the city, as it breathes... so... slow.
-
Our Wardrobe
I pushed way through the darkness
Em
To find a world of snow
Am G
But even then I saw the lamp-light
C G
As it glowed
D
And you lit it there in hope that
C G
Your beliefs it would proclaim
Em
Now your winter fades to spring -
G D
But the hope remains
Em
CHOR:
I'm looking for a lamp-post
G D
Everywhere I go
Em
And I'm looking for a lamp-post
G D
For the folks I used to know
G
And I'm looking for a lamp-post (Higher)
G D
That's shining for us all
Em G
And I'm looking for a light until the thaw.
G D C
I pushed way through the darkness
To find a world of snow
But even then I saw the lamp-light
As it glowed
And you lit it there in hope that
Your beliefs it would proclaim
Now your winter fades to spring -
But the hope remains
Chor:
And I'm looking for a lamp-post
Everywhere I go
And I'm looking for a lamp-post
For the folks I used to know
And I'm looking for a lamp-post
That's shining for us all
And I'm looking for a light until the thaw.
The magic flowed through my fingers
And it wove into my dreams
And I walked with my own eyes open
As it gleamed
To beyond lambs, lions and kings I danced
With fauns and badgers there
Where each star and tree has songs
For us to share
Chorus
I stand, godless, in the lamp-light
(You didn't know I can)
I'll bring sisters, friends, and lovers
You couldn't understand
For like every old magician
You knew not with what you play
But you set some magic free
And on its way
Chorus
CHORDS
I pushed way through the darkness
Em
To find a world of snow
Am G
But even then I saw the lamp-light
C G
As it glowed
D
And you lit it there in hope that
C G
Your beliefs it would proclaim
Em
Now your winter fades to spring -
G D
But the hope remains
Em
CHOR:
I'm looking for a lamp-post
G D
Everywhere I go
Em
And I'm looking for a lamp-post
G D
For the folks I used to know
G
And I'm looking for a lamp-post (Higher)
G D
That's shining for us all
Em G
And I'm looking for a light until the thaw.
G D C
-
Out of Gas
Guttered.
Hanging in star-strewn space, nose-cone to the front -
and, yet, directionless.
Imagine seeing only this, this drifting hulk
whose fires have burned through the heavens into nothingness
across stars and worlds and suns and meteors
into nothingness
into nothingness.
The air will be getting heavier inside
The beat of dying engines like a heart weighed down
By fear, by sin, by despair - it matters not which piston when the fuel is gone.
A strange, slow panic sets in
As the universe crawls
Screens flicker not in hope
But in work. Work, because what else is there?
The air is heavy and dead
The strip-lights glow their last warm half-light
And dying circuits belch a pulse from the vessel's carcass into the nothingness
One more time
into the nothingness
into the nothingness
...
---
...
...-.-
-
The Song of the Owlbear
I once was walking deep within
The hill-crags of a northern land,
Where there a male owlbear I saw,
Upon a hilltop it did stand.
To be a monster's hard, perhaps,
When all the fuss and knights are gone,
And naught remains but the rolling hills,
That roll forever north and on.
But its long, slow, call
When night did fall
What did it mean -
if aught at all?
Why call so long,
O beast, so strong,
Your melody,
Your solo song?
The sound sang through,
It fell, then grew,
A plaintive cry -
And then, I knew.
The owlbear stood and called across
That valley deep, and dark, and cold,
In hope to hear a call return,
As once he might in days of old.
Beneath the feather and the fur,
There lies a lonesome heartbeat, too
He shuffles on, a mate to seek,
His goal, his hope - to wit, to woo.
(http://pro.bols.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/owlbear-and-cub.jpg)
-
Just wrote this quickly today, 'tis not great but it's something:
Wintertide
The winter sinks into my bones,
Below the flesh and through the blood,
The long-dead leaves are mostly gone,
The grass turns fast to fog-damp mud.
The time has come for hearths to burn,
As stars in winter deep
Until the night-dark tide will turn,
And life awakes from sleep.
Would that I, too, could sleep;
For still the cold shall creep,
Throughout the winter's deep.
-
The Dornishman's Wife (Extended)
Verses 1 & 4 are by George RR Martin: verses 2 & 3 are an extension by me. Adding it here so I don't forget :)
The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,
and her kisses were warmer than spring.
But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,
and its kiss was a terrible thing.
The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,
in a voice that was sweet as a peach,
But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,
and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.
A young man walked by as the lady looked on,
And their eyes swore a tryst with their gaze,
For the young man’s eyes burned with the flame of desire
And the lady’s shone bright with the blaze
The Dornishman’s wife was as warm in the night
As her smile shone fair in the day.
Alone on that evening, he lover she called
And she took him inside where she lay.
The Dornishman’s servant he saw and he heard,
And he ran through the fields and the streets,
To tell to his master the tale of the lad
Who had taken his wife and his sheets
The Dornishman found him the very next day,
With his blade drawn to answer his shame,
The young man drew steel, but the Dornishman’s blade,
Struck him thrice like a gathering flame.
As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,
and the taste of his blood on his tongue,
His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,
and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,
"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,
the Dornishman's taken my life,
But what does it matter, for all men must die,
and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!
-
Moonlight's Captain
In memory of Carrie Fisher, General Leia Organa: October 21, 1956 – December 27, 2016
A silence in the moonlight,
With laughter in the sky,
A realising what it was, a light just passing by,
Who gave us strength and courage
Who helped us carry on,
Beyond the night, towards another sun.
And though our princess is gone
Our rebellion still lives on
And we persist
And we resist
And we remember
For her
A call to arms, not anger,
A call to fight, not fear,
Accepting those we stand beside with voices ringing clear,
We call out to each sunset,
And fly beyond each world,
Her spirit echoes with us, flag unfurled.
And though our princess is gone
Our rebellion still lives on
And we persist
And we resist
And we remember
For her
Remember not with silence
Those who taught you to sing,
Remember not with weeping those who hope could always bring,
And somewhere in the stardust,
In moonlight there may lie,
A soul whose hope still fires us up to fly.
And though our princess is gone
Our rebellion still lives on
And her memory will be sung
Round every star and every sun
And we persist
And we resist
And we remember
For her!
-
Rekindling
Now is the time
To drink the dancing fire
The one that mocks us with its reel-steps
As tired, we huddle, frozen small;
Let's drink the fire
And eat the light
And dance against the winter.
Cold is the hour
The wolf-packs they have come
To howl and circle us by moonlight
Where e'er we sit or, lonely, stand;
Let's howl a song
To make them fear
We'll sing against the winter
Skies threaten storms,
The nights may yet be darker
As lonely souls as yet unknown,
Are scattered in the moonlit frost
Come, hear the song
And see the fire;
We'll harbour you for winter.
Now is the time,
To kindle back the fire
The one whose embers welcome strangers
That warms us all, unwavering;
Rekindling,
We'll light a flame
To blaze away the winter
And we'll burn it into spring.
-
That is beautiful! :o I love the fire imagery... :)
-
To the tune of "My Bonny Lies Over The Ocean" or equally "My Baby Has Gone Down The Plughole":
My Luggage
My luggage got lost at Chicago,
My baggage got lost at O'Hare,
My luggage got lost at Chicago,
And now it has gone god knows where.
My luggage went down to Arkansas,
And landed there at Little Rock,
My luggage went down to Arkansas,
While I replaced PJs and socks
My luggage got to Kzoo airport,
No more for to wander astray,
My luggage got to Kzoo airport,
But I was already away...
So I got my bag at Chicago,
I got it upon my way home,
Yes I got my bag at Chicago,
No more will I let my bag roam!
For my luggage was lost at Chicago,
My bag it was lost at O'Hare,
My luggage was lost at Chicago,
Lest yours should, I bid you take care
-
Nice one!
-
Thankyou :) Another one about my trip to America:
Vindlandsaga
He took a trail from mountain lands,
The east-march, the old kingdom,
The wind was fair, the tide was fine;
And up above the seas of cloud
That rolled and soared, Odin’s son’s ocean,
He watched from on a ship that passed
A long road through the sky.
The whale-boat spewed its Jonah,
On the grey earth, left with nothing,
Where the babel-towers soar
The mountains of a rolling plain,
Where eagle-folk who serpent slew,
Atop a thorn-plant wreathed in blue,
Came by many winding roads
To shape the steel
To craft the earth
To cut and work the world
Into babel towers by lake-shores
Where summers burn and winds curse
And a thousand gods speak a thousand tongues.
On iron roads, Vulcan-forged, sped the traveller,
To the gathering, the meeting-place,
Of those who seek the old ways, the lost knowings,
Munin’s folk, ravens remembering,
As the giants’ bane raged in the heavens,
And only blackbirds, blood-winged,
Circled waters in that place.
There they played the King’s game,
And spoke of strangely starlit lands,
Of Arthur and of Gorhendad,
Of Prester John and priests.
And among them came short-beard,
Chief among the traveller’s folk,
Among them came dark-eyed,
With subjects ringed in gold,
Among them came flame-hair,
With new-read runes from ancient walls,
Among them came two thousand more,
With story and with guile.
And among them came the traveller,
Who speaking roamed from sea to sea,
And time to time,
Of the moon-country, land of Mushtar’s justice,
Of the she-King, the fourth of three,
Of the godless she drew to her,
In the moon-country, land of Otarid’s wisdom,
Many sky-roads from their meeting.
His errand sped, to grey road set the traveller,
With Hathor’s child, the crafter of colours,
And passing by the chariots, smoking, steel-born,
And passing by the club-wielders, cursed by twilight, ill-starred,
They came to another land
A hill-country, boulder-strewn.
A land where old ways linger,
Of horse-wagons, corn-fields,
Forests on the hillside,
A land of vultures wheeling
Ereshkigal’s birds,
Cursed to croak soundless.
There long ago the mound-builders,
Red flint’s shapers, long paths roaming,
Gathered never dreaming
That one day such a traveller
Would stand upon their home long past
Unknowing of its heroes
And recalling foreign gods
When their own fated faith had passed
Beyond the cry of ravens
And beyond the croak of vultures
To a memory of a memory
That whispered round the earthen rings,
Where in the mead of poetry
And the flight of the birds
Its last taste can be found.
For then in twilight dimming
Came fairy-birds, flame-necked,
Steeds of Gallivespians
That came that way from southern lands
Where never falls the snow
They danced in twilight dimming,
While fires burned to ember-glows,
They, Titania’s messengers,
Fast-wing, Flower-drinker, Bright-winged herald,
These and more he named them
As the mound-builders had known them
As they heralded Yavanna
As they heralded lost summers past
As the world sank into moonlight
As the world sank into starlight
As the world sank out of time.
From herald unto master,
The errant was called with the sun,
For tarrying and tarrying
Must ill become a traveller,
The hammer-wielder’s white-foam seas
Beckoned in the dawning.
As travellers must often end
Their stories with retracing steps,
So to the East-March he was bound, to the old kingdom.
He set sail for the morning.
On a long road
Through the darkness
Where Bragi bites the coal
On a long road
Through the darkness
Where storytellers all shall pass
On a long road
Through the darkness
The dark path that lightward leads,
On a long road
Through the darkness;
On a long road through the sky.
-
Unfortunately we didn't make it to where the real boulders live, but it's something for the next time. ;)
-
Dark Light
There was a dark light on the hills today
And it blurred the lumpen fields into sharp relief
As the wine-light sea frothed quick and calm
As the solid sands that lay beneath
There was a loud murmur in the trees today
That ripped and rippled through the aspen leaves
As the croaks of crows just seeped away
To the raucous silence of magpie thieves
Turning kind webs in the grass today
A spider cared for helpless babes
Their fierce defender, armoured knight
A tangled web of lives to save
So wrapped in riddles there I see
A truth my eyes concealed from me
You see
There was a dark light in my eyes today
Across my world, my pupils pale
Invert, reverse the truths and lies
Of spider, magpie, tree and dale
For the light was mine, and it shone that way
So there was a dark light on the hills today.
-
Copper leaf and copper hair
Whistle-mouth I call to you, flying and fearless,
Tapping string, a note to sing, upon the autumn sky,
Copper leaf and copper hair, I call to you and name you,
Dancing where the summer leaves descend to earth to die.
Steeped in sounds of mandolins the evening light is dimming now,
Flickering with candle-flames until the air is cold,
Copper leaf and copper hair, you fill the silent half-light,
Calling autumn, music-drowned, like Crassus bathed in gold.
Would that I could fly like you, song-borne and sorrowless,
Never clinging to the green past seasons left behind,
Copper leaf and copper hair shine bright but I am fearful,
Harbouring the blossom buds that spring left in my mind.
Do you know, you fearless one, what you sing into being?
Time and time with every note that weave the days along?
Copper leaf and copper hair will someday fade to pale snow,
And I must hope to have the strength to call another song.
-
Dug up a couple of paper-written poems I've never transcribed (I think these are both from this year):
Summer Threads
Rain, the hair that tumbles down
From cloud-bank shoulders floating there
That heave a sigh for all the town
A wind that whirls along the air
This summer's darkness holds in one
The trembling seasons in their all
A sharp-tongued wind, a sharp-eyed sun,
The grey clouds bright where skies may fall.
And where then?
Where now?
When worlds collide there's little space
With wide smile but
Furrowed brow
Another alley, mews, or place
That still sees raindrops on the eve
Of sun, and sun on eve of rain
Until the rainbow colours weave
This tapestry - then fade again,
And all things pass - yet grow - yet wane.
-
The Poetry of Mead
They said the mead of poetry
Gave man the gift of rhyme
The joy of verse
The ecstasy of rhythm
And on this point perhaps
They told true.
But neglectfully
They concealed the other truth
The truth so clear
In translucent gold
That it was unseeable.
This is that truth:
The mead of poetry
Is
Mead.
What is verse, when fought
with hazy restfulness?
What power of song calls better
Than a lolling, slurring tongue?
The mead of poetry is acclaimed
By the connoisseurs
By high society (none higher than the Gods)
But what is acclamation in
a heated, half blurred night?
So we mortals drink our mead
and curse the poetry
We were not born to live
blurred lives;
Those come from other cruelties
Ones we escape into the blur
The blur
Where the Gods
Put poetry
Knowing it, too, was irresistible
Still my pen scratches paper
And I call for another round of mead and poetry
And wish, to unhearing Gods, to be shot of them both.
-
Passing Pale
I sped along the cloud roads
That were darkened by their whiteness
One from loneliness to loneliness
No milestone or light
Save glimpses of their wind-shaped lands
Cloud mountains and storm canyons
Flat hillocked sheets a rolling plain
With not a sea in sight
And then those lands in which I tread
(Intruding there, I onward sped)
Lose form and turn to wisps again,
Envelop me within the plain
Though, steel-bound, I'll not be part
Of it - as still I onward dart
I sped along the cloud roads
Where journey's ends a memory,
To be clung to in the lost blank world
The windowscape of white
And lost in journey's wisps and hills
I pass by loves and plans and pasts
That fade like words in cloudmist
As I poise my pen to
-
Yet another in the "poems on planes" niche, this one from a dragging and disrupted journey from Vienna back to Norfolk:
Peppermint Tea
I sip
Cramped, buckled,
Backached and homebound
I sip
Paper-cupped, water barely warm
But I sip
Half dreaming, a fifth awake,
Glow-trapped, outside dark-bound.
I sip
Here I sip, I can do no other
And a part of a part of my ache
Shifts under a once-fresh scent
So again
I sip
Cramped, buckled
It brings no revelation
Just a familiar taste
That settles into my half-dreams
I sip
So I can use
This glow-trap
For pen-scrawled letters
Until the memory fades
And what is left then?
Not even
Peppermint tea.
-
A Fear of Falling
I awake
And the name twined around my lips and dreams
Is an unfamiliar one
Tangles hardly seen wrap and weave around my memory
And for all the comfort of being enclosed, I am afraid
Beyond all fear.
And I look down from the battlements
Up, too, at the tangles in a tangled sky
Around this fortress I built
On its cliff-edge
Me, imprisoned inside
And my fear of hopes without
I look down from the battlements
Where the cliffs plunge
Seas batter rocks in showers of foam
Comfortable foam that I could wrap myself in
If I just believed in this jump,
Just imagined gravity would abandon and free me.
But instead, I awake
And back away from the soft tangles and the ledge over emptiness
Relieved at fear's victory, I try and edge my toe back from the battlements
And it resists
Of course.
-
Light Wolf
She glistens
As if bound and formed of gossamer
The quiet howl
That, pale, finds not the January moon
The light wolf
Her pack filtered through motes of dust
In winter sunbeams
Prowls
Bounds
Prowls again
Paws that leave no print
Jaws that leave no bite
Fur that has no warmth
Hunts that have no kill
Yet the light wolf's breath lies on my face
For it is I who am the hunted
It is dawn, and the light wolf comes
Howling quiet
And as if her fur were gossamer
She glistens
-
Comfort
Why have I not grown?
I was told I would grow
Be beaten, forged, strengthened
Be armoured by experience
Both bitter and sweet
I would learn to weather tides
I would learn to sail storms
Leather-skinned so words and hates would wash past,
Living in crisp reality not the malleable blur of fantastic things -
Why have I not grown?
My greatest delights are still unaged
And I do not yearn for them to wither
Simple kindness, like buds opening to sunlight,
Warm fur of old friends,
The rush of air over mountains in a landscape built all in my mind,
The touch of frost on the tip of my nose,
And,
Delighting in smallness and green-ness and fluff,
In beardlings and scale-beasts and hopefulness,
My eyes still shine when they are allowed to.
I have not grown numb like they promised,
Although I have been pierced with knowledge.
The child's need to be wanted and to please
Has only strengthened with the stabbing of stubble through my chin,
Every friendship still a fearfully held eggshell,
In hands that, if larger, are no more steady.
And still I love the magic of story-paths,
That lead from wilderness to wilderness,
From hope to hope to hope,
And I love that which is small and forgotten and useless,
Picking up sticks I can still forge in my mind
The swords of heroes
Their edge still sharp and keen toward the world,
For I have not grown numb like they promised,
Only able to see further and further and further,
And empathise with larger pains
Until I am overwhelmed on lakes of grief
That never have I learned to dam
Scythes of anguish
That never have I learned to blunt
So I do not see "clearly" as the adults do;
I am bound by my child's eyes to see what is true.
From my childishness, my pain
From my childishness, my hope
From my childishness, my problems
From my childishness, my answers
Why have I not grown?
Perhaps - just perhaps - the answer comes from fairytales after all:
"Because in the end
It is all for the best."
-
The Little Egret's Courtship
I met a little egret,
Heronling, there we met,
Down by the river-bank at dawning of the day,
I tipped my hat to she, yet
There beside the stream's wet
Full she was of upset
At dawning of the day
"Sweet and little egret,
Why do you thus so fret,
Down by the river-bank at dawning of the day?
You have a beauteous islet,
A feather crest, an aigrette,
Fish that swim for you to get
At dawning of the day.
"Kind sir, a heron I met,
By the water inlet,
Down by the river-bank at closing of the day,
Would that I could forget,
Grey and proud at sunset,
For him my heart yearns yet
Each closing of the day."
So bewailed the egret,
Caught in passion's cold net,
Down by the river-bank at dawning of the day,
By her sadness beset,
Paying yearning's harsh debt,
Wailed the feathered starlet
At dawning of the day.
But then there came an egret,
Another little egret,
Down by the river bank at closing of the day.
Beak sharp as a gimlet,
Coat a pure white pallette,
Shapely as a statuette
At closing of the day
There they still are found yet,
Dancing in a minuet,
Down by the river bank at closing of the day.
He-gret and a she-gret,
Never more to regret,
Singing now in duet
At every break of day.
-
The Knight And The Scorpion
Let me tell you a tale
Of a warrior brave,
Who defeated a foe,
But could not fight the grave,
For in silk robes or leather, in cuirass or mail,
Victory comes with a sting in the tail!
His great foe was armed,
And was armoured as well,
With its venomous sting,
And its claw-snaps from hell,
For this was the beast he had sworn to assail;
Victory comes with a sting in the tail.
He leaped past its claws,
And he jumped on its back,
And he wielded his blade
As the monster attacked,
He muttered his oath then, to fight and prevail;
Though victory comes with a sting in the tail.
His shield held high,
And its sting lashing down,
Yet no swipe found its mark
On that man of renown,
So enraged, it fought on, but still to no avail,
Yet victory comes with a sting in the tail.
At last there he smote it,
Through fear and through pain,
Through its carapace armour
The great foe was slain,
His friends they all cheered as the beast it bled pale,
But his victory came with a sting in the tail...
For then off he leaped,
From the dead monster's back,
Where he fell on the ground,
Broke his head with a crack,
And so it's his death that this song must bewail,
For his victory came with a sting in the tail.
This was based on a twitter conversation here: https://twitter.com/bloominalle/status/1121792135013883906
-
ლექსი
ზამთარის თოვლი თეთრია,
და ღრუბელი ნაცრისფერია.
ზაფხულის ფოთოლები, და
ხეები მე მიყვარს ახლა.
Transliteration and translation in spoiler:
zamtaris tovli tetria,
da ghrubeli natrisperia.
zapkhulis potolebi, da
kheebis me miq'vars akhla.
Roughly translated (trying to keep the word order the same to help with reading):
Winter snow is white,
And cloud is grey.
Summer leaves, and
Trees, I love now.
-
Even doves cast a shadow on the world beneath their wings,
G Em D Em
Even trees see a winter that won't bring another spring.
C G D Em
Every bold knight knows weakness, every fool they have a skill,
G Em D
Every winter has sunshine, every summer has its chill!
Em D Em
And so, so it shall be, just as the birds do fly,
C G D Em
And so it shall be, love, forever.
C G D Em
Even Doves Cast A Shadow
Even doves cast a shadow on the world beneath their wings,
Even trees see a winter that won't bring another spring.
Every bold knight knows weakness, every fool they have a skill,
Every winter has sunshine, every summer has its chill!
And so, so it shall be, just as the birds do fly,
And so it shall be, love, forever.
Even doves cast a shadow on the world beneath their wings,
Just as mighty as lions stands the peace of which they sing,
But in calm, like in battle, there are wrongs we cannot right,
And with words, like with arrows, there are battles yet to fight!
And so, so it shall be, just as the birds do fly,
And so it shall be, love, forever.
Even trees see a winter that won't bring another spring,
There's no lord lives forever, priest or bishop, duke or king,
Like each pauper and beggar with no penny to his name,
Be you master or servant, you'll be buried just the same!
And so, so it shall be, just as the birds do fly,
And so it shall be, love, forever.
Every bold knight knows weakness, every fool they have a skill,
There's no loom serves a miller, and no weaver wants a mill,
Once a wise woman spent her days to find how birds they flew,
But a wiser one asked the birds, for they already knew!
And so, so it shall be, just as the birds do fly,
And so it shall be, love, forever.
Every winter has sunshine, every summer has its chill,
There's no gift wholly perfect, no misfortune wholly ill,
There's no autumn so dark pine needles fall unto the soil,
And no spring brings a plenty that will save us all from toil!
And so, so it shall be, just as the birds do fly,
And so it shall be, love, forever.
Yes, even doves cast a shadow on the world beneath their wings,
Even trees see a winter that won't bring another spring.
Every bold knight knows weakness, every fool they have a skill,
Every winter has sunshine, every summer has its chill!
And so, so it shall be, just as the birds do fly,
And so it shall be, love, forever.
I have a simple tune to this one, but I can't record it until I get back to Vienna!
-
Cadence
It was when I heard the sound of violins
That I knew that tomorrow was a dawn of farewells.
No soft symphonies,
But the chirring strigillations
Of the unseen musicians
That hide behind tree-leaves
On grass-stems
And call the high summer
And bloated with vapours
Humid and sweating
She wraps up the sound
And the sound wraps up me
And tomorrow is a dawn of farewells.
The violins, bowed by cricket-legs, crescendo
For it is tomorrow, and I take ambling steps
As high summer swaddles me
Shirt sticking to my back
And I walk a farewell that I cannot speak
To an orchestra that will play on without me
Past wren's corner, titmouse-nest,
Pecker-hole and jay-branch,
Hawfinch-tree and mouse-log,
A crossroads and an orchard,
And in a dawn reversed to dusk
The legs bow and bow and bow their notes
But I walk once more, just once,
Escaping the fortissimo of my departure
Just to the middle where the woods stand guard
And there you are
My sharp-eyed, uncaring hope
Beneath whose wing I have sheltered
And you sit for a moment, and depart
And I sit for a moment, and depart
And you think nothing of it
Of carrying my hope cloudwards one last time
Of my tear-strewn eyes left joyous behind.
The road ahead feels straight and bare,
The way I chose that I should fare,
And the path behind it twists and forks,
In Ginnheim wood, where my shadow walks,
Where I knew summers grow from springs,
And freedom on a buzzard's wings.
The dawn of farewells, the dusk of cricket-song,
The haze
And I am bound for home
South, and bound for home
Most of me is bound
For home
-
So Tusky was owed a poem by me from a very, very long time ago which I have shamefully been failing to do for him. His chosen theme was sea travel/exploration on the sea, and I can finally present the results of my endeavours:
The Sailor and the Nightingale
A sailor, a sailor,
G
To ship went one day,
D
To see what he’d find there
G C
In lands far away,
C D
And on the shore his true love said,
C G
Return to me and then we’ll wed -
G D
“Don’t bring me back a purse of gold,
G D
Don’t bring me back a ribbon blue,
Am G
But bring me the song of a nightingale,
C G D
For she’s the bird that sings most true.”
C D Em
A sailor, a sailor,
To ship went one day,
To see what he’d find there
In lands far away,
And on the shore his true love said,
Return to me and then we’ll wed -
“Don’t bring me back a purse of gold,
Don’t bring me back a ribbon blue,
But bring me the song of a nightingale,
For she’s the bird that sings most true.”
A sailor, a sailor,
The tropics he sailed,
Through lulls and through storm winds,
Through calms and through gales,
Where parrots crowed through every task,
But not the bird his love had asked,
“Don’t bring me back a silver chest,
Don’t bring me back a feather dress,
But bring me the song of a nightingale,
For she’s the bird who sings the best.”
A sailor, a sailor,
He sailed off to Spain,
Where fair Spanish ladies,
His fellows soon gained,
But still he searched the ports and trees,
For songs ne’er heard upon the breeze
“Don’t bring me back the golden sun,
Don’t bring me back the robes of kings,
But bring me the song of a nightingale,
Be sure you find her where she sings”
A sailor, a sailor,
At last he sailed home,
On cogs and on galleons,
The world he had roamed,
And on the shore his love stood there,
But he’d found naught, to his despair
“But dear, what I wanted all along,
Was nothing found across the sea;
For it’s here that you hear the nightingale,
So I knew you’d come back to me.”
Salt Horses
Wild manes fly from the breaking foam,
Am C G
Salt mares carry us far from home,
Am Em G Am
Our captain was a squire’s boy,
C Am
With horse and hunt he idled,
C G
Now aboard a ship he rides,
Em Am
The horse that cannot be bridled;
Am E
Wild manes fly from the breaking foam,
Salt mares carry us far from home.
Our captain was a squire’s boy,
With horse and hunt he idled,
Now aboard a ship he rides,
The horse that cannot be bridled;
Wild manes fly from the breaking foam,
Salt mares carry us far from home.
The first mate was a merchant,
His horse took wares to town,
But the horse whose way is the ocean bay,
Will throw you off to drown;
Wild manes fly from the breaking foam,
Salt mares carry us far from home.
The priest he rode a donkey,
As stubborn as could be,
But none’s so stubborn, strong and rash,
As riding waves at sea;
Wild manes fly from the breaking foam,
Salt mares carry us far from home.
The cook he was a blacksmith,
A thousand horses shod,
But none with kicks so loud as this,
The steed of an angry god;
Wild manes fly from the breaking foam,
Salt mares carry us far from home.
And all the rest we pull the ropes,
Unfurl the sails and heave,
For the stallion’s roar so far from shore,
Will cause our loves to grieve…
Wild manes fly from the breaking foam,
Salt mares carry us far from home.
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Wow! Amazing poems :)
Just listened to the shanty. Really nice - quite a catchy chorus.
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I'm very glad you like them. So sorry it took so long!
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Sunken Thoughts
I am sunk in this maze of streets
So the sun cannot soothe my face
Cannot reach me
To crown my ill-kept field of hay
With light
This city does not soar up from the ground
The ground feels like ruts and cracks
Into which people have fallen
More helpless than ants
For they not only cannot climb out -
They would not choose to if they could.
Would I choose so? Could I?
I was grown with a fen-calling in my spirit
Not to live tossed into the cracks between buildings
I was grown with a reed-listening in my thoughts
Not to shudder in tune with engine whines
I was made with wet mud in the depths of my soul
Under sky
upon sky
upon sky
(upon sky)
Until the world ends with a far fringe of trees.
The sun cannot soothe my face,
And the reeds cannot speak to me here
For I am sunk
In this maze
Of streets.
-
The Leaves Have Turned
The leaves have turned away again,
The leaves have turned away,
The leaves have turned away from me,
And winter's come to stay.
The leaves have turned to yellows, browns,
To duns and reds and gold,
The leaves have fallen round the towns,
For now the year grows old.
The leaves make piles around my heart,
And call to sleep and home,
The leaves in which I make my nest,
No more the cold to roam.
Cold I am, tired I am,
Long months have passed,
Worn I am, small I am,
Safe here at last,
Leaf-strewn bed, sleepy head,
Heavy-eyed
Wintertide
All draws in
All draws in
All draws in
As the leaves do turn.
The leaves have turned to feather-down,
When all the summer's lost,
The leaves have turned away, to be
My shields from the frost,
(The leaves have turned away from me,
So all outside is is bare,
The leaves have turned away again,
'til spring breathes through the air.)
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This is beautiful, as is salt horses - i forgot to say so earlier, but I really love that one
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The Cursed Company
One night upon a misty moon,
Am C
I walked across the land,
E Am
And there behind me on the road
Am Em
I spied a soldier band,
G D
I spied a soldier band, my boys,
Em D
But dead were those I saw,
C G
In Richter Kreugar's Company who march for ever more!
G D G C Em Am Em
One night upon a misty moon,
I walked across the land,
And there behind me on the road
I spied a soldier band,
I spied a soldier band, my boys,
But dead were those I saw,
In Richter Kreugar's Company who march for ever more!
They say he was a sellsword once,
Paid by a ghostly lord,
Betrayed him on the battlefield,
A curse his last reward
A curse his last reward, my friends,
To never end his war,
In Richter Kreugar's Company who march for ever more!
Each soldier that his blade cuts down,
Forever through the land.
Will join his shambling, bony march,
And rise at his command,
They rise at his command, my lads,
The dead soldiers of yore,
In Richter Kreugar's Company who march for ever more!
And at the head of all of them,
That ghastly captain rides,
Who tells his jokes through chattering teeth,
To make you split your sides.
He'll make you split your sides, my lads,
Until your bones lie raw,
In Richter Kreugar's Company who march for ever more!
So when you face a battlefield,
Beware that devil shade,
Whose eyes are holes beneath his helm,
And rusted is his blade.
And by that blade you too can join,
His rotting, bony corps,
In Richter Kreugar's Company who march for ever more!
-
Resolutions, Tears, and Sunbeams
Dance your tears
into the last sunbeams of a new year,
Where motes of salt and dust fleck
The painting of streets that were there
Before
And will be there
After
Your name will ever be spoken.
This is not new year because there has been a change:
We have made a change
And the change is
That we declare
That the year is
new
different
hopeful
bright
We have the mad temerity
To think that the year can be commanded to be new
But the year rolls on, season by season just the same.
We have the strange audacity
To command the year anyway, like powerless gods
That whisper our will into unthinking whirlpools of time.
But perhaps we are not so wrong
For we do not, after all, change the year for anyone but ourselves
It is to ourselves we promise that the year is new
It is to ourselves we promise that what is, does not have to be
And if we do not make that promise, how can we ask it to be true?
So that, sweet friend,
For all the peeling of paint and skin as the years pass
Is why I will dance your tears into sunbeams
And declare with my whispers, too,
That this is a new year.
-
Please Don't Punch My Bard
Please do not punch my bard in the face,
G
My bard is so terribly small,
Em D
Please do not punch my bard in the face,
C D G C
I just don’t think he’d like that at all.
G D G
I know you’ve had ale and you seem quite upset,
And I’m sure that the day has been hard,
But despite the vexation I’m sure has occurred,
I’d quite like you to not hurt my bard.
Please do not punch my bard in the face,
My bard is so terribly small,
Please do not punch my bard in the face,
I just don’t think he’d like that at all.
Yes he’s had a rebuke for insulting the duke,
It was not a wise use of a song,
But you’ve met the guy, and you know so have I,
And you can’t really claim he was wrong.
Please do not punch my bard in the face,
Just give him a stiff verbal warning,
Please do not punch my bard in the face,
We’ll be out of this town in the morning
And I know he did things with the Innkeeper’s wife,
That probably shouldn’t be named,
He’s slept round this town’s ladies and some of its men,
And I don’t think he’s even ashamed,
But please do not punch my bard in the face,
For the healing priestess wasn’t spared,
So please do not punch my bard in the face,
I’m not sure I can get him repaired.
It’s not like he poses a physical threat,
Let’s just keep this all in perspective,
There are orcish attacks that will call for your axe
More than bardic-penned streams of invective.
Please do not punch my bard in the face,
It’s a waste of resources and time
Oh, please do not punch my bard in the face,
He’s not technically guilty of crime.
And charisma’s a dump for the rest of my team,
And who else will promote us in verse?
You can tell from this tune that it shouldn’t be me,
And believe me, the half-elf sings worse.
So please do not punch my bard in the face,
For we need him to save these good lands,
Yes, please do not punch my bard in the face,
At least while this world’s fate’s in our hands,
So whilst you may find him annoying as sin,
And I’m often inclined to agree,
Let him give you a wink, put him down on the ground,
Give his lute back and let him go free.
Please do not punch my bard in the face,
He just doesn’t learn much from the pain,
He’s been punched in the face in the last dozen towns,
And there’s no point in trying again!
-
Please Don't Punch My Bard
Something in me keeps trying to set this to the metre and tune of My Bonny Lies Over The Ocean, at least the second half of each verse - is that what you were thinking of?
Otherwise, it made me chuckle - thank you!
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There's definitely a tune it's noticeably closer to than that, but I can't for the life of me think what it is - I'll try and get it recorded at the weekend and you'll see then I guess :)
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THAT IS THE MOST MAGNIFICENT SONG, OH MY GOODNESS I LOVE IT.
my friend's bard is indeed both very small and very annoying! I showed this song to them and they loved it and described it as 'absolute genius' (I agree).
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THAT IS THE MOST MAGNIFICENT SONG, OH MY GOODNESS I LOVE IT.
my friend's bard is indeed both very small and very annoying! I showed this song to them and they loved it and described it as 'absolute genius' (I agree).
Thank you! I will need to get the sung version done sometime :)
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Polyphemus, on an aeroplane
Above me is the wild open sky
But I look down
To see my flock.
They huddle, making ridges and troughs
Of sheep's-wool, so wispy and real
That the birds will doubtless line their nests with it in spring,
And I will warm myself beneath a blanket of it when autumn turns to frosted winter.
A break in the flock appears
just for a moment
And I see a cluster of little red clay ridges far below
Like grasping fingers somewhere
beneath the wisps of wool
But they are is soon gone
And the lumpen fleeces roll on
As I make gently switls and eddies along their backs
And it half passes from my mind
That there could be desperate people
Just trying to cling on
Below.
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I enjoyed that one. The images it evokes are quite clear.
I wonder if it was inspired during your last trip!
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It was - literally wrote it while in the air between Vienna and Istanbul, looking down at the clouds on my flight out :)
-
The Byrsa
I watch the torrent submerge
That ancient place,
Where walked Mago, Hamilcar, Hanno,
Before their walls were felled
And (so the story goes)
The earth sown with bitter salt
From the sea they had once mastered.
And here the torrent pours
Of lemon, orange, falling ripe
Of olive branch and willow tree
Of asphodel among the stones,
Of mallow grown beside the sea,
And of yellow flowers -
All the yellow flowers in the world
As if from every grain of salt
Had sprung a yellow flower
So that a torrent of flowers
Submerges that place
And mocks
Wasted salt.
-
The Little King
Of all of the kings in all of the world,
G
The princes, sultans, lords that be,
Em D
I'll pledge my sword to the little king of birds
G Em C
The little king of birds
G D
For his subjects are free
Em C
As I long to be
G C
The king of the birds he started no wars,
Am Em
As he sits in the blossom of spring,
Am G
And he sits not in judgement nor takes from the poor,
Am Em C
So I raise my voice with him to sing
C G D
Of all of the kings in all of the world,
The princes, sultans, lords that be,
I'll pledge my sword to the little king of birds
The little king of birds
For his subjects are free
As I long to be
The king of the birds he started no wars,
As he sits in the blossom of spring,
And he sits not in judgement nor takes from the poor,
So I raise my voice with him to sing
(Chor)
The king of the birds won his crown by his wits,
When they asked who could soar the most highm
In the tail of an eagle he comfortably fits,
'til it tired and he started to fly.
(Chor)
The king of the birds has a bush for his throne
With no servants or soft feather bed,
But his crown's plain to see for this feathers have grown
In a bright golden crest on his head,
(Chor)
The king of the birds I can find in a tree,
And in farmland and moorland and fen,
So I think that he knows what it's like to be me,
More than all of the kings among men,
(Chor)
Some kings they want gold or your service to call,
And other demands such as these,
But I've got a king who asks nothing at all,
So I'll roam and I'll do as I please!
(Chor)
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This is absolutely lovely! you've got a real gift for writing ballad-type things :)
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Wrote this a little while back for an anthology but it turned out to be surplus to requirements for that (they did already have a longish short story of mine which will be included), so here it is:
A Lost Poet in Dunsinane
Will these hands ne’er be clean?
Scrubbing until my knuckles lie raw
With royal blood they still lie stained
Blue
Poised, my weapon lies in a peerless might
Before which swords weep
(With red tears, for they cannot weep blue –
Not like the sharp point whose
Handle is towards my hand
Clutched and staining
My hand)
It is not the difficulty of washing that condemns
Stained eternity to my soft but calloused fingers
But this reality: that whenever that weapon
Is returned to its dark scabbard
It longs to be free again
I long to free it again
To free the words
That torment me.
They are my words, you know:
And is it for that that they madden me all the more
For nobody else can hear them
Rhymes and lines beating at cage-bars,
Insensible to feeling or to sight,
Driving me to their command, to let them go free,
Shedding them like royal blue bloodstains
Flooding and crowding in imagined forests
From my
Pen
And staining my hands
Which will ne’er be clean
Until that last syllable of recorded time
Which never comes.
-
The Ballad of Gham si Gham
Written in honour of the minor NPC Gam si Gam or Gham si Gham (not sure of spelling) in Lorn Song of the Bachelor, where he was randomly generated from tables as a recruit after the mage decided to Charm Person a new hireling for us. A semi-pro dire eel wrestler, he had some fights with albino cave crocodiles at the end of the campaign, getting rescued once by my character shooting a crossbow bolt and distracting one and then just about getting away from a second. The party then proceeded to go into the boss' stupa/longhouse, defeat some double-crossing catfish pirates, and trick the actual main demigod level villain into surrendering his powers while drunk.
Dire eel wrestler,
G
Semi-professional,
G
Bumped into a glowing eyed mage,
G C
Now he's out of the mud,
G
And he's risking his blood,
D
And he's up on the crocodile stage,
Em
And he said
"Call that a death roll?
Em
This is a death roll!"
Am
Doing the best that he can,
Am G
Gham si gham!
Am
Dire eel wrestler,
Semi-professional,
Bumped into a glowing eyed mage,
Now he's out of the mud,
And he's risking his blood,
And he's up on the crocodile stage,
And he said
"Call that a death roll?
This is a death roll!"
Doing the best that he can,
Gham si gham!
Poison fish in its gut,
He was holding on but,
Took a cut to the leg from its bite,
Crossbow bolt in its eye,
Ran over the ice to die,
But Gham had another to fight,
He said
"Call that a death roll?
This is a death roll!"
Fighting as hard as he can,
Gham si gham!
Tried to lasso its jaw,
But it opened to roar:
It was time to get out of the way,
Swam like only he knew
The survivor of two,
Cave crocodile showdowns that day
He said
"Call that a death roll?
This is a death roll!"
Faster than fishes he swam,
Gham si gham!
Then some catfish got kicked,
And a demigod tricked,
And a temple collapsed before long,
Then back to home and fame,
As they shouted his name,
And they all started singing this song,
And they sang
"Call that a death roll?
This is a death roll!"
Doing the best that he can,
Gham si gham!
"Call that a death roll?
This is a death roll!"
Mighty croc-wrestling man,
Gham si gham!
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oh, that's a lot of fun :D
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Zedeck Siew, who wrote the module Lorn Song of the Bachelor on which this is based, said listening to the recording of it made his day, so that's one of the nicest things that happened to me this week :)
-
And another piece based on the same D&D campaign:
The Lorn Song of the Bachelor
(Inna wa Inna's Song)
But now your strength has grown, my love,
C G Em
Your jaws with razor teeth they shine,
Am Em
Your claws are fast, my strong one,
Am E
You turn away from what once was mine
Am E Am
We become what we become
Am Em
Our old selves never last,
Am Em
A river song to swim along,
Am Em G
Forgetting verses past
Am C Am
A thief came and stole,
C
The key to your soul,
G Em
And you no longer hear your bride,
C G
So your power it grows,
Am
But each crocodile knows,
C Em
That it still has a soft underside
Am C G
We become what we become
Through years that pale and die,
A river song to swim along,
Reflecting open sky.
A ghostly memory, my love,
Is all that you retain of me,
To heart you clasp, my strong one,
A wronged man's nobility
We become what we become
A cursed pair betrayed,
A river song to swim along,
With notes that never fade
But now your strength has grown, my love,
Your jaws with razor teeth they shine,
Your claws are fast, my strong one,
You turn away from what once was mine
We become what we become
Our old selves never last,
A river song to swim along,
Forgetting verses past
A thief came and stole,
The key to your soul,
And you no longer hear your bride,
So your power it grows,
But each crocodile knows,
That it still has a soft underside
The years dimmed your revenge, my love,
But never brought you back to me,
They fear you now, my strong one,
And feared is what you hope to be
We become what we become
From love to hurt to greed,
A river song to swim along,
To where your hunger leads
This lorn song for a bachelor,
Like time and rivers onward wends,
Are you still my strong one?
When will our journey meet its end?
We become what we become
Through years that pale and die,
A river song to swim along,
Reflecting open sky.
-
my goodness that's beautiful I love it, especially the imagery of the chorus
-
What do the hills say?
What do the hills say?
Am
Brother, my brother,
Em
What do the hills say?
Am
They say we marched on a pauper's pay
C G Em
And hunger took some along the way,
C G Em
That's what the hills say, brother mine!
Am Em Am
What do the hills say?
Brother, my brother,
What do the hills say?
They say we marched on a pauper's pay
And hunger took some along the way,
That's what the hills say, brother mine!
Why do the hills weep?
Brother, my brother,
Why do the hills weep?
For like summer wheat that the farmers reap,
They fell on us til the bones lay deep,
That's why the hills weep, brother mine!
What do the hills cry?
Brother, my brother,
What do the hills cry?
They say the dragon never more shall fly,
Where a thousand march and a thousand die
That's what the hills cry, brother mine!
What do the hills know?
Brother, my brother,
What do the hills know?
Nothing but that they'll tell you so,
A thousand hurts and a tale of woe,
That's what the hills know, brother mine!
How now shall the hills fare?
Brother, my brother,
How now shall the hills fare?
A blade and a curse on our foes I'll swear,
And another for the serpents who led us there,
That's how we'll fare, o brother mine!
-
The Flower of Charas
Oh, the flower of Charas,
C Am
The rose in the spring,
G
It's for her we'll be fighting like lions and boars
Am C G Em
For of all of the flowers on Calradian shores,
Am C G Em
She's the one that I'll pluck for my king!
A, G C
The flowers of Charas they are bonny and fair,
Am Em
With long and dark petals that blow in the air,
F C G
But take up your lance and get up on your steed,
C Am
For between you and them there lies many a weed.
Am Em Am
Oh, the flower of Charas,
The rose in the spring,
It's for her we'll be fighting like lions and boars
For of all of the flowers on Calradian shores,
She's the one that I'll pluck for my king!
The flowers of Charas they are bonny and fair,
With long and dark petals that blow in the air,
But take up your lance and get up on your steed,
For between you and them there lies many a weed.
Oh, the flower of Charas,
The rose in the spring,
It's for her we'll be fighting like lions and boars
For of all of the flowers on Calradian shores,
She's the one that I'll pluck for my king!
The flowers of Charas they have stems tall and fine,
And a rare fragrant perfume and pitchers of wine,
It's no wonder the king wants his garden down there,
Where there aren't many plants but the flowers are rare,
Oh, the flower of Charas,
The rose in the spring,
It's for her we'll be fighting like lions and boars
For of all of the flowers on Calradian shores,
She's the one that I'll pluck for my king!
The flowers of Charas open best in the eve,
Though home may be far off you never shall grieve,
For when the battle's over and daylight has flown,
Then find you a flower to impress for your own,
Oh, the flower of Charas,
The rose in the spring,
It's for her we'll be fighting like lions and boars
For of all of the flowers on Calradian shores,
She's the one that I'll pluck for my king!
-
what do the hills say is incredibly powerful, I love it
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Song of Softness
When you are a baby,
E7 Am
Let your pillows be soft,
Am Em
The weak fire of new life
Am C
They will cushion from harm
C Em
In your mother's arms
E Am
When you are a baby,
Let your pillows be soft,
The weak fire of new life
They will cushion from harm
In your mother's arms
When you are a child,
Let your pillows be soft,
The sandy tumbles of youth
Will lead you to dreams
But time onward streams
When you are a young man
Let your pillows be soft,
The joyful silk drapes of love
That will fruit in the sun,
Sweet for the young
When you are a warrior
Let your pillows be soft,
The warm cushions of home
Let them soften your blade,
When war shall fade
When you are an old man
Let your pillows be soft,
All of the glory you found,
And friends that you had,
Feast and be glad
When you must pass from us
Let your pillows be soft,
Wool bundles of life
That soar up as clouds,
There rest you now.
-
The Tears of the Bokhon
(Song of the Khuzait Hunters)
The first wind blows green and fast
Em Am Em
As its hooves fly on unending grass
Em G Em
I stand at the turn of the season
Em Am Em
And I am the tears of the Bokhon
Em G Em
The first wind blows green and fast
As its hooves fly on unending grass
I stand at the turn of the season
And I am the tears of the Bokhon
The second wind blows gold and dry
As it canters through eternal sky
These are the lands that my shafts roam
Where I am the tears of the Bokhon
The third wind blows brown and pale,
And I take its place as the gale
I hunt and I feed as a beast grown
And I am the tears of the Bokhon
The fourth wind blows blue and chill
From sunlight the dark drinks his fill
Where once there were herds lie the cold bones
And I am the tears of the Bokhon
The fifth wind flows in my rage
As I see the end I have made
My fire in my greed burning my home
As I shed a tear for the Bokhon.
-
Shieldmaiden, shieldmaiden
Shieldmaiden, shieldmaiden!
Am G
The wild geese are flying
Em Am
The cloaked crow is crying
Em Am
To call you to war
G Em
Crops have now grown that we cut with the sword-arm
C G Am
And arm rings and fine things lie south to be won
F Em
So now leave the warm hearth, the home and the fireside,
Am C Em Am
And weave only fates that are already spun.
Am C G Em
Shieldmaiden, shieldmaiden!
The wild geese are flying
The cloaked crow is crying
To call you to war
Crops have now grown that we cut with the sword-arm
And arm rings and fine things lie south to be won
So now leave the warm hearth, the home and the fireside,
And weave only fates that are already spun.
Shieldmaiden, shieldmaiden!
The wild geese are moving
The cloaked crow is brooding
So come to the door
Or how will your family know peace in the winter,
How will you give golden gifts in your hall?
How will the bitten coal glow at your naming,
If you heed not the crow-crying, stout shield's call?
Shieldmaiden, shieldmaiden!
The wild geese at wing
The cloaked crow is watching
Where cold iron is law
And just as the wolf knows the sheep is his prey now,
And geese know to fly south when spring brings the light,
As the cloaked crow cannot help but sit and sing doom-song,
So know you fate's bidding to roam and to fight
Shieldmaiden, shieldmaiden!
The wild geese are flying
The cloaked crow is crying
To call you to war
Where now you shall take wing
And sword-arms shall soar.
-
The Hall of Absent Friends
Do you remember
G C
The glowing ember
G C
Of fires we sat by in times gone past
G C G D Em
When all together
Em C
We swore forever
G Em
To meet here at the last
Em D Em
So I'll raise a glass
G D
For absent friends
G C
Who on their travels go
G D C
For the road is long
G D
Wherever its end
G C
That leads from where we know
G D C
Do you remember
The glowing ember
Of fires we sat by in times gone past?
When all together
We swore forever
To meet here at the last.
So I'll raise a glass
For absent friends
Who on their travels go
For the road is long
Wherever its end
That leads from where we know.
Some are chasing silver,
For a purse of leather,
May they soon return with coin for wine!
But if luck betrays them,
And their purse is frayed then
They can share this cup of mine.
So I'll raise a glass
For absent friends
Who on their travels go
For the road is long
Wherever its end
That leads from where we know.
Some have gone to battle
For to test their mettle
And some to follow love's soft call,
But some still singing
When day is dimming
Will meet here in this hall
So I'll raise a glass
For absent friends
Who on their travels go
For the road is long
Wherever its end
That leads from where we know.
Let the lyre play ever,
Through each season's weather,
And let custom be remembered yet,
By eternal law bade
And by fire's roar made
Here let absent friends be met.
So I'll raise a glass
For absent friends
Who on their travels go
For the road is long
Wherever its end
That leads from where we know.
-
Jubal, I wanted to say you are brave and awesome. I like singable and memorizable songs, but I was never good at hooking up with the right nerdy communities that like those, and I never published the songs I write. For a while now I have not been able to be creative, I am too scared and too alienated.
I am sorry I am not very coherent :(
-
The White Moth of Battania
As I was a walking to Seonon fair,
G C G D
All down the green valleys was song in the air
G D Em D
And there came a fine lady as fair as the day,
Em G C
Like a white moth she hovered and floated away.
G Em D
From the high eastern mountains
G Em
To Pen Cannoc hill,
G D
She's the white moth of Battania
C G Em
And it's her I seek still
D Em
As I was out walking to Seonon fair,
All down the green valleys was song in the air
And there came a fine lady as fair as the day,
Like a white moth she hovered and floated away.
From the high eastern mountains
To Pen Cannoc hill,
She's the white moth of Battania
And it's her I seek still
I asked an old peddler for who she might be,
And he smiled and he said I might just have to see,
For there's few that have seen her and fewer who know,
Where the white moth she flies and wherever she goes.
From the high eastern mountains
To Pen Cannoc hill,
She's the white moth of Battania
And it's her I seek still
And the next time I saw her, that winsome white elf,
I asked her to dance, as she danced by herself,
And we danced us six dances as eve turned to night,
She the pale moth, but I who flew up to her light
From the high eastern mountains
To Pen Cannoc hill,
She's the white moth of Battania
And it's her I seek still
Then she left with no word and no thought did confess,
But she left me a ribbon from off her white dress,
So I'll tie it at my heart and green I shall wear,
And I'll seek her again wheresoever she fare.
From the high eastern mountains
To Pen Cannoc hill,
She's the white moth of Battania
And it's her I seek still.
Dubsartur: Thank you! Creativity is tricky and comes and goes - it's very random for me, at the moment I seem to be capable of writing songs at an absurd pace but can't do any research and struggle to keep up with basic personal functionality. It's an important outlet for me but sometimes I'm on full blast and sometimes I'll go months and just struggle to put words in order. Hang on in there - creativity, and indeed coherence, will come back, it's a difficult time. And if you ever feel like sharing any of the things you have written, I'd be very interested to have a look.
-
Wish I'd have got my guitar from mum's before the lockdown. I'd have loved to try some of these.
-
I have some recordings of them now, will get them uploaded someday soon. I think most of them are useable quality for game purposes. :)
-
Song of the Butterlord
Hail, mighty Butterlord,
C G
Master of dairies o'er
C G
All of the lands from the steppe to the sea,
C G C G
Butterlord, Butterlord,
C Em
I'll pledge my land and sword,
C Em
To him who'll give some fine butter to me!
C G C Em Am
I was a merry knight,
Shining in mail bright,
Feasting on apples and roast beef and cheese,
But one thing wasn't right,
No butter lay in sight,
Spread without which my bread never could please
Hail, mighty Butterlord,
Master of dairies o'er
All of the lands from the steppe to the sea,
Butterlord, Butterlord,
I'll pledge my land and sword,
To him who'll give some fine butter to me!
I rode across the land,
Looters died by my hand,
But not a pat did I get for their pain,
In battle line did stand,
From ice to southern sand,
But never butter could ever I gain,
(CHORUS)
Now I'm a mighty lord,
Castles I can afford,
Family, companions stand there at my call,
But when I see what's stored,
Beer and wine, silks and swords,
There's never butter enough for my hall.
(CHORUS)
Smooth on my butterknife,
Praise it with lute and fife,
Finest of foodstuffs found under the sun,
Give me another life,
Take my shield, land, and wife,
Just give me butter to spread when I'm done!
(CHORUS)
-
Moonlight Silks
A glow far above that my arm cannot reach,
G C
Like seven stars it shall shine
G D
But love, beyond all shines the treasure in there,
Em G Em
The love that you carry of mine
C G
Behind curtains of
G
Moonlight silks,
Em G
Soft hanging down,
G D
At my love's window,
D Em
I gaze through the night,
C G
You in the light
G D
I in the shadow.
Em
A glow far above that my arm cannot reach,
Like seven stars it shall shine
But love, beyond all shines the treasure in there,
The love that you carry of mine
Behind curtains of
Moonlight silks,
Soft hanging down,
At my love's window,
I gaze through the night,
You in the light
I in the shadow.
We'll walk across rooftops and tatter our gowns,
With seven stars up above,
We'll lie not on divans or blankets of down,
The gardens will harbour our love
With the flowers like
Moonlight silks,
Soft hanging down,
At my love's window,
I gaze through the night,
You in the light
I in the shadow.
If I must break castles to see you I will,
If seven stars will allow,
My desert parched eyes can at last drink their fill,
Of love from your foot to your brow,
As you stand wrapped in
Moonlight silks,
Soft hanging down,
At my love's window,
I gaze through the night,
You in the light
I in the shadow.
When love is forbidden, and walls bid us part,
Night is the lover's last friend,
Until a day comes when the world lets us sing,
And never our love song shall end,
And we lie wrapped in
Moonlight silks,
Soft hanging down,
At my love's window,
I gaze through the night,
You are the light
I am the shadow.
Author's note: this song is primarily inspired by the Persian/Georgian romance Visramiani, the loves of Vis and Ramin. Breaking into castles and rooftop walks ending in secret garden trysts are just two of the numerous ways that Vis and Ramin end up coming up with to see one another, despite her being married to the powerful Moabad (who for his part is cursed never to be able to consummate his marriage to Vis). I can't remember if there's a direct reference to the seven stars in the Georgian Visramiani, but they do appear as planet-deity figures in contemporary works such as Rustaveli's Knight in Panther Skin.
-
It's Almost Harvesting Season
It was almost harvest season,
C G C
There were green leaves on the spray:
C G Am
When it was almost harvest season,
C G C
They came to take my love away.
F G C
They said we'll need your bonny laddie,
C G C
For to face harsh battle's cry
C G
Then my blood ran cold within me,
F G C
And I thought what to reply:
C G
It was almost harvest season,
There were green leaves on the spray:
When it was almost havest season,
They came to take my love away.
They said we'll need your bonny laddie,
For to face harsh battle's cry,
Then my blood ran cold within me,
And I thought what to reply:
I said it's almost harvest season,
And the crops are growing tall,
You'll have to leave my bonny,
Or we'll ne'er gather it all.
So they left us with the harvest,
And they came right back next spring,
So I wondered what to tell them,
And I could only think one thing:
I said it's almost harvest season,
For why else would we sow and plow?
Yes it's almost harvest season,
When the bull harvests our cow.
It was autumn time they came next,
And our crops all gathered in,
We took baskets back into the fields,
And we all piped up to sing,
That it was almost harvest season,
Look the leaves are crisp and brown,
Yes it's almost harvest season,
Did you think they just fell down?
They came at last in barren winter,
I said there's no call for alarm,
We'll just tell them that it's harvest time,
And hope they don't know how to farm!
Oh yes it's nearly harvest season,
We'll be harvesting the snow,
Yes it's nearly harvest season,
It's a thing we farmers know,
So it's still nearly harvest season,
It will be till the day I die,
Oh yes it's nearly harvest season,
When the lord's men ride on by!
-
I am sorry, I don't have the right kind of language in me any more.
What are some of your inspirations? I know of American filkers and folksong writers like Leslie Fish and Ray Zimmerman but not so much about Brits and Austrians. I guess Steeleye Span set old ballads to new music and instruments but I didn't think they wrote their own lyrics so much.
Edit: Heather Dale, Ada Palmer, and Andrew "Never Go Drinking with Michael" Heinrich come to mind in the first group; and then there are the early music people like Benjamin Bagby, the late Owain Pfyle, and Eberhard Kummerer.
-
I really enjoyed that last one, its moving and amusing too :D
-
My music tastes are reasonably broad and I think they all filter in a bit - a lot of it is just from listening to folk music from around the British isles, both modern practitioners and more traditional versions, and practising aping that style, of course. Jon Boden, Kris Drever, Nancy Kerr/James Fagan, Cara Dillon, Siobhan Miller, Alex Cumming/Nicola Beazley, Bellowhead, Show of Hands, and other such artists I guess would all be on the list there. My sister has done an album and toured along with her boyfriend, and I went to quite a lot of folk festivals between about 2011 and 2016, so I've got that sort of level of mild adjacency to the folk world.
On top of that, there's the extent to which this is in dialogue with filk and with bardic songs from videogames - I listen to Malukah and Alina Gingertail on the videogame music front, and Heather Dale's filky music is a pretty big influence there too. Adele McAllister does really nice covers of Tolkien's music, and his poetry is a clear lyrical influence for me (as probably are some other fantasy-poet writers, Ursula le Guin wrote some wonderful poems). And then there's the European modern sort-of-folky and sort of pseudo/neo pagan music scene, groups like Faun for example, whose sound I quite like even if I have Many Questions about the aesthetics at times: Patty Gurdy also very worth mentioning there. I listen to soundtrack music quite a bit when working, it's harder to say how much influence that has but the works of people like Ean Grimm, the Fiechters, BrunuhVille, and Adrian von Ziegler are worth mentioning. And then there are all the other oddments, bits of sixties music, compilations of lute songs, random folk singers from other parts of the world I stumble upon, and some other singer songwriters - the songs of Pete Atkin & Clive James are way off this stuff in terms of sound and style, but some of my songwriting tendencies and my delight in oblique references definitely tie in with those.
I find that the most important thing anyway is to have a good idea-hook to write out from - once I have the plot or point of a song, much of the rest is just word juggling, especially if I'm doing it in a pretty standard folky style. My biggest sadness and regret with all my songs is seeing how good a quality of execution others manage with the instrumentation etc and knowing that a) I do not have the energy and time to learn five more instruments and spend many hours building up more instrumentals, and b) nobody particularly is likely to want to cover this stuff.
-
nobody particularly is likely to want to cover this stuff.
I've got my guitar back and have been noodling around on it - I've been attempting to do some sort folky composition of your moonlight silks poem. I'm not a professional or anything but I'll send it to you once I'm happy with it, see what you think.
-
The Lover's Cairn
The tower of stone stood watching,
Am Em
There was ice on the darkling road,
Am Em
But there, a man in shining helm,
F C
Yes, there, a man beneath the elm,
F C
Stepped forth through the winter's cold.
Am Em Am
Alt chord set:
The tower of stone stood watching,
C G
There was ice on the darkling road,
C G
But there, a man in shining helm,
Am Em
Yes, there, a man beneath the elm,
Am Em
Stepped forth through the winter's cold.
Am Em Am
The tower of stone stood watching,
There was ice on the darkling road,
But there, a man in shining helm,
Yes, there, a man beneath the elm,
Stepped forth through the winter's cold.
He'd a coat of shining ring-mail,
A bright sword hung at his side,
And there, up to the wall he'd call,
That there, the tower of stone should fall,
And he would claim his bride.
The tower of stone stood watching,
As the man his challenge roared,
And there, her face at the window,
Her hair like a veil of dark shadow,
And the young man's heart it soared.
He slew the guards at the gate-post,
He flew like a bird through the air,
Where there, a pillar cold as bone,
'midst elmwood beams held the tower's stone,
And his love was imprisoned there.
The castellan knew he was coming,
And thought him the maid to slay,
For envy rose within his heart,
That others loved where he could not,
Upon that bitterest day.
He smote her once with his spear-point,
Her hot blood ran at her breast,
But there, she'd a knife by her bedside,
A hidden blade for a stolen bride,
And stabbed him through the chest,
She dropped the knife in the chamber,
And her dress blooded and torn
And down she ran from the lamplight,
And down she ran to the cold night,
And called for her love and the morn
But he came up another staircase,
And saw the bloodied stains,
The castellan showed him the spear-head
And there, rags soaked in blood-red
And told him she was slain.
With a roar he set flames round him,
With a roar the pillar he smote
See there, fire glinting on his helm,
Yes, there, new cracks in stone and elm,
As it blackened his fine mail coat.
There's a pile of stones by the roadway,
A charred and blackened tomb,
And sometimes a white-haired lady,
A winter snow-haired lady,
An old and wistful lady,
Comes and weeps for her love and his doom.
I've got my guitar back and have been noodling around on it - I've been attempting to do some sort folky composition of your moonlight silks poem. I'm not a professional or anything but I'll send it to you once I'm happy with it, see what you think.
Lovely! I've got my own tune for it too but I'm super interested/excited to see what you come up with :)
-
Oh, Gallant Hero
Oh, gallant hero,
Am Em
Rise to the wars,
Am G
The shade of the olive
F C
Is no longer yours,
C G
No longer yours is
C G
This peace in the sun
Am Em
Oh, gallant hero,
Am C
Begone
Am
Oh, gallant hero,
Rise to the wars,
The shade of the olive
Is no longer yours,
No longer yours is
This peace in the sun
Oh, gallant hero,
Begone
Oh, gallant hero,
Battle draws near,
The shade of the olive
Is no shelter here,
No shelter here,
Under arrow-pierced skies,
Oh, gallant hero,
Arise
Oh, gallant hero,
Your bright spear awaits,
The shade of the olive
Shall not be your fate,
Not be your fate,
'til the last swordpoint falls,
Oh, gallant hero,
Fate calls
Oh, gallant hero,
For home you shall yearn,
The shade of the olive
Awaits your return,
Awaits your return,
Slain or victory blessed,
Oh, gallant hero,
To rest
-
(https://i.imgur.com/IIi3mfa.jpg)
The Lavender Grave
When I am done,
Let mine be the grave that is covered in lavender,
So bushed that you can hardly see the name.
I will be beyond need of naming, in eternity.
Is there a better epitaph than this?
Where might have been bare stone and empty proclamation,
There the bee sucks, fragrance rises,
And deep around what once was human
Twine roots that draw from those last remnants
And return them as lavender,
Scent for the living,
One last work for the world to keep,
Until its use, too, passes.
Perhaps someone, sometime,
Will choose to brush aside the stems,
To see what name was carved upon the tomb -
But only because they saw and smelled and knew
What was left behind -
So much love and creation
That it grows in its own right,
With the fading name on the stone behind
Just a curiosity amid the joy.
So let mine be the grave that is covered in lavender -
For though I will be gone and will never know it,
It will be there
For those who can.
-
That's a beautiful poem and I completely agree with it, too
(another favourite sentiment is - let mine be the grave that is puzzling to archaeologists ;)
-
Well that's easy, just have literally anything that doesn't conform to expectations in there :) Although I guess that doesn't usually cause confusion so much as misdiagnoses of "ritual purposes".
-
oh gosh yes, 'probably ritual' as code for 'we have no idea' is one of the funniest things in archaeology XD
I'll take that
-
Another short attempt at Georgian composition.
თაგვის ამბავი
"თაგვო, თაგვო,
თაფლისფერი თაგვო,
სად მიდიხარ?
რატომ იქ მიდიხარ?"
"ადამიანო", თაგვი თქვა,
"მე არ ვფიქრობ, სად და რატომ,
ვცხოვრობ შენს სახლში,
შევჭამე შენს საჭამელს,
შენ იცი სად მივიდვარ?"
ადამიანი ვფიქრობდი,
ადამიანი ვფიქრობდი,
მაგრამ არ მოსაზრი თაგვთვის ჰქონდა.
და თაგვი?
კატა შეჭამა თაგვს,
და ადამიანი არასოდეს იცოდა.
-
Sagani's Song
Little one,
Am
Through unending snow, you run,
C G
And where you shall tread, you go,
Em Am
To the sound of your mother’s bow
F G Am
My love, my pup,
C G
My long-lost blessing,
Em Am
I left you with little,
Am C
Returned with less
C G or Em
Little one,
Through unending snow, you run,
And where you shall tread, you go,
To the sound of your mother’s bow
My love, my pup,
My long-lost blessing,
I left you with little,
Returned with less
I lost my chance
To watch you grow
But with folly’s tread
I came to know you
Little one,
Through unending snow, you run,
And where you shall tread, you go,
To the sound of your mother’s bow
All these lost years,
Will not return,
No ancient things,
Were worth this yearning,
Don’t think of souls,
Or lives gone past,
Grow where there’s sun,
For the ice comes fast
Little one,
Through unending snow, you run,
And where you shall tread, you go,
To the sound of your mother’s bow
I played my part,
For those who helped me,
From my folly’s quest,
I set others free,
Perhaps I did right,
So strangers live,
Little one, my stranger,
Will you forgive me?
Little one,
Through unending snow, you run,
And where you shall tread, you go,
To the sound of your mother’s bow
-
Little Moorhen
Dedicated to Beatrice Catchpole-Simmons
Little moorhen,
C D
See the summer sun on lilies
G C
Step once again,
C G
With flowers so big that you can hide,
G D Em
In little worlds each has inside,
G Em D
And you shall find
G D
That the world is wide
G D
And full of flowers
Em
Little moorhen,
See the summer sun on lilies
Step once again,
With flowers so big that you can hide,
In little worlds each has inside,
And you shall find
That the world is wide
And full of flowers
See autumn fall,
Around you, nests of love and leaves
As you grow tall,
By those who helped your wings unfold,
And keep you when the world is cold
So that you can find,
That the world is wide
And full of flowers
Winters will come,
Garlanding the world in frost
A weary sun
Wilts, its petals fall but then
Your world turns and it blooms again
And you shall find,
That the world is wide
And full of flowers
There’ll be a spring,
Not everything just as it was,
But birds still sing,
And you can sing and dance and hum
For what’s lost and what’s yet to come
And you shall find,
That the world is wide
And full of flowers
And summer calls,
The world is bigger than you knew,
The flowers seem small,
But every joy and every care,
Is nestling in a flower somewhere
So still you shall find,
That the world is wide
And full of flowers
Yes, you shall find,
That the world is wide
And full of flowers
I came up with the idea for this one after a friend of mine had a baby, to whom the song is dedicated. :)
-
Balderdash the Blemmye Pirate,
Em
Had two eyes upon his breast,
Em
Grinning mouth across his stomach,
G C
Gold and rubies in a pirate chest!
G Em
Hey! Ho!
C G
When there's coin no more for ale we'll go
Em
Hey! Ho!
C G
Down on the shoreline where the south winds blow.
Em C
Balderdash (the Blemmye Pirate)
Balderdash the Blemmye Pirate,
Had two eyes upon his breast,
Grinning mouth across his stomach,
Gold and rubies in a pirate chest!
Hey! Ho!
When there's coin no more for ale we'll go
Hey! Ho!
Down on the shoreline where the south winds blow.
Balderdash the Blemmye Pirate,
Silver greaves upon his knee,
Row of parrots on his shoulders,
Ship upon the rolling sea!
Hey! Ho!
When there's coin no more for ale we'll go
Hey! Ho!
Down on the shoreline where the south winds blow.
Balderdash the Blemmye Pirate,
Sank two ships then two ships more,
Took their gold, their ale and vittles,
Left their sailors on a far off shore!
Hey! Ho!
When there's coin no more for ale we'll go
Hey! Ho!
Down on the shoreline where the south winds blow.
Balderdash the Blemmye Pirate,
Said to his shipmates when a ship was seen,
"Every ale-jar on that vessel,
Give to me and I'll drink them clean"!
Hey! Ho!
When there's coin no more for ale we'll go
Hey! Ho!
Down on the shoreline where the south winds blow.
Balderdash the Blemmye Pirate,
Took that ship so wide and big,
Found its cargo, a hundred barrels,
All of ale he'd sworn to swig!
Hey! Ho!
When there's coin no more for ale we'll go
Hey! Ho!
Down on the shoreline where the south winds blow.
Balderdash the Blemmye Pirate,
Drank each barrel round and wide,
Staggered drunk up to his shipmates,
Fell from the deck into the rolling tide!
Hey! Ho!
When there's coin no more for ale we'll go
Hey! Ho!
Down on the shoreline where the south winds blow.
Balderdash the Blemmye Pirate,
Gave his life for a drunken boast,
Him we honour when we're drinking,
Raise your glass for another toast!
Hey! Ho!
When there's coin no more for ale we'll go
Hey! Ho!
Down on the shoreline where the south winds blow.
-
This may end up being a tavern song in Exile Princes if I ever get to implementing them:
Saint Oraphas Was a Wood-sprite
Saint Oraphas was a wood-sprite
Saint Oraphas was a wood-sprite
A wild and wily wood-sprite,
Who in the woods did dwell,
He came upon an angel,
He came upon an angel,
Who spoke about the holy books
And to him faith did tell!
So Oraphas lived in his oak,
So Oraphas lived in his oak,
And learned the words of holy hope,
Within that peaceful dell,
Until one day beneath that tree,
Until one day beneath that tree,
Came demons dancing joyously
All casting of a spell!
So Oraphas hid in his tree,
Saint Oraphas hid in his tree,
And prayed a prayer of leaf and bough,
For to be hidden well,
As then they called a demon lord,
Yes, then they called a demon lord,
Pentagathus their mighty king,
All fearsome and fell!
Then Oraphas leapt on the demon king,
Then Oraphas leapt on the demon king,
And to him holy words did sing
And sent him back to hell!
The demons fled both west and east,
The demons fled both west and east,
And Oraphas gave thanks and sang,
And rang a holy bell.
Yes, Oraphas was a wood-sprite,
Saint Oraphas was a wood-sprite
A wild and wily wood-sprite,
Who in the woods did dwell,
He fought the demons righteously,
He fought the demons righteously,
And so of him I’ve sung this song,
That’s all I have to tell!
-
Oh, Forest Tree
Oh forest tree, where do your leaves down fall,
G/D/Em
Beneath the dying sun,
G/D
Where autumn bids the summer sleep,
Em/C/G
Beneath the moon,
C/G
Oh cover there my brother’s last remain,
G/D/Em
For he’s died at war, and he’ll ne’er be back again.
D/Em
Oh forest tree, where do your leaves down fall,
Beneath the dying sun,
Where autumn bids the summer sleep,
Beneath the moon,
Oh cover there my brother’s last remain,
For he’s died at war, and he’ll ne’er be back again.
Oh forest tree, you’ll cover him with gold,
Beneath the dying sun,
Where like hard iron he lieth cold,
Beneath the moon,
There he must lie, ne’er to see the coin he’d made,
For his life was paid to death in cruel trade.
Oh forest tree, give him a rustling bed,
Beneath the dying sun,
His sword is sheathed, in earth he’ll rest his head,
Beneath the moon,
I know not where his far off barrow’s found,
That you build for me, where I cannot be bound.
Oh forest tree, where do your leaves down fall,
Beneath the dying sun,
Where autumn bids the summer sleep,
Beneath the moon,
Oh cover there my brother’s last remain,
For he’s died at war, and he’ll ne’er be back again.
-
The Howling Lay
I call on the tracks of the wise fox to guide you,
G D Em G
I call on the tree-roots your secrets to keep,
C D Em D
On the spears of the hawthorn to harbour and bound you,
G D Em D
On the piercing owl-song to sing you to sleep,
Em C D G
When night follows day,
Em D Em
When the wolves they howl and bay,
G D Em
Oh Too-ra-lie lay
Em
Too-ra-lie, Too-ra-lie lay
C D Em
I call on the tracks of the wise fox to guide you,
I call on the tree-roots your secrets to keep,
On the spears of the hawthorn to harbour and bound you,
On the piercing owl-song to sing you to sleep,
When night follows day,
When the wolves they howl and bay,
Oh Too-ra-lie lay
Too-ra-lie, Too-ra-lie lay
I bind now the deer to quicken your running,
The boar now to strengthen you, toughen your hide,
The cold moon above to give light in your darkness,
The mire-drum and rail call aid to your side,
Where night follows day,
Where the wolves they howl and bay,
Oh too-ra-lie lay
My too-ra-lie, too-ra-lie lay.
Hear me now, howling ones, harbour my darling,
Give freely the strength that you’d give to your own,
Your baying’s a singing in oath to my blessing,
That calls the wild places as family and home
As night follows day,
As the wolves they howl and bay,
Oh too-ra-lie lay
My too-ra-lie, too-ra-lie lay.
When faces turn from you, and no friend can find you,
When you are hounded and put to the test,
Then by this song name I the wilds your protector,
When howls chill your marrow, it’s then you can rest.
While night follows day,
While the wolves they howl and bay,
Oh too-ra-lie lay
My too-ra-lie, too-ra-lie lay.
Note: additiona too-ra-lie lays may be littered liberally between verses as per preference.
-
I Courted A Maid
I courted a maid by the banks of the river
G/D/G/C
The rushes like river-stones made for a bed,
G/D/G/D
But then her cruel brother threw me in the water,
G/D/G/C
And so with that maid I won’t wed,
G/D/G
And I’ll go, all a-courting no more
C/G/D/G
I courted a maid by the banks of the river
The rushes like river-stones made for a bed,
But then her cruel brother threw me in the water,
And so with that maid I won’t wed,
And I’ll go, all a-courting no more
I courted a maid by the trees of the orchard
She gave me good fruit and she laid at my side
But then she departed and never returned,
And so with that maid I won’t bide,
And I’ll go, all a-courting no more
I courted a maid by the slopes of the hillside
She’d a flower to give me, and soft words to say,
But then she proved false, for her husband pursued me,
And so with that maid I won’t stay
And I’ll go, all a-courting no more
So I’ll court a maid who I see now before me,
Her dances I’ll dance, her heart I shall gain,
And we’ll soon be together, I’ll never forsake her,
And so with that maid I’ll remain
And I’ll go, all a-courting no more
-
Princes of Exile
These are the princes of my exile,
E/Am/Am/Em
The lords and dukes of my company,
C/G/C/Em
They’re hardship and hunger, the robes of a pauper,
C/G/C/Em
For I’m lost far away from my own country.
Am/C/Am/E/Am
These are the princes of my exile,
The lords and dukes of my company,
They’re hardship and hunger, the robes of a pauper,
For I’m lost far away from my own country.
I once had rings of silver, I once had a lover
I once had a fine house, but now I must roam
I’ve lost fortune’s favour, but never shall waver,
For until I can find somewhere I’ll call home
So come all you friends who here do gather,
And hear my tale, and hear my call,
For you’ll be my princelings, the friends of my wanderings,
And we’ll onward to roam in our exile.
These are the princes of my exile,
The lords and dukes of my company,
They’re hardship and hunger, the robes of a pauper,
For I’m lost far away from my own country.
-
An Encumbered Song
I am overencumbered and that means I cannot roam,
Em/G/D/Em
And I’m halfway down a dungeon that’s a thousand miles from home,
C/G/G/D
I’ve picked one flower too many and my burden is too great,
Em/G/D/Em
And I’m finding the downsides of too much inventory weight.
C/D/Em/D/Em
I am a swift adventurer, through hill and marsh and cave,
G/D/Em/D/Em
Defeating dragons, vampires too, good people for to save,
Em/G/G/D
But now all of a sudden my quick feet they leaden grow,
C/Em/G/D
For I picked a bunch of flowers that caused my pack to overflow…
Em/G/G/D
I am a swift adventurer, through hill and marsh and cave,
Defeating dragons, vampires too, good people for to save,
But now all of a sudden my quick feet they leaden grow,
For I picked a bunch of flowers that caused my pack to overflow…
CHORUS:
I am overencumbered and that means I cannot roam,
And I’m halfway down a dungeon that’s a thousand miles from home,
I’ve picked one flower too many and my burden is too great,
And I’m finding the downsides of too much inventory weight.
I don’t know where this weight is from, I really can’t recall,
For ninety potion bottles shouldn’t weigh that much at all,
Two dozen apples surely aren’t as heavy as all that,
And I made sure all the necromancers’ robes were folded flat,
CHORUS
I worked so hard for this dragonbone, I can’t leave that behind,
Nor the stack of magic tubers that I roamed the wilds to find,
I already dropped the broom I found, the clothes iron too is gone,
And I think I need these bear pelts for some quest that I am on.
CHORUS
What about an NPC, you ask? And you’d be right,
But she’s carrying, already, seventeen greatswords of light,
And a set of dwarven armour, and a few more things as well,
Like that box of forty dire wolf teeth I’m not sure where to sell.
CHORUS
Now you might think I should invest in stamina or pace,
But I need all of my skill points to throw fire in your face,
It’s a shame that summoned demons can’t pick up my bags, it’s true,
But I guess them being all on fire might char a thing or two
CHORUS
Now I guess that I could leave behind the goat’s cheese, wine, and bread,
But what’s the fun in dungeon crawls without a proper spread?
And yes, that’s why a tablecloth’s a useful thing to take,
Though we might need that barrow-wight’s old sword to cut the cake,
CHORUS
I guess I’ll eat some apples now, and ditch a book I’ve read,
To finally walk at normal speed into the room ahead,
I’ve half a point of free space and I’m once more running free,
But wait! I see a mushroom patch that’s just ahead of me…
CHORUS
-
Soothsaying
Only in the flights of birds
Will there ever be record
Of the things you never wrote
On the paper that I never had.
Each turn of a gull's wing in gathering dusk
In rising mist and the gloom of a thundering rail-bridge
Mingled with the last breaths of a cigarette
Seems to gather and weave past fates
The knotted ties that bind us
The threads that run never crossed
Some flights slow, looping, an ache of languid love
Some turns swift, stone-dropping, a heady rush neverlasting
Some diving to the past, some rising to future twists and wingbeats
They wheel in flocks, an echo of a sunset murmuration
Under my breath
Where I have forgotten how to ask questions of the flight of birds,
Or of you,
And half disappearing into the half-night
A gull turns the single threaded loop in our inexorable tapestries
And turns away across the last light on the water
A moment's flight for a moment's connection
Recording in words I never spoke
The things I never wrote
That will forever
In the flight of gulls upon the Danube
Remain.
-
The Song of Scribes
Am Em Am
The moving finger writes and having writ
Am C Am
Moves on nor all thy piety nor wit
C G Am
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Am Em Am
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it
F G
Seasons
C G
Oh, wise sisters, come
Em Am
For the sun won’t be long
F C
And when night it falls at last,
Am Em
All that comes to pass is past, For
CHORUS:
The moving finger writes and having writ
Moves on nor all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it
Seasons
Oh, wise sisters, come
For the sun won’t be long
And when night it falls at last,
All that comes to pass is past, For
CHORUS
Freedoms
Oh, wanderers, lovers, come,
For the muse may soon be gone,
For these tales we might pen,
For our sorrows, joys and friends, While
CHORUS
Old songs,
Minstrels, singers, come,
For we’ll call with chant and drum
In the voice of those before,
Who page and memory kept in store, For
CHORUS
New suns,
Scribes and scholars, come,
To the worlds yet undone,
In new dawns your words be read,
So that though we’re gone, it’s said, still
CHORUS x2
-
The Making of a Princely Man
I asked of a butcher in my town,
G D
What he was like who’d wear a crown,
G C
He said “he’s muscles broad as beef,
G D
The strongest man’s the largest fief”
Em D Em
So I bought from him five pounds of beef,
C G
I bade It rule o’er all the land:
Em D
That’s the making of a princely man!
G D C
Note: 1st chorus line is G... D on the alternates.
I asked of a butcher in my town,
What he was like who’d wear a crown,
He said “he’s muscles broad as beef,
The strongest man’s the largest fief”
So I bought from him five pounds of beef,
I bade It rule o’er all the land:
That’s the making of a princely man!
I asked of a pauper in my town,
What he was like who’d wear a crown,
He said “he helps poor men like me,
A just king knows of poverty,”
So I bought from him his pauper’s sack,
Which sat upon five pounds of beef,
I bade it rule o’er all the land:
That’s the making of a princely man!
I asked of a a weaver in my town,
What he was like who’d wear a crown,
He said “his sceptre brings the law,
A wise king weaves the fate of all,”
So his shuttle for my king I bought,
Whose head it was a pauper’s sack,
Which sat upon five pounds of beef,
I bade it rule o’er all the land:
That’s the making of a princely man!
I asked of a fisherman in my town,
What he was like who’d wear a crown,
He said “he leads good men to him,
And gathers them like fish that swim,”
So I made his net a royal cloak,
A shuttle sceptre my king bore,
Whose head it was a pauper’s sack,
Which sat upon five pounds of beef,
I bade it rule o’er all the land:
That’s the making of a princely man!
I asked of a farmer in my town,
What he was like who’d wear a crown,
He said “He holds a holy orb,
That comes, like harvests, from the lord,”
So I bought from him an apple round,
A fishing net, a royal cloak,
A shuttle sceptre my king bore,
Whose head it was a pauper’s sack,
Which sat upon five pounds of beef,
I bade it rule o’er all the land:
That’s the making of a princely man!
I asked of a cooper in my town,
What he was like who’d wear a crown,
He said “all crowns, like hoops must hold
Their parts: wise, craven, fool or bold.”
So a barrel hoop served for a crown,
The orb it was an apple round,
A fishing net, a royal cloak,
A shuttle sceptre my king bore,
Whose head it was a pauper’s sack,
Which sat upon five pounds of beef,
I bade it rule o’er all the land:
That’s the making of a princely man!
-
The below song arose from a discussion of the lack of romances involving dwarves in the Dragon Age games, culminating in a discussion of Lead Scout Lace Harding as the closest attempt they made, and resulting in the penning of the below humourous and at times innuendo-laden romantic ballad to the most eligible dwarf in Thedas.
Harding's Waltz
Lead scout, I’m glad that I’ve found you tonight,
F G Am E
Though I wasn’t expecting you here,
Am G
And if it’s quite alright, I’ll just take some deep breaths,
Am C Am
‘til I know what to say now you’re near,
Am G
And I’m not quite discarding,
C F
Inhibitions regarding,
C F
This - it seems it’s a hard thing to say…
C F G
But it’s you I was scouting for anyway
C G Am
Bridge:
I gaze into your eyes just from instinct by now,
Em Am
When I seek things supernally bright,
Em Am
I’m primarily thinking of getting on top,
F C G
Of those scouting reports that you write,
Em E
I just want you to know that I’m keeping abreast,
Em E Am
And I’d like to keep more, if I may,
C G
What I’m trying to say is I’ve feelings for you,
E Am
And there’s never a time like today
F G C
Hoping dawn will come late where we lay,
Em E
Lead scout, I’m glad that I’ve found you tonight,
Though I wasn’t expecting you here,
And if it’s quite alright, I’ll just take some deep breaths,
‘til I know what to say now you’re near,
And I’m not quite discarding,
Inhibitions regarding,
This - it seems it’s a hard thing to say…
But it’s you I was scouting for anyway
There’s no cause for worry – excepting the world,
I’m just not good at saying what I mean,
I most needed to say that I want to embrace
All the things that you bring to this team,
I’ve champions who “en garde!” sing,
And I’ve mages who break rings,
And rogues who, when it’s hard, spring away,
But it’s you I was scouting for anyway
And you’ve such nimble feet, arrows quick as your smile,
Though I don’t think our heights tell it true,
For you’ve got the heart of a giant inside,
So I feel small when talking to you,
And I’ll fill your dance card in,
If you’ll teach me a close swing,
I hear they’re deemed quite hard in Orlais?
Oh, it’s you I was scouting for anyway
Bridge:
I gaze into your eyes just from instinct by now,
When I seek things supernally bright,
I’m primarily thinking of getting on top,
Of those scouting reports that you write,
I just want you to know that I’m keeping abreast,
And I’d like to keep more, if I may,
What I’m trying to say is I’ve feelings for you,
And there’s never a time like today
Hoping dawn will come late where we lay,
For the hardest thing’s leaving the sound of your voice,
Every army needs hope, it is true,
It’s your expeditions that show me the world,
And I’m saving it all just for you,
For with steel, mount, and barding,
I would rather be guarding
None but you, sweetest Harding,
Let the world’s ending come as it may:
For it’s you I was scouting for anyway
-
Song of the Red Jennies
When Jenny is your friend, little man,
Am E
When all seems at an end, little man,
C G Em
You’ll find
C
Friends have you in mind,
G
And when you’re trod down,
Am
There’s a Jenny behind,
Em
You, makes sure you don’t drown.
Am
When Jenny is your friend, little man,
When all seems at an end, little man,
You’ll find
Friends have you in mind,
And when you’re trod down,
There’s a Jenny behind,
You, makes sure you don’t drown.
When Jenny comes to call, little man,
And you can help out at all, little man,
You’ll fight,
Those who think it their right,
To give you commands,
When we all came to light,
By the Maker’s two hands.
When Jenny is your name, little man,
You’ll play the Jennies’ old game, little man,
And they,
Too noble to pay,
Attention to you,
Will be having a day,
That they ever will rue.
But if Jenny is your foe, little man,
You’ll see what’s red and you’ll know, little man,
You’ll see,
You’re no better than we,
Show the gold of your ring,
To Red Jenny - but she
Says it won’t mean a thing.
-
Lay of the Dread Nuggon
Fear the mighty Nuggon,
G C
That’s found within these lands,
G D
With ears that point to open sky
Em
And paws like grasping hands,
G D
Oh fear the mighty Nuggon,
G C
Its wingbeats spell your fate,
G D
It flies faster than penguins,
Em
And it’s only rarely late,
G D G
Note: Switch to more minor for verse 4
Fear the mighty Nuggon,
That’s found within these lands,
With ears that point to open sky
And paws like grasping hands,
Oh fear the mighty Nuggon,
Its wingbeats spell your fate,
It flies faster than penguins,
And it’s only rarely late,
Fear the Mighty Nuggon,
Although it isn’t big,
And if you’re used to high dragons
It might seem infra dig,
But fear the mighty Nuggon
Although it’s rather small,
And sheep and deer and other things
Don’t fear its wrath at all.
Fear the mighty Nuggon,
More scary than you’d think,
Its teeth are sharp as teaspoons,
And its hide is very pink,
Fear the mighty Nuggon,
And fear its fearsome roar,
At least the one I’m sure it has,
I’ve only seen it graaaw,
But you should fear the Nuggon,
It might not seem so bad,
But if you don’t all quail in fear,
I fear it might get sad,
Yes fear the mighty Nuggon,
There’s really nothing worse,
Than seeing its ears morosely droop,
So pay heed to this verse.
Yes, fear the mighty Nuggon,
I’m sure you can see how,
It’ll terrorise creation,
It’s just rather tired right now,
Fear the mighty Nuggon,
Each hero’s greatest test,
For of all beasts and monsters it’s
The one that’s trying its best.
-
I LOVE THAT THAT'S FANTASTIC XD
-
There Once Was A Fisherman
There once was a fisherman, mild and poor,
C G
Who bade good morning to all he saw,
Am G D
Yes, there was a fisherman whose repose,
C G
Was in Honeywood where the garlic grows.
Em D Em
‘twas the best of days for fishing,
C G
But not for travelling there,
G D
Where the orcs did roam and the knights of Wraith despair,
C G D
There once was a fisherman, mild and poor,
Who bade good morning to all he saw,
Yes, there was a fisherman whose repose,
Was in Honeywood where the garlic grows.
There once was a fisherman walked his route,
Who a sly adventurer did recruit,
Was forced to walk, though he’d not consent,
Off the path he knew, off the way he went.
There once was a fisherman found a maid,
And defended her from his master’s blade,
That master, wrathful, betrayed his quest,
But a rod and line did his sword-arm best.
There once was a fisherman who did wish,
That he’d not been took from mere and fish,
But he gave his arm and his pole to war,
To defend the lass he was fighting for.
‘twas the best of days for fishing,
But not for travelling there,
Where the orcs did roam and the knights of Wraith despair,
‘twas the best of days for fishing,
When a sorcerer came nigh,
So a blade the fisherman caught to slay him by.
There once was a fisherman, who then found,
The princesses’ parents, then home was bound,
Where he vowed to ever help ailing folk,
Though “nice day for fishing” was all he spoke.
There once was a fisherman, bold and good,
Who walked the paths of Honeywood,
And there you’ll find him, for his repose,
Is in Honeywood where the garlic grows!
Yes, there once was a fisherman, bold and good,
Who walked the paths of Honeywood,
And there you’ll find him, for his repose,
Is in Honeywood where the garlic grows!
For those who think this is familiar: yes, it's the plot of Baelin's Route (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=6365.0) in folk song form.
-
Go Cry
Go, he said.
Cry me a river.
It tires you? Cry me a river.
It hurts you? Cry me a river.
It is unjust? Cry
me
So I cried a tear,
That became a spring, bubbling fresh and clean
That became a stream, whistling down from the mountains,
That became a torrent, crashing over waterfalls, tearing at the rocks and stones
That became a river
Rolling and inexorable, I will cry you a river,
Reshaping the land, reaching for the sea, I will cry you a river,
Sweeping all before it in deluge, in tears of hope and rage, I will cry you a river,
And when you cling to some last flotsam in the open sea,
Perhaps then you shall wonder
If the canals and concrete you built around the flow of sympathy
Were quite such a good idea
After all.
-
The Desman
The desman is a thoughtful beast,
Who in the river dwells,
She thinks upon her snuffly nose,
And all the things she smells;
She wonders where the beetles are,
That she would like to chew,
Oh, for a desman's wisdom -
We could learn a thing or two.
-
An Exhalation
The year breathes out into autumn:
In months to come, trees will pour copper and gold to earth,
And I will think of them doing the same, where you are;
Throwing down warm, rustling wealth in colours of kings,
Nest-leaves I cannot bring you,
So I ask the trees -
Who always will.
-
The Urchin Ballad
Once an urchin-hog saw a maiden,
C/Am
With bows all in her hair,
C/G
Who came unto the forest edge,
Am/C/G/E
Until he spied her there,
Am/Em
Once an urchin-hog saw a maiden,
With bows all in her hair,
Who came unto the forest edge,
Until he spied her there,
She’d curls soft as a lamb’s wool coat,
He’d spines sharp as a knife,
He gave to her a bluebell flower,
And pledged to her his life.
When an urchin-hog wooed a maiden,
He rode on a yearling doe,
Until he came to her father’s hall
And called for her to show,
When an urchin-hog wooed a maiden,
Her father, this he said,
“Before my daughter weds a hog,
I’ll see that hog fall dead.”
He met the hog with two good swords,
And bade the urchin choose,
On which to rest his dainty paw,
On which his life to lose;
The hog said “you insult me, sir,
To think I have no blade:
I’ve a hundred sabres on my back,
To see your words repaid.
Her father struck out once and twice,
But nothing did he gain,
Then stepped onto the urchin’s spines
And fell right back in pain,
So the urchin said to the maiden,
“Our freedom I have earned,”
He sat the maiden on his doe,
And to the woods returned
When an urchin-hog wed a maiden,
All through the summer long,
He danced and sang like a gentleman,
And wrote his love a song,
And when the winter came around,
His wife, you can be sure,
Did curl up into an urchin-ball,
And they wait there ‘til the thaw!
-
This inspired by watching vicorva (https://twitch.tv/vicorva (https://twitch.tv/vicorva))'s streams of the game Fallen London. The tune is basically a slow version of Fakenham Fair with a few more minor chords and a new chorus.
The London Rooftop
CHORDS:
There was a London rooftop where I was inclined to clamber
G D G Em G C
And there a rubbery man I found, and gave to him some amber,
G D G Em Em D Em
He'd tentacles upon his face, his jacket smelled of gin,
C G C G G C
He shook with me a clammy hand, and waved a clammy fin,
G D G Em Em D Em
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
C G Em or G
And we'll know, where the amber, seeks to go.
C G Em
There was a London rooftop where I was inclined to clamber
And there a rubbery man I found, and gave to him some amber,
He'd tentacles upon his face, his jacket smelled of gin,
He shook with me a clammy hand, and waved a clammy fin,
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, where the amber, seeks to go.
There was a London rooftop where I was inclined to be,
And there a rubbery man I met who told me of the sea,
A salty sort of fellow and not easily impressed,
When I mentioned calamari as one does in honest jest.
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, what the amber, seeks to sow.
There was a London rooftop where I was inclined to meet,
A rubbery man, who was my friend, and bade me take a seat,
Who showed me, too, his rubbery cat, his jellyfish as well,
And neither of us commented upon the other's smell.
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, when the amber, seeks to grow.
So come you men and comrades all if amber ye shall find,
And give it to a squid-like friend if be ye so inclined,
They hopefully aren't plotting to destroy the world we know,
And even if they are, just think of amber's warming glow.
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, how the amber wind shall blow.
There was a London rooftop where I heard this little verse,
That's sung to you by honest men who're probably not cursed,
So fear no cause ulterior within our little tune,
Just come upon the rooftops, bring your amber to the moon,
And we'll go, where the moonlit rooves they glow;
And we'll know, who the amber, seeks to know.
-
Oh Come, Oh Come (And Read the Manual)
Co-written with David Jenkinson
Oh come and read the manual,
To help install this towel rail,
That’s strewn here in bits on the floor,
I’m sure this looked much simpler in the store...
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Gives insight on these matters technical!
This flatpack wardrobe is a mystery,
Don’t know what I expected from gumtree:
I’ve googled for help, but I swear,
There’s as much chance of Narnia being in there.
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
In PDF form on the web doth dwell.
Midst boards and legs and handles I’m stuck here,
Until replacement screws come from IKEA,
Then I’ll force these joints to sit tight,
So I might have a bed to use tonight,
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Gives answers upon this subject as well.
Where is the Allen key they said would come?
This DIY is driving me to rum;
The spare parts aren’t arriving ‘til June,
And I’ve got shelves to fit this afternoon.
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Will resolve these predicaments cruel.
How come, how come this manual is armadilloe,
Its author just had no clue how to write:
They needed a different career,
The diagrams are anything but clear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Has nothing useful on this fault to tell...
Rejoice! Rejoice! The manual,
Consigned shall be unto the fires of hell!
-
These are the lyrics to the theme song of my little Game Jam game, Fenlander (https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=6445.msg147210#msg147210). Also, first poem of 2022!
Fenlander
A glaive, poised like a heron’s beak
G Em
Quicksilver soon to seek
G Em
Rivers that wend and weep
G C
Down to the sea,
G D
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
G (D) Em
What do you whisper to me?
G D Em
A glaive, poised like a heron’s beak
Quicksilver soon to seek
Rivers that wend and weep
Down to the sea,
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
What do you whisper to me?
A spade, hands give its blade its might,
Black gold it brings to light,
Burned in the dark of night,
Smoke running free,
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
What do you whisper to me?
A scythe, on fenland veils it feeds,
Brings golden whisper-reeds,
Back to my home it leads,
Past rush and tree,
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
What do you whisper to me?
A song, sung to the mire drum,
Under a wingbeat’s hum,
To the place I shall come,
Still to be free,
Tell me, what do you whisper, reeds?
What do you whisper to me?
-
Herons
I went to see the herons today.
And Putin is invading Ukraine.
There's an island, you see, in the lake of a park near the Donau
Tanks are crossing the border north of Kyiv.
And herons nest there, thirty nests maybe, or even more
Paratroops have dropped near Hostomel airport.
And you can look down from the road and see into all the nests,
From the Crimea, Russian units are advancing on Kherson.
And they fly around the island, wheeling, circling to shade the world under wide wingbeats
And Putin is invading Ukraine.
They're collecting sticks for nest-building at this time of year
Cluster munitions dropped on Kharkiv. Mariupol is being starved out.
For the sun is coming back after all, and spring is creeping in
A lady was filmed giving seeds of the sunflower to Russian soldiers.
And some of them perch high, feathers ruffled and streaming into the wind
The wind and the disturbed dust around Chernobyl has caused a radiation spike.
And some quarrel, and some give greetings in the way herons do, and some stalk the shallows for fish
And Putin is invading Ukraine.
This little space where the herons cry and dance - I flee here,
More support is needed for growing numbers of fleeing refugees.
Herons come and go, and nobody stops them at all, and I wish I could make that true for
Roma, people of colour, being stopped and prevented from seeking asylum in Poland,
And I stop, for it gnaws at me, here by the lake, that I have torn myself away when so many cannot,
Because Vladimir Putin has ordered nuclear weapons to be readied and placed in Belarus.
To see herons, in the hope that they know nothing of munitions and wars and empires
And Putin is invading Ukraine.
Yes, Putin is invading Ukraine.
A man went to see herons today.
-
Ouranos' Pockets
I look up at the sky sometimes,
Across the earth unfurled,
And think of what it carries there,
And lifts above the world.
It must be awful heavy
With the weight of all that blue,
Or night-black gowned, with pearl-strung stars,
The moon its burden too.
Some days it wears white bridal clouds,
All laced with swallows' wings,
Or its great grey solemn greatcoat
(That's for funerals and things)
And then there's skeins of geese to lift,
There's thunderstorms and snow,
There's planes that need to stay up there,
To get to where they go
So it's when the world feels heavy
And the sky seems like to fall,
That I wonder if the wonder's that
The sky stays up at all
-
A Mugging Song
Em D Em D
I am a humble gentleman, a mugger is my trade,
Em D G D
Since I swore to my grandmother I would live by club and blade,
G D
This story I will tell you of my woe,
Em D
Like when in Honeywood the Watcher’s face did show,
G D
I said “you know what we should do,
Em D
Let’s mug ‘im for his jewels”,
C G D
Adventurers are known to carry wealth and gold,
G D
So how was I to know it said,
Em D
Level one hundred on his head,
C G D G
For I’ve a wisdom stat that’s lower than a troll,
I am a humble gentleman, a mugger is my trade,
Since I swore to my grandmother I would live by club and blade,
This story I will tell you of my woe,
Like when in Honeywood the Watcher’s face did show,
I said “you know what we should do,
Let’s mug ‘im for his jewels”,
Adventurers are known to carry wealth and gold,
So how was I to know it said,
Level one hundred on his head,
For I’ve a wisdom stat that’s lower than a troll,
I am a humble gentleman, the Watcher was soon gone,
I suppose that I was lucky that he went for Charm Person,
I looked for muggings easier to do,
And realised the local farms had targets too,
I said “you know what we should do,
Let’s mug ‘em for their goose”,
A mere bird will be no issue, two on one:
In my defence I know not when,
Geese got a thieving score of ten,
But either way my clothes and weapons all were gone.
I am a humble gentleman, who came upon some men,
All drinking mead and whiskey as they sang of hill and glen,
I realised there was a chance at last,
To find success much greater than times past,
I said “you know what we should do,
Let’s mug ‘em for their booze,
Those bottles must have something valuable inside,”
But alas, we then got drunk,
They found the guards and who’ve have thunk,
The law was not inclined to let the matter slide.
I am a humble gentleman, all banged up in the jail,
‘til one day I saw an exit route and knew I must not fail,
I saw the prison gate was open wide,
It had two horses stabled just beside,
I said “you know what we should do,
Let’s mug ‘em for their hooves,
These equine bastards have just had it good too long,”
It turns out hooves are well affixed,
And that a horse’s back leg kicks,
I hope for better luck when next we shall respawn!
-
The Gaur
This is the gaur, a bovine who,
Is like to be more large than you,
For he weighs one tonne and a half
(Above the bison, or giraffe)
So heavily he wanders by,
Plains stretched beneath unclouded sky,
He bellows deep and whistles too:
Deliv'rer of the largest moo.
(https://i.imgur.com/I8wIHri.jpg)
-
The largest of moos, I can attest!
-
A song of musical problems...
Where is My Capo?
There’s a wind in the wood blows no-one no good,
G D G D
I tried to play bassoon but got lost in the reeds,
G C G
I tried for brass but I got only muck,
G D
Pulled out all the stops but still my organ’s stuck
G D
Where is my capo? I had it a minute ago,
G C G D
I’d take my shot at other strings but I can’t string a bow.
Em D Em D G
Where is my capo? I had it a minute ago,
This question unending that every guitarist must know.
There’s a wind in the wood blows no-one no good,
I tried to play bassoon but got lost in the reeds,
I tried for brass but I got only muck,
Pulled out all the stops but still my organ’s stuck
Where is my capo? I had it a minute ago,
I’d take my shot at other strings but I can’t string a bow.
My attempts at conducting made the bus late home,
My timpani was far from a thumping success,
A double bass-ically drove me to gin,
And tubas hate the soil in my garden,
And where is my capo? I had it a minute ago,
But feel too quiet to ask the chap with the grand piano.
My gurdy doesn’t want to join the herd,
I’ve not got the spoons to play in another folk session,
There’s someone fiddling with my ideas each night,
And a trad repertoire that a child could write,
And where is my capo? I had it a minute ago,
I can’t switch to bagpipes fear that I can’t take the blow,
And my tries at rock trapped me in a hard place,
I’m a techno-phobe and pop has just gone to the weasels,
I’ve seen the violins inherent in the system,
I’ve tried for hits but I’ve always missed them,
But where is my capo? I had it a minute ago,
This search like its object attunes me to seek high and low,
Yes, where is my capo? I had it a minute ago,
It’s simply the case that to get back in business I need it in time for the show,
In this storm in a do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti cup that’s made me sick stringing out musical woe.
-
Ozymandias' Icebox
I once met a traveller in an antique land,
Who said: two cold and icy plums with stones,
Sat in the icebox:
Then sat in my hand,
Then sunk into my visage, then I frowned,
My fruit-stained lip, I licked, to understand
That to the icebox lid my passions led,
In which I dived, reached for those lifeless things,
My hand that grasped them and my maw that fed;
And in my consciousness these words appear:
"I'm saving those for breakfast," your voice rings,
I look at the icebox, and rightly, I despair.
Nothing else remains: around the decay,
Of that emptied box of ice, barren and bare,
The level kitchen floor stretched far away.
(For anyone wanting the joke explained: it's a riff on rewriting this oft-memed poem (https://poets.org/poem/just-say?mbd=1) in a different style)
-
Architectural reflections
The tower of the farmhouse, octagonal,
The weathervane, cockerel,
Upon blue and curled-white lines
Its head thrown back against the sky
The boar, black-on-green,
Faced the dog, white-on-red;
The boar held a staff,
And beneath him - them -
The bull stood.
And that was where Stone welcomed the Wise
And the Wise welcomed Stone in turn
The column of the tollkeeper's house,
The leaves are broad and wreathed around the base,
But below
Did the tollkeeper know?
There were flames.
Each of these is closely based on a note I took whilst wandering around the Stein district of Krems an der Donau - a quick reflection on some architectural feature or other.
-
Bring Me Down
Bring me down -
The eagle sky-clad soaring to the sodden ground
When the loneliness of empty air
Too much to bear
Becomes weight on shattered wings
That turn and fall
Featherless
Bring me down -
Last scion of the mammoth, pierced by flint spears all around,
Seeing slow loves cut before ponderous eyes,
And in its wind-caught sighs,
A longing to be buried bones,
Brought to loss-mingled,
Stone-pressed home
Bring me down -
The rotting carcass of the lion, filled with roaring, rolling sound,
Where bees and flies make busy turning sweet rot
And community
Pity kings, by gold and steel caressed:
Freed in peasants' earth
At last to rest
Bring me down -
Where the fingers of devils and the dead clutch all around,
The soft petrichor of morning,
Weeps on fragile skin’s shivering,
Where rhizomorphous hair-knots spread
Tangled, dreamed decay
So bring me down -
The angel falling featherless, burning up its choral gown,
Rotting, feeding fruit-trees to feed the rising apes
That learned to dream
So, love, bring me down, for I have made the human’s choice:
To rather a self broken upon your earth
Than that which you call seraphim or elohim
And is
Nothing
Else.
-
Jack O'Deer
The winter comes, the winter’s cold,
The time comes to make free and bold,
When tales of my deeds are sung,
For misrule I did bring -
But they won’t come and find me here,
For I’m dancing a jig with little Jack deer!
Twas I who robbed the miller’s son,
Of coin he took from those with none,
He’ll have to sell his horse and stones,
His hat and signet ring,
But they won’t come and find me here,
For I’m dancing a jig with little Jack deer!
Twas I nailed to the parson’s door,
The skirts he’d chased from ladies poor,
The only choir he’ll hear’s the one,
That of his deeds will sing,
But they won’t come and find me here,
For I’m dancing a jig with little Jack deer!
Twas I who saw the lord demand,
A cost for fuel I could not stand,
I set his hall to fuel a blaze,
For to him light to bring,
But they won’t come and find me here,
For I’m dancing a jig with little Jack deer!
And so before I’m held to blame,
With he who wears horns with no shame,
I’ll soon away to wood and fen,
And I’ll be on the wing,
And they won’t come and find me here,
For I’m dancing a jig with little Jack deer!
Notes:
The muntjac is an unusual animal to be made central to a folk song/ballad, they were only introduced to the UK in the C19th, but they have this rather satyr-like quality and that plus their very not-quite-local-but-local-ness seemed to make them an interesting candidate for a sort of lord of misrule, satyr-like figure. This led to the chorus forming in my head, and the verses and theme of taking down corrupt figures of village society was back-formed from the "they won't come and find me here" line.
-
Blackberry Wine
When Circe’s dark wings they are faded and worn,
G D
And the last of the meadow-browns tattered and torn,
G D
Their struggles are done and there’s warmth in the morn,
G C G
And I sing to the leaves that fall,
D G D
And we’ll open a storehouse of blackberry wine,
G C G
When the harvest is in and the weather is fine,
D G
And the herbs that are grown shall be tarkhun and thyme,
G C G
And we’ll sing from the eve ‘til the morning.
D Em
When Circe’s dark wings they are faded and worn,
And the last of the meadow-browns tattered at torn,
Their struggles are done and there’s warmth in the morn,
And I sing to the leaves that fall,
And we’ll open a storehouse of blackberry wine,
When the harvest is in and the weather is fine,
And the herbs that are grown shall be tarkhun and thyme,
And we’ll sing from the eve ‘til the morning.
Each leaf shall be different that grows green and high,
And this truth no stone and no law shall deny,
For they touch not the rainbow or sun-setting sky,
While I sing to the leaves that fall,
And we’ll open a storehouse of blackberry wine,
When the harvest is in and the weather is fine,
And the herbs that are grown shall be tarkhun and thyme,
And we’ll sing from the eve ‘til the morning.
And not every song shall survive winter’s chill,
And not every bird lands on that far misted hill,
But we’ll fly, singing skeins, so that some of us will,
While I sing to the leaves that fall,
And we’ll open a storehouse of blackberry wine,
When the harvest is in and the weather is fine,
And the herbs that are grown shall be tarkhun and thyme,
And we’ll sing from the eve ‘til the morning.
The autumn is calling, your labours are done,
And though your leaf’s a record of dreams yet unwon,
We’ll drink blackberry wine in the last of the sun,
And I’ll sing to the leaves that fall,
And I’ll sing to the memories that call,
How I wish I could remember them all -
And we’ll open a storehouse of blackberry wine,
When the harvest is in and the weather is fine,
And the herbs that are grown shall be tarkhun and thyme,
And we’ll sing from the eve ‘til the morning.
Notes:
This was put together rather slowly - I had the chorus in summer and it took half a year to put together - and ended up being largely a reflection on activism and especially LGBT rights activism through a folk song framing. In particular, the tensions between the need to keep fighting, the need to grieve and mourn those who didn't make it, and the need to rest are quite core to what I was thinking about through the verse lyrics.
The Circe in verse one is really the butterfly (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brintesia) more than the witch (hence going along with the meadow-browns), but the double meaning is intentional.
-
Cathedral
We built this
We did not let it build itself,
There are too many of us for that.
The pillars of a basilica, stern, straight-standing,
And all the tiles a maze of autumn-brown,
Pocked with primrose,
Which makes it all the more a cathedral, to me,
The echo of roses as power in time,
Is familiar to my foreign eyes
The plain pillars above which woodpeckers screech
Holding up the fan-vault canopy
But I wonder if we
(the other we, if I make myself part of here and not part of there)
truly recognise what we have built
Imagining anything that is not bound in cold stone and twined with gold
To be nature
To be separable
When people gather,
They turn the world into cathedrals:
There are too many of us not to.
One day, such a basilica may take my bones:
And so here, godless man on unconsecrated ground,
Among the pillars of a cathedral,
I pray.
-
Overcast
The cave-grey shadows come
Wearing the face of a day
And the raiment of a raincloud
And boots of muffled whisper
A box of colours flickers, pinks and golds,
Insufficient to light the room
A campfire for one
That sits songless
Only to highlight the ghosted imaginary
Of those shadows that might have been people
In a different world
With more light
The shadows fade into shadows,
The shadows close into cave-walls
And the day closes into a day
That was:
A placeholder for Time
Who, imperceptible, slipped through shadows on cave walls
To pass forever by
-
A Banner, Rolled Up Again
I understand the need to curl
And like a tattered banner furl
Whose sign shall then, no more in view,
Be safe within that curling too,
And thus to its own self be freed:
And thus, encurled, fulfils a need.
-
Clutter
I pass another set of tables cacophonising
On the street that yawns, rolled out in the sun
And my ears twitch at the sound of sounds foreignplaced
(To the city, at least, if not to me, foreignplaced alike)
And were I to twist the ghost of a smile across my lips for each
I would show to the yawning street a crocotta's monstrous grin
And I catch myself, wondering if for some architect, ages past,
This street was concieved in naive elegant artistry,
The paradise of the single mind,
To be spoken to by those who spoke it into being,
To be lived in by those who imagined it into life
And if that is the case,
Well,
Then we are the clutter that mars the face of paradise
(Love that for us)
Then we are the rattling shards of reality strewn across the pavements
(And we sound different? Damn well we do, sir)
The graffiti that, unasked for and unplanned,
Scatters like rice across the soundscapes of perfection,
(And f*ck you too, if that's a problem)
And amid these caterwauls and castanets and canticles,
I catch myself doing half a dance-step to the sound of the beauty of monstrosity,
And I slip into the kaleidoscope of broken-glass humanity
And whisper down the road, some forgotten solar god upon my heels,
But as I pass another set of tables cacophonising,
I hum into the half-dead wind,
And as part, myself, of the sound of cluttered streets,
I sing my way home.
-
Celandine
There was a child whose town was decked
With flowers like the sun,
All gold upon the balconies,
The streets like saffron shone;
And of that girl born in that place,
A strange thing it was said:
That when she pricked her finger,
Like the yellow flowers she bled
And so they called her Celandine,
Because her blood ran gold
They dressed her up in silks so fine,
Before she’d yet grown old
An old man in another land,
Called forth his troops to war,
They burned the town of Celandine,
And a hundred others more,
Among them was a captain bold,
Brash, youthful, and unwise,
He spied the lovely Celandine,
And he wooed her as his prize,
They called her Celandine,
Because her blood ran gold,
She gave to him three cups of wine,
And this to him she told:
“There might have been another life
Where I would have married you,
But for my town that ruined lies,
And a hundred others too:
But for my father who lies dead,
My mother gripped with fear,
My brother lost, my sister fled,
Who once I held so dear.”
They called her Celandine,
Because her blood ran gold,
And she sang to him as the moon did shine,
And a different war-drum rolled:
Oh, here’s your arms and battle plans,
You boasted of to me,
And here’s a band of partisans
So prisoner you shall be.
To him a cell: to her the king,
Who offered just reward,
But Celandine declined the gifts,
She’d walk with men no more,
They called her Celandine,
Because her blood ran gold,
She walked away into the spring,
And watched the flowers unfold,
She went down to a woodland glade,
Which yellow blooms did fill,
She disappeared at last from sight,
It’s said she roams there still.
She sees with eyes of doe and dove,
Of squirrel, and moth and bear,
So fear the flowers, you unjust men,
For she will find you there.
They called her Celandine,
Because her blood ran gold,
When men send youths to unjust war,
To her their lives are sold;
They call her Celandine,
Because her blood ran gold,
So fear the flowers, you unjust men,
Until you lie there cold.
Author's Note: This was inspired by an odd mix of things: celandine flowers, I guess, and stories of Ukrainian women catfishing Russian soldiers on Tinder, and also there's bits of folk song in there, Peggy-o also has the "I would have married you but for my brothers that you slew" but that ends less badly for the soldier in question.
-
The Overgrown Railway
There was a ripple in the air and the leaves,
And out of the long-entangled vines
That wrapped a broken world,
The Overgrown Railway tumbled into the station
In a mass of twigs and ancientness and birdsong.
Alighting on the platform came a breath,
Or a creature that breath might have been if it could learn to feel,
Eddying and caressing with a dancer’s flow,
So that it might, once upon a time that happened and did not happen,
Have been sighed into the carriage by the lovers or the lost,
And having completed its journeying,
Wrapped itself into branches and moss and the shrilling of a woodpecker’s chicks
And was gone.
The Overgrown Railway’s timetable board
Was a broken mosaic with wallflowers to hide its secrets,
The ticket office was open
To the warm rain and half-shadowed sunlight
And the cat which still lingered leonine upon the bench,
As it had somehow done forever
There were no passengers on the train
Because passage suggests a destination
And the low, whistling call of the Overgrown Railway
Beckons to places you cannot yet name,
As it slowly wends its way through the forests of root-bound time,
And carries the secrets in my suitcase,
To someone who might need forgotten things,
On a station just as broken,
Amid as many songs and whispers,
In place and time and circumstance
Unknown.
-
Parabola
To see the reflection of the world,
You must understand that the heart of the mirror
Is a place;
A point, mathematically perfected,
Where light and heat writhe
Into a tiny reflected sun
That you could light a torch upon
Cook and warm and hope upon,
Send a tiny world around
In the vastness of that fraction of space
That, curved and walled within,
Has become universal,
A bromeliad flower of light:
A promise untouchably small,
That yes, there can be such a thing:
Held within mirrorglass,
A parabolic world.
-
A Song of Books and Bone
Inspired by and dedicated to Veo Corva's Tombtown novels.
For some there’s never been
G D
A place where you were wholly you but
C G
Places kept unseen,
G D
And places from another time, from
G D
Songs and words in books and in your dreams.
Em D G or Em
But whether you come to believe in
C G
Books or bone
Em G
This town’s your home:
G D
And if ever the road to the tomb brings
C G
Pains or sighs
Em G
Here the crow still flies
D Em
For some there’s never been
A place where you were wholly you but
Places kept unseen,
And places from another time, from
Songs and words in books and in your dreams.
But whether you come to believe in
Books or bone
This town’s your home:
And if ever the road to the tomb brings
Pains or sighs
Here the crow still flies
The tales of a town,
Are not unearthed by power or blood but
Love that binds you down,
With strings that guide through labyrinths of
Hopes and secrets kept beneath the ground
But whether you come to believe in
Books or bone
This town’s your home:
And if ever the road to the tomb brings
Pains or sighs
Here the crow still flies
A whisper in the air,
Will carry what you thought was you,
To places not yet there,
To sing and write the things you knew
Until they can become the things you share
But whether you come to believe in
Books or bone
This town’s your home:
And if ever the road to the tomb brings
Pains or sighs
Here the crow still flies
For some there’s never been,
A place where you were wholly you,
But night and time have seen,
That care reshapes the town you knew
And gathers hope surrounding you
In books and bones and people who
Will share the endless river of your dreams
But whether you come to believe in
Books or bone
This town’s your home:
And if ever the road to the tomb brings
Pains or sighs
Here the crow still flies
Yes, here the crow still flies
-
An 11pm Drink at the Bookstore Bar
Off-beats march to nowhere
Dry as salt air and slow-drunk gin
Quiet, dessicated after the gulls fall silent:
Shielded by its personless desert
And glass that was once sand
From the night-cats' prowl,
The lone bar gives no service
For none has been requested
A rounded circle of wood and bottles
Fortifies the keep, the tower and donjon
And recalling some old-time man of lore,
I hesitate, hearing an echo of myself,
And I speak no magic words
But still, unfurling the levied scroll,
I let the drawbridge swing
Down
Opening my notebook
To the night
-
Sunwing
In Sunwing town
G Em
The autumn’s shiver learns to sing
Em Am Em
The song the birds of winter bring
Em Am Em
The church lies cold
Em C
Doesn’t matter now what warmth it knew
C G
The spire soars in colder skies
Em D Em
The town that knows, the sun that dies
G C D
And when will there be a song?
C G D
Tell me, when will there be a song?
C G D
In Sunwing town
The autumn’s shiver learns to sing
The song the birds of winter bring
The church lies cold
Doesn’t matter now what warmth it knew
The spire soars in colder skies
The town that knows, the sun that dies
In Sunwing town
The autumn’s shiver learns to sing,
I stand alone, the bells still ring
Still farmland lies
No rooster crows the sun to rise
The roof falls down to bare the eaves,
The apples rot amid the leaves
In Sunwing town
The autumn’s shiver learns to sing,
In notes that bind each lonely thing
The inn is closed
No bed or manger brings repose
The empty barrels sworn upon,
Our gallant echoes gallons gone,
And when will there be a song?
Tell me when will there be a song?
In Sunwing town
Where autumn’s shiver learns to sing
I walk the streets a lonely king
My home is here,
Where autumn sweeps away the year
And still I greet each faded day,
In hope some passer by will choose to stay
In Sunwing town
Where autumn’s shiver learns to sing
Where summer fled upon the wing
Where echo all the songs I bring
This was written as a song from the start, the "In Sunwing town" turned up because I had the line about Bonnington/Bonningtown from Kris Drever's Capernaum stuck in my head and I started switching round the syllables and notes a bit to try and unearworm myself. Then it was sort of a case of stacking imagery up until it felt right, I think. The result is something a bit closer to some of my earlier songwriting: a slightly more spoken, varied-tempo singing style with a bit of Pete Atkin influence and a very image-heavy piece as a whole.
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Nursery
And so of course you
Pulled the world together of out of threads
Weaving silk to bind person to person
And knowledge to knowledge
And maybe, less admittedly
Hope to hope
Of course you
Pulled the world together out of threads
Because you knew as you grew
That the weavings of spiders
Do not always trap
And bind, and paralyse, waiting for the kill
Of course you
Pulled the world together out of threads
That, woven round in a haze of fen-mist
Can conceal a whole world inside
A nursery
For a coming world and a future year
From which, skywards, new life can step
And from the tops of reeds
Make its first silken thread
That will one day make another nursery
That will never catch a fly or a beetle
But today catches the wind
And connects the world with little web-builders
Floating their way to freedom
And, unafraid,
To things that come anew.
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Devotion (Song for Lae'zel)
From the moment I was born upon
Em G
The firmament of heaven
Em G
I dreamed silver in my hand
G C
Silver in my hand
G D
And my devotion red and black among the stars.
Em D G D
From the day I held a blade and heard
Em G
The roaring of the dragons,
Em G
It looked like silver in my hand
G C
Silver in my hand
G D
To carve paths of red and black throughout the stars
Em D Em
But devotion is a war
G D
And it brings death like any other
Em G
It’s a fire that burns like steel,
Em D
And it consumes you like a lover
Em G
It consumes you like the burning heart of stars.
G D Em
From the moment I was born upon
The firmament of heaven
I dreamed silver in my hand
Silver in my hand
And my devotion red and black among the stars.
From the day I held a blade and heard
The roaring of the dragons,
It looked like silver in my hand
Silver in my hand
To carve paths of red and black throughout the stars
But devotion is a war
And it brings death like any other
It’s a fire that burns like steel,
And it consumes you like a lover
It consumes you like the burning heart of stars.
From the day I fell to earth below
The firmament of heaven
I sought silver for my my hand
Silver for my hand
But I was far from red and black, and from the stars
On the day I was betrayed and lost
The future I was promised
Fell like silver from my hand
Silver from my hand
And I cursed fates red and black and cursed the stars
But devotion is a war
And it brings death like any other
It’s a fire that burns like steel,
And it consumes you like a lover
It consumes you like the burning heart of stars.
On the night I learned to see anew
The firmament of heaven
You felt like silver in my hand
Silver in my hand
A source of joy that sang me to the stars
But in paths beyond my dreams
There it was, at last, unlooked for
There was silver in my hand
A blade of silver in my hand
And I was called to fight for freedom and the stars
I was called to give my freedom for the stars
But devotion is a war
And it brings death like any other
It’s a fire that burns like steel,
And it consumes you like a lover
It consumes you like the burning heart of stars.
From the moment I was born upon
The firmament of heaven
My devotion ruled my hand
Ruled the silver in my hand
Until at last I saw the colours of the stars
Devotion is a war
And it brings death like any other
In its tattered last defeat
I learned to see a thousand colours
And I learned to see the light between the stars
-
Three Lost Kings
All:
We Three Kings of Orient are,
Stuck behind a family car,
Satnav broken,
Harsh words spoken,
Shouldn’t have gone this far…
By car we wander, day or night,
Destination out of sight,
Map misleading,
Still proceeding,
Ever more in transport plight.
Gaspard (Gold):
I went by a Southwestern Train,
Rail strikes delayed us again,
Moving never,
Here forever,
Driving us all insane.
Refrain
Melchior (Frankincense):
I then thought it better to fly,.
RyanAir but best not to try:
My case and things,
Have reached Beijing while
I’m stuck in security.
Refrain
Balthazar (Myrrh):
This bus smells of sweat and perfume,
Wish my legs were given more room,
Children bawling,
Caterwauling,
Seven more hours still loom…
Refrain
All:
Uber feels like rolling the dice,
Taxis come at triple the price;
In this disaster,
Walking’s faster,
We’ll find our way by the skies,
By foot we wander, through the night,
No-one thought to bring a light,
Hope's receding,
For believing in
Travel plans that go alright!
-
I love it! The Southwestern train part is all too real...
By the way, is the idea that one fills in "train" or "air" or "bus" in place of "car" in each chorus?
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I've been singing it with car repeatedly, to more closely replace star in the original, but actually that might be a good plan. I wholeheartedly endorse all alternative approaches to this issue!
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Raise the Tide
The black flag she sailed,
Am Em
And who was she then? Raise the tide!
Am G Am
A harbinger, shapeshifter, warrior queen,
C G Am Em
And she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise.
Am Em E Am
The black flag she sailed,
And who was she then? Raise the tide!
A harbinger, shapeshifter, warrior queen,
And she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise.
The trident he bore,
And who was she then? Raise the tide!
She saw him, pursued him, on salt wave and shore,
And she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise.
A gull she became,
And who was she then? Raise the tide!
Under salt spray and water he dived in the wave,
And she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise.
Then as a crab she swam,
And who was she then? Raise the tide!
To catch and to claim him, but swifter he ran
And she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise
Her iron teeth she grew,
And who was she then? Raise the tide!
She the shark, he the flood, and his trident was true
And she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise.
The trident of the sea,
And who was she then? Raise the tide!
It’s love, salt and war, and a spear of all three,
And she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise!
The black flag they sailed,
And who were they then? Raise the tide!
The iron will rust and the lover will rest,
When she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise
And the flood carries onward the ones who sail best,
And she’s all aboard, the sails shall rise!
This was originally written entitled "The Passion of the Trident" for a competition run by the Wagadu Chronicles game team, a competition it did rather poorly in, coming solidly bottom half of the table (in that there were four entries and it was neither winner nor runner up). Hopefully other people enjoy it in any case. In case of interest, the prompt given is as per spoiler tagged section below:
The “Passion of the Trident” is a sea shanty that recounts a war and love story from the Fifth Era. Back then, pirates from the Flood Tide and Iron Shark cultures were fighting for control over lucrative sea trade routes. The war lasted for generations, and it ended unexpectedly after two centuries when three of the pirate leaders all fell in love with each other. These days, “Pasion of the Trident”'s fame extends beyond Wagadu and into the Spirit Realms. However, it still has a special place in the Flood Tide culture. People have been known to join this culture by singing this song at seaside taverns with fellow sailors.
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The Lost Child of Amberlea
And to tell you the truth, I never met the lost child of Amberlea:
Her face is unknown to me, and the fullness of her fate is unwritten to me.
I know only what the wind told me,
What the shrubs and the rocks and the scree-stone slopes said to me,
And that is all.
It seems plausible
That in some grey office someone tapped some figures into a spreadsheet
And it is possible that a consequent two percent in- or de-crease in some rate of tax or benefit
That was a lifeline or a burden upon some particular character in our tale
Broke something that could not be repaired, for example the façade of society,
And that if that had all not happened, well, then when the numbers turned into a story
We could have told a rather different tale -
But that is speculation,
And unworthy of the wise, they say:
And I know only what the dune-grass held for me,
The news the waves and salt spray brought to me,
The cry of the crashing of the sea upon a stone-swept beach,
And the squall.
And I could believe, when considering the lost child of Amberlea,
That the impact upon others might not have been taken into full and proper consideration
When the child made decisions that were not only central to her fate alone
But rippled along networks, node and edge and weight clicking other fates neatly into place
And perhaps, never taught to see the table joins connecting these little data points of humanity
Certain words were said or left unsaid that greatly influenced the emotional and thereafter social
Status of those present in ways that had impacts described in some subsequent report as regrettable
But that is imagination,
A painting of the mind that imparts false colour into monochrome for the sake of building hopes and fears thereupon;
And I know only what the rain hurled at me
What the sleet and the driving heat of the all too burning sun cursed at me,
What the thaw promised to me, and the first chill of autumn etched into me with every leaf
That fell.
And I am almost led to wonder,
In what way one might envisage the future if such events happened, and did not happen:
What the deletion of a table row and the closure of a bank account barely used
On the glare of a monitor, in technical infrastructures we would like to think are crisply inhuman
(And are more deeply human than we could ever wish to know or admit)
Might cause us to adjust or realign in our considerations and, if the answer is nothing,
Whether there will be more and more such children as the central, aforementioned, eponymous
And more and more such contemplations as the present considerations here presented
But that is prognostication
Where the thoughts of men and women go to fly the flights of Icarus and Kay-Kavus,
And I know only what the mud-puddles murmured to me,
What reed and rush and rhizomes wrapped in eternity whispered to me,
What the open sky above sunken earth made clear to me,
Through the clouds
And so may well you wonder why
I sit here late to pontificate upon the fate
Of the lost child of Amberlea?
It is because I know what the breeze sang to me,
What the pine and birch and ash creaked to me,
Yes, I know what all the songs of the earth told me -
They said that she loved, but could not love enough:
And that she was loved, but was not loved enough.
And that?
That is all.
-
Upon The Matter Of The Ankylosaurus
Of all the mesozoic beasts on whom we might converse,
There’s often a debate on which is better and which worse –
An argument that I intend to settle with this rhyme,
Or at least to say my piece on tails as old as time,
A tail, I’d say, that’s better when it’s swinging like a mace,
A strong sure-footed opt-out to the pressures of the race,
With heavy foot and armoured back protecting all the rest,
It seems to me the clearest thing – ankylosaurs are best.
The theropods are mostly wrecks and not my cup of tea,
Icthyosaurs are icky and they never leave the sea,
And though may roar the stegosaur, I won’t be thagomised,
By a barely armoured plodding beast whose brain is walnut sized.
And meager too the thinking caps of those who blithely chorus,
Their hard bone-headed preference for Pachycephalosaurus,
Iguanadon only gets mere thumbs up for its great fame,
And Plesiosaurs are never quite as pleasing as their name.
Ceratopsians can try but they never will succeed,
And Compsognathus’ status is as low as chicken feed,
Brachiosaurus’ converse issue’s simply being too big,
So loses points because its bones take far too long to dig:
Even Allosaurus’ allocated allies all admit,
It’d play a second fiddle if it’s arms weren’t short as sh*t,
I’d need larger turning circles to give diplodocus a whirl
And velociraptors? They aren’t even her- oh, clever girl…
But cleverer by half the one who does not break or bend:
For it’s ankylosaurus who’s left standing in the end
I talk about them in the lift,
I speak of them on dates,
I fear no reprisal thanks to bony armour plates
And so I must invite you now
To come and join the club,
That’s swinging from their heavy tail where others have a stub
The pace and heat of this debate’s
An argument for those,
Who shun the speed of human life and live in slow repose
For far too fast the Parasaurolophus must have run,
To need their skull in aerofoils – and yet they haven’t won,
The hearts of men, nor Gallimimus racing in a band,
Although to think that they would win would need heads in the sand.
Pterosaurs’ ptaxonomic pterror’s their downfall -
For pterosaurs, you see, aren’t really dinosaurs at all
And mammals? With their mammaries? Oh please don’t get me wrong:
I personally like them – but I don’t think they’ll catch on.
So when you ask my preferences, my banners show unfurled,
A beast that can ignore the petty squabbles of the world
For when all that’s around has gone to ruin and to rot,
An armour-plated tank-o-saur’s no need to care a jot.
No need to care for credit cards, for capital or tax
When osteodermal nodes can give you fully armoured backs,
So panic less and think some more, we’ll soon be all agreed
Upon ankylosaurus: it’s the dinosaur we need.