Jubal's poems

[Jubal]

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.)

[Ierne]

This is beautiful, as is salt horses - i forgot to say so earlier, but I really love that one

[Jubal]

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!

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

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!

[Glaurung]

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!

[Jubal]

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

[Ierne]

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).

[Jubal]

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

[Jubal]

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.

[Tusky]

I enjoyed that one. The images it evokes are quite clear.

I wonder if it was inspired during your last trip!

[Jubal]

It was - literally wrote it while in the air between Vienna and Istanbul, looking down at the clouds on my flight out

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

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)

[Ierne]

This is absolutely lovely! you've got a real gift for writing ballad-type things