Jubal's poems

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

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

[Jubal]

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!

[Eadgifu the Fair]

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?

[Jubal]

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!

[Jubal]

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:

Spoiler

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.

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

If in your eyes there are sea-monsters

Upon the shirt, blue-lined like porcelain,
Were designs of a nautical form,
Ships of bygone age and docks for them to moor at,
And somewhere there
Framed between the waves of cardigan blue
The tentacles of some colossal beast emerge from the waters

And I wonder, as you look half-smiling out the window
Drinking the city in, inviting the storm and whirlpools,
Looking up from these tram-line depths to where the details of the buildings hang like figureheads above -
I wonder
If in your eyes there are sea-monsters

Where foam and spray dance
Like stray hairs and the lightness of a step,
The endless rocky moons and winds of life pull you from side to side
So there must be something, there, anchoring the glimmer of a smile
And seeking with curious intensity the ships that crest the sky
And under the wine-dark ocean, impermeable
I wonder if I have seen just the hint
Beneath calm and storm alike
Of leviathan
As the world silently slips unmoored into your path
And you alight with a foam-spray footstep
And the waves close around you once more.

[Jubal]

VERSE:
Hello adventurer,
C        G         C
Welcome to the town of Honeywood
          G                         D         Em
There's a quest awaits you here
                     C        G         C
For the brave and bold, those who quest for gold,
          G              D                     G             D
And who wear a shepherd's hood...
G                     Em            D

CHORUS:
For my sheep have run amok and you must bring them back to me;
              C                             G                                D                                Em
I can give you fifteen gold and at least twenty XP,
          C                         G                   D                      G
Yes my sheep have run amok and I don't know what to do,
     C                          G                     D                     Em
I need a brave adventurer – like you.
                C           G         D              Em

BRIDGE:
There is a barn in honeywood,
Em            G            D              Em
From which my sheep have roamed,
          C                 G                    Em
It'll be the ruin, of many a garlic farm,
Em            G            D              Em
If you don't bring them home...
      Em            D              Em
Woah, they're just not there,
  G                     Em
Wo-oah! Twelve sheep and a mare!
G      C                                          G   D
Take my quest, return them all there,
G             Em                                   D
Wo-oah! Twelve sheep and a mare!
G      C                                          G   D
Hello – I've waited here for ewes
  Em                                         G
Everlong.
Em D Em
Tonight – my herd's been split in two,
    G                 C                                 G   D
Please accept this quest, and bring me the rest, I sang...
         Em                                                                       D
Look who's alone now,
        Em
Yes it's me, I've lost my sheep,
             G                           D
Those three lost rams have headed off to Alderkeep,
                           Em                             G               D
Just ask your minimap the question: where are they now?
       D                       C                                           D
Ask your minimap the question: where are they now?
       D                       C                                                 D
Hello, it's me:
Em
I was wondering if after all these years you found my sheep...

My Sheep Have Run Amok/Greg's Song

Hello adventurer,
Welcome to the town of Honeywood
There's a quest awaits you here
For the brave and bold, those who quest for gold,
And who wear a shepherd's hood...

For my sheep have run amok and you must bring them back to me;
I can give you fifteen gold and at least twenty XP,
Yes my sheep have run amok and I don't know what to do,
I need a brave adventurer – like you.

So please adventurer,
Being a hero starts right here,
For to help a poor farmer,
Shows you're pure of soul, makes my flock back whole,   
And it gets your quest log clear...

For my sheep have run amok and you must bring them back to me;
I can give you fifteen gold and at least twenty XP,
Yes my sheep have run amok and I don't know what to do,
I need a brave adventurer – like you.

Listen close adventurer,
There are things that you must know,
Ancient lore that I must share,
So don't skip my di-, I must tell you why-
Fine then take the quest and go...

There is a barn in honeywood,
From which my sheep have roamed,
It'll be the ruin, of many a garlic farm,
If you don't bring them home...

Woah, they're just not there,
Wo-oah! Twelve sheep and a mare!
Take my quest, return them all there,
Wo-oah! Twelve sheep and a mare!

Hello – I've waited here for ewes
Everlong.
Tonight – my herd's been split in two,
Please accept this quest, and bring me the rest, I sang...

Look who's alone now,
Yes it's me, I've lost my sheep,
Those three lost rams have headed off to Alderkeep,
Just ask your minimap the question: where are they now?
Ask your minimap the question: where are they now?

Hello, it's me:
I was wondering if after all these years you found my sheep...

Well my sheep have run amok and you must bring them back to me;
I can give you fifteen gold and at least twenty XP,
Yes my sheep have run amok and I don't know what to do,
I need a brave adventurer – like you.

Farewell adventurer,
For your path shall now be long,
Where your deeds beyond compare,
Braving rivers wide, and mountains steep,
Facing mighty foes in dungons deep,
Yes and maybe even catching sheep,
Will be laid down in song...

Since my sheep have run amok and you must bring them back to me;
I can give you fifteen gold and at least twenty XP,
Yes my sheep have run amok and I don't know what to do,
I need a brave adventurer – like you.

Yes, my sheep have run amok and you must bring them back to me;
I can give you fifteen gold and at least twenty XP,
Yes my sheep have run amok and I don't know what to do,
I need a brave adventurer – like you.

[Jubal]

Boots

And each boot strikes the cobbles and it rhymes
These same old streets I've walked a thousand times
In the candle-light a ringing bell
Sings it's twelve of the clock – and all is well

Memory's a facet of the sole,
That learns the cracks of pavement and pothole
And echoing the whole night long
The gutter sings old drunken songs
That mingle with the night-watch bell-man's toll
(Chorus)

A rich man's boots take seasons to wear through:
A poor man's boots are threadbare when they're new,
I know these streets, their ruts, their tears,
Have soaked my feet for fifty years,
My weekly brush with someone else's shoes
(Chorus)

Between the night and day a watchman stands,
Too often with a weapon in his hands,
Who guards those who have boots to spare's
A guard without a watchman's cares,
No lamp-light's warmth in sneers and cold commands.

And the dying of the bell,
Brings a memory of a smell,
Of piss and blood and lilac flowers,
That mingled in the twilight hours
With pain and waste and care I'd see
The sort of watch my watch would be

So with my lamp I tread these streets until
The dawn, where gold and copper drink their fill,
Where someone needs to care the same
As in the puddle's darkling frame
I watch the watchman wondering who will
(Chorus)


It's twelve of the clock – and all is well

[Jubal]

The Hands That Mocked Them

And did their hands not mock him too, who said
His orders of despair unto the dead?
Did they not in his edifices see
The sound whose echo is futility?

Who made and shaped the rock that witness bears
To absent honour, memory, and heirs;
Whose voices unrecorded sing in rhyme,
Into the hourglass whose name is time

Their monuments and stories are the grains
Of sand upon those desolated plains;
Surviving not in form but in the way
They blunt the features of the tyrant's sway

While man's name is yet spoken shall he bide:
But what price life, bereft of hope or pride?
For those whose very names are lost and gone,
Ensured that he, their ruler, lingered on,
More pitiable with each passing day,
A foolish relic seen by those who stray,
Where the sands – their mocking hands – stretch far away.

[Jubal]

Meniscus

Merlot is drowsy in the heat that slips
Away into the hazed-out day through slow-lipped sips
The streets stretch out that have not yet begun
To cool from vigour-sapping, sap-tapping sun
The clapping and the roars of the engines and the crowd
With kaleidoscopes of faces blurring loud and loud and loud
Until,
A pool of red too dark for blood,
Sits languid, glass-bound, unhurried,
In turning the world to warmed miasma,
The mind's eye drooping shut where, in its chasm,
A whispering wine calls for release, release,

And yet if I look closer
I see meniscus

And I realise it has come to this:
Where even the preacher of letting go
Clings on
You bastard wine! Hypocrite of hypocrites:
Slow song-singer of evening rest
Who cannot present a surface without tension
Muse of the arts, blood of gods,
Creeping your edges up even smooth glass

But beneath your titles and honours, sea-dark wine,
I am forced to admit that we belong here, both of us.
Some part of me sharpens against this humid soup of an evening
Some muscle tenses against the noise (and the noise, and the noise)
And I cling on, too.
For you see, if I look closer
In the meniscus
I see reflection.

[Jubal]

Epitaph Inscribed On A Colchicum

This is not a lament, my friend,
For that would be a sadder song,
And this, a hum of bumbling's end's
Relief to one who's laboured long

As busy as a bumble-bee,
Is all I've known, all bumbling blessed,
But now I lurch on slowing feet
And fuzz, through yellow-dusted rest.

I weary now of bumbling
Amidst the leaves a-tumbling
Where autumn bustles mumbling
Who gently, before winter's power
Did call to me and call my hour:
And laid me in a crocus flower
Her pinky-pale and golden bower

So rest my wings and rest them here
Last drinks of nectar gifted me,
By old gods of a fading year:
In petalled tomb, here rests thy bee.