Jubal's poems

[Jubal]

Ballad-writing time. 

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.

[Andalus]

Love it! Great ballad.

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

Sorry, that last one was rather a return to mushcrap.

I've been putting tunes to a few of my better ones, lately. 

[Jubal]

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?

[Andalus]

Good one, and nice historical reference.

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

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

[Andalus]

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?

[Jubal]

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.

[nightshade]

You write wonderful poetry, Jubal. I hope to read more as time wears on.

[Jubal]

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.

[kaleidoscopicmind]

Beautifully depressing

[Jubal]

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.

[Jubal]

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.