(Too. Much. Njal.)

I see Norse where no Norse should be. Thanks Njal.

The blood-rain / may pour on me
Fear no fight / going forward
I have seen / blade on life-thread
Norns know well / no beauty there
As a ship / on stormy swan-road.
Tie in tightly / wait for wave-lash
Lead-lid eye / you may carry
Bearing brow-waves / brow-waves bearing
Both born by / before break-light
Water-walls / moon-pulls worsen
Tie in tightly

(Inspired by Tom Cochrane’s verse)

“Let the blood you might see rain down on me
You don’t have to fight no more”
I have seen my death and it ain’t pretty
but it be a wild ride
Buckle in
“You might be tired and troubled and troubled but not today”
Now until dawn is the bumpiest road
Buckle in.

Word-burned Allies

“Word-burned Allies”
April 30, 2014

Kings-night comes / to the MidRealm
Dragon Warder / works the words
Bears the brunt / of Braggi’s boasting –
a praise-poem / put to paper.

By his feet / word-dirt gathers,
gall globs grow / from his feathers
phrases fade / under fingers
into song-fog.

Falcons carried / crackling carcass
to a waiting / Eastern window.
Linden skald / opened eye-sill,
Awed she was / at her ally!

Hweat! began / lengthy love song
heart-inked verse / to the Midream
praising kings / in war and peace
people-song / for the Dragon.

Raven quick / chorus-culler,
called to Valhalla / knightly kennings
On this parchment / pushed her lean-pen.
From prose-horse / picked through war-field.
Midrealm warrior / watched the cutting,
scythe-strong he / threshed the word-wheat,
boldly broke / through strong thought-bales.

Stub-flame stands / as a timepeace
lights the loom / of ink and pulp
where word-wove / tale wefts and warps.

Sleepy skalds / night-drunk writers
bear to Braggi / poet-present
flown to Asgard / on ink-feathers
lip-bitten / boast-swords blessed it.

Note and heed / Gold-ring givers,
Ancient foes / entwined this night
Single voiced / were the war bards
that the King’s day / sun-song stand.

thus is prove’d / the Best war-bird
field-picks with / her feathers cut,
wordfame wends / many places,
Valkyries / codex-killers
lay waste to work.

Sings East-bard / to Mid Warder
our allies / to hour-allies
singly sleep / ere sky-gold rises.

***********************

And so it came to pass that Eastern bard Aneleda helped a MidRealm Warder, Andrew Blackwood (Drew Nicholson) write Norse-styled praise poetry in honor of the lineage of his kings for the approaching MidRealm Coronation. (Thank you Master Toki Redbeard and Mistress Wyndrith.) It seemed that she did not catch on fire while doing so. And they both got to sleep before dawn.

She was so happy about that, that she wrote another poem all herself about the work they did.

In the morning, I woke to read this from the beloved and renowned Brendan O’ Corraidhe (Corrie Bergeron). Appended was this note: “Seriously – I don’t think I’v ever seen a piece in praise of collaboration!”

Sleepless greybeard / sees and startles.
Oft has he / with others written
Ideas shared / and shorn, and scutch’ed

Winnowed wheat / left chaff to char.

Wordsmiths / wielding wisdom, know
That eyes a’plenty / find all flaws.
(No slight spat / at One-Eyed Woden; 
From we who lack / Yggdrisail’s Gift.)

Yet in all / my years of yowling,
Versing, faring, / story-telling,
Seeking counsel / from like-minded
Never have I / seen an ode

Like this.
Praise of poet’s process:
Advice from well-wrought wisdom
Seek gold ‘among the mosses:
A legacy for children.

The word gift from Brendan was worth all the lost sleep alone. 

Two Sonnets for a Challenge

On Semantics

Philosophers may lounge in smokey dens
Imbibing wisdom ‘neath a flowing cask
While by the wordy fires at length hey bask.
O they could speak ‘till God made dry the fens
whilst multiplying arguments by tens
disguising fears. The words serve as a mask
o’er questions Art herself might take to task
could she but see those blots from inky pens.

Yet of their many words none do describe
the spirt nor the method of my art –
how once in sylvan glen the warriors wept,
why bitter, broken love sent forth the gibe,
when music did make whole the wounded heart,
or other moments that my song hath kept.

Petrarchan sonnet (a b b a  a b b a  c d e c d e) written 9-9-13

_______________________________________________________

The Art Garden

I stumbled once upon a garden large.
Twas bordered by a gate of iron wrought
Well-craft about with many creatures charge’d
For rampant, sleeping, dancing were they caught.

’Twas quick apparent its creator thought
His garden more enriched by many flowers
Some bloom’ed wild but others had been taught
to grow and flourish on the ancient bowers.

Bold blossoms brought the eye to note the towers
Untam’ed ones cavorted at their base
To note them all one need wander for hours
Each stem did have its own distinctive grace.

A garden perfect requires many parts.
How so akin to flowers are the arts!

The Spenserian Sonnet (a b a b  b cb c  c d c d   e e) written 9-9-13

 

A challenge had been posted that any of us currently “in discussion” about what it meant to be a “bard” or what “bardic arts” included or did not include, was to write a sonnet on the matter as a means of, I suppose, putting our money where our mouths are. These were my offerings.

Four Tanka On The Night Of The Autumn Equinox

Four Tanka On The Autumn Equinox

-autumn-

Broken free at last,
golden leaves go out dancing
like girls freed from the tea house,
brightly dressed in rustling silks,
giggling from behind their fans.

– winter-

In her hand the brush
Makes lines that are as graceful
as Crane taking flight.
Yet her lines hold a stillness
the stone pagoda envies.

-spring-

O moon, come down here,
Said the emperor’s daughter.
I am catching frogs
But dropped my only lantern
as I watched you from the bridge.

-summer-

The old koi looks up
to see the eyes of the fox.
Why brother, how kind
That you have come to visit.
How is it I may serve you?

These are part of a challenge issued by a gentle in the Kingdom of Calontir…

In my Kingdom of Calontir, King Damien has been challenging people to pick one project they have always wanted to do, and to take one year and do it. I have accepted the challenge, and my project is this.

In the year 1205 one of the great anthologies of Japanese poetry was completed, the Shin Kokin Wakashu. It collected 2000 poems in traditional format (tanka, poems of five lines in 5-7-5-7-7 syllable format) in 20 chapters, on 12 subjects: Spring, summer, autumn, winter, congratulations, laments, partings, travel, love, miscellaneous, Shinto poems, and Buddhist poems.

My goal is to create an SCA Shin Kokin Wakashu. I will collect poems for one year, until 9/17/2014, or until we reach 2000 poems (the size of the original). At that time the poems will be distributed for free online, to spread the word fame of our poets.

Poetry must follow the tanka/waka format of five lines of 5-7-5-7-7 sylables. Poems will be taken from anyone, regardless of persona, and will be credited how they wish (indicate in email). Art submissions or anyone who wants to help beautify it will be gratefully accepted as well.

Submissions should be sent to SCAWakaBook@gmail.com

A work in progress….

Forswear thy pledge, myn weneth
nat everich oon yeven thilke
I but mine thoughts unbinden
ant thou understandan mak.

Neuer ic the ne yeve away
Neuer ic the nolde na doun
Neuer ic sette forth and thee forsake
Neuer ic yelde wepen mak
Neuer ic farewell spake
Neuer ic thee disceyve and peyne

We ken our leman mony a day
achen thou hart, thou fain would ne hit spake
we ken wot is now befalle
we wyste the sport and we wolde it play
Ant shoud thou ask mine heart,
are thee ne blind to ken?

Neuer ic the ne yeve away
Neuer ic the nolde na doun
Neuer ic sette forth and thee forsake
Neuer ic yelde wepen mak
Neuer ic farewell spake
Neuer ic thee disceyve and peyne

Neuer ic the ne yeve thou
Neuer yeve thou

 

 First Draft

Forswear thy pledge, myn weneth
nat everich oon yeven thilke
I but mine thoughts unbinden
ant thou understandan mak.

Neuer ne thou yeveth forth
Neuer thou nolde na doun drede
Neuer ne sette forth awa y thou forsake
Neuer ne thou yeven soregh mak
Neuer ne spake adeiu
Neuer ne thou disceyve y pyne thee

We ken our leman mony a day
achen thou hart, thou fain would ne hit spake
we ken wot is now befalle
we wyste the sport and we wolde it play
Ant shoud thou ask mine heart,
are thee ne blind to ken?

Neuer ne thou yeveth forth
Neuer thou nolde na doun drede
Neuer ne sette forth awa y thou forsake
Neuer ne thou yeven soregh mak
Neuer ne spake adeiu
Neuer ne thou disceyve y pyne thee

Neuer ne yeveth forth
Ne yeveth forth.

Extra bonus points from Aneleda if you can figure out the inspiration for this piece. 😉