Aneleda Falconbridge

Where were you
when the first sword was drawn?
By northern hills in icy dawn,
Past fields of wheat and barley wide,
Where sweeping rivers meet the tide?

Where were you
when the first sword was drawn?
Near fighting men with heart and brawn
Who eagle-like flew o’re the sea
To make their mark on history.

Where were you
when the first sword was drawn?
Holding needle to jupon,
Or painting on the wooden shield
that men of valor take to field.

Where were you
when the first sword was drawn?
Marching toward a foreign lawn
Holding rippling banner high
Red and white beneath blue sky.

Where were you
when the first sword was drawn?
Waiting for the denouement,
Breathless as each one proceeds
to match his chivalry with deeds.

Where were you
when the first sword was drawn?
As one we rallied, king and pawn,
to show the many gathered nations
a tale to tell for generations.

 

This poem was written for the first USA team to compete in the Battle of the Nations, which is this year, 2012, in Poland. Inspired by the words of Captain James, it is also an ode in honor of my dear Duke Lucan, who I served when he was King, as his bard.

This text also served as the text for Todd Kirby’s amazing composition for orchestra and choir, which he completed this year before the team left for Poland. You can hear it below.

Where arabesques have long since fallen
Now steel and metal take their place.
Where dust and stinging wind won’t harken
To e’en the sweetest voice or face,

Where o’re the stacks of burdened sandbags
Concrete blends in with the sky,
Where barricades and wires surround
To keep out dangers drawing nigh,

Where sun is by the storm obscured
Still her earthly visage shows
Rooted in the feeble ground
Undeterred she graceful’y grows.

 

This poem was written in response to a photo Ellise posted which showed beautiful sunflowers blooming in the metal and concrete military base in Afghanistan. She said that the flowers kept her sane, blooming in that sandy, hot, dry place. I thought of how much we miss her, and wrote this so she would realize how much WE miss her blooming here.

oh fly on whitened wing
you whose breast does redly stream;
you with fiery streaks for all
whose devotion shows no seam.

lift the load and haul the cart
guard the gate and fight the foe
teach the weary ones to be empower’d
show the haughty where to go

build the wall and mend the roof
start the fire and tend the flame
lead the lost to the right path
help the sure to do the same

cut the wood and smooth the grain
plow the ground and sow the seed
raise the humble to their heights
grow the little to great deeds.

 

This was written on the way to Twelfth Night where I knew Dziuginte
was going to receiving her well-deserved Pelican. I wrote this while I flew down to the event, inspired by all that I have seen her do, and the endless, untempered cheer she wears as she does it. (Except when she’s crying at my singing…and even then she’s usually smiling too.) I read this to her at her Vigil.