The Tale of Titus

THIS, THIS is what happens when you issue a challenge to a bard girl when she is grumpy over something unrelated. YOU may become the VICTIM of CREATIVITY.

Just like Titus.

Let this be a cautionary tale to the rest of you.

You can listen to the 3-am draft-singing-at-my-desk recording here. It’s rough, but it’s here…You can even learn it and sing it whenever you see Titus. I’m sure he’d love it. He’s a Roman. They like attention. (This tune may change before you hear me actually sing it live, but the chorus will stay the same. Promise.)

Now the Romans they are noted for their finely pav-ed roads
And they have given us a history and conquered those in woads
They did this wearing dresses and with fine, delicate shoes,
and showed if you fight a Roman, you’ll very likely lose.

Among these warrior people a man stands on his own
he wears a carven chest plate, and strong legs with lovely tone
Known better by his charming smile than even his name
Once you’ve met Titus Claudius, you’ll never be the same.

Oh he’s a lover and a fighter
a healer and a thief
He’ll own a heart a strongly
as a noble holds a fief
He’ll blush just like a maiden
then deliver a coy wink
don’t under estimate the Romans,
for they’re smarter than you think.

It’s true he wears a tunic and walks with his legs bare
And like all the good Roman boys he neatly trims his hair
He boasts with the best of them…when a sword is in his hand
Ask the ladies who hang at the field – he’s known throughout the land

Oh he’s a lover and a fighter
a healer and a thief
He’ll own a heart a strongly
as a noble holds a fief
He’ll blush just like a maiden
then deliver a coy wink
don’t under estimate the Romans,
for they’re smarter than you think.

He is always quick to offer a cup of Roman wine
And with the glass a compliment to make a lady shine
His hands are quick to offer, with a kiss when they are clasped,
And two arms to firmly rescue those who’ve fainted as he passed.

Oh he’s a lover and a fighter
a healer and a thief
He’ll own a heart a strongly
as a noble holds a fief
He’ll blush just like a maiden
then deliver a coy wink
don’t under estimate the Romans,
for they’re smarter than you think.

He’ll lay hands on a shoulder that was recently at war
with one tender touch it’s obvious those hands were meant for more
as he soothes away the aches and pains in body and in soul
To be injured for his healing could soon become a goal…

Oh he’s a lover and a fighter
a healer and a thief
He’ll own a heart a strongly
as a noble holds a fief
He’ll blush just like a maiden
then deliver a coy wink
don’t under estimate the Romans,
for they’re smarter than you think.

Oh he’s a lover and a fighter
a healer and a thief
He’ll own a heart a strongly
as a noble holds a fief
He’ll blush just like a maiden
then deliver a coy wink
don’t under estimate the Romans,
for they’re smarter than you think.

 

 

 

 ps) there you go Serena! And thanks Laurie!

Follow Me

This song is featured on the CD “I Am of the North” available for purchase online at:  http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/aneledafalconbridge/

I longed to be a gentle rose,
A flower sweet and fine.
It seems I’m better as the thorn,
But I hope you’ll still be mine.

To be a maiden shy I tried,
It made a laughing play.
I cannot pretend beneath this helm
That I am meek today.

Oh follow me, oh follow me
out on the fields of war
and you shall find devotion true
unlike ever seen before.

Fine silk I tear while running round,
satin dresses I wear through,
Though with solid armor on my form
I shall ever fight for you.

I will not feel your fingers warm
beneath my gauntlets bright
but if you’ll be sturdy as my sword
then all my world is right.

Oh follow me, oh follow me
out on the fields of war
and you shall find devotion true
unlike ever seen before.

I cannot dance as gracefully
as all those pretty maids,
but I will stay strong as fine steel
As their beauty slowly fades.

I cannot give to you that life
of calm domestic bliss
But follow me, and take my heart
you’ll ne’er regret this.

Oh follow me, oh follow me
out on the fields of war
and you shall find devotion true
unlike ever seen before.

*** *** ***

This song is one that I think perhaps comes from my service as bardic champion. As I reflect in the cold of autumn, and ready to visit Tir Mara to see the rattan and A&S championships, where I’ll bring my husband and son with me for the first time in a while, I started to think about what kinds of things I thought I would be, and what I turned out to be.

I’m not a domestic girl, but a tomboy, perpetually. I loved palling around on the field and arming up and thudding across Pennsic, as I’ve loved thudding across the kingdom this year. I have especially loved the moments when my war brothers and sisters have made me feel, quite ironically, like the strongest of all delicate flowers – they reminded me that I am more beautiful in my strength than in any coy weakness. So this song is for them.

And my sweet, quiet husband is dragged into my madness with such patience, that this song became one about asking one you love to come with you for the ride, promising that really, it will be worth it. So this song is for him.

Leaves Red as Love

Listen to this song at: http://www.mbouchard.com/misc/leaves-red-as-love.mp3

There was once upon a time
I felt I was your princess.
You’d have charged through a battlefield
for a touch of my hand.

It was back when the trees were green
and the flowers were blooming wild,
and the smell of white roses
floated over the land.

True you never made promises
that the sea would not call you,
and you never swore to me
that you’d stay by my side.

But the way that you walked with me
under trees in the moonlight,
I was sure that where my heart was
yours would ever reside.

But the trees have turned red as my love
And the stars slumber over the clouds
I have waited for you to return to me
But I can’t find your face in the crowds…

I know the king is not hiring
since the war is now over long.
I have watched every ship come in
still with no word of you.

The cabin boys shake their heads
when I show them your portrait
as I stand with the salt wind in my hair
wondering what to do.

For the leaves have turned red as my love
And the stars slumber over the clouds
I have waited for you to return to me
But I can’t find your face in the crowds…

I am sure you’re no silkie rare
now returned to the ocean deep.
You’ve not turned to a raven black,
or suffered any such fate.

No, I think you’re just a man
who has left me here longing.
This princess will rescue herself
I suppose, rather than wait.

For the leaves have turned red as my love
And the stars slumber over the clouds
I have waited for you to return to me
But I can’t find your face in the crowds…

There was once upon a time
I felt I was your princess
You’d have charged through the battlefield
for a touch of my hand.

It was back when the trees were green
and the flowers were blooming wild
and the smell of white roses
floated over the land.

 

* * *    * * *    * * *    * * *

Today was such a grey, rainy day that the leaves looked red, but nearly brokenhearted. The rain wasn’t hard enough to actually matter, just enough to make you feel like you were waiting for nothing in particular to happen. And it also made me think of staring out of a window, watching for someone. Usually that ends in my head with someone coming home, but today, nobody came. Well, that’s not entirely true. This song came, and I’m glad I let the little melancholic, heartbroken thing in out of the rain.

The Sad Thistle

Once a to a thistle came a bee
which upon his stem alighted
to consort with blossoms sweet;
the thistle was delighted.

Said the thistle to the bee,
You fear not my greeny thorn,
It is plain that we could love
better than all others born.

I see you have a thorn yourself,
A maiden so protected
Could nestle in my filmy down
By prickles unaffected.

The bee she drank his nectar fine
Buzzing her wings in gentle song
Dancing her dance upon his leaves
Kissing blossoms the day long.

Swooning in the highland wind
The thistle felt his joy ignited
But as his petals slowly drained,
His love, alas, was unrequited.

With golden pollen now bedecked
the merry bee flew to her hive.
The thistle wept a milky tear
bereft of love and now deprived.

Young men and maids hear this tale
Love not those who do briefly tarry
Be not the longing thistle here
who too quick loves and is not wary.

Like flighty bee you should eschew
Who samples each and every flower
Armed with stinger near and sharp
to first seduce and then devour.

But in all loves be tempered true
For love will find you where you are.
Think of the thistle and the bee
E’re you set your heart too far.

 

A poem for no other reason than that it seemed that two common, prickly things which were not afraid of each other might fall in love, and that it might work beautifully. That was how this started in my head, but the poem decided that it would be, alas, a cautionary tale instead…

The March Home

A challenge was given to write a on the topic of coming home from war. While we all know we mean Pennsic, I chose to take the perspective of a Roman legionary who is returning to his own lands, on the long march, seeming longer every day the closer he is to home, walking on the red roads home after brutal battles. The tune is inspired by an actual Roman melody, adapted for this use. The chords, played on harp, would have been appropriate.  The song from which my melody is culled is entitled XVIII and was preformed by Musica Romana.

This song is featured on the CD “I Am of the North” available for purchase online at:  http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/aneledafalconbridge/

Dum spiramus tuebimur (While we breathe, we shall defend.)
Long has the march on the red road gone.
When again, when shall I see my home?
Dum vivimus, vivamus. (While we live, let us live.)

I wear my tunica woven of wool
though blood and sweat
now stain it through
Filth, smoke and battle have colored its trim
Dulce bellum inexpertis (War is sweet for those who have not experienced it.)

Beneath my lorica, over my heart
is the palla that smelled
of my wife’s hair
I have carried her love with me over long roads
Hic habitat felicitas (Here lives happiness.)

Dum spiramus tuebimur
Long has the march on the red road gone.
When again, when shall I see my home?
Dum vivimus, vivamus.

I carry three fibulae on my best cloak
Bought from a place
I have long forgot
Two for my sons cast like lion’s claws
Natura, artis magistra (nature, the mistress of art)

My caligae ruined, my cingulum weighs
I desire my farm,
my bare feet in soil.
Soon I will leave my pilae for my plow
Nulla vit melior quan bona. (There is no life better than a good life.)

Dum spiramus tuebimur
Long has the march on the red road gone.
When again, when shall I see my home?
Dum vivimus, vivamus.

When shall I lay in my courtyard green?
I long to drink
my vinyard’s wine.
Wrest with my sons, make love to my wife
Et nos cedamus amori. (Let us too surrender to love.)

Dum spiramus tuebimur
Long has the march on the red road gone.
When again, when shall I see my home?
Dum vivimus, vivamus.