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[morienmacbain]

Pen and Sword, a sonnet

Some say the pen is stronger than the sword,

But in our hearts we know it isn’t true.

The cunning thrust can trump the clever word,

But why should scholars choose between the two?

In cut and thrust both blood and ink may flow,

We reel from either’s sly and piercing hit;

So let us marshal wards and words we know,

And many cutting blades and rapier wit.

And let the steel edge fend then all it can,

While pen permit’s the lover’s sly riposte;

Both artful sciences befit a man

To gain long life and love, which matters most.

My counsel then is keep them both in reach,

And practice every day with one of each!

[morienmacbain]

Ring the Changes

I have felt you moving inside me Rolling yourself up warm to find comfort And no one sees you, safe as you are, But I can feel you sometimes when I breathe. When you speak, it's a whisper that rings Like a bell in my chest, where things have been still, And then I say your name softly in my head, And taste its sweetness like honey dissolving. Your heart and mine lie together like old comrades, Wounded but still brave - Like weary pilgrims caught in rain, Making warmth out of one cloak. Your words pour onto me in letters of brown and gold, Illuminating the rough palimpsest With my faults and failings still faint on it, And shine in me like a new and secret word. And you rang the changes in streets and towns That had thought the time for gray clothes was permanent And made new shrines and holy places And miracles that make battered things beautiful. You reminded my heart how to love God properly, And see the beauty that hides its face, Teaching me that virtue wells from the oldest springs, And took me by the hand through dark seasons, Bearing springtime in the folds of your clothes.

[morienmacbain]

[morienmacbain]

Lance In Rest: A Joust in Tenso

(The tenso is a Troubadour form similar to today’s rap battles.  This one takes place between two parties, Right and Left, whose parts are labeled “R” and “L” in the text.  The piece is meant to be accompanied by a hand drum, with each line having a beat like BOOM-di/Dum-dum.  The tempo starts out at about 7-8 seconds for a four-line stanza, and  increases to 6-7 seconds per four lines after stanza seven, and then to 5-6 seconds per four lines for the final long stanza.

*R* So you say you want a tenso

And all your so-so skills you'll spend, so?

Very well, let's joust, attend so!

Now watch me put my lance in rest.

*L* Now I'm the one to make some trouble;

Mount your verse and on the double

Quick, before I burst you bubble,

As I put my lance in rest!

*R* For I'm the best beneath the sun,

As you'll see before I'm done;

From these lists you should have run,

Now I have my lance in rest!

*L* But I'm the one that makes them stare,

So come on quickly if you dare,

For anytime and anywhere

I love to lay my lance in rest!

*R* By your rhymes I'm not impressed;

Is this a jape, a joke, a jest?

While you play checkers, I play chess,

Now watch me lay my lance in rest!

*L* With all these talents I've been blest,

Now see me rise above the rest

While you are sinking in the west,

For now I've got my lance in rest!

*R* But I can see you're quite distressed,

So fly like bolt from arbalest,

And do pick up your fallen crest

While I ply my lance in rest.

*R* You need more practice I suggest,

Before you get rhymes off your chest.

*L* Admit it now, it's no contest;

Have you even got your lance in rest?

*R* Now see my skill's made manifest,

*L* You're just a wayside on my quest;

*R* Your weak, vile verses I detest,

Hardly worth my lance in rest-

*L* Your lady was a sweet conquest,

And to my skills she can attest

Cause I make love without a rest

Except a long one at her breast

as she laid my lance to rest!

*R* Your mouth is like a viper's nest;

I'll let you live, that's my beau geste-

Don't put my mercy to the test,

Your laurels from you I will wrest

My verse is mighty, all attest,

With layers like a palimpsest

Of all these joglars I'm the best,

The so-called poets are hard-pressed

Looks like your falcon’s belled and jessed

I'll take them on now three abreast

With my wicked lance in rest!

So Watch me Wield my LANCE IN REST!

Notes:  This tenso has elements of another Troubadour form, the “Gab” or “Gap”, in which the poet boasts.  However, combining various forms and genres was a common Troubadour practice.  In a tenso, one voice establishes the stanza length and rhyme scheme, and then the other echoes it, although changes in both could happen mid-stream.  The primary exemplar for this work, from which the 8-syllable lines and 4-line stanza rhyming AAAB,  is “Mics Marchabrun, car digam” by Marcabru and Uc Catola, 13th Century.  A tenso in the form of a literary joust would not have been foreign to the Troubadours, many of whom were men-at-arms in addition to courtiers, poets, singers, and sometimes seducers.  “Arbalest” is an antique term for a crossbow.  “Beau geste” (pronounced “bo jest”) is French for “good deed”. A “palimpsest” is a manuscript or piece of written material on which the original writing has been effaced to make room for later writing, but of which traces remain. A “joglar” is the troubadour term for a singer or musician.  A falcon who has been “belled and jessed” has been captured and tamed (or at least trained and made biddable).

~Morien

[morienmacbain]

[morienmacbain]

Samuel and the Great Serpent: A Choka

There was a fine man,

Lord Samuel of Great Oaks,

In the time before

The plague stretched out its cold hands.

He was beloved

By the rare Lady Fina,

And upright squire

Of fell knight Tristan Sexwulf.

Blackstone was his home,

In fair Sylvan Aethelmearc,

Homeland of heroes,

Son to Baron Cunedda.

To White Hart he went,

There to show his fine prowess.

Samuel stood there

In a shining white surcoat

Made new for this fight

By the dear lady Rannveig,

Who took him aside, saying

"Don't harm my handwork!"

The tourney was joined;

Sword met shield with joyous sound!

Samuel's guard slipped,

He took his blow with honor,

And tasted loss first.

Then his father turned to him,

To his son saying

"Alas my gauntlets are lost!

Son, go and find them."

So Samuel  went as  bid

To find the shining war gear.

He left the list field,

And went where danger waited-

For a lady came

Crying out in great distress;

Her child had fallen

Into the cold water there,

The brown Guyandotte-

Swift and cold with melted snow.

Forgetting all else,

Armored neck to knees in gear,

He did not tarry

But ran he to the river,

A bowshot or more,

Armor ringing as he went-

Lamellar and all

Bazubands and surcoat fine,

To the cold water

To save the child in peril.

The boy child held fast

To a twisted gray tree trunk

Felled by an old storm

As the water pulled at him.

Samuel jumped down

A spear's length into water;

The cold embraced him

But his courage was flaming.

Samuel struggled,

Pulled himself hand over hand

Until he could reach-

He held the child up on high

Head above water.

Though armor's weight clawed him down,

Samuel held on

Held his breath against the dark

That pulled at them both.

The water drove them along

As fighters came fast

Called from White Hart's list field

To Guyandotte's side.

Alonzio Peacemaker

Cast forth his knight's belt

To draw Samuel and child

From the cold brown grip.

Many hands lifted them then

From the dreadful cold.

Sir Marek saw the ice hand

Help Lord Samuel,

And brought him warmth to save him.

As for the tourney,

All owned that it was over-

For here was courage,

Cheating the long brown serpent

Of the prey it took

In the fury of its flood!

But Samuel went then

All shamefaced before Rannveig,

All apologies

For having stained her surcoat!

Rannveig laughed out loud,

And told him linen comes clean,

But far more than this,

That his honor was stainless.

So Samuel won the day,

Honored his lady,

And truly was champion-

Not by strength of sword,

But by daring and great heart.

Let his wordfame live!

~Morien

[morienmacbain]

[morienmacbain]

Steel: A Sestina

Some days I'll own our game feels less than real,

When rattan seems a stick and not a sword,

And armor too light, if I'm any judge.

Our sports gear would seem dross to William Marshal,

So some dare eschew such clubs for blades of steel;

With metal test your mettle as they do!

This lauded list gives every man his due;

Though blades are dull, the blows still feel so real.

So win a share of honor none can steal-

Let praises ring then from a valiant sword

On crested helm and all war gear so martial;

Just dance one measure, then you be the judge!

All blows are counted by the sharp-eyed judge

Who watches all that hands and hearts may do-

So hold your courage high, attend the marshal,

And thank the Lord your armor is all real,

To turn aside the blows of arm and sword

That, were they sharp, your life away might steal!

In olden days were tourneys fought with steel?

So books and scholars tell, and so I judge,

In shining days when soul and spirit soared,

And names were won that years cannot undo.

Let's forge our honor's Eden, by Gadreel,

Ringed around with ropes and all things martial!

A moment, pray, while arguments I marshal

In praise of blades and kit of burnished steel.

I promise you, you'll find the joy surreal

If ever you are brave enough to judge,

So step into this list as we all do;

Lay your stick aside; here, use my sword!

Though I'll admit you may leave bruised and sored,

You'll soon return, I know, to this work martial,

So hold you honor dear as heroes do,

And let us build cathedrals out of steel!

So leave aside you play plaisance, oh do,

To find a dance outrance, a warrior's reel!

So take a shining sword of ringing steel,

And find yourself a marshal, foe, and judge-

To give this form its due, it feels more real!

~Morien

(Notes: William Marshal, First Earl of Pembroke (1146-1219), was a crusader, tourney champion, leader of armies and counselor to kings, and is considered one of the greatest knights to have ever lived. Gadreel was the angel set to guard the Garden of Eden from evil forces.  Tourneys a plaisance were fought with weapons of wood, whalebone, or other materials meant to make them safer.  Tourneys  outrance were fought with the steel weapons of war.)

Sestinas are a Troubadour verse form developed in the Thirteenth Century by Arnaut Daniel.  They consist of six six-line stanzas in which each iambic pentameter line ends with one of six carefully selected key words, and ends with a three-line envoi (tornada) including all six keywords.  The words must be used in a strict and ever-changing order controlled by an algorithm known as "Arnaut's Wheel".   The six keywords in this example are: “Real”, “Sword”, “Judge”, “Marshal”, “Steel”, and “Do”.

[morienmacbain]

[morienmacbain]

A Sable Maul Acrostic

Great-hearted heroes in hall are praised-

August in honor among all their folk

Raised up in roaring rivers of song

Each and ev'ry Aetheling is blessed

To share a king of sable shadows falling

Here in the home of heroes so mighty

Keystone of the castle, keeper of treasures

In handwork and hewing Hel's hall he fills

Nor has he equal in holmgang or field

Knight's belt knotted, not by a lord

All by his lady, lovely and gracious

Is Juliana, Jewel praised so justly

Dear inspiration in hall and in battle

Regina raised and by his red hand crowned

Each man would win wordfame for him and his lady

Xanthippe's lasts long after her life went

Aethelmearc's share is sweeter, so we all know

King and Queen worthy in court and in spear-ground

So counts and carls alike call themselves lucky

Come sons of Sable Maul, sing of their graces

All ken our land's kings and queens are most worthy!

[morienmacbain]

[morienmacbain]

I Wanna Be Combat Archery

By Morien MacBain

(Contrafactus to the tune of “I Wanna be In the Cavalry” by Corb Lund)

Oh I wanna be combat archery if they send me off to war;

With a good strong bow and my string just so, and ammo by the score!

Three dozen at least, and a clean release as we see the arrows soar-

Oh I wanna be combat archery when they send me off to war!

I'll fire en masse at the mountain pass, at hunt  'em on the field;

Pick 'em off in the town and shoot 'em down and never, ever yield!

And I'll only shiver at an empty quiver when I'm caught around with shields,

Then be back of course with a show of force, and our body count revealed!

Well sure we'll frown when they nerf us down and try to steal our sting

But we'll have the grace to stick it in their face with best wishes to their king!

But some treat  bowmen as their sworn foemen, An I knew my ghost was cooked,

When some son of a bitch called me a witch from his wizard-hunting book!

Let me earn my beers as I hunt some spears and  school'em with a few hard knocks,

Let 'em watch my form in the arrow storm, and we'll give 'em quite a shock!

It sounds like a boast, but the larger the host, the harder we are to block--

Though it's just me and the Company an' our Archer's paradox!

So I’ll slot ‘em fine every single time they think to cross my Cross my path;

Let their armor shine as they form their line as they come to face my wrath!

Let their blood run colder as I’m shoulder to shoulder with my fav’rite psychopaths

We’ll drop ‘em in their tracks as they face the facts, that's not hubris, it's just math!

Now I'll be so nice with my aim precise and I'll teach them how to fear

And I'll pull your ass out of some crevasse, though I'll never be your peer!

Oh I wanna be combat archery when they send me off to war-

I wanna be the combat archery, then we'll all be back for more!

Yes I wanna be the combat archery, and we'll all be back for MORE!

[morienmacbain]

[morienmacbain]

King In The North

(To the tune of "The Wild Rover")

A new king's been crowned in the lands of the East,

And he looks like a beau, though he fights like a beast-

Now to sorrow and sadness we all be au revoir~

And hail Mo the First, our rare roi Quebecois!

Chorus: (shouted) KING IN THE NORTH!

At his back rage the reavers of Al Karakal,

Degens from Upcounty who hail from Laval!

And when he gives word, the whole host will ride forth

To flatten the foes of our King in the North!

Chorus: (shouted) KING IN THE NORTH!

Oh he's fierce and he's fit and he's fair in the face,

And he's sinning and grinning and winning with grace,

Then he'll tape up his his sword and exfoliate his pores,

Now he's cleansing and flensing our dear roi du nord!

Chorus: (shouted) KING IN THE NORTH!

So he'll journey for glory though ever so far,

Though his armor will mostly get left in the car.

And we'll shout him to victory as oft times before-

As we're cheering, he's spearing, our dear Roi du Nord!

Chorus: (shouted) KING IN THE NORTH!

Well he's always outnumbered, it can't be denied

But at least he has got Aethelmearc on his side!

With wisdom and sang froid his speeches roll forth,

Our sagacious, rapacious, loquacious, bodacious, great King in the North!

Chorus: (shouted) KING IN THE NORTH!

Now his time's almost ended, but never you fear,

He'll fight crown and be back for us year after year!

Now we pray for the reign of Mohammed the Fourth,

Chevalier on display, and dear King in the North!

Chorus: (shouted) KING IN THE NORTH!

                                                                                             -Morien

[morienmacbain]

[morienmacbain]

The Courtship of Li Bai

Sitting in the top of a swaying oak

The golden moon is flirting with me

From behind a fan of clouds,

Hiding and revealing slivers of her face.

She's not fooling me;

She's always looking at me and through me,

Even when she’s gone away.

She is changeable, though;

Look how she plays with the tides,

Beckoning them closer, then casting them away again.

We are all of us rolling in her moods.

Tonight we have another drinking contest-

I know she will go down at last,

Leaving me holding this stony bit of mountain,

Letting me save face, and pretend I have snatched a victory.

But deep down be both know the truth;

Tomorrow I will be hollow as a broken cup,

Aching, stained, surly, stinking,

Clawing my way out of dew-cold weeds.

But she will rise up radiant,

Glowing as if nothing in the world has ever hurt her.

If only I knew her secret!

~Morien