I have written songs nearly all my life. But, when asked to participate with the Circle of Bards of Caid and write my first fighter poem, I was worried. Good words can be made into great words with the right melody to back them up, but poetry — my words alone — that was scary!
My first assignment was to be a poem for a friend of mine, Richard Clerke. I dutifully followed him around the day of Crown Tourney, hoping for inspiration to find me. Finally! In combat with his own knight, the squire takes Duke John’s legs and the (momentary) visual was the knight kneeling before his own squire on the field. Yes, mere seconds later, the squire was defeated, and lay at his master’s feet. But, the brief image was enough to inspire my pen.
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Richard Clerke of Rowanwood
fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXXVII
(a rondel)
The rowan flower bends her head
And leaves her champion to his sleep.
She cradles pome in hands stained red
In shadow of the great oak’s keep.
Love’s kiss, now but a memory sweet
Upon the lips of the rose he wed,
The rowan flower bends her head
And leaves her champion to his sleep.
Two foes, two fell, both now lay dead.
The Welsh Duke taken off his feet
To kneel before her lover’s bed.
Three ladies stand alone to weep.
The rowan flower bends her head
And leaves her champion to his sleep.
– Baintighearna Beathog nic Dhonnchaidh
. . . a 14th century bard who can often be seen traveling far from her home in the Highlands with her lord husband and muse.