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Poeta Atlantiae is a Kingdom Notable position in the Kingdom of Atlantia in the SCA; it's not King's or Queen's Bard, but it's on the level of either. Essentially, she's the Royal Poet instead of one of the two Court Bards, which is both way cool and long overdue for her.
So I wrote this. If you like it: no applause, just throw money.
Macbeth 2: A Sonnet
The Bard, of course, was far too couth a soul To use coarse, common clay when baking bricks With which to make the Art that was his goal; And so it's sure he would forswear the tricks That lesser folk who earn their bread with pen Do use to give their scribbles some false weight. So was I told, oft time and time again, By those convinced that schlock could not be great.
And yet... when groundlings gathered by the stage To hear and take in Shakespeare's latest play They knew not of the verdict of our age; They only cared the lines be good that day. "Macbeth and zombies?" the question remains? I think that Will would smile, and murmur, "BRRAAAAAAIIIINNNNS..."
My wife has finally gotten her new music blog Mi Contra Fa (I'm told this is quite witty, but I'm strictly an a cappella performer who can barely read music. Also, I'm a philistine) up and running. It will focus on her early music research for the SCA, which is what she's doing when she's not working on satellites for the US Navy. There are a few posts up already, so check it out.
This was the other piece. One of my household members was inducted into the SCA's Order of the Pelican (Service award), which is pretty much as high as you can go without winning a Crown Tourney or something. He had no idea that the award was coming; heck, he had no idea that I was showing up to give him this poem, which made the look on his face all the funnier.
The verse form is Anglo-Saxon: the answer is after the fold.
What comes now to hall / Keeping company
New thing, we find it / Though no surprise, this
Beast of Wonder / Brave-flown from South-lands
Not found without purse / Prepared for all things!
Blushes not at praise / But to soothe chick's calls;
To heal war and peace / It works its virtue.
Service is its cry / and idleness its foe!
From its willing heart / Have we made physick;
It is service strong / And soaring flight
If you know this beast / Be not shy to name!
This was written to commemorate an old friend of mine's entry in the SCA Kingdom of the East's Order of the Silver Crescent (kingdom-level service award). It was one of two pieces that I presented during my day trip to Pennsic, and I'm pleased to say that she had no idea that it was coming.
The verse form is 14th Century French, and can be found after the fold.
And this, in some ways, is the most cheerful of all. I wrote for ... never mind ... and, now that it's turned out not to be needed for that, I offer it here.
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