Page 295 SONG Maggie's Circle Song By Margery de Bray All our lives we've been uncomfortab
Page 295
SONG
Maggie's Circle Song
By: Margery de Bray
All our lives we've been uncomfortable,
like sailors apart from the sea.
Our souls they did hunger; but not any longer
We've found now where we want to be.
Where our presents and pasts come together.
What we were and are now can agree
Though I can't explain how; I know here with you now
We've somehow bridged eternity.
Chorus:
So cross your arms on your chest. Lift your eyes and say "yes".
Join hands with those by your side.
I can feel the love flowing. I can feel the power growing
Of emotions we don't need to hide.
Like a celtic circle entwining, in time no beginning or end
There's a smile on each face, for we've here a place,
In this kingdom with brothers and friends.
Beneath the moon and stars tonight, or 'neath the bright southern sun
My heart wants to sing, as here in this ring,
I've found love strong as rivers that run.
A lofe for nature's bearty, a love for the iron that sings,
And honor so strong, for art and for song,
And a love for our land and our king.
Page 296
POEM
Stephen of the Grove
Copyright (C) 1988
by Dierdre Mulleabhar
mka Debra Eccles
He fares forth from the Emerald Keep
With fire and with wit
And when he juggles in the court
Attentively we sit
For he casts spells that entertain
With action and with word
His quiet ways command respect
Though his voice is gladly heard
Perhaps he'll do a play today
Tomorrow maybe rhyme
But when he entertains it seems
Too quickly passes time
He feasts in barony and shire
As the kingdom he does rove
His slender form's a welcome sight
He is Stephen of the Grove.
This was written several years ago, when I lived in the shire of
Emerald Keep. I'm just now releasing it because I had been too shy,
or something, before, but several people have told me that I should
put it into the bardbook.
Page 297
POEM
Walking
By: Robert Fitzmorgan
mka Scott Fridenberg
Walking, ever walking,
always walking without stopping,
Walking onward without rest
Our hearts pounding in our chest.
Though we're choking on the dust
We walk on because we must,
Walking onward ever onward ever more.
Together hand in hand
We came to free the Holy Land.
In the land of our Lords birth
Moslem blood would stain the earth.
Then finally came the night,
With their sentry fires in sight,
Fired with faith we'd face the foe upon the morn'.
At last! The break of day.
With our troops in close array.
We moved boldly towards the foe.
The wrath of God the soon would know.
With our faith to lead us on,
In the early light of Dawn.
We did battle for the glory of our Lord.
Well the fighting it was fierce.
Many a man was cruelly pierced.
Many a man in that cruel strife,
Was deprived of limb and life.
And when victory seemed most near
They attacked us from the rear.
And God's army soon became a fleeing mob.
It was barely one in five,
Of our men escaped alive.
And the Saracans give chase.
As tworads the coast we race.
In the battle fiercly fought
All our prayers availed us not.
God gives victory to the strong. Not the pure.
Page 298
FILK
The Wabbit Belongs to Me.
By: Robert Fitzmorgan
mka Scott Fridenberg
Tune: Tomorrow Belongs to Me
I once was a weak ineffectual wimp
Till the Hoard made a man out of me.
Now I'm a Mongol Fierce and Bold.
And the Wabbit belongs to me.
A Mongol's no Mongol or so I am told,
Unless he has a Trusty stead.
The Tasmanian Devil's the mount I ride.
And the Wabbit belongs to me.
I'll have Daffy the Duck A La Orange tonight.
Tomorrow Foghorn Fricassee.
Sylvester can have the Tweety Bird,
But the Wabbit belongs to me.
Pepe la Pew's a wet spot on the road.
The Coyote's his own enemy.
I sent Granny a serenade sung by Yang.
And the Wabbit belongs to me.
The Monster's out fighting Yosemite Sam.
Perhaps that will keep them Busy.
If not then I'll deal with them both myself.
Cause the Wabbit belongs to ME!
Road Runner's been saddled by Speedy the Mouse.
And he rides alongside of me.
Let Buggs try to outrun the two of them!
The Wabbit belongs..
The Wabbit belongs...
The Wabbit belongs to me.
Page 299
SONG
Drastic Changes
By: Robert Fitzmorgan
mka Scott Fridenberg
As I roved out one May morning, One May morning so free
I overherd a fair pretty maid weeping by the sea.
I stepped up to this fair pretty maid saying
what can the matter be?
She Jumped with suprise,
And she dried her eyes.
And this is what she said to me.
My - y - y Johnny is a sailor lad and he sails accros the waves.
He loves me very tenderly and all his pay he saves.
And we are to be married when next he comes to shore.
But it's been two years,
And I do fear,
That he sails the ocean floor.
I stepped up to this fair pretty maid, and to her I did explain,
This lad that you are weeping for, I am the very same.
I've come to claim my own true love and Johnny is me name.
She stepped back a pace,
And she studied my face,
And this is what she did proclaim.
My - y - y Johnny he was six foot tall you're but five foot two.
His eyes were such a lovely green, you're two eyes are blue.
My Johnnys hair was sandy blond and your's is firey red.
Isn't it strange
What time can change?
Come now let's off to bed.
Page 300
FILK
The French Jesuit's Song
By James Qui Connait
mka James Bristol
Tune: If I Only Had a Brain (Wizard of Oz)
I could while away the hours
In dungeons and in towers
Inflicting horrid pain.
I would work the inquisition
And enhance my own position
If I only lived in Spain.
I'd have hot irons and thumbscrews
For heretics and the Jews;
Confessions I'd obtain!
Hear the sounds of chains a clinkin'
At the stake a body's stinkin'
If I only lived in Spain.
I..could tell you why
Torquemada's a fun guy
I could make you cry to God on high,
I've got a rack, on which you'd fry.
I could help you see the reason
The True Faith is so pleasin'
And Heaven you could gain.
I'd no longer chat "Vobiscum"
I'd yank guts out, then I'd twist 'em
If I only lived in Spain....
Page 301
FILK
The 'I Want To Be In Period, But Haven't Got The
Money Blues'
By Morgan Wolfsinger, copyright 1989
Well, I joined the SCA just the other week.
I liked the clothes and food and they way they speak.
Thought it'd be so easy to act the same,
But it's been hard, and the cost is to blame.
CHORUS:
I got the 'I want to be in period,
but haven't got the money' blues.
Byzantine I tried, 'cause I liked the style;
Embroidery and color on color they'd pile.
But they all wore silk, so that came to an end
'Cause all I could afford was a rayon blend.
CHORUS
'Lizabethan was next, all those fluffs and frills,
But I dropped it fast when I saw the bills.
Velour can't match that old velvet touch,
And sewing it together was just too much.
CHORUS
Next feast you go to, just look in the back.
I'll be the one wearing the burlap sack.
It's scratchy and rough, and it's hot to be in,
But I haven't got the figure for bunny skin!
CHORUS
Page 302
SONG
HARP SONG OF THE DANE WOMEN
By: Rudyard Kipling
"The knights of joyous venture"
Puck of Pook's Hill
What is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?
She has no house to lay a guest in -
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale sun and the stray bergs nest in.
She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you -
Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.
Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken -
Sicken agan for the shouts and the slaughters.
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.
You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,
The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables -
To pitch her sides and go over the cables.
Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,
And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow,
Is all we have left through the months to follow.
Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?
Page 303
POEM
The Warrior's of the West
By: Dorothea of Caer-Myrddin
We went out to fight An Tir, on a morning bright and clear,
And a mighty army stood across the way;
And they might have spilled our blood into Adiantum's mud,
If the mosquitoes hadn't drained it all away.
We're the warriors of the West; head for head we are the best,
And we do with what we've got the best we can,
And if Mars and all the gods would only give us even odds,
We could sweep the field from here to Al-Barran.
There were ninety-nine of them, and there were forty-nine of us--
Maybe fifty, if I trust my recollection--
But a dozen of our lights took out the Prince and all his knights,
And sent them cursing back to Resurrection.
We're the warriors of the West; body for body we're the best,
And because we're few we try exceeding hard,
And if Thor and all the gods would only give us even odds,
We could sweep the field from here to Mountain Garde.
"Man to man if they should meet us, they will definitely beat us;
Stay in groups," they said, "and never drop your sword;"
But we caught them on their knees in the shade beneath the trees,
And we drowned them in the lonesome river ford.
We're the warriors of the West; man for man we are the best,
And we rally to our colors when we're called,
And if Nirgal and the gods would only give us even odds,
We could sweep the field from here to Drachenwald.
Maythen called a convocation at the Resurrection station,
Where they'd driven us in orderly retreat;
"Hats on, gentlemen!" she cried; and when everyone had died
She was lying there with twenty at her feet.
We're the warriors of the West; woman for woman we're the best,
If you give us half a chance, the same we'll take,
And if Bellona and the gods would only give us even odds,
We could sweep the field from here to Cooper's Lake.
No shit, there I was, and . . . .
There were ninety-nine of them, and there was only one of us,
A javelineer who's all of four-foot-ten;
And before they cut him down, he had taken out a Crown,
Two Dukes, six Knights, and twenty-seven fighting men.
We're the warriors of the West; pound for pound we are the best,
And we'll kill you if we can before we die;
And when you've laid us all to rest, we'll sink slowly into the West,
And we'll meet you in the mead-hall in the sky.
Page 304
SONG
MERIDIES
by Rathflaed DuToutNoir
The Black Bard of Meridies
D A
In the ember's red glow, when the fires burn low,
G A
My thoughts turn to places I've roamed.
D A
Though my journey's been long, there's one thing keeps me strong,
G A D
That's the thought of the land I call home.
Where the forests are green, and fair people are seen,
Good folk for miles around.
Simply ask what you need and there you'll receive,
For the fruits of my homeland abound.
Chorus:
A G
And though I've roamed far, following my star,
D A
You've been in my thoughts all my days,
D G
For wherever I've roamed, so far from my home,
A G D
My heart's in Meridies.
Up from Arenal Shire, where the ocean rolls higher,
Southdowns across to Axemoor,
You'll find fighters so bold, and great stories are told,
Of the ladies with beauty and more.
The Arts, they're not bad, the finest mead I have had,
Iron Mountain, you have all I wish.
And the service, tis true, tis better than the brew.
From the Salt Keep way up to Grey Niche.
Chorus:
You'll find Chivalry rare, and ladies so fair,
With a smile that can turn gray skies blue.
Such ladies galore and if fortune is yours,
Perhaps one will smile at you.
Now I must be gone and far shall I roam,
From mountains to valleys to sea,
But for all of my days, my heart's Meridies,
And perhaps one will smile at me.
Chorus:
Page 305
SONG
In The Current Middle Age
By Yaakov HaMizrachi
copyright 1992 by Harold Feld
Permission to use and republish this
in any SCA publication is granted.
However, the author would really appreciate
a copy if it is published.
See the Tudor in his pride
And the Celt there by his side
And behind him is a Viking who's a knight
For there are nine and sixty ways
To play in the SCA
And every single one of them is right
In the Current Middle Age
Mighty Battles we do wage
(Tho' we looks like little boys what play with sticks)
I was never very fond
of the warriors of Nippon
For I've always said that East and West don't mix
Then the swishy-pokey tramps
Tried to come into me camp
And they said my helm and armor didn't match
For they said there is no place
Where a helm with open face
Would be paired with metal plate and leather patch
So I fixed 'em with a sneer
An said: "You haughty Cavalier"
"You've the nerve to come and try to play our game
For you foolish foppish dupe
Your entire ensemble's OOP."
And I harangued him 'til 'e 'ung 'is 'ead in shame
But when word of what I sing
Came before our noble king
He did say to me in court that very night
"There be nine and sixty ways
To play within the SCA
and every single one of them is right!"
(Continued, next page)
Page 306
In The Current Middle Age (Continued) SONG
By Yaakov HaMizrachi
"See the dances that we know
both from Playford and Arbeau
Though a hundred years may lie betwixt the two
And you wouldn't think it coarse
Of a Pict or Jarl or Norse
To wear shoes from when the Tudor line was new."
Still in this current Middle Age
Folk my fly into a rage
When they see something with which they don't agree
When they see something with which they don't agree
And will run and shout "It's Schism!"
When it's just anachronism
Born of ignorance or maybe poverty
Some are in here for the fun,
And have been since A.S. 1
While still others love the research and the work
But whatever you enjoy
Don't the other you annoy
Or you'll find that EVERYONE thinks you're a jerk
Here's the most amazing thing
I learned then from my king
Though I don't claim to have exceptional insight
"There are nine and sixty ways
Of playing in the SCA
AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM IS RIGHT!"
Page 307
SONG
LEGEND'S BIRTHING ("court version")
By: Amra M'Chib Bakerian,
of House Dreamwind of the Shadowed Moon
France, she may have the great Charlemagne
England, both Arthur and George
El Cid shall be hero for far dusty Spain:
Our legends are yet in the forge!
Italia claims one called Rolando by name
And Greece yet Achilles adores:
*Our* heroes yet struggle in life's ruddy flame
Battling yet on the far shores.
Siegfried to Germany's heart is still dear
The slayer of Fafnir and wielder of swords
King David yet Israel loves with some fear:
Still, much of *our* legend is words.
Hail, Ansteorra, the Land of Black Star
And your heroes who are yet a-borning
One thing can we say to the lands near and far
Of these stalwarts you'd better take warning
Optional coda:
From Nord in the North, to the Isles of the South
A kingdom's young glory I see
And as bard I remember the taste in my mouth
To sing of these legends to be
Copyright reserved for commercial purposes by Kihe Blackeagle
(Permission to copy in electronic form or manually transcribe using
traditional pen / brush & ink, or pencil, hereby granted to
not-for-profit enterprises and private persons. Please do not abuse
additional capabilities of your computer.) This song / poem has been
granted normal SCA reprint priveleges previously. Additional
permission is hereby granted for inclusion in any and all archival
files associated with the FidoNet FILK Echo.
E-Mail Fredric L. Rice / The Skeptic Tank