Fun with Haiku

Just playing around :)

Hot the blood tonight
Lunna's call we must obey
Free, the pack now hunts.


Magic coffee bean
My kingdom for coffee and
intravenous drip.


Throats pierced with darkness
Born of eternal shadow
Mistress of the night.


Mane and tail flying
Symmetry and grace defined
Essence of freedom.


Poised atop the world
When only tails are twitching
Hit and run attack.

Rebecca

The Dark Road Taken

What doubt the night that never ends,
Seems to feed into my soul.
The peddled wheels spin round and round
Traveling a road I cannot see.

The choice was always mine to make
It seemed to me the way to truth
Unlike the illusion of dim streetlights
And worth the sacrifice to be made.

I want to claim I didn't know
The path I chose would be this dark.
Except to say that is a lie
Gad made it clear at the journey's start.

The dream I was living wasn't real
And the way to truth a ragged road
With hidden pits that were dark and deep
Cutting through a forest filled with night.

But the choice was always mine to make
And I thought the price was worth the cost
So I faced the dark road and my tears
Sure I would make it to journey's end.

In false humility and arrogant pride
With a touch of fear with determined set
Trusting first in my own strength
God's only job to point the way.

But I never dreamed this journey's path
Long past hope and signs of life
Exhausted muscles faltering from strain,
And the heart stuttering in unbearable emptiness.

That I would find myself still on the road
Alone in the dark with but a memory of hope
Struggling to understand and overcome.
With nothing, but faith to hold me true.

And so, I keep riding and cannot look back
God grants me strength at the end of myself
And I ride in the darkness if need be forever
My only companion a memory of hope.

Rebecca
10/29/07

The Dark Road

Standing on the edge of town
Pausing underneath the last glow of light
Looking down the road
That fades into impenetrable darkness.

The choice has always been mine to make
To stay within the light or travel forth
Into the dark forest with only my faith
And a dim small light to show each single step.

I am so tired and the distance so far
Yet I cannot wait for help to come
And the comfort of the streetlight
Is merely an illusion that brings no warmth.

But the choice has always been mine to make.
As I look at the crumbling road before me
That disappears into the night
Winding through an unknown wood.

To many, their roads are full of light
And hearty companions share the way
But I must not yearn for what is not mine
And accept the path that was meant for me.

I know not where the road will take me
Or how the journey will finely end.
But this is the road I have been given
And the choice is mine to go or stay

As I leave the circle of the light I know
To step into the endless night.
For greater than my fear in the lonely dark road
Is my trust in God to lead me true.

Rebecca 06/23/07

Waiting for Love

A title wave,
With all the depths behind it,
Balancing on the edge of hope,
Waiting to sweep across all that is,
And change the world forever.

A glacier mountain,
Frozen on the edge of eternity,
Tiny fissures racing through the mass,
Desperately holding on for the moment
When the time to fall is right.

Molten magma,
Boiling beneath the earth,
Raging and pushing to be released.
Waiting for that final explosion,
When the earth meets the sky
And fireworks fill the air.
Burning and consuming
Everything in its path.

The calm before the storm.
When even the air is afraid to breathe.
Poised on the brink
Where power sizzles,
A promise of what is to come.

Rebecca

Another Italian Sonnet

When Hearts Die

Can someone tell me why the heart keeps beat?
When nothing’s left but shattered broken parts
Like some romantic tale told in the arts,
But pain from empty years leaves no retreat,
And breathing through the tears becomes a feat.
How could we know the treasure that was heart’s
Would find its death caused by rejected darts.
A bitter end for love to finally meet.

And yet it’s measured beat the heart does keep
And lungs continue to fill up with air
Each dawn again we rise to face the day
The world around us caught up in its care
Unable to discern the souls that weep
Unknowing of the lives that lose the way.

Isabella Poliziana 06/02/07

Period Italian Sonnet

Roses of War

In line I stand upon a windless hill,
More silent than the grave I watch and wait.
Unknowing soldiers march to take the bait.
My arrow nocked with bow drawn back until
Then comes the signal high and loud and shrill!
My arrow flies to meet it’s destined fate,
The soldiers turn to flee but much too late;
The rain of arrows cease when all is still.

I see the bodies lying down below.
The smell of blood and carnage fills my nose,
And I accept my part in what’s to be.
For victory only holds a single rose,
And face the truth my heart would have me know.
The enemy I killed this day is me.

Isabella Poliziana (05/31/07)

Period poem - Pathya Vat (Cambodian)

The Vessel

Here is the clay
Lump on a wheel
Nothing to feel
Everything blurred.

Around it spins
Nothing assured
Now hope is stirred
Waiting for sight.

The potter’s hands
With gentle might
Begins the rite
Shaping the clay.

It takes the form
From hands obey
And trust someday
Value to hold.

When shape is done
No more to mold
From fire comes gold
Fit for a king.

Dedication

For all the times you’ve dried my tears
and tucked me in at night.
For scaring away the “boogie man,”
and leaving on the light.

For all the times I lied to you
and went behind your back,
For all the times you told me “no”
and my hearing seemed to lack.

For all the words I said to you
I didn’t mean to say,
but couldn’t take them back because
my pride got in the way.

Now as I set out in life
I finally understand,
that I never would have made it
if you hadn’t held my hand.

And so I dedicate this poem
to you, my mom and dad,
I know how much you love me
because you gave me all you had.

1984

Sounding


In the utter depths of darkened silence,
Comes a haunting call that echoes round;
Over a million years of unchanged essence
The dwindling cries of the humpbacks sound.

With the mountains of ice that drift through the years
In the heart freezing waters that touch the sky,
Live the great gentle beasts that cry without tears,
And live only in fear of the harpooner’s cry.

The Gift

A woman once beheld a man
She knew could end her pain.
If she could only get his help
It would not be in vain.
She thought, “If I could hold his hand
I know this trial will end,
If I could only touch his cloak
My body then would mend.”
So weaving through the pressing crowd
His hem she gently brushed,
And when the man turned to his men
The crowd around him hushed.
“Someone here has touched my robe,”
His words were deep and clear;
And finding his eyes holding hers
She knelt down in fear.
Then with a smile of gentle love
He raised her to her feet;
Said, “Daughter by your faith are healed,”
And sent her down the street.

Now we don’t have to touch his clothes
When faced with pain and strife,
To feel the power of his love,
Or have eternal life.
A simple call brings Jesus near
He answers every one,
And by His grace will set you free
His gift for all who come.

Rebecca

An Italian sonnet

Mary’s Garden Sonnet


Like the others I stand in line;
A cockleshell adorns my dress.
To look at me no one could guess
My slippered feet are made of vine.
We drink the springtime rain like wine
And bloom a vision of loveliness;
Pawns standing in a game of chess,
There beauty second only to mine.

One day Mary came to our garden bed
To trim our fingers and smooth our gowns.
To capture my beauty I’m cut at the knee.
My screams she can’t hear, nor can she see
The stem she leaves will turn brittle and brown;
The maid she saved for tomorrow is dead.

Rebecca

The Seeker
Sometimes I hear
Inside my head
The silent screams
of a dying world.

Or maybe it's not
A world I hear
But a shattered heart
On the cold dark stone.

Soap Bubbles
The life we live is illusion
Nothing is what it seems
We keep turning round empty corners
Following soap bubble dreams.

Rebecca

Lifesong
A small brown bird who had no voice
Searched all his life to find a song.
But every note it tried to sing
Came out to harsh, or not at all.
Chasing a melody, just out of reach
It traveled far over many lands
Till one day waking, found itself alone
And the haunting music no longer the same.
In great dispair it lit on a limb
Then found to late it could not move.
A thin green needle had pierced it's breast
And pinned it tightly to its branches.
And as it's blood drained slowly down
It found the grail of it's lonely quest.
Lifting it's head it began to sing
A song of life and what it ment.
And as it's song drifted down on the evening breeze,
To touch the ears of every soul,
The world paused.....,
And held it's breath .....,
To hear the heartrending beauty,
If the Thorn Bird's song.
Rebecca

For Curtis

Curtis Lee Davis
01/26/89 to 12/01/90

I stand upon a frozen windy hill;
My body numb with cold I do not feel.

Within my heart is now an empty place
Where once there was a bright and smiling face.

His marker seems too tiny and so lost;
To have him back I’d pay whatever cost.

On Friday morning he would have been two.
This pain is so great, Dear God, what will I do?

01/22/91
Rebecca

Elementals


Bright sparkling stream,
gurgling and splashing,
leaping across stones;
for them the way is never closed.
Life is but a choice of paths.
Show me,
show me!

Leaves in the wind,
brown and brittle,
comparing summer notes:
sending forth their last messages.
Living holds no secrets for them.
Tell me,
tell me!

Cold icy wind,
cutting and chilling,
all seeing eyes:
visions of alternate lives.
Carrying millions of what could and will be.
Show me,
show me!

Comforting fire,
destructive protector,
warming hearth light:
flashing hits from the depths of magic.
It knows the words of power.
Tell me,
tell me!

Rebecca

For my dad who drown in 1994

At The Setting Of The Sun

Larry Wayne Franklin
08/30/39 to 11/11/94

How can you be gone
When your boat is in it’s place,
Lines and lures are put away
In your tackle box and case?

How can you be gone
When the time for work is done,
And your truck is at the shop
At the setting of the sun?

How can you be gone
When the holidays are near,
All the food is on the table
But your laughter I don’t hear?

How can you be gone
When it’s time for spring’s first green,
And we wait to hear the words
That describe your favorite scene?

But the words will not be spoken
And the holidays are sad,
Because the things we thought important
Are not the things we wish we had.

Now we’ll never know your footsteps
At the setting of the sun,
And your lines and lures are stored
Now your fishing days are done.

Rebecca

Etched in the Glass

Hollow and empty,
Shattered reflections
Staring back at me
Through the fractured glass.
The image of a dream
Reflected in the panes,
Hopeless vision,
Desolate longing,
A haunting reminder
Of what never can be.
A whole life spent
Seeing faces reflected.
A lonely epitaph
Etched in the glass.
Rebecca

Very short Viking Drottkvatt

Seals

Birthed by wave and water
Born to storm and tempest
Fighting first and fiercest
For those who are wounded.
Always armed with courage
Arrows fired and flying
Navel needs directing
Never leave one behind.

Bella

Sound and Fury

“Life is but a walking shadow, . . . full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Act V, Scene 5, MacBeth by Shakespeare


Like mad MacBeth
shouting to the winds
I too cried out
into the endless nightmare.
The sound and fury of hopeless life,
of struggles and hardships, anguish and pain.
Even success goes down in failure
in the final moments
when death renders all,
as nothing.

But now that anthem of futile life
stands for hope
and bolstered faith.
The sound and fury of life on earth
only echoes the promise
of Heaven’s grace.
Standing upon the solid rock,
my eyes toward a higher realm,
I face the winds of death and destruction
with a spirit that sings of eternal life;
and the sound and fury,
signify . . .
nothing!

Rebecca

Listening for the Rain

Trusting God is scary
When your path leads through quicksand.
Holding on to faith is hard
When the fires are being fanned.

It’s tough to face the fury
Of a storm that rages round,
When the Father’s voice is silent
And there’s no land to be found.

When hope has no more meaning
In a world weighed down with fear,
And you find you’re in the darkness
Doubt and sadness all you hear.

Only when the fire is hottest
And the blade made almost nil,
Is it ready to be molded
By the Master of the steel.

Like clay becomes a vessel,
Not by moving left or right,
But by spinning on a stone
Yielding to a potter’s sight.

So when the way ahead is shrouded
And there’s silence from the throne,
Understand that God is working
And that seeds are being sown.

So hold on to faith and courage
And do not bow your head to doubt,
For our Father has it all
And His rain will follow drought.

Rebecca

Period Poem "French Lai" from 14 Century

Longing

My eyes he doth meet
From across the street
I stare.

His smile tis so sweet
His voice what a treat
So fair.

My cheeks feel the heat
I shyly retreat
But where?

I have not a prayer
None know my despair
But me.

He walks with an air
The world is his lair
All see.

I know such despair
For love I can’t bear
He’d flee.

Our love cannot be
There can be no we
I sigh.

Though he has the key
To what he can’t see
I cry.

And I’ll pay the fee
For I’ll set him free
Goodbye.

Silliness

We were given a list of 12 random words from a dictionary and asked to complete a poem at Oldenfield's 1st Anniversery. This is what I came up with. :) (assigned words in red).

Enchanted Avocado Dream

In the land of enchantment
Near crustacean shores,
With fevered excitement
The Leonine roars.

With propitious ardor
He readies for the fight,
His body all widen
The tawny of zincite.

No cuisse or armor
His fundament in air,
In the avocado wood
None challenge his stare.

His heart set for battle
But his foes flee to quick,
Serendipity is gone
He cries, “fiddlestick!!”

Isabella

The Sounds of Silence

Outside these walls
are the sounds of living;
people coming and going,
the muted roar of life.
Inside there is only silence,
which roars more loudly
than the world outside.

Silent thoughts seep from my brain
getting louder with every rickoshae;
gaining weight with every bounce.
A huge vice around my heart
squeezing out all the light and the hope
until only darkness remains.

Silence . . . . . . . . .
serving only to provide
a hollow empty space
both inside my heart and out,
where only darkness echoes.

Japaneese period poem - Katauta

Born in Fire
For Lord Eoin

What warrior can stand
Against lies veiled as honor
Chivalry tossed to the ground.
But when in the fire
Is steel tempered and polished
Birthing a blade to astound.

The Dark Knight

“…Yet acquiescently I did turn as he pointed,
neither pride nor hope rekindling at the end described,
so much as gladness that some end might be.”
Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Came
Robert Browning


I am Roland,
traveling toward a dark end,
knowing I will fail before I die.
My life spent searching for an end to this quest,
once ridden with hope and arrogance,
and honorable battle to find the answer
now ridding for an end to the search.
My question has no answer
and those who traveled before me
found only the ending failure,
or abandoned the quest for an honorless life.
But I am Roland!
My end has already been woven.
I will not quit!
I will ride on, without hope or illusion,
But with gallant honor,
ride boldly into the face of death.
“Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.”

Homesick
I think what I miss most
is being able to see the stars;
the milky way glittering like ground glass
strewn over black velvet.
Here, I can see only the very brightest,
arranged in dot to dot pictures
on a flannel grey board.

The streetlights conglomerate
and reflect off the night
creating in the sky an eerie luminance
which hangs above the city
like the wick of a candle.

The constant sound of cars passing
overlap into a subliminal roar,
as the sun baked streets slowly cool
and release their heat into the sultry night.
Even in the deadest hours of darkness,
there is life . . .,
darting here . . .,
and there . . .,
like a cat . . .,
waiting for something to fall.

I miss too, the nights where the only sounds
were the wind whispering through the pines,
crickets chirping and bullfrog pulses,
and the occasional baying hound
in desperate pursuit of unseen prey,
chasing the night by a fragile trail of scent.

The moon shimmering like polished silver
and casting blue shadows in the iridescent light.
And every now and then,
It seemed the world would pause for breath,
and the only sound was a roar of silence.
No wind stirred the leaves as night creatures froze,
the moon was wrapped in a blanket of black,
and there was only dead darkness.

Then the porch swing creaked,
the cloud passed on,and the world once again came to life

Period Viking Drottkvaett Poem - Work in Progress

In the Hall of the Mountain King
For Lord Hadrian

With epic endearment
Our eponymous peer
Descends the dark pathway
Down into depths below.

His heart bravely beating
His countenance clouded
Silent steps mark his path
Slipping down through the stone

Till truth mars his journey
And Trolls race to battle
Sweat scorched and battered
Stormy seas in his eyes

He is hunted and tracked
Hearing only salvation
When the hall collapses
And the Mountain King dies.

A Voice In The Darkness


God,
Do you hear me
When I cry out in the night?
Will you wipe away the tears
And lead me out into the light?
Yes child,
I hear you,
Even words you never say,
And when the final trumpet blows
Night will be as bright as day.

Tell me God,
Do you see
All the misery and strife?
Do you see this dark abyss
Where I seem to spend my life?
Yes my child,
I see you
As you sink in earthly sand,
But in weakness I am strong
If you’ll only hold my hand.

Oh God,
Do you speak
When there’s silence all around,
And only lonely echoes
Of a love that can’t be found?
Oh yes child,
I speak,
To many hearts I call:
And you are never all alone,’
For I’ve the greatest love of all.

Lord,
Do you taste
The salty tang of endless tears?
Do you know the bitter rage
And the pain of empty years?
Oh yes my child,
I’ve tasted,
Tears for those who lost the way:
For all who do not heed the call,
And for the garden gone astray.

Dear God,
Do you feel
All the helplessness and fear?
Do you know of all the heartache,
Of the loss of those held dear?
Yes my child,
I’ve felt
All the angry grief of loss,
For I had to turn away
While my son died on a cross.

Father,
Do you know
Of the darkness deep inside:
Of the narrow path I walk,
Endless pits on either side?
My dearest child,
I do know,
I allowed for them to be.
To keep you on the path
That will always lead to me.

And so my child,
Do you now see?
I love you most of all:
For I sacrificed my only son
To hear you when you call.
That in the dark
When all seems lost,
And you call out to the night,
With saving grace a voice will come
Turning darkness into light.

Hope Lingers On - A Period French Rondeau

Hope Lingers On

And hope lingers on through silent tears
She lifts her eyes as she faces her fears.
No longer young as the days unfold
Though her heart still yearns as the story is told
And the empty silence around her jeers.

Days turn to weeks and weeks to years
And still she waits for the sound her heart hears.
But age won’t be tempered that turn dreams cold
And hope lingers on.

High on the cliffs where a lonely wind sheers
She keeps her vigil though she knows the end nears.
Knights are not common and heroes grow old
But rescue from her tower would require someone bold
And though the storm rages the rain finally clears
And hope lingers on.

In Honor of Our Queen and Princess 02/2007

Queen Kora

Her beauty is unrivaled
Her heritage southern charm,
Queen Kora takes her Throne
Guided by King Gunther’s arm.

With grace she walks among us
Granting all her lovely smile,
Her beauty has no equal
Not even on the Nile.

So bring her tea and soda
And German wine Riesling,
But keep away your coffee
And the mushrooms she will fling.

Queen Kora knows fine jewelry
Royal clothing for her dress,
And she welcomes well turned clay
Lovely baskets and largess.

But what’s closest to her heart
Valued more than gold or lace,
Hates veggies and potatoes
And goes by the name of Grace.



A Garden Tribute to Princess Deirdre

Like dramatic amaryllis
Princess Deirdre takes a seat
With Camellia’s gracious air
Her kingdom willingly at her feet.

With Heather like admiration
For Magnolia’s noble grace
We express our Zinnia affection
For the beauty of Orchid’s face.

Like Azalea stands for women
Majestic lily you’re our crown,
Princess Deirdre brings a garden
Where a kingdom knows no frown.

My SCA Persona

My first post is to introduce myself in the SCA. I am a poet by trade, but also enjoy the pursuits of illumination, music, target archery and half a dozen other arts. Here is my story.


Isabella (Ambrogini) Poliziana ( Montepulciano, Tuscany) (02/28/1465 – 05/05/1526) (We have the same birthday LOL)

My father Benedetto, a jurist of good family and distinguished ability, was murdered by political antagonists for adopting the cause of Lorenzo di Piero de' Medici in Montepulciano in May of 1464. This circumstance gave his children a claim on the family of Medici.


Angelo, my brother and future poet, teacher, and scholar of Italy, was taken to Florence in 1469 at the age of ten and placed in school under the court of Medici. I was also taken to court at the age of 8 after our mother's death in 1473. I was taught to read and write by my brother and showing a remarkable skill and ability in the arts became a favorite of Clarice Orsini, the wife of Lorenzo de Medici and Queen of Florence (age 20 ). The baby Lucrezia, their first child, (at 3 years old), and I also got along very well and were play companions despite the differences of our ages. For several years the the two of us were schooled and played together and were introduced to many influencial people such as Leonardo da Vinci, Donatello, Sandro Botticelli and Michelangelo Buonarroti and others who frequented the the Medici court.


In 1477 Angelo was banished from the court by Clarice and I was feeling unsure of my place when Margret of York, a well know patron of the arts in England, was passing through in 1478 on a pilgrimage, and became enchanted with me and my gifts in poetry, art, and music. Margret had said goodby to her stepdaughter the year before, when she married Archduke Maximilian of Austria, and missed having a young girl around the house as she had no children of her own. She advised me that she would be my patron if I would return with her to Bruges (Belgium). I agreed and at the age of 13 traveled to England to live in the household of Margret of York. It was in this household that I learned the art of illumination from the Netherlandish Painter Simon Marmion, another of Margret's supported artest. After the death of her brothers, King Henry IV and Richard III, Margret became a staunch supporter of anyone who apposed Henry VII, and because of the danger of living in the household of York during the War of the Roses, I became skilled in use of the bow as well.


In 1482, Margret's daughter Marie de Bourgogne, died in a riding accident and her two children came to live with Margret. At the age of 17, I became their teacher until they returned home to Rome with their father. Margret died when I was 38 at Mechelen (Belgium) in 1503. I had lived in her household for 25 years and was bereft.

Knowing that I had no home or family to return to, I sent letters pleading with Giovanni di Lorenzo de' Medici, who was the second son of Lorenzo and Orsini, (both dead by this time as well as my childhood playmate Lucrezia), for a place to live. Giovanni, was well known for his generous nature, remembered me from his childhood fondly, and made a place for me in his household where I continued my art, music, and writings. Givanni became Pope Leo X, from 1513 until his death in 1521, and traveled to many contries with lavish parades and pets taking his household with him so I developed a well rounded world view and learned the poet styles of many countries.

As Pope Leo X, Givanni had Martin Luthor exomunicated on Jan 3, 1521 for Luthor's public burning of the Pope's demand to retract 41 of his 95 theses and then died soon afterwards. Taking his death to be a sign from God, I beseached Martin Luthor to be allowed to join his cause and with my experience and artestic abilities, he agreed. I spent the last years of my life living at Wartburg Castle in Germany in the household of Martin Luthor, writing and illuminating for the prodastant reformation until my death in 1526 at the age of 61.