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
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
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.
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
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
Sunday, February 18, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
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.”
“…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
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
Friday, February 16, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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