Archivist of Terralux
Post by Engel on Apr 4, 2007 19:59:51 GMT
*Engel fidgets with a sheaf of papers, loosely sewn together into a poor sort of folio, waiting until the ruckus of songs and stories has died down before clearing her throat hesitantly.* Er - I have a few poems and such. Just little things I wrote when I was an actor -- crowd amusements, you know -- but I suppose I could . . . well . . . read a few?
*She fidgets at her papers through a few shouted encouragements, then nods, putting on a little smile and clearing her throat.* Alright. This first one's called 'Minstrel.'
*She stands still, pauses a moment, then, like a cloud-shadow sweeping over the land, her whole demeanor changes. She stands a good inch straighter, then lifts her chin, and her gaze is sure, bold, solid. And then she speaks, voice easy but strong, unrolling the poem even meter upon meter.*
'What good is one who wishes just to sing?'
scoffs every sensible beast at some time,
'We toil, and you? You worry about rhyme?
After your work's the time for such a thing.'
In time of peace, perhaps, an abbey fat
Or palace grand might indulge such a sort
If his skills be high enough for a court
But one genius among hundreds is that.
What use then, among we good gentlebeasts
Is one who lives and breathes only for noise –
Who counts language among life's greater joys
And lives for blaring horns and clanging bells?
I thought, once, it might be a better deal
If all the world's minstrels instead were cooks
What use are all those little notes in books
Compared to a hot drink and a good meal?
But then I spoke with those creatures whose art,
I'd thought, had been so insurmountable.
That lifted my doubtful spirits so well –
And this is one more tale I must impart.
For even those who later studied lore
Said 'first I found my dream in old stories
Sung or told by a fire, at the knees
Of old bards who'd sung countless times before.
The tales of warriors brave, and archers keen
And scouts so crafty, healers stouthearted.
I heard the stories of beasts long since dead
with words so clear I may as well have seen
Their exploits for myself. This caught my heart,
And led me to the path I walk today.
An older fighter, healer, showed the way
Some later day – but bards played no small part.'
And so my own heart was caught, in its turn,
And now I sing the stories with delight
For even little ditties, brought to light
May cause someone, somewhere, something to learn.
I am a bard. I know that's nothing grand.
I'll never save a life or save a land
with my two paws. But with them and these strings?
I might rouse a hero. There are worse things.
*She fidgets at her papers through a few shouted encouragements, then nods, putting on a little smile and clearing her throat.* Alright. This first one's called 'Minstrel.'
*She stands still, pauses a moment, then, like a cloud-shadow sweeping over the land, her whole demeanor changes. She stands a good inch straighter, then lifts her chin, and her gaze is sure, bold, solid. And then she speaks, voice easy but strong, unrolling the poem even meter upon meter.*
'What good is one who wishes just to sing?'
scoffs every sensible beast at some time,
'We toil, and you? You worry about rhyme?
After your work's the time for such a thing.'
In time of peace, perhaps, an abbey fat
Or palace grand might indulge such a sort
If his skills be high enough for a court
But one genius among hundreds is that.
What use then, among we good gentlebeasts
Is one who lives and breathes only for noise –
Who counts language among life's greater joys
And lives for blaring horns and clanging bells?
I thought, once, it might be a better deal
If all the world's minstrels instead were cooks
What use are all those little notes in books
Compared to a hot drink and a good meal?
But then I spoke with those creatures whose art,
I'd thought, had been so insurmountable.
That lifted my doubtful spirits so well –
And this is one more tale I must impart.
For even those who later studied lore
Said 'first I found my dream in old stories
Sung or told by a fire, at the knees
Of old bards who'd sung countless times before.
The tales of warriors brave, and archers keen
And scouts so crafty, healers stouthearted.
I heard the stories of beasts long since dead
with words so clear I may as well have seen
Their exploits for myself. This caught my heart,
And led me to the path I walk today.
An older fighter, healer, showed the way
Some later day – but bards played no small part.'
And so my own heart was caught, in its turn,
And now I sing the stories with delight
For even little ditties, brought to light
May cause someone, somewhere, something to learn.
I am a bard. I know that's nothing grand.
I'll never save a life or save a land
with my two paws. But with them and these strings?
I might rouse a hero. There are worse things.
Leaderess of Terralux
Sorry, poems are kind of a hobby.