Topic: Bard of Leinster: IN PRAISE OF PEOPLE

Topic Editor: Mikele Baoisgne

Topic description: This competition involves composing a poem of no more than fifty lines in praise of a person's character, skill or great deed. Feel free to use any real life person or AS persona recognizing that the era Leinster is in is approximately 200 AD.

* Please note that poem means any tale in rhyme, meter or free verse. We encourage all participants to enter as many compositions as they like,but only those entering all four contests will be considered for the high honor of Ollamh. The winner is the bard with the highest cumulative score as determined in secret balloting by the judges. Contest will be judged on creativity, originality, musicality and lyric imagery. Post away!

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Message: Honored one...
Author: - Cian CuChulainn
Date: Jul 18, 1999
Honored one

Oh honored one
my brother
you fought bravely in the battle
you fought bravely to the death
your enemies blood on our broadsword
your enemies dead at your feet
but one you could not win against
one with your blood on his sword
one who took your life from you
but could not take your honor
your name will ring across the hills
across the land of your birth
across the green of Ireland
your name will ne’er be spoken
in any words but ones of honor
you will be a hero
now and in all time to come
your story will never die
of honored battle, vanquished foe
and sleep in Tir na nOg
the land of forever young
my brother, honored one
my brother, dead but not forgotten.


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Message: When Pride's laid down
Author: sociologist - Julia Theocritos, Patron
Date: Jul 18, 1999
A Queen once proud
broke down one day and wept.
She’d heard the cries
of mother poor
whose child had died from want.

Queen Josephine
no longer walked in pride
and glorious robes.
She understood
that justice would see
she witnessed
abject poverty
and cries of woe and grief.

“My heart is smote
my people’s plight severe
I'll walk unknown
amongst the poor
and try to bring them cheer”.

“Give to me a darkened cloak
fill a basket with loaves and fruit’
She asked her closest maiden.
“Come with me
in night’s dark hour
We’ll see these people live”.

Queen and maid
stole out the back
with basket filled with cheer
“the joy on hungry faces”
Josephine said
‘will ease this smitten heart
of mine’

Decades later
many mourned
the death of the great Queen
The faithful ones who knew
her face in run down huts
knew she would no more sorrow.
One child of that first visit
whispered to a younger
“just who knows the Queen’s depth
of greatness as we do”?

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Message: Now that the Thread is open...
Author: Proud - Kaylinn Iceni
Date: Jul 20, 1999
Hail Mentor!
Sunbeam through fog.
Hail Mentor!
Lantern among dross.
Hail Mentor!
Bridge to another world.
Hail Mentor!
Signpost on winding roads.
Hail Mentor!
Landmark in ordered chaos.
Hail Mentor!
Friend in a hard won fight fought together?
Hail Mentor!
Brigid Iceni.

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Message: His Quest
Author: - Dartagnan MacRoth, Patron
Date: Jul 20, 1999



The path was paved with flowers, the sky was azure-blue,
His search was for a treasure, his quest one to stay true,
To his heart, his mind, his spirit, to the love he felt so pure.

The mountains rose before him, their peaks a snowy white,
He looked up, his hopes were lifted, the sun reflected bright,
From those tops so high and distant, overwhelming in this light.

The hunter in his heart awake, senses all alert,
Track ascending up the slopes, a narrow trail of dirt,
They had taken her this way for sure, as he found pieces of her skirt.

Into a cavern lead their tracks, into a darkness cold and vile,
A smell of rotting flesh, decay, brought up the taste of bile,
The torch he lit brought little light, adaption took a while.

Sword and torch, he held them both, ready stand to fight,
The blackness vast and infinite, an everlasting night,
As passageways turned left away and passageways went right.

In this hell of evil things, one thing held him in grace,
Through this deathhole, through his despair, he clung on to her face,
That shone brightly in his vision,and lead him down these ways.

Down and down his steps took him, into the dragon's lair,
To the edge of a torchlit chamber, with many creatures there,
Hideous, distorted faces, that filled his heart with fear.

Danced they did and sang a song with voices harsh and loud,
When suddenly his gaze was caught in the middle of this crowd,
For there she stood, tied and gagged, looking pained yet proud.

His breathing stopped, his heart skipped beats, his hopes sank deep and
low,
How was he to rescue her, only God could know,
So he prayed there, in that pit of doom, that a plan in him might grow.

Unsheated sword, a gleaming knife, and courage seldom seen,
He cried her name, their eyes did meet, as he rushed into the scene,
Slashed at heads, pierced demonshearts, as he deadly danced between.

The fight was hard, his wounds were deep, blood covered the stone,
When in a haze he noticed that he stood all alone,
Struggling hard, it hurt to breath, he was exhausted to the bone.

The knife slid through her wristropes, she sagged into his arms,
Cold she was, she shivered much, was drained from all her warmth,
He kissed her soft, she smiled at him, not badly she was harmed.

Up the steps he carried her, a torch between his teeth,
So tired he was, so completely spent , he did not hear the sound beneath,
Of footsteps following behind,a single pair of feet.

Into the sunlight then they walked, the afternoon was at its start,
She looked beautiful and radiant and they would never part,
Was what his happy thought was, as the arrow struck his heart.

He laid her down and turned around and threw his huntersknife,
It found it's way into the heart and took the demons life,
He sank to his knees, and for one last time saw the face of his beloved
wife.

Eyes closed, he saw a light, as she softly spoke her love,
Images of her passed through his mind, and a flock of snow white doves,
Then darkness came but with it light, as he was lifted to the world above.

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Message: Dreamwalker
Author: - Fleury CuChulainn, Patron
Date: Jul 20, 1999
A journey of a thousand days
led me to the purest heart
I've ever met
Her dreams are of the future
and what might be
To right the wrongs
and build upon today

The people are her passion
She is mother and friend to all
She champions all causes
and fights for much needed justice
She will not rest
until inequality and prejudice
are things of legend, only in the past

She is the most noble of Queens
who rules her people with love
To honour all
yet still be true to her inner self
She walks in dreams, and I pray
that she achieve her every desire

She is strength, truth and freedom
Her love for all
has touched my soul
An inspiration
to better myself
An inspiration
to try and change the world


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Message: Praise
Author: - Marie Siduri, Patron
Date: Jul 21, 1999
NIGHT


When I came in,
you were already asleep,
one red-socked foot
peeking out from under the covers,
hanging in mid-air,
your black curls, tinged with grey,
(I'll never tell!)
covering your bare shoulder,
baby-pink lips,
all but lost in your beard,
parted slightly, pressed against the pillow.
I undressed, curled up in your arms,
and dreamed while the Northern Lights
sang silently in a starless sky.

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Message: For my grandfather
Author: - moibhe Baoisgne, Patron
Date: Jul 21, 1999
"Grandman"

I do not live without your face,
Your laugh is my laugh. I walk
through autumn streets and hear
your words though I forget the voice.
I feel your cool hand so big it
swallowed my five year old fingers:
cold hands warm heart. Yes, you were
brave and strong in the face of
bruises and tears. Monsters
died at your feat, fearies danced
at your shoulders. The world
was filled with the secrets you
knew how a leaf fell, why a bird flew.
A twig was an universe in your
fingers. Hushed voiced conversation
among old trees and quiet streams
was your kingdom. I learned
everything there: soared with
the swallows, laughed with your
fearies, braved the forest witch.
Crossing a leaf covered bridge
my hands cool in the rain:
cold hands warm heart. I did
not cry at your death bed. At nine
I knew you flew with the falcons.

copyright 1999 JSW

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Message: The Passing of Angus MacGee
Author: Seannachaidh - Cathal Cumhaill, Patron
Date: Jul 22, 1999
The sun sets low on Feadan Ceancaid
at the passing of Angus MacGee.
(He was a woodsman of the finest degree!)
Birds, sing not their sweet song
Wolves, keen a wild lament
Deer, once plentiful, now are hard found.
When Angus died,
The thrill of the hunt died with him.

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Message: 'Before anything can exist, the idea must exist'
Author: l'italiana - Tiziana Fabius, Patron
Date: Jul 23, 1999

Oghma, throw me a bone.
It's been three months now, and not a squeak
not one tiny thing has floated into my head,
scratched at my psyche, moved me in a dream...

Here: accept this pathetic but desperate offering
of holly, I burn it ritualistically at your altar
and beg you to pity me, just for a few moments.

So many times I have sat thinking only
that if an idea, just one, would enter my head
I would be a worthy student..just one
original, worthy thought would be enough, that's all I ask

Instead all I can do is feel: the heat of a burning fire,
the rough hide of a cow,
the pain of my father's death.
And they tell me I am gifted.

If words are power, why do I feel so powerless
before my teachers, speechless
when I should speak out, hopeless
when I should feel thankful?

You have the sacred power to transport
one dimension of thought to the next -
help me to think myself worthy,
to fulfil the promise within myself,
to satisfy the expectations of my family.
Oghma.
Throw me a bone.

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Message: The Angel
Author: - Mosheva Valerius
Date: Jul 23, 1999
An angel sings to the white rose
You are far prettier that those.
And as the moon rose above the stars,
The Angel voice sang near and far.
When all life had settled in their bed
This is what the angel said,
I love you all no matter what you do,
I shan't tell a lie, for it is true
Love all things the way I love you
That is all I ask you to do.
But do we obey teh angels request?
Do we classify as beutiful or grotesque?
As each doe is killed without regret,
Still the angel loves us yet.
Children of God we all are,
Children Near and Children far.
So count your blessing and not your woes,
For we are the ones, that God chose.

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Message: Cawley the Counter.....
Author: Righ of Leinster - Mikele Baoisgne, Patron
Date: Jul 26, 1999 23:51
There's a man, works for Gerald my Chief Porter, who has a way with numbers. He amazes me how well he keeps track of things...this poem is for him....

Five thousand chickens
Less a third on the eggs
Makes the counting heart quicken
Along with the legs.

One hundred fine roosters
All strutting fine feathered
For the sake of their boosters
We'll keep them all tethered.

Three thousand two hundred and eighty eight
Fine full grown swine in the field.
I'm sure they'll be finer once on the plate
Unfortunately, their fates are sealed.

Nineteen hundred and ninety four cows
and calves sucking fresh at the teat
And thirty bulls out a wandering sloughs
Assures a steday supply of fresh meat.

Twelve hundred and thirty good horse,
Running free of rein on the plain,
We'll bring em in and break em of course
When Mikele's armies march yet again.

Eight hundred and sevety seven
Wine amphora hid in the ground
Each one a sure trip to heaven
I just count em, I don't drink em down.

Six thousand four hundred and four
Swords, axes and small weapons saved
From great battles in Baoisgne lore.
Sure that the original owners were brave.

I'm Cawley the counter, that's sure.
I count for Mikele the Righ,
But its certainly more to endure
That I get no consultant's fee.

(C) 1999 MCB

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Message: For Mom
Author: the one and only - Willow Ubaratutu
Date: Jul 27, 1999
This one is for mothers everywhere, especially mine!

Tomorrow In Her Hands

Awaking at the first light
to prepare for the long day.
Teaching what is right
without having a word to say.
And knowing she will do it all again...
tomorrow.

Struggling to keep the peace
and looking after the home.
Making sure arguments cease
and that they do not roam.
And knowing she will do it all again...
tomorrow.

Always keeping a smile on her face
no matter what trouble they find.
Sunday she dresses with lace,
she's always loving and kind.
She will do it all again tomorrow...
happily.

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Message: The Taming of Thing
Author: The harried one... - Turlough CuChulainn
Date: Jul 27, 1999
Inspired by Kyla Cormac, Thing, and some events in the Venus Flytrap in
Rumusculus, I present for consideration...




The Taming of Thing

A Celtic journeywoman, having travelled far to Rome,
Unpacked all of her things and set up a tiny home.
For the woman, Kyla Cormac, had even in Tara heard
Of the famous Venus Flytrap - many trav'lers passed the word.
So here to Rome she came, and she set out to explore
(Making sure that as she left, she carefully locked the door).
Before going to the Flytrap, she decided she would first
Have a look around great Roma, see the best and see the worst.
From the mighty colusseum to the lowest common sewer,
She saw the catacombs of Rome, the older and the newer.
Her sightseeing now finished, she closed up tight her bag,
And set off to find the Trap without heeding its extra sag.
And once she found the tavern, its windows glowing bright
And chasing off the shadows in the humid summer's night,
She entered in the building, and all at once she found
Sev'ral rev'ling Romans, dancing all around.
Welcomed in by all, Kyla sat and ordered mead.
Though she didn't like the menu, some food she thought she'd need.
In her magic bag, she knew she had some food
So she tried to sneak it out - so they wouldn't think her rude.
As she opened up her bag, a thing jumped out and glared.
It had landed on the table, and most everybody stared.
The conversation died; Kyla lept up like a spring,
And everybody watched her as she lookef down at the thing.
The creature wasn't large, perhaps six inches tall,
It was grey, it was bipedal, with a quiet, chitt'ring call.
It chittered once at Kyla, and it stamped its tiny foot.
Kyla gasped and lept backwards; her chair fell in the soot.
The creature grabbed her glass - the mead still lay within -
And upended all the liquid into its toothy grin.
Then it looked around quite quickly and, seeing all the faces,
It seemed to have decided it could be in better places.
With an unbelieveable speed, it jumped down from the table,
And ran around the room; to catch it none was able.
Jumping up and down, and causing no end of trouble,
The thing knocked over glasses, stepped on feet, reduced to rubble
The jovial atmosphere that the Flytrap mostly had
But the thing seemed pretty pleasured by its acting very bad.
But Kyla sensed the thing had a mind within its head,
And chose to do something lest the Romans kill it dead.
She stood up straight and tall, took a deep, prolong'ed breath,
And spoke out several words to prevent the creature's death.
"Thing!" she cried, "It's awful how you caper all about.
You, Thing, have the manners of a crude and tiny lout.
Now if you mend your ways, and you promise to be good,
You can live within my bag, and I'll feed you when I should."
The thing, suitably chastened, hung his little head in shame,
And hopped in her bag right then, to show that he was tame.
And there Thing lives today, keeping Kyla's bag all clean,
And not since that one day has Thing dared to be mean.

It's all true. Every word. At least, that's how I heard it. :)

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Message: "Witch"
Author: - Eldrich Niall
Date: Jul 28, 1999
Colorless, eyeless, and bland as a cavefish,
She withers daily, the old wise one,
Womanly charms worn down to bony hips
And a ghostly twist of wet sensuous mouth.
The flush of flesh is gone,
But toothless gums can still smile.
Her ageless spark of femininity
Glows in lunar benevolence.
A thin crescent, she lives a shadow life
Until there's no more moonlight
Left to mold her image.

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Message: Barbarian by Birth
Author: Storytelling - Poseidon Ariston, Patron
Date: Aug 3, 1999

A lonely soul is he, a true Barbarian he be
Simple pleasure and simpler needs, and simplest yet his lifelong creed
Left an orphan at an early age, passed into slavery and kept in a cage
Learning to fight at the age of five, and doing it well in order to stay alive
Experience his teacher and treachery his muse, attaining a temper with a very short fuse
Finding that trust was nowhere for sure, and learning to be wary towards promised cures
Carnage they named him, for his path was destruction, living in harms way, a constant obstruction
So many walls built in his defense, striking out first when becoming incensed
This young, angry lad who so desperately searches, for someone to call friend, not one he curses
So alone is he, the Barbarian Boy, who in his wee youth wielded a sword for a toy
Not knowing, not aware of his sad plight in life, just keeping alive and living with strife
Not realizing the comforts of home, just going through life as a humanlike drone
So for all who dare know him or meet him this day, try understanding of what is his way
He travels through life meaning no harm, hoping to find that person of charm
He’s really quite friendly if given the chance, just don’t take advantage or you’ll meet with his lance.

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