Tiercel
Well-known member
WARNING: This is extremely long. Also contains gratuitous rhymes, medieval fantasy, and a love I've never personally experienced. When I finished this in about a week I was both proud and saddened. Proud because of what I had written, but saddened in the knowledge that I will probably never surpass what I had just done.
Since this is my triumph, I'll give a wee bit more information. And also to keep the ad to the left of the first post from messing up my carefully formatted work
(Apparently it is a wee bit messed up anyway, but just a wee bit.)
I wrote this in less than a week back in college. The following semester the university had some kind of poetry thing, so I figured I'd read this monster. So I went out on a LONG freakin' limb and actually read this in public, in a competition in front of an audience of several hundred students. I even used different voices for the different dialogue parts. Once everyone was done a panel of judges picked the top three and awarded prizes.
I was not one of the three they picked.
I graciously clapped for the winners, then tried to keep my usual calm demeanor as I quickly stormed back to my dorm room. On the way out one girl congratulated me on my poem, so I tried my best to come off as gracious and friendly. In hindsight she was cute, obviously impressed, and I really should have asked for her name at least. I never saw her again.
But I didn't. I walked down the steps, kicked the door open as hard as I could, ripped my poem up and consigned it to the fallen snow right outside the student center (which is basically the main hub on campus for all officially-sanctioned student life). I've often wondered if anyone picked it up, because I didn't see it there the following morning.
After throwing my jacket off back in my room I actually cried. For someone who has always been afraid of not being good enough, it was damn hard to have given my best and been found wanting. Although I've since quite gotten over not "winning" anything for it, I'm still a bit protective of it. But since certain people have been nagging for more of my writing, I've decided to subject them to it. I hope they are not too disappointed. Please forgive any typos.
"A Lovers' Plight"
Listen one, Listen all! A tale that must be heard
Of valiant knight and maiden fair, and the troubles both endured.
Adventures and encounters of which I cannot portend.
So lend your ears and listen clearly to the very end.
A black and umber beacon in a field of yellowed gray,
She sat in isolation, mildly disguising her pain.
Oblivious to what he saw and how he walked away.
To him her eyes appear as skies that whisper summer rain;
Her silky brown hair flows around her watery constellation:
A demeanor forlorn that wistfully morns the joyous tunes she could not write.
Fearing discovery, endearing and lovely, she's locked herself in a vault. Ancient
Woes can't contain her, nor shall they restrain her latest suiting savior from
bringing the light.
He left the same night that he heard of her plight.
He gathered provisionsand arms
Such that would suffice to suffer defeat to the Queen of Ice
And bring his love back, safe from harm.
As each morning began, he packed up and ran
From the frightening, lightening dawn;
As each dusk would begin, he'd unpack his chagrin
Of the night filled with terrors unknown.
He faced his first plight on the seventeenth night
When the ground all around him broke open.
Twelve men clawed and loomed up from their ancient tombs
And pressed the stoic paladin,
Who, glancing around, knew help wouldn't be found,
So he took a breath and then drew his blade.
He hacked his way out, but as he reeled about,
Expecting the mess he had made,
He was shocked and unnerved by the sight he observed:
The skeletons merely were chipped!
'Though he struck them hard their skulls were not marred.
His longsword hespitefully flipped:
An old oaken branch was the desperate chance
He desired. Required! He hefted it high,
And as each blow resounded his courage compounded
'Til not an abhorrence was standing upright.
On the twenty-third dawn as his journey wore on
He was forced to lay all hope to rest
At the site of the bejeweled, bloodied necklace cruelly
Torn from the crown of his dear maiden's breast.
He dropped and he cried, for he just could not hide
His fear for the state of his bride.
Although hope bereft, anger peaked: the crest
Drowned him like a tropical tide.
He leaped on his charger and spurred the beast onward
To the peaks of the Winter Queen's lair.
But his steed, not withstanding the climate demanding,
Succumbed to the boreal air.
With the end of his journey pristine in his sight,
He paused not to ponder his fate.
The scream from his lover within yonder cave
Drove him to insanity's brink.
The rays of the sun glared his blood-lusting vision
And heated his fiery state
To the point that he swore he would not stop before
The blood of the witch was his victory drink.
Now before her he stood. Slowly low'ring her hood,
Her icicular frame held his gaze.
He at last saw the face he'd persistently chased
For these perilous twenty-five days.
Her eyes, piercingly blue, stood in sharp contrast to
The death shroud of her colorless hair.
Her snarling frown and her chin thrusting downward
Breathed life to the dead, frozen air,
Which set upon him at once. Like a frost numbéd dunce
Who could not block a striking aggressor,
He could only give in to the thrusting bodkin
Of his foe as it plunged to his core.
This crippling attack laid him well on his back
As dark, crimson life ebbed from his breast.
Now the maiden released weeks of pain on the beast
Who had thwarted her champion's best.
She broke free of the sheen of ice, which stood between
Herself and the cold-hearted queen.
For twenty-four days spellbound rage kept at bay;
No longer. Her blistering scream
Was the call desperately required by he
To rise up, and to keep fighting on.
He staggered to his feet when he then tried to meet
His love's fire with strength of his own.
The maiden, outmatched, shrieked as the Queen's hand latched
'Round her throat and hefted her high.
And with one valiant try, with his sword flashing high,
The knight cleft the Queen, body from smile.
The Queen's body stopped, the maiden was dropped,
Descending life ebbed, trickling.
The maiden then drifted; the bodkin, uplifted,
Was soon hilt-deep in the Queen's skin.
The girl, though released, was now stricken with grief
As the sight of the price he had paid.
Taking his armor off, she caressed his face softly,
And lovingly cradled his head.
"My dear, this quest is not quite done,
It seems.... The end has just begun.
Alas I fear my time has come.
Head east while daylight lingers. Run!"
"My love, I will not leave," said she.
"You've come so far to rescue me.
Though naught but bloodied snow you'd seen,
You travelled on, and killed the Queen!
"Around your neck, my pendant green:
A token of your love for me.
But now you say you've got to leave?
Arise! I'll drag you if need be!"
With morning spent, the long descent
Down mountain face began.
With little hope, she often spoke
Of pleasures long since banned.
The fiftieth night she had a fright
When her champion was rackéd with seizure.
All the while an infection, which eluded detection,
Festered in his wound, causing fever.
The maid quicked her pace, for her love's deathly face
Alluded an early demise,
When the signal she needed-- a castle that greeted
Dawn on the fifty-eighth sunrise.
Overjoyed and excited, she loudly recited,
"Help! Help! A surgeon I need!
This man is in pain, and his feverish brain
Is causing his heart to bleed!"
Now a week with the surgeon, his strength is returning.
He constantly tells of the fight.
And the horns will next play on their grand wedding day,
Which occurs in a double fortnight.
Since this is my triumph, I'll give a wee bit more information. And also to keep the ad to the left of the first post from messing up my carefully formatted work
(Apparently it is a wee bit messed up anyway, but just a wee bit.)I wrote this in less than a week back in college. The following semester the university had some kind of poetry thing, so I figured I'd read this monster. So I went out on a LONG freakin' limb and actually read this in public, in a competition in front of an audience of several hundred students. I even used different voices for the different dialogue parts. Once everyone was done a panel of judges picked the top three and awarded prizes.
I was not one of the three they picked.
I graciously clapped for the winners, then tried to keep my usual calm demeanor as I quickly stormed back to my dorm room. On the way out one girl congratulated me on my poem, so I tried my best to come off as gracious and friendly. In hindsight she was cute, obviously impressed, and I really should have asked for her name at least. I never saw her again.
But I didn't. I walked down the steps, kicked the door open as hard as I could, ripped my poem up and consigned it to the fallen snow right outside the student center (which is basically the main hub on campus for all officially-sanctioned student life). I've often wondered if anyone picked it up, because I didn't see it there the following morning.
After throwing my jacket off back in my room I actually cried. For someone who has always been afraid of not being good enough, it was damn hard to have given my best and been found wanting. Although I've since quite gotten over not "winning" anything for it, I'm still a bit protective of it. But since certain people have been nagging for more of my writing, I've decided to subject them to it. I hope they are not too disappointed. Please forgive any typos.
"A Lovers' Plight"
Listen one, Listen all! A tale that must be heard
Of valiant knight and maiden fair, and the troubles both endured.
Adventures and encounters of which I cannot portend.
So lend your ears and listen clearly to the very end.
A black and umber beacon in a field of yellowed gray,
She sat in isolation, mildly disguising her pain.
Oblivious to what he saw and how he walked away.
To him her eyes appear as skies that whisper summer rain;
Her silky brown hair flows around her watery constellation:
A demeanor forlorn that wistfully morns the joyous tunes she could not write.
Fearing discovery, endearing and lovely, she's locked herself in a vault. Ancient
Woes can't contain her, nor shall they restrain her latest suiting savior from
bringing the light.
He left the same night that he heard of her plight.
He gathered provisionsand arms
Such that would suffice to suffer defeat to the Queen of Ice
And bring his love back, safe from harm.
As each morning began, he packed up and ran
From the frightening, lightening dawn;
As each dusk would begin, he'd unpack his chagrin
Of the night filled with terrors unknown.
He faced his first plight on the seventeenth night
When the ground all around him broke open.
Twelve men clawed and loomed up from their ancient tombs
And pressed the stoic paladin,
Who, glancing around, knew help wouldn't be found,
So he took a breath and then drew his blade.
He hacked his way out, but as he reeled about,
Expecting the mess he had made,
He was shocked and unnerved by the sight he observed:
The skeletons merely were chipped!
'Though he struck them hard their skulls were not marred.
His longsword hespitefully flipped:
An old oaken branch was the desperate chance
He desired. Required! He hefted it high,
And as each blow resounded his courage compounded
'Til not an abhorrence was standing upright.
On the twenty-third dawn as his journey wore on
He was forced to lay all hope to rest
At the site of the bejeweled, bloodied necklace cruelly
Torn from the crown of his dear maiden's breast.
He dropped and he cried, for he just could not hide
His fear for the state of his bride.
Although hope bereft, anger peaked: the crest
Drowned him like a tropical tide.
He leaped on his charger and spurred the beast onward
To the peaks of the Winter Queen's lair.
But his steed, not withstanding the climate demanding,
Succumbed to the boreal air.
With the end of his journey pristine in his sight,
He paused not to ponder his fate.
The scream from his lover within yonder cave
Drove him to insanity's brink.
The rays of the sun glared his blood-lusting vision
And heated his fiery state
To the point that he swore he would not stop before
The blood of the witch was his victory drink.
Now before her he stood. Slowly low'ring her hood,
Her icicular frame held his gaze.
He at last saw the face he'd persistently chased
For these perilous twenty-five days.
Her eyes, piercingly blue, stood in sharp contrast to
The death shroud of her colorless hair.
Her snarling frown and her chin thrusting downward
Breathed life to the dead, frozen air,
Which set upon him at once. Like a frost numbéd dunce
Who could not block a striking aggressor,
He could only give in to the thrusting bodkin
Of his foe as it plunged to his core.
This crippling attack laid him well on his back
As dark, crimson life ebbed from his breast.
Now the maiden released weeks of pain on the beast
Who had thwarted her champion's best.
She broke free of the sheen of ice, which stood between
Herself and the cold-hearted queen.
For twenty-four days spellbound rage kept at bay;
No longer. Her blistering scream
Was the call desperately required by he
To rise up, and to keep fighting on.
He staggered to his feet when he then tried to meet
His love's fire with strength of his own.
The maiden, outmatched, shrieked as the Queen's hand latched
'Round her throat and hefted her high.
And with one valiant try, with his sword flashing high,
The knight cleft the Queen, body from smile.
The Queen's body stopped, the maiden was dropped,
Descending life ebbed, trickling.
The maiden then drifted; the bodkin, uplifted,
Was soon hilt-deep in the Queen's skin.
The girl, though released, was now stricken with grief
As the sight of the price he had paid.
Taking his armor off, she caressed his face softly,
And lovingly cradled his head.
"My dear, this quest is not quite done,
It seems.... The end has just begun.
Alas I fear my time has come.
Head east while daylight lingers. Run!"
"My love, I will not leave," said she.
"You've come so far to rescue me.
Though naught but bloodied snow you'd seen,
You travelled on, and killed the Queen!
"Around your neck, my pendant green:
A token of your love for me.
But now you say you've got to leave?
Arise! I'll drag you if need be!"
With morning spent, the long descent
Down mountain face began.
With little hope, she often spoke
Of pleasures long since banned.
The fiftieth night she had a fright
When her champion was rackéd with seizure.
All the while an infection, which eluded detection,
Festered in his wound, causing fever.
The maid quicked her pace, for her love's deathly face
Alluded an early demise,
When the signal she needed-- a castle that greeted
Dawn on the fifty-eighth sunrise.
Overjoyed and excited, she loudly recited,
"Help! Help! A surgeon I need!
This man is in pain, and his feverish brain
Is causing his heart to bleed!"
Now a week with the surgeon, his strength is returning.
He constantly tells of the fight.
And the horns will next play on their grand wedding day,
Which occurs in a double fortnight.