Redone Talymar Poem

One of the first poems I wrote for SCA was one about the life of His Excellency Talymar. It was closer to a Norse style than a Saxon one, and it was only loosely that. I rewrote the poem, taking in new details (like the ones including the barony) and added more obvious references to the women who led/lead with him.

From Heorot hailing, humble leader,

Fearless in battle, failing at nothing.

The wound-hoe Wolfslayer his wyrd-path guided.

Twice-crowned Andrew, Taken by his prowess,

Acted as master, offered his teaching.

By Laurelen knighted at looming battle.

From knighthood to kingship that noble ascended.

“Annual enemies, eternal friends,”

at Pennsic’s war-field, promised his kingship.

Spurning the Tiger, taking the battle.

Dragon’s victory Doubly promised.

Lovely Eislinn, longing for Pennsic,

though illness weakened aided her husband.

Calontir followed, the kingdom to aid them,

from Randal turning to rally for Eislinn.

In that final fighting, fearless their victory.

Thrice-crowned Talymar, turning from kingship,

In study of culture sounded his knowledge.

Melisande aided, Marking his progress.

In service and clothing was showing her prowess.

Inward turning, elected baron

in Middle Marches, Melisande and Talymar,

Rightwise and noble, ruling with fairness,

Sure in their greatness, chevron invictus.


Redone Battle of Hastings

A year ago, I had written a poem about the Battle of Hastings. I was still struggling to grasp OE poetry, so it failed the test of authenticity. This still isn’t perfect, but I think it much improved. 

Edward our leader no aetheling fathered,

No cyning to follow for kingdom’s shelter.

Harold the faithful from hlaford to ruler.

Honored the oath-keepers, offered treasures.

William the cousin woke from slumber,

Snake-like and prideful, seeking the crown-seat.

Harold called Hardrada, Hailing from Giants’-home.

On wave-steed sailing, ere William’s wartime.

Tostig the traitor turned against brother,

For Harold’s title, hopeful for victory.

Striking for Sigurdsson, Swiftly to England.

Southward, the Saxons at Stamford gathered.

Harold was hopeful, huscarls fearless.

Regrouped to the river as ravens feasted.

rushed in for rebels at river’s shoreline.

Harold took the devil Hardrada to his earth-pit.

Their trailing was tempered, Taken by an axe-man

Who tarried at the water, taking their soldiers.

Forty he fought; Forty he murdered

His boldness ended beneath the water.

Sigurdsson’s shield-wall the Saxons dreaded.

Spear-heads striking, shield-walls clashing,

Saxons the victors, Sigurdsson buried.

And the traitor, Tostig, Taken in the spear-din.

Mead for their mettle, for meeting in battle.

Hearing of heroes, Harold feasted.

In the mead-hall, promised Their master’s service.

Water for war-hawks, Their weregild in mead-cups.

Harold heard the horn-call from William.

battle-worn, battered, blood-soaked, soldiers,

Hilt in hand, held the ridge-way.

Swinging their swords, slaying past sundown.

bucklers between them, bound to Harold.

we waited for the war-horn Walked to the orchard.

Our number, sent notice, needing huscarls:

“Fearless fighters, forward for Harold.”

Twice came twilight, Twice passed sunlight.

So spanned the stillness, silence then bloodshed.

First to the field, frenzied Saxons

Fearless in battle, Fighting the Normans.

Shield-wall solid, as strongest huscarls.

Boldly to battle, bleeding for Harold.

On war-horse riding, William hurried

Reaping his bloodshed, ready for kingship.

Fearless until fallen, Fortune neglected.

Shattering spears, Saxons, clamored

experts with their axes In faith to their ealdor.

Ridge-way retained Ruddy tinted.

Shoulder to shoulder, single minded,

without weakness, without fear,

First to the field, forward in battle,

Golden-haired, glory-bound, Godwinson cyning.

Huscarls with helmets, hauberks gleaming,

Deep in their defenses, drenched in spear-dew.

Slaying past the sunset, in starlight falling.

Breaking and spear-shafts Before the slaughter.

courage without cost, Quiet and loyal.

Slaying for a song, From scops in the mead-hall

So closely standing, no swinging weapons.

Arrows from above endured the Saxons.

The highest honor for Harold their leader.

sinking into silence. The sortie taken.

Shield-wall busted, shattered weapons;

Slaying in darkness, Saxons then taken.

Diademed by duty, dearest Harold

Our leader noble, Left for the crow-feast.

The Norman William naming himself

Leader of England, leader of Saxons.