[Bards] Gothic and a new poem

Quill gray.quill at gmail.com
Wed Sep 5 15:36:53 PDT 2007

HL Mea Passavanti passed on the burden of being champion Bard of Bonwicke at
Gothic this weekend. Her requirement of me in the competition for this Title
was that one of my pieces be an original product, set forth in the following

"Two stanzas of ten lines each, in iambic pentameter, the poem ending in a
limerick; a total of 24 lines."
Though self-described "evil" in her challenge, she did give me the hint that
I should "think sonnet", and told me I had about five hours in which to
complete this. (Please note that I tend towards the more Petrarchan than
Shakespearian style anyway.)

After the initial panic attack during which time I did an impressive
impression of a headless chicken and went squawking around frantically
querying "Help!! What's iambic pentameter?!" without waiting for a reply, I
did at last settle down and manage to compose something which not only
fulfilled the requirements, but also came to be well appreciated (not to
mention the ever amazing fact that I, the artist, actually liked what I had
created by the end of it). I present to you the following:


For days when sunshine beats down on your face
and all your tries at hiding are in vain
your camp, you see, is not a shady place
and prayers are met with reddened skin in pain.
Your lips are dry and chapped and cracked and sore.
Your throat is parched in need of something wet.
What fool thought summer good for Gothic War?
You'd beat him, but you're dehydrated yet.
But who is this approaching now with jugs?**
An angel bringing water, snacks in tubs!

It is a water-bearer! By God's Grace.
And in her arms is drink, your thirst to wane.
You hated pickles; now you love their taste;
ambrosia tepid water puts to shame.
It matters not to them if you are poor,
or if their work with money can't be met.
In thanks and health these people place much store.
Good gentles now methinks our task is set:
To keep them happy is our solemn call.
We need our water-bearers, one and all!

The bearers of water be praised
while they are at work not at laze
For without them we'd die (though for sooth you may try),
as for me, all their names I will raise!

I made a Viking woman cry with this one. I don't know whether to be proud or
ashamed of myself...

In service to The Dream,
Cuillioc "Quill"  /|\
Titled Bard of the Barony of Bonwicke and Mendershamshire
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