From the Flames Forged

By THLaird Colyne Stewart, May AS 51 (2016)

For Their Highnesses Ealdormere, Siegfried and Xristinia, and in memory of a very hot Crown Tournament in Bastille du Lac.

The shire’s sun seared hot the flesh

Of those who came to fight that day

Hadean heat burned through the mesh

Of gallery and tents so gay.

The warriors, stout fighters all,

In horrid heat contested well,

But one by one they topple fall,

Into the brittle grassy hell.

The heat—damn heat—of Vulcan’s forge,

Which caused them all to cook and steam,

And raised their stomachs in their gorge,

It stood between them and their dream.

But one, a phoenix, born of fire,

From molten heat arises new,

Alone upon that field so dire,

A-drape in jupon sodden blue.

In sun burned hand he takes the crown,

And gifts it to the woman who

Now kneeling on the earth burned brown

Inspired him to battle through.

For Siegfried Brandbeorn upon being named a vigilant of the Order of the Pelican

By THLaird Colyne Stewart, February AS 49 (2015)

Siegfried, bold knight,

Look now to light;

Behold what waits,

What monarch states:

For service done,

For honour won,

For duty full,

For grace’s pull,

Bow down your head.

Be not in dread,

As rulers speak

Of phoenix beak,

Of hands hurt raw,

Of wolfen paw,

Of feet sore tread,

Of oaths you said,

Of feasts you cooked,

Of halls you booked,

Of land you tilled,

Of roles you filled.

For service done,

For honour won,

Unbend your knee,

We look to thee,

With glory gird,

We wait your word,

Not done by half,

Most worthy Graf.

Written as a Sprechspruch, a German form employed by the minnesingers. It consists of 4-beat lines, arranged in rhymed pairs. It is unstrophic (that is, it is not divided into regular stanzas) but could be divided into sections of various lengths at the poet’s whim. The form is fairly simple, except for the fact that 4-beat lines are hard to write, what with them being so short! 

To Baron Sir Siegfried Brandbeorn, Upon his Induction into the Order of Chivalry

(Pennsic War XXXII, August 2003)

Laird Colyne Stewart

Upon a brooding cliff awash in foam,

Amid the tall trees thick and verdant green,

The fiery bird of lore there makes its home,

To be born again in smoke and steam;

Once perched upon the old Duke’s sturdy arm,

The phoenix flies unfettered, bold and free;

Its claws are gentle or they can cause harm

As sure as flashing swords of chivalry;

Bright blue, stark white, its regal wings stretched wide

To shelter those over whome’er it flies,

To sally forth with knights whene’er they ride,

To be reborn again whene’er it dies;

A bird who’s brilliant plumage is so fair,

A symbol of one man, one knight, so rare.