The Bawdy Politic Challenge

[greenmountaineer]

damn, gm, that's something and three-quarters!

i had a little kernel of an idea......

Thanks, Chipbutty. As always, I look forward to reading your post.

 

[oggbashan]

King Alfred

1. The Song of King Alfred

Muses help me from your horde
I sing the song of a King long dead
First ruled his people with the sword
Then gave them books and bread.

King Alfred of Wessex was his name
Descendant of a fierce ancient God
A mighty ruler of great warlike fame
Protector of those who turned the sod.

Attacked by Vikings born for war
He fled - his troops would not stand
Alone he planned to rid his shore
By constant fighting hand to hand.

His doughty few the foe did smite
Then hid in deepest forest glade
His defiance brought people light
Slowly an army he had made.

Arthur fresh hope to folk did send
Many joined King Alfred’s not so few
And fought the Vikings to the end
Until for peace his foes did sue.

Were that all, Alfred’s name were made
The foe he made them his friends
Land and blessings to them he gave
Yet Alfred still craved other ends.

Sore worn by war his people starved
Would swords into ploughshares turn?
Reading, crafts and arts all decayed
By learning bereft and books’ burn.

He knew that there were many woes
Defend he must or lose his land
The towns’ new walls defy the foes
Safe inside new learning he planned.

The fields were ploughed sword in hand
The crops were gathered, stored in town
His few warriors became a standing band
Armed, trained, ready to face foes down.

What lessons can we from Alfred learn?
That a few can lead to redemption’s crown
Defence comes first, then discipline stern
Craft and learning thrive within a town.

Our rulers must value the common band
And teachers, craftsmen adorn a town
Training for war and peace hand in hand
Will emulate King Alfred’s old renown.

2. Heirs of Alfred

Lords and Ladies of this court
Of King Alfred old a tale I sing
It is not long, just very short
How to rule as a wise old King.

Alfred was a royal younger son
Born to follow his brothers’ rule
Unlikely ever a Crown to don
True, loyal but nobody’s fool.

In battle he stood while others fled
Held firm to save his brothers’ reign
At home many books he had read
His fingers showed black inky stain.

When he was called to be the King
Peace was not, he had to fight
With the warriors bold come a-Viking
But battle he lost despite his might.

A fugitive he, by heathen warriors beset,
Deep hidden from his country’s foes
Waiting, hoping, rallying those he met,
While his people cried aloud their woes.

He armed and trained the common man
Teaching them the fierce art of war
Enrolling any in his fighting band
Growing daily, more and more.

At last, supported by his country’s arms
The foes he vanquished on his land
But gave them friendship, even farms.
Till Vikings joined his fighting band.

As wise in peace as fierce in war
Alfred saw that his people’s skill
Needed learning, books and more
To help them thrive, hope to fulfil.

Alfred gave his folk great trust
Making them part of his own guard
So your own people, trust you must
Or forever cower in castle yard.

Arm them, teach them, set them free.
Send teachers, make right the wrong
Educate them, give them the stars to see
In the people’s love we’ll all be strong.

 

[CharleyH]

There is something about my trenchantly witty but unsubtly antimonarchic set of poems that is not clear? Perhaps I did not clarify with brilliant enough metaphor my opposition to (and ridicule of) primogeniture? The switch from sluggard formal verse to a deliberately plain and lazy vers libre was too obvious a trope? My reference and imitation of the early French troubadour tradition (especially Villon) was poorly executed?

Oh, my. Could it be that they were just bad poems, hastily written?

Ah, my dear Tess, I am stung. Not enough to stop dumping piffle on the unguarded threads of the PF&D, but stung, nevertheless.

Won't stop me, though. Blame Charley. I have a Pavlovian response to her challenge threads. I just drool on the page when she rings a bell.

Oh Jesus, must you blame me? lol

 

[CharleyH]

Fab new add, Green. I'm still 25,000 words away from my NaNoWriMo write, but the moment I meet it, I'll add my comments and my poems. (not commenting, yet... not ... commenting). PS to Ogg, nice... not commenting, trying not, not commenting.

 

[CharleyH]

Blame Charley.

This has a nice ring, though.

 

[oggbashan]

PS to Charley: I hoped that my contribution would inspire the real poets to think 'I must be able to do better than Og'.

 

[hmmnmm]

The Succession Question Considered
at Chalk Hill Farm, Hexham
The more Plebeian side, ahem.

Inheritance is something
even a goat breeder understands,
though for him it is how thick a coat
descends to each doe and buck,
how rich in milk
each nanny stands.

That the newborn Prince is feeble
is hardly his concern, so long
as the child’s spindly shanks can prod

invaders in the side, excepting
the farmer’s own butterfattened kids
from taking up blades.

What, after all, is better—to rule
an uneven kingdom where your own blood
may want your blood,
or to craft a perfect cheese?

I’ll take my love spread on cracker, please.

TZ, you make it look easy.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

To Hoi panu

My lords, my ladies, all herein, I beg forgiveness for my sin
I am but your nightly news here to spread some local views.
It does not pay the saying goes to dwell on past regrets and woes
So I am here with taut report in hopes I will not sell you short.

The area once known as Greece has lost once more its golden fleece
Their fiscal habits, always poor, allowed the wolf to breach the door.

The ‘quakes that plague our time these days have caused mayhem in many ways,
No structures left to crush and kill; our wattle and daub can do no ill,
But yesterday a chasms formed and left the county quite transformed,
It swallowed farms and homesteads whole leaving not a single soul
To tell the tale, record the date, one dreads to contemplate their fate.

But now in a much happier chord, the harvest this year’s safely stored.
The marijuana’s strong and sweet not to mention oats and wheat.
The huntsmen promise us good fare and we’ll have plenty game to spare
through winters cold and lonely days we have our falconers to praise.

Now we gather, as is the norm, our autumn crusade to perform
As trees grow bare and nights grow cold our tenuous future is foretold.


*cringe* Hoy palloy to follow

 

[Tzara]

TZ, you make it look easy.

Aw, shucks. Now I feel like my cowlick needs pasting down again.


At my age this is, of course, an increasingly theoretical cowlick, dammit.

 

[Tzara]

My lords, my ladies, all herein...

Very, very interesting poem, Tess. I love the form (iambic octameter with internal couplet rhymes! Zow!).

I found one reference that suggested "hoi panu" means "mainstream"--is that right?

Love this; it's very different. You're a peach.





Or have peaches and cream skin, or a peachy complexion, or (should I say it?), do I dare to eat a peach?

Yeah, yeah. Too far. Sorry.

Like the poem, though.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Very, very interesting poem, Tess. I love the form (iambic octameter with internal couplet rhymes! Zow!).

I found one reference that suggested "hoi panu" means "mainstream"--is that right?

Love this; it's very different. You're a peach.

Thank you - it was a bit like giving birth to a doubledecker bus.

I grew up believing hoi panu was the gentry and hoi palloy were the rest,,,, I could be wrong but that is what I WANT it to mean here.

Your 30 in 30 poems have been stellar BTW.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Hoi palloy

Commune Leader tells me yous yearn for
memberies of our far awaystand.
Some we can only be guessful at now
as we’d guess at the truth tallness
of unearthed remains or the shade
of long ago gone elephants’ skin.
So I will tell yous what my mind holds,
tales my elders told me as keepers for me
to member when yous ask. This night – Travel.

Not many legged it long but climbed in boxes,
cozy with soft seats and windows
and wheels like farm carts to go farbyland.
Houses had floors piled up and hidden heat,
no grate or hearth. Great numbers of houses
crammed side by side, roads rutless and few trees.
Also, to go farbyland, there were spresses
that ran, clicky-clack, with steel wheels on metal lines,
many, many folk could go farbyland ‘cause
the spress had long boxes with cozy seats
all drawn by a powerful thing named n’gen.
To go very faroff over the sea breaks that cleaved
the land then, folks climbed in tubulas with stiff bird arms
that didn’t flap, the magic of this is lost in the mists.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Commune Leader tells me yous yearn for
memberies of our far awaystand.
Some we can only be guessful at now
as we’d guess at the truth tallness
of unearthed remains or the shade
of long ago gone elephants’ skin.
So I will tell yous what my mind holds,
tales my elders told me as keepers for me
to member when yous ask. This night – Travel.

Not many legged it long but climbed in boxes,
cozy with soft seats and windows
and wheels like farm carts to go farbyland.
Houses had floors piled up and hidden heat,
no grate or hearth. Great numbers of houses
crammed side by side, roads rutless and few trees.
Also, to go farbyland, there were spresses
that ran, clicky-clack, with steel wheels on metal lines,
many, many folk could go farbyland ‘cause
the spress had long boxes with cozy seats
all drawn by a powerful thing named n’gen.
To go very faroff over the sea breaks that cleaved
the land then, folks climbed in tubulas with stiff bird arms
that didn’t flap, the magic of this is lost in the mists.

I like both, but really like this. The two go well together in form and language, but anytime a work can mimic common speech and still be recognized as a poem, as this one does, that's as good as it gets in my opinion.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

I like both, but really like this. The two go well together in form and language, but anytime a work can mimic common speech and still be recognized as a poem, as this one does, that's as good as it gets in my opinion.

Thank you, gm. It was an experiment, I wasn't sure about the results at all. Not my usual stuff, anyway.

 

[CharleyH]

PS to Charley: I hoped that my contribution would inspire the real poets to think 'I must be able to do better than Og'.

Everyone is a real poet, Og. Even you and me.

 

[CharleyH]

Commune Leader tells me yous yearn for
memberies of our far awaystand.
Some we can only be guessful at now
as we’d guess at the truth tallness
of unearthed remains or the shade
of long ago gone elephants’ skin.
So I will tell yous what my mind holds,
tales my elders told me as keepers for me
to member when yous ask. This night – Travel.

Not many legged it long but climbed in boxes,
cozy with soft seats and windows
and wheels like farm carts to go farbyland.
Houses had floors piled up and hidden heat,
no grate or hearth. Great numbers of houses
crammed side by side, roads rutless and few trees.
Also, to go farbyland, there were spresses
that ran, clicky-clack, with steel wheels on metal lines,
many, many folk could go farbyland ‘cause
the spress had long boxes with cozy seats
all drawn by a powerful thing named n’gen.
To go very faroff over the sea breaks that cleaved
the land then, folks climbed in tubulas with stiff bird arms
that didn’t flap, the magic of this is lost in the mists.

Jesus fucking Christ, between you and Tzara... You're both gunning for a GUNFIGHT! ;D

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

I'm no good in the quick-draw - get my legs shot off before I can grab mah gun.

 

[CharleyH]

PS I love you.


All!

Gunfight?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Sorryyyyyyy I've been in Tenerife but will start restirring muse juices again