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Okay @Daeus, @hope, @anyone-else-who-liked this, I’ve been working over it, and I think I’ve got it finished. I want to publish it with KP, but I want to know what you guys think of it first. Without further ado, here it is in it’s entirety.
And just because, here’s the link to the music I was listening to when I wrote the last verse. I think it fits very well… 😉 😀
Son of a Warrior
The weary warrior in the night, riding true and fast and far,
with love of land and love of king to guide him, and a star,
with heart of stone and firm resolve and visage set and brave,
spurs his steed through shadows grim, his precious land to save.
Tonight he rides for sword and blood, for fire and for war,
But tomorrow-eve he will return, where shadows lurk no more.
For though tonight he rides for war, with heartbeat fierce and wild,
tomorrow-eve he rides for home, and wife, and land, and child.
Where hope is strong and life is sweet, and war is but a word,
and memories and children’s feet replace the spear and sword.
The children’s feet! Upon the turf they running come to meet him,
with joyful shout and twinkling eye his children kiss and greet him.
They know not what their father did, what horrors he endured,
so they could laugh and love and live with peace and joy assured.
The bow and shield, the pike and spear, the helmet and the armor,
he donned today that tomorrow-year his son might be a farmer;
to work the land and love the land as he would do, and more,
if king and land and sword and blood had not called him forth to war.Tomorrow-eve arrived and passed, and the weary warrior knew it,
but dared not shirk the warrior’s task, nor weep, nor swear, nor rue it.
The war he thought would end so soon dragged on for months and years,
but he never once forsook the field; forsook the toil or tears.
His head grew bent, his land lay waste, his lifelong friends forsook him,
the cruel winds of age and fate together racked and shook him.
But the child’s love and the child’s voice staid him and gave him rest,
and remembering still he fought with a will, that the child might live and be blessed.
No more wars, no more blood; the sword and the spear in the fire;
the land and the king and the people alive, and the country raised out of the mire.
The cities restored, the wheat in the fields, the fires of home kept burning;
for these things it was that the warrior fought; for these things his heart was yearning.But the war dragged on and the years flew by, and the warrior’s life was waning,
and the grey of the skies woke despair in his eyes; and the low clouds harshly raining.
His sword was bent and his shield was gone; shattered and chipped and broken,
and the life he had lived, and the shadows he saw, terror and grief had awoken.
For what was life? And what was love? And why was war so anguished?
If life and love could not conquer war, then life and love had languished,
for the strength of them both had carried him through, and the pain had seemed far less
than the child’s life and the child’s love, and the boy he had striven to bless.
And the warrior’s day came, as it always must, that life from him was taken,
and he lay on the trampled, bloodstained turf, wounded and hurt and shaken.
And the din of the battle and clash of the swords fell harshly upon his ears,
but he did not move and he did not speak, as the deaf beggar no one hears.
The king in whose service the warrior had fought caught sight of him lying there,
but with careless eyes and a thought full of lies he passed him by in the mere.
For the battle was thick and the armies wild, and the king had not time for the faithful.
But another was there, with the rain in his hair, who knew what it was to be grateful.The shattered shield and battered sword were tossed aside and forsaken,
while anxious young eyes and quick-flying feet over the field were taken.
The blood-covered hands and the nimble young fingers did away with the warrior’s shield,
and the sword and the spear and the breastplate of iron were cast away from the field.
The warrior was cradled in strong, tender arms while the battle raged all about,
and raising his eyes to the raining grey skies he saw, and he knew, beyond doubt.
The man in whose arms his wounded head lay was young, and joyous, and strong,
and the light in his eyes and the light of his face shone free of the wicked or wrong.
The younger man smiled, and clasping his hand, bent down and spoke to him low.
‘You fought for my sake and the love of my life— now leave it, and let yourself go.
The torch and the brand too long you have carried; too long you have fought here for me.
Now go and be blessed, and permit yourself rest, and be happy, and joyous, and free.
All that you wished me to keep I forsook— the farm, and the home, and the land,
and I came here for you, to fight by your side, and to lend you my young, stronger hand.
Your battle is finished— now I must fight, and gladly I take up the sword,
for you fought for me, and you died for me; you were my shield and ward.
And when you are gone, and my strength is waning, I will think back to this day and recall
all that you did, and all that you said, and all that you gave to me— all.
When I lie in the turf as you lie here now, and look back on all I could give,
I will wonder and hope that my life and my deeds with yours may be counted, and live.
For to live, you must die, if you wish it in full, and in love you may face things alone,
for love is not love if it cannot face death, and know that its life here is done.
To love is to joy in the anguish of giving; to revel in heartbreak and tears,
if you know that your love and the life you are living are saving your children from fears.
For the children we fight, as our fathers fought, and for their children our children will stand,
so that they can stand up, and be bold and be strong, and live in a free, blessed land.
Dear Father, weep not that you leave, weep not that your task is not done.
For the only task that you ever had was to guard me and guide me, your son.
And then step aside, with joy and with pride, and watch the love that you gave
stand up, and stand tall, with the best of them all, and be strong and be stern and be brave.
For I am your love, and I am your son, and I will never forget
what you did for me, fought for me, lost for me still, and the anguish and heartache you met.’So the warrior died, with his hand in his son’s, while the battle still raged in the rain,
and laying him down with gentle young hands, the son rose to his feet once again.
His father’s sword and battered shield were lying near in the grime,
and casting away his own mantle of grey, he took up those weapons of time.
His hand on the hilt of his father’s old sword, his arm looping through the old shield,
and turning at last from the night and the past, he charged with a shout to the field.
There he would fight, till that battle was won, and on he would march with his brand,
till his family and home and his king and his son should live in a free, blessed land.
A task for the young, a task for the strong, a task to outlast every man,
but a task whose completion, the righting of wrong, marches on as a father’s command.
A torch for the captive, a beacon of hope, though hopeless and lifeless for some,
for from father to son and from aged to young the glorious burden will come.
A charge for the brave, a hope for the weak, a brand to thrust out in the night,
that the darkness may flee and the light may shine forth and the wrongs of the people may right.
The light may not shine on the first to the fight, nor glory come in an hour,
but the warrior’s fight is for love of his home, and in failure true love does not cower.
Some die in this fight in the darkness of night, some flee when the dawn does not come.
but the warrior who loves does not shrink from this war, nor falter who fight for their home.@spradlin, @hislittlerose, @jadamae… you guys are all poets. What do you think?
First of all, let me just repeat that this is a great poem – not to mention long, which I is something I can never manage.
Also first of all, make sure all your lines have a capital first letter.
Now for the many other first of alls:
but he never once forsook the field; forsook the toil or tears.
Replace “toil” with a one syllable word.
the cruel winds of age and fate together racked and shook him.
Take out “cruel” and add another “and …”
But the child’s love and the child’s voice staid him and gave him rest,
Add “with” between “staid” and “him”
The warrior was cradled in strong, tender arms while the battle raged all about,
Not sure if the first comma should be there, but not an expert on it. Also, would change ending to, “while the battle was raging about”
and raising his eyes to the raining grey skies he saw, and he knew, beyond doubt.
I think only one comma after “skies”
and I came here for you, to fight by your side, and to lend you my young, stronger hand.
take out the “I”
For the only task that you ever had was to guard me and guide me, your son.
I would change to, “task that ever you had”
stand up, and stand tall, with the best of them all, and be strong and be stern and be brave.
Change “stern” to “gentle”
and laying him down with gentle young hands, the son rose to his feet once again.
Would change to, “the son rose to the battle again”
His father’s sword and battered shield were lying near in the grime,
I thought the warrior had lost his shield.
There he would fight, till that battle was won, and on he would march with his brand,
“on he would march with his brand” doesn’t sound right.
but a task whose completion, the righting of wrong, marches on as a father’s command.
Change “marches” to “lives”
for from father to son and from aged to young the glorious burden will come.
delete first word
A charge for the brave, a hope for the weak, a brand to thrust out in the night,
change “thrust out” to “hold”
that the darkness may flee and the light may shine forth and the wrongs of the people may right.
Change “may” to “be”
The light may not shine on the first to the fight, nor glory come in an hour,
change “come” to “be won”
Last of all, I would just get rid of the last two lines. They’re fine, but I think it makes it drag on too long.
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Wow, @kate-flournoy! I don’t normally like poetry that much, but believe me, you have a masterpiece here. 😉 I really enjoyed reading it!
Daeus got mostly everything. But I would change this,
The children’s feet! Upon the turf they running come to meet him,
To this:
The children’s feet! Upon the turf they’re running up to meet him,
or,
The children’s feet! Upon the turf they come, running to meet him,
I’m guessing that was just a typing mistake but I thought I’d point it out to you.
You did an amazing job with this poem, Kate! Seriously. 😀 Reading this might have just turned me into a poetry lover. 😛 😉 *stares off into space* Yes. I think I just might have to give poetry writing a go one of these days…First off, kudos for writing such a long poem! I am a huge fan of long poems. It’s also an accomplishment.
Thoughts: The lines are kind of long, so it’s hard for me to get everything out of each line. I’d also say try and break it up a little more stanza wise. I think the biggest thing you have to conquer in long poems is making them seem less daunting and flow the whole way through. 🙂 I love the message and words of the poem, though! Once you nail the flow and whatnot, this is gonna be a slam-dunk of a poem. 😀
"When enemies attack your kingdom you don't flee you show them why it's your kingdom. With your lightsaber."
Couple questions, Daeus… ‘toil’ is a one syllable word. ???
Also, I’m not quite sure what you meant about replacing ‘cruel’ with ‘and’… I can’t seem to grasp what specific changes you were getting at.
And… oh yeah. Oops. He did lose his shield, didn’t he? *gulp* Man, that’s embarrassing. 😛
All your other changes I did get, though, and thanks so much for pointing them out. I’ll definitely look into all of them.
You can’t do long poems? I seem to have the opposite problem. 😛 I have so much to say, and there are so many different ways to say it… I’ve written poems that dragged on for ten or more long, complex stanzas! 😀And Faith, wow, I ‘planted the sacred seed’! *ecstatic squeal* That’s awesome! Poetry really is so… so… stimulating, both writing and reading it. Try it. Really do.
The world can always use another poet. 😉We were posting at the same time @spradlin! 😀
Thanks for the pointers— I can see how that would be a problem, definitely. Would it work, do you think, to cut each line in half, where most of them have a slant rhyme with the middle of the prior line?
@kate-flournoy Great minds post at the same time? xD It still rhymes. 😀
Probably! Give it a go and then read it out loud. If it flows out loud, usually it flows in the brain. Your family may judge you a little, but it works. xD
"When enemies attack your kingdom you don't flee you show them why it's your kingdom. With your lightsaber."
@kate-flournoy Is toil a one syllable word? Well then, I suppose I meant use a softer word.
What I meant by “replacing ‘cruel’ with ‘and’…” is basically, “The winds of age and fate and fill in the blank together racked and shook him.”
I think part of my problem with long poems is what my poems are about. They tend to be about objects, or thoughts, or single deep or picturesque scenes, or philosophical ideas. I don’t really write many story poems. I have only one long poem on America, but that is it. I’m toying with the idea of writing an epic though – someday.
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Ah— gotcha @Daeus. Thanks so much.
Yes, I know what you mean… it’s funny, but I’ve tried over and over and over to poeticize (like my made up word? 😛 ) about an object, but for some reason I can only do it about really deep thoughts. Concepts, if you will. Like with this one, I wanted to take the word ‘love’, which is so commonly misused (or used too lightly) and misapplied, and delve down deep into the heart of what it really means.
Simple thoughts, I find, often make for the most meaningful poems— it’s a pretty simple, easily grasped concept, but… well… you see how it works. 😀Great, @spradlin— how’s this? Oh boy, this is now going to be really long… 😛
Son of a Warrior
Kate FlournoyThe weary warrior in the night,
Riding true and fast and far,
With love of land and love of king
To guide him, and a star,
With heart of stone and firm resolve
And visage set and brave,
Spurs his steed through shadows grim,
His precious land to save.Tonight he rides for sword and blood,
For fire and for war,
But tomorrow-eve he will return,
Where shadows lurk no more.
For though tonight he rides for war,
With heartbeat fierce and wild,
Tomorrow-eve he rides for home,
And wife, and land, and child.Where hope is strong and life is sweet,
And war is but a word,
And memories and children’s feet
Replace the spear and sword.
The children’s feet! Upon the turf
They running come to meet him,
With joyful shout and twinkling eye
His children kiss and greet him.They know not what their father did,
What horrors he endured,
So they could laugh and love and live
With peace and joy assured.
The bow and shield, the pike and spear,
The helmet and the armor,
He donned today that tomorrow-year
His son might be a farmer;
To work the land and love the land
As he would do, and more,
If king and land and sword and blood
Had not called him forth to war.Tomorrow-eve arrived and passed,
And the weary warrior knew it,
But dared not shirk the warrior’s task,
Nor weep, nor swear, nor rue it.
The war he thought would end so soon
Dragged on for months and years,
But he never once forsook the field;
Forsook the toil or tears.His head grew bent, his land lay waste,
His lifelong friends forsook him,
The winds of time and age and fate
Together racked and shook him.
But the child’s love and the child’s voice
Staid him and gave him rest,
And remembering still he fought with a will,
That the child might live and be blessed.No more wars, no more blood;
The sword and the spear in the fire;
The land and the king and the people alive,
And the country raised out of the mire.
The cities restored, the wheat in the fields,
The fires of home kept burning;
For these things it was that the warrior fought;
For these things his heart was yearning.But the war dragged on and the years flew by,
And the warrior’s life was waning,
And the grey of the skies woke despair in his eyes;
And the low clouds harshly raining.
His sword was bent and his shield was shorn;
Shattered and chipped and broken,
And the life he had lived, and the shadows he saw,
Terror and grief had awoken.For what was life? And what was love?
And why was war so anguished?
If life and love could not conquer war,
Then life and love had languished,
For the strength of them both had carried him through,
And the pain had seemed far less
Than the child’s life and the child’s love,
And the boy he had striven to bless.And the warrior’s day came, as it always must,
That life from him was taken,
And he lay on the trampled, bloodstained turf,
Wounded and hurt and shaken.
And the din of the battle and clash of the swords
Fell harshly upon his ears,
But he did not move and he did not speak,
As the deaf beggar no one hears.The king in whose service the warrior had fought
Caught sight of him lying there,
But with careless eyes and a thought full of lies
He passed him by in the mere.
For the battle was thick and the armies wild,
And the king had not time for the faithful.
But another was there, with the rain in his hair,
Who knew what it was to be grateful.The shattered shield and battered sword
Were tossed aside and forsaken,
While anxious young eyes and quick-flying feet
Over the field were taken.
The blood-covered hands and the nimble young fingers
Did away with the warrior’s shield,
And the sword and the spear and the breastplate of iron
Were cast away from the field.The warrior was cradled in strong, tender arms
With the battle raging about,
And raising his eyes to the raining grey skies
He saw, and he knew, beyond doubt.
The man in whose arms his wounded head lay
Was young, and joyous, and strong,
And the light in his eyes and the light of his face
Shone free of the wicked or wrong.The younger man smiled, and clasping his hand,
Bent down and spoke to him low.
‘You fought for my sake and the love of my life—
Now leave it, and let yourself go.
The torch and the brand too long you have carried;
Too long you have fought here for me.
Now go and be blessed, and permit yourself rest,
And be happy, and joyous, and free.All that you wished me to keep I forsook—
The farm, and the home, and the land,
And came here for you, to fight by your side,
And lend you my young, stronger hand.
Your battle is finished— now I must fight,
And gladly I take up the sword,
For you fought for me, and you died for me;
You were my shield and ward.And when you are gone, and my strength is waning,
I will think back to this day and recall
All that you did, and all that you said,
And all that you gave to me— all.
When I lie in the turf as you lie here now,
And look back on all I could give,
I will wonder and hope that my life and my deeds
With yours may be counted, and live.For to live, you must die, if you wish it in full,
And in love you may face things alone,
For love is not love if it cannot face death,
And know that its life here is done.
To love is to joy in the anguish of giving;
To revel in heartbreak and tears,
If you know that your love and the life you are living
Are saving your children from fears.For the children we fight, as our fathers fought,
And for their children our children will stand,
So that they can stand up, and be bold and be strong,
And live in a free, blessed land.
Dear Father, weep not that you leave,
Weep not that your task is not done.
For the only task that you ever had
Was to guard me and guide me, your son.And then step aside, with joy and with pride,
And watch the love that you gave
Stand up, and stand tall, with the best of them all,
And be strong and be gentle and brave.
For I am your love, and I am your son,
And I will never forget
What you did for me, fought for me, lost for me still,
And the anguish and heartache you met.’So the warrior died, with his hand in his son’s,
While the battle still raged in the rain,
And laying him down with gentle young hands,
The son rose to the battle again.
His father’s sword and battered shield
Were lying near in the grime,
And casting away his own mantle of grey,
He took up those weapons of time.
His hand on the hilt of his father’s old sword,
His arm looping through the old shield,
And turning at last from the night and the past,
He charged with a shout to the field.There he would fight, till that battle was won,
And on he would march in the mire,
Till the war should be won and the freedom should come
To gather at peace round the fire.
A task for the young, a task for the strong,
A task to outlast every man,
But a task whose completion, the righting of wrong,
Lives on as a father’s command.A torch for the captive, a beacon of hope,
Though hopeless and lifeless for some,
For from father to son and from aged to young
The glorious burden will come.
A charge for the brave, a hope for the weak,
A brand to hold out in the night,
That the darkness may flee and the light may shine forth
And the wrongs of the people come right.The light may not shine on the first to the fight,
Nor glory be won in an hour,
But the warrior fights for the love of his home,
And in failure true love does not cower.(Optional line)
Some die in this fight in the darkness of night,
Some flee when the dawn does not come.
But the warrior who loves does not shrink from this war,
Nor falter who fight for their home.@kate-flounoy
?????
Does that mean I can’t love frozen raspberries? ?
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Hey, who says you can’t be willing to die for frozen raspberries @Daeus!?!? Why else do you think they say ‘to die for’?
😛
Yes! That helps a lot! This reads like a ballad that a bard would sing in a tavern. 😀 I love it!
"When enemies attack your kingdom you don't flee you show them why it's your kingdom. With your lightsaber."
Wonderful @spradlin!
Though I have a hard time imagining a bard singing something like this in a tavern… more like at a funeral. 😛
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