Original composition is not my forte. I'm far better at copying.
If I'm going to copy, I might as well copy from the Masters.
Below are a number of sonnets which have their basis on ones by Shakespeare.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's squash?|
Thou art more lovely and less yellow
And it, when whipped, makes a nutritious mash
And are thou more hearty? I say 'tis so!
Sometimes too strong the rind of his fruit smells
And often is his gold complexion spott'd
As every stall from time to time does sell
By chance, or nature's changing course slotted
By thy eternal shine shall not be lost
Nor lose possession of that beauty bestow'st
And none shall gossip that thy rind is soft
When in eternal beauty's patch thou grow'st
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see
'Tis thou, not squash, that give my life to me.
About the only piece I've been able to compose in-persona.
Seamus see's the world through special eyes.
Being your squire, what should I do but tend|
Upon the list and field of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend
Nor service to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the final fighting hour
Whilst I, my Knight, your enemies do off
Nor think the rattan bruise of rep'mand sour
When I have called your wrap shot light too oft,
Nor dare I question with my nervous thought
Which list you seek, or your allies propose
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save where you gap and how, with shield, to close,
So true a fool my oath of fealty
They sword's lesson I glad embrace for free.
A piece about the relationship between Knights and Squires.
Not my Knight! But what I've witnessed.
If there be no charge new, but that which is|
Blazoned before, how are your brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second label of a former child!
O, that laurel could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your arm'ry in some antique book,
Since precedence is lineage was done!
That I might see your first submission form
And gaze upon your uncommented wish;
Wherefore hundred herald's comments of scorn
Have bettered you or done disservice
But matters not what gold we would have found.
To Laurel's final judgement we are bound.
A piece about the bureaucracy of the Office of Heraldry.
No more be grieved at that hey say thee do:|
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both sun and moon
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Inventing thy trespass with their shortfall.
Neglecting that their honour is remiss
They blame instead your beauty's siren call.
A cliff wrecked ship presents a tragic sight
And there are those that curse the cruel cliff's bite
To me the rocks are blameless in this plight
The true cause is the pilot's oversight.
The hearts that break upon your radiant face
Should not blame you, it is their own disgrace.
A piece for a dear friend whom many (myself included) can't help but fall in
But she acts the lady at all times and does not encourage men in their
Yet she wrongly often receives their scorn when she spurns them.
No longer mourn for me when I am gone|
When bags are packed and all the camp is struck
When hugs fade cold and brown squares mar the lawn
Fire pit filled and thoughts turn to mundane stuff
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I live to far
In your happy thoughts I would be forgot
If thinking on me then would make you care
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When fireside chats are killed by long delay
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse
But let your mem'ry of our time decay.
For I can think of naught but our time gone
I'd wish this mis'ry not on anyone.
A piece about the pain of Drachenwald:
making dear friends at events and then leaving them to go far, far away.