The Saracen's Head

Happy Airborne Day!

Today is National Airborne Day!

So here's an airborne poem:

 

The sun was sinking slowly down the hot Tunisian hills

When we lined up at the airfield on that broiling summer’s eve;

We were tense with great excitement, we were raring for the kill,

And the pride was stiff within us of the Airborne on our sleeve.

We were green but quite undaunted, we were eager for a spree,

Though ‘twas hell that we were nearing on the hills of Sicily.

 

We took off in the darkness, smoothly forming into flights

Two hundred mighty transports throbbed out bravely in the night

We lost our bragging voices and our joking lost its fun

We were praying, we were silent, as we readied for the run.

Sarge called “Ready”, we were ready, we lined up above the sea

And we wondered what was waiting on the hills of Sicily.

 

"Saint Anthony!" We put ourselves in God’s almighty power

We jumped although the wind was screaming thirty miles an hour

Around us searchlights glistened, shellfire burst apart the sky

But we tumbled from the heavens with the good old Injun cry.

Before us lay a battle, grim from sea to bloody sea,

But we showed ourselves true soldiers on the hills of Sicily.

 

We have won this little island, we have won her with our blood

We have fought her menfolk, dug our graves and foxholes in her mud.

We have loved her, and ‘twas for her weeping people that we fought,

We have wept upon her, cursed her for the sorrow she has brought.

We are leaving for Salerno and the crags of Italy,

But Sicily’s soil is sacred to our comrades’ memory.

For their canopy forever is her flawless azure sky

And above them, wailing, mourning, is her foreign sea-gulls’ cry,

And her sunny sea is lapping at their gravestones as they lie

Where they gave their lives for freedom on the hills of Sicily.

posted by Mary Rose

100 Years Ago Today

On April 6th, 1917, the United States Congress declared war on Germany, thus entering WWI, the "war to end all wars". President Woodrow Wilson, the peace-lover, asked for war. Congress stood up and cheered its enthusiasm. As Wilson later said,

"Isn't it strange that men should cheer for war,"

This is the thing we fight:

A cry of terror in the night;

A ship on work of mercy bent--

A carrier of the sick and maimed--

Beneath the cruel waters sent,

And those who did it, unashamed.

--Edgar A Guest, c. 1917-18

Thrilling

Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force:

You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you.

The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country, but he who stands it now deserves the love and thanks of men and women. Tyranny, like Hell, is not easily conquered...

Men cry, peace, peace! But there is no peace.

War is inevitable, and let it come!

Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others will take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

Now we are engaged in a great Civil War, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure...

This Would Be No Ordinary War, My Friends...You cannot make peace with the devil...

Do you want to lie here and get killed or get up and do something about it?

If I should die, think only this of me, that there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England...

There'll always be an England And England shall be free, If England means as much to you As England means to me...

Take up our quarrel with the foe, To you from failing hands we throw The torch. Be yours to hold it high...

The Banners of the King go forth!

I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty, and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full Victory!

 

 

compiled and edited by MRE 

It was meant to be inspiring for people who write novels in November.

(General D. Eisenhower, Thomas Paine, Patrick Henry, Abraham Lincoln, the War of the Vendee, officer on D-Day, Rupert Brooke, Hugh Charles, John McCrae)

Poetry Friday: Gooney-bird

At length did cross an albatross,

Thorough the fog it came;

As if it had been a Christian soul,

We hail'd it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit;

The helmsman steered us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;

The albatross did follow,

And every day, for food or play,

Came to the mariners' hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,

It perched for vespers nine;

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,

Glimmer'd the white moonshine.

-The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, S.T. Coleridge 

posted by L.

Up from the meadows rich with corn, clear in the cool September morn

(Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day... come with thy panoplied array)

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing,

the swords shining in the South-kingdom.

Steeds went striding to the Stoningland

as wind in the morning. War was kindled.

There Theoden fell, Thengling mighty,

to his golden halls and green pastures

in the Northern fields never returning,

high lord of the host. Harding and Guthlaf,

Dunhere and Deorwine, doughty Grimbold,

Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,

fought and fell there in a far country:

in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie

with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor.

Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,

nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales

ever, to Arnach, to his own country

returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,

Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters,

meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows.

Death in the morning and at day's ending

lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep

under grass in Gondor by the Great River.

Grey now as tears, gleaming silver,

red then it rolled, roaring water:

foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset;

as beacons mountains burned at evening;

red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

posted by L.

Poetry Friday

Alas, the change! she placed her foot upon a triple throne,

And on the scaffold now she stands - beside the block - alone!

- from Mary, Queen of Scots by Henry Glassford Bell 

posted by Lydia

Poetry Friday: Illuminated Manuscripts

 Today for Poetry Friday I am posting these illuminated manuscripts I made for various birthdays.

The first is Gandalf's song of Lorien, made for Lydia.

In Dwimordene, in Lorien

Seldom have walked the feet of men

Few mortal eyes have seen the light

That dwells there ever, long and bright

Galadriel! Galadriel!

Clear is the water of your well

White the star on your white hand

Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land

In Dwimordene, in Lorien

More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.

Lady Galadriel, her mirror, a silver ewer and golden leaves falling. The grass is strewn with elenor and nephredil, and in the sky shines the light of Earendil.

 

I pass the test. I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.

Next, a song of the Elves (from the Hobbit), for Kateri.

Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together! The wind's in the treetop, the wind's in the heather,

The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower, and bright are the windows of night in her tower.

Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together! Soft is the grass and let foot be like feather!

The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting, merry is May time and merry our meeting!

Sing we now softly, now dreams let us weave him, wind him in slumber and thier let us leave him!

The wanderer sleepeth, now soft be his pillow, lullaby, lullaby! Alder and Willow!

Two elf maidens with flowers and gems in their hair playing silver harps in the moonlight.

And last but not least... the Song of Beren and Luthien, for Una.

The leaves were long, the grass was green , the hemlock umbels tall and fair

And in the glade a light was seen, of stars in shadow shimmering.

Tinuviel was dancing there, to music of a pipe unseen,

And light of stars was in her hair, and in her raiment glimmering.

Then Beren came from mountains cold, and lost he wandered under leaves

And where the Elven river rolled he walked alone and sorrowing

He peered between the hemlock leaves, and saw in wonder flowers of gold

Upon her mantle and her sleeves and hair like shadow following.

Enchantment healed his weary feet that over hills were doomed to roam

And forth he hastened, strong and fleet and grasped and moonbeams glistening.

Through woven wood in Elvenhome she lightly fled on dancing feet

And left him lonely still to roam in the silent forest listening.

He heard there oft the flying sound of feet  as light as linden leaves

Or music welling underground in hidden hollows quavering.

Now withered lay the hemlock sheaves and one by one without a sound

Whispering fell the beechen leaves in wintry woodland wavering.

He sought her ever, wandering far where leaves of years were thickly strewn

By light of moon and ray of star in frosty heavens shivering.

Her mantle glinted in the moon as on a hilltop high and far

She danced and at her feet was strewn a mist of silver quavering.

 

And that is all. Goodbye!

Arwen Vanimelda, Namarie!

posted by Mary Rose

Poetry Friday: The Despicable Math Book

Here is a poem I wrote in an illegible scrawl in my Math notebook:

Despicable is Math to me

I look no more on it with glee

Despaired am I now

For I cannot think how

One half is divided by two or three.

Multiplication is Terror itself

I wish the old book would just stay on the shelf

Fractions are horrid

To add makes me bored

So I draw in the margin a Hobbit or Elf.

The horrid old Mathbook takes pride in its crimes

It evilly grins as you count out the dimes

It laughs with delight

When you stay up all night

And are forced to add up all the lemons and limes.

Down fell the book with a clatter and crash!

The girl threw it down with a deafening smash!

" You horrible villain! You terrible thing!

I shall box your ears till your ears they shall ring!"

Then she stamped the old book with a BAM and a BASH.

~~~

So, there you have it. 

It's really just a variant on Multiplication is vexation or Arithmetic is when numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head. Also: If you ask your Mother for one fried egg and she gives you two, and you eat them both, who is better at Math, you or your Mother? 

That day the math was so horrible that despair fell upon me and I hastily scribbled this poem instead.(Foresight had failed and there was no time for thought).

And if you would like another poem, how about this?

On we go and weary walk

Never halting, never stop

Dark the plains and black the sky

Which cannot be pierced with any eye.

On forever, we with haste

Hurry down the fields and waste

Cold the air that bites our hands

But on we go to cross this land.

On we trudge with weary feet

Until our destiny we meet

The moon and stars gleam cold and bright

And on we hasten through the night.

~~~

" Very lovely, my dear, but not altogether true. We won't go on Forever, I hope!"

That was Etheldreda's Walking Song; I just wrote it in my novel last night.

Well, I guess I'd better go do school now. Alas and alack! Sad things do happen. Goodbye!

" Farewell King Under the mountain and Fili and Kili!'

P.S. Make sure it is the real Strider, there are many queer men about. His real name is Aragorn.

posted by Mary Rose

Poetry Friday: Melloc Garelldore, the First King of Adnohr

In days when Dutchern ruled the lands

Of mountains and of lakeshore sands

He ruled the land both far and near

His courtiers had ne'er a fear

For Dalya grim was far away

And conquered in that happy day

So all was full of joy and peace

Save one good heart was in unease

That man was Melloc Garelldore

Who wished for battle and for war

He wished to hunt King Dutchern's deer

And longed for danger very near

At last the King called forth this man

And counseled how renown to gain

By going to the other land

Of grass and field and river sand

So Melloc and a small, brave band

Went o'er the mountains to a land

Of plain and hill and mountain tall

Far from King Dutchern's city wall

The men found wolves and creatures wild

Free roaming oe'r the plains in guile

They drove the wolves into a wood

Of mud and trees with ivy hood

They conquered evil dwarves which lay

Beneath the mountain night and day

The band of Melloc built a town

Beneath the very mountain down

And dwelt there with their wives and babes

Who'd come from Dutchern's mountain glades

They built a great huge city wall

With his great men both broad and tall

And built a castle out of stone

But the settler men had gained renown

From Dutchern's land came other men

Both bold and full of courage then

They brought their kinsfolk and their wives

Who wished to go elsewhere to thrive

The city filled and crowned as king

Sir Melloc with a gold crown ring

Their king wed sweet Marie the fair

So pale of face with golden hair

Their standard was the star and crest

Which still is worn on soldier breast

And so lived Melloc with his Queen

And ruled the land of Adnohr green.

 

So! That's the story of the first king of Adnohr and his queen. There are  two more poems to post next Friday, which are both in the NANOWRIMO story I'm writing. This poem is not in the NaNo story, it's going to go in the sequel to the NANO story.

Poems are handy in a NANO novel-if you need more words, you just make your characters sing a song or poem. And of course, I really like writing poetry about my story history.

Well, I guess that's all, though I could go on and on talking about history, like Gideon son of Melloc Garelldore and how he rescued the princess from the evil Dalyern king. Or if you don't like that, how about how Raen the fourteenth king to rule the mountain green set sail across the sea so deep and left behind his queen.... No, you don't get that poem today, maybe next time. Well, Goodbye-"Parting is such a sweet sorrow" began Mona, "Scram," Advised Rush, holding the door open.

Do you get that reference?

Posted by Mary Rose (Who else blathers about writing?)

PS You might get that reference if you read the book it came out of.

Beyond the mountains tall and grim...

 Beyond the mountains tall and grim

Where dwelt great Melearn as the king

From this land came Ethelwald through the gorse

To warn of foe on foot and horse

For fast and swift down valleys wide

Came dark Dalyerns like a tide

Against them Adnohr is no match

 So bar the door and draw the latch

Our king sent orders to his men -

"Prepare for battle in the glen!"

Warriors led their steeds from stall

 And peasants flocked to city wall

 So all was readied before dark

 But no one came before the lark

 Which flew at very break of day

So guards prepared to watch and stay

King Leonard stood upon the wall

His cloak flowed from his figure tall

He looked upon the open plain

And cried,” The foe is come again!"

Indeed, on field and meadow fair

The Dalyern host was truly there

The city rung with shouts of war

The windows shut and also door

Forth from the city came our host

With Leonard on his steed foremost

With standard of the star and crest

Embellished on each tunic breast

The Dalyerns quaked, turned pale with fear,

On seeing the terrible army there

And tho they had the more of men

King Leonard’s warriors where truly grim

For they were filled with anger strong

Against the warring Dalyern throng

They fought with strength against their foes

To drive them out with hard sword blows

And Melearn's army came to aid

And fought with might in battle glade

The Dalyern gen'ral trembled again

When he saw the terrible mountain men

Steel against steel clashed long that day

But the Dalyern host was pale and grey

At last, at last King Leonard won

Beneath the brilliant setting sun

The enemy fled from our green lands

Across the river and its sands

And so we feasted long and long

As the minstrel sang his glorious song

"O great the day when Leonard ruled the land of Adnohr green,

With the gracious Lady Laura as our happy queen

We conquered fierce Dalya that day, with aid of Melearn King

 They come no more upon our land, with all their soldiers grim."

~~~

This is a poem which I intend to stick into my story,"The Disloyal Ranger."

It's about a battle long ago in the land Adnohr, which is where the story is set. I made up Adnohr and Dalya and the Land Beyond the Mountains (tall and grim.) I'm planning to write a novel for NANOWRIMO which is also set in Adnohr and I want to write more epic poetry in it 'cause it's awful fun!

Also, this is a picture I drew on Sunday afternoon. It's of The Fellowship post-Moria (otherwise Gandalf would be in it too). Legolas is pointing to Lothlorien, I think. See if you can guess which hobbit is which!

Another picture for this post is of The Unexpected Party, by Kateri, age five:

"Hello, my name is Kateri. I was reading The Hobbit to Jonathan and I drew this picture. Dwalin and Balin are the first dwarves who came into Bilbo's home. Bilbo is drinking ale. He is standing by his steps inside his hobbit hole. You can see his green round door with a brightly polished knob. On the table there are a seedcake and ale and plates and forks. The one in orange is Dwalin and he has a black beard. The one in brown is Balin and he has a white beard. You can see their hoods hanging up. That's how you can tell who is who - the dark green hood belongs to Dwalin and the red hood belongs to Balin. Bilbo got a dark green hood from I think Dwalin."

Kateri is reading The Hobbit to Jonathan, they got to the trolls already!

Well folks, that's all for today now, I guess it's lunch time now...

Posted by Mary Rose

Poetry Friday

This is a poem I wrote last Tuesday - It is a true tale, and it's called The Noontime Hour :

My sisters and I go out for lunch,

on a picnic on the hill,

we've got our blanket and our food,

and the story I'm writing still.    

My sister brings her binoculars

and looks for birds or butterflies,

and when she finds an exciting one

she shows us the winged one in the skies.

We sit and eat our bread and cheese

and then our pieces of fruit,

the yellow wasps come thither too

and the red ants follow suit.

We really do not mind at all,

when bugs or insects come,

but we quite dislike the roaring trucks

that down the road oft hum.

So pleasant is the noontime hour

as we sit upon the hill,

and I should think we'll come again,

'til winter comes and all is still.

 

Posted by Mary Rose

A Long-Expected Blog Post

 

My dear Bagginses and Boffins, and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses, and Proudfoots, also my good Sackville-Baggins: Welcome to this blog!                                                           

We establish it this twenty-second day of September in honour of the birthdays of two well-known hobbits! (some perfunctory clapping by the elders; and some loud shouts of 'Frodo! Frodo! Jolly old Frodo!' from the juniors.)

We (the authors) are three sisters, and among other interests are fond of: Good Books, Drawing, Painting, Writing, Poetry, Music, Birds, Horses-going-Left, History, and Tolkien (loud cheers).

We name this blog 'The Saracen's Head' after the poem above (which you have hopefully read) by another famous author, from the book 'The Flying Inn' (This was unexpected and rather difficult. There was some scattered clapping...)  Any ways it, too, is a good book.

Well, we hope you will like this blog, and now of the first post this is The End. We are leaving now. Good-bye!