The Thousand Isles

by The Archet Bugle Tue Jul 16, 2013 2:45 pm

THE THOUSAND ISLES

1
The Two Queens

The Old Queen lay on cushioned bed,
With her Courtiers all around,
But sad anticipation also beset
A low cottage in the town,

For while the Old Queen gasped at breath,
Another took her last,
As her son, a mere lad of fifteen,
Held her hand; his face a mask.

It was on the Isle of Evan,
Two women were want to die,
The Courtiers held an empty gaze,
But a boy at last did cry,

And he was sad the more to show her,
His sadness deep and cold,
For Had his Mother not told him,
She was ready to release her soul?

“Be brave” - she fondly touched his brow -
“I am glad, and don’t you grieve,
Long I’ve been sick begotten,
I am tired and wish to leave,

But I will look keenly down upon you,
So be sure to be a Man -
Yes, sooner than I wished it,
But just so, you must stand;

I have confidence in you, Son,
You will be strong like your sire.”
Smiling, she caressed his cheek,
It was then that she expired.

So to weeping the young Man fell,
Alone in all existence,
His Mother gone, his Father gone,
And all their loving wisdom;

“How do I carry on,” he asked,
“When all I ever loved is gone,
I am but a stable boy
Barely knowing right from wrong?”

Up in her Palace in grandeur,
The Old Queen lay in state,
And the bells tolled in the town,
To tell everyone her fate,

But the boy when it came,
Resounding loud in every ear,
Cried all the more, for he thought,
They tolled for his Mother dear.

by Mrs Figg Wed Jul 17, 2013 10:33 pm

thats beautiful Sad

by azriel Wed Jul 17, 2013 10:47 pm

I read this yesterday but I didnt know if this was a lovely poem OR going to end up taking the pee ? It is thoughtful tho Nod

by **Orwell** Wed Jul 17, 2013 10:57 pm

I thought of trying an Fantasy adventure in rhyme. Not sure if it would get a readership in these Post Modernist times though. scratch

Sometimes I see things Old Anon writes which is quite good - also Wisey and his Channelings - and for all their rudeness, vulgarity and insidiousness. So I thought, why, I might give it a try too; though, of course, I would only write something respectable. Very Happy

An Epic poem? Boredomville? Shrugging

by azriel Wed Jul 17, 2013 10:59 pm

What do you expect ? this IS forumshire ! Razz

Was a nice poem ! why not try more ? Wink

by **Orwell** Wed Jul 17, 2013 11:01 pm

So boredomville it is! cheers

{{{This'll teach the silly sods! Very Happy

}}}

by Mrs Figg Wed Jul 17, 2013 11:05 pm

by Eldorion Wed Jul 17, 2013 11:36 pm

Not at all what I was expecting from the Bugle, but it's always nice to see some variety and I've got nothing against more serious works. Very impressive, Anon. Smile

Anon?

No it's me: Orwell. Very Happy

by **Orwell** Wed Jul 17, 2013 11:57 pm

Well, I see The Archet Bugle as catering for the more Respectable kind of person. You know, the type of people Former Citizens of Forumshire are, Eldo. You know, those folk who became Forumshire Refugees and created the Most Beautiful and Wise Realm of Little Forumshire. Unfortunately, the population is smaller there, so if I want readership, I need to lower my Little Forumshire standards and come hawking my wares here. Very Happy

by The Archet Bugle Thu Jul 18, 2013 1:07 am

2
The Princess

Princess Elena sat in solitude -
As her Aunt, the Queen, lay dying -
Looking out upon the coast,
Where waves were gently sighing,

Flooding up a pebbled beach,
With froth and seaweed mingling,
Her thought had wandered far beyond,
When bells were set to ringing.

Up with a start, she crossed the floor,
Her dress swirling at her feet,
She hurried from her chamber,
Down steep stairs inside the Keep.

Down and down, she hurried now,
To find the Chamberlain:
Old Olaf met her halfway up,
His face worn out and grained.

"Is it true?" Elena gasped,
In sadness and in dread.
"Aye," Old Olaf replied,
As he shook his ancient head.

"I Prayed this day would never come!"
Elena sighed, collapsed upon a step,
The cold old stone cold comfort,
Which she ignored in her distress.

"Oh Olaf, I am selfish,
But what will Fate deliver me?
I am her Heir, but just a girl,
And with no living Family?"

"You must not be sad," Olaf said,
"It befits not a Royal Lass,
Things won't be as terrible as you think,
Come, get up, you Foolish Ass."

Olaf was a pragmatic Man,
His soul and body scarred,
By Love and War and Tragedy,
In travels near and far.

He had seen many live and die,
The worst at home, indeed,
His own dear Wife in Childbirth,
In desperate pain and need...

"You must be strong, Elena,
For Childhood this day must end,
Come! We must move quickly for
on a safe Marriage all depends."

Elena knew of which he spoke,
But she'd kept it at arm's length,
At fifteen could she really marry?
It was a thought that sapped her strength.

"I am not ready, no! Please, no!
Can it wait a year or three?
Duke Hywell is so very ancient,
Can it be someone else, not he?"

"He is a Man of middle years,
No ancient wreck, foolish child,"
Old Olaf sternly chided her,
(Tho' he hid a half sad smile),

"He is strong - respected,
And neither violent nor unkind."
"But all I see is wrinkles -
And is one eye of his not blind!

'Oh Olaf, I will not marry him,
I'll have no Grandfather for my Groom;
I would rather throw myself,
From my window to my doom!"

"You were always a wild girl,
With your fancies strange and free...
Yet, like all Women you must accept,
The Chains of Destiny."

And Elena fell to weeping,
Her heart was sure to die,
For she knew she must marry
The Duke with his bad eye.

And, yes! He was good,
And, yes! He was kind,
But the thought of lying in his arms,
Just made her cry and cry.

by The Archet Bugle Thu Jul 18, 2013 3:40 am

3
The Stable Boy

No words can truly ever speak
Of a young Man’s harrowed heart,
The Boy himself could not explain,
He’d not know where to start,

And why the bother, it was enough,
To bear the brunt of pain,
Why add words to wordless grief,
What then would be the gain?

So with thoughtless agony he took
Pick and shovel to the yard,
And dug his Mother a deep grave,
In earth stubbornly hard;

He washed her body lovingly,
Wrapped her in her finest sheet,
With creaking muscles carried her,
Lay her down in final sleep.

Silently, he closed her in,
A wordless stone to mark,
The place where his Mother lay,
A plain old stone and stark.

With nothing else in mind to do,
The boy walked down his Lane,
To the Hostelry where he labored,
For an Ostler, Aethelfane.

As he walked he barely knew
Of townsfolk bustling past,
Up the Lane toward the Keep,
Nor did he think to ask,

Why they hurried so,
Their eyes so keen for news;
He was walking in a cloud of woe,
His mind could not break through.

At the Hostelry the Ostler stood,
At the open oaken door,
“Here he comes! Young Owen!
Is it three days, or is it more?

‘How goes it with your Mother dear?
Does she still cough in her bed?
Have you coddled her quite enough?
Dabbed at her sniffling head?”

Anger welled inside his chest,
“Forsake your ugly mirth!
My Mother has died of her ills,
She now lies beneath the earth.”

“That is sad, I do agree,”
Aethelfane replied, without a blink,
“But hear ye now, the Queen has died,
A far sadder tale, don’t you think?

‘For was she not our Greatest Queen,
A Regal Queen; beautiful and strong?
And not some lowly fisher-wife,
Whose life struggled all along?

‘Now, don’t be mad, I speak the truth,
Oh wipe your angry welling eyes,
Life is cruel, but life goes on,
And a Man, he never cries.

‘Is it to work that you’ve returned?
If so it need be done,
The horses have not been brushed,
Get to it – and at a run!”

And Aethelfane turned away,
And closed the door behind,
While Owen – the Stable Boy –
Walked off in shattered mind.

by The Archet Bugle Thu Jul 18, 2013 6:45 am

4
Duke Hywell

Olaf’s palm was tough as boots,
But gently held he Elena’s hand,
And reluctantly she went with him
Down through the town.

Time was pressing, Olaf knew,
He must act with great dispatch,
For Hywell had a fearsome rival,
By name, Angus the Black.

He was a Cousin of the Queen,
His seat on Angwyn Isle,
Barely one day’s sail away,
Not more than fifteen miles.

The Old Queen had been failing,
But she died quickly at the last,
Lord Angus was in his own town,
But word would reach him fast.

To gain the throne of Evan,
A Man must marry its Queen,
And Angus was a cunning Man,
A Man not adverse to scheme,

A cruel Man who given Rule,
Would Rule with Iron Fist,
And like his Realm he’d rule his Queen,
No chance she could resist.

So it was best Elena married,
The Wise and Gentle Duke,
Yes, best for this naive girl;
And for the Realm, it’s true.

Both the Princess and Olaf,
Had clad themselves in cloaks,
And no citizen knew them
As they bustled in the roads,

And anyway their thoughts
Were all on their fallen Queen,
As Elena and Olaf progressed,
They progressed by all unseen.

The Duke lived in a Grand Old House,
Down by the river port,
Set back from the sea coast,
Sheltered from all storms.

His Butler answered their knock,
And led them through the door,
To a room where many charts were strewn,
Over desk, table and floor,

The Duke, himself, was staring,
Through a window out to port,
A weathered chart was in his hands,
His face was deep in thought.

“Ah! Olaf! You have come,
I was to summons you! Good!
Ah! And who is this?
Kindly remove your hood.”

“It is the Princess, my Lord,
I thought it best we came.”
“Aye, we must move fast, I fear,
Or risk losing the game.”

“Aye, we must move quickly, Lord,
Shall I call on the Priests?
The House of Gods lies empty,
While the town confronts its grief.”

Elena stood silent in the room,
As the Duke looked at her,
He seemed so grey and old,
More than she had ever thought before.

How could she ever marry him?
How could she become his wife?
A better choice than Angus, true,
But still no kind of life,

Or not to her who had always dreamed,
Of Princes handsome - young!
And according to her fancy,
Always smiling in the sun.

This was not to be, she knew,
And though her heart, it cried,
She fought against her tears,
For her feelings she must hide.

Duke Hywell while watching her,
Asked in a kindly voice,
“Lass, would you wed me,
If ever you have the choice?”

“My Lord,” Elena said -
She knew she must comply -
“I know it must be as you please,
My Fate I can’t deny.”

A Woman just then entered,
Perhaps the Cook or Maid,
She came and took Elena’s cloak,
On a table it was laid.

“Would you wish for something, Ma’am?
Some food, or something else?
I’m sure we can meet any need,
You may desire of this house?”

“Maud, not now, if you will,”
Duke Hywell said to her,
“We have other things to worry on,
To which we must defer.

‘Now Elena, you have known me long,
And I will not draw things out,
For many years I’ve seen you
as if my niece and nothing else,

But great trouble is upon you,
And I would keep you far from harm,
But neither can I marry you,
Though the news may bring no calm.”

Olaf turned round in surprise,
“My Lord, this cannot be,
If you are not to marry her,
Then Angus it must be,

‘Why ever this change of heart?
It arrives as a bolt from blue!
I mean you no disrespect, Sir,
But has your courage failed you?”

“You must constrain your passions, Man,”
The Duke said in severe tone,
“There are reasons for my decision,
So please don’t carp or moan.

The truth is I cannot wed this child,
Because I cannot guarantee,
That I can Father children with her,
Can I put the truth more plainly?”

“My lord, I...” Olaf began,
His face become a question mark,
The Duke cut him off forthwith,
“Oh Olaf be quiet – and hark!

“I have a question for you,
You will know its answer, friend,
Have I not had two wives?
Do you remember them?”

“Of course I do, My Lord,
But why do you say the words?
One died by misfortune, the other
In illness as I’ve heard.”

“Aye. And neither bore children,
That is the point I make,
It seems, my friend, I am unable,
To help women bake that cake.”

“You may joke, but who’s to say
You don’t have the proper salt?
I mean no disrespect to your wives,
But was it not them who were at fault?”

“Ha! You see Maud here,
You know her as my Maid,
But she’s also my Companion
Who in my bed has often laid.”

“Often laid,” Maud spoke up,
And laughed without shame,
“Every night for many a year,
I have ever so lain.”

Olaf was a worldly Man,
(Though Elen was quite shocked),
“And so you have a Companion,
Why not, my Lord, you Cock?

Many Men have Companions,
At least, until they’re wed,
This surely makes no difference,
Strange thoughts enter your head.”

“Aha! But Maud has children -
I’m am a Father to her girls -
But never a child with me,
So what truth does that unfurl?

No, don’t answer, Olaf,
For the answer is quite plain,
My women were never barren,
It was I who was to blame,

And knowing this sad reality,
I can do nothing else,
For this Realm needs a Queen
Who can increase the Royal House.”

Olaf fell upon a chair,
Wildly scattering charts,
He looked so very pale then,
An Elena worried for his heart,

And her own heart took a queer turn,
Wedding the Duke had seemed a curse,
But plied in troth to Angus the Black?
Things had gone from bad to worse.

by Mrs Figg Thu Jul 18, 2013 2:42 pm

this is fabulous stuff Orwell cheers

by **Orwell** Thu Jul 18, 2013 10:44 pm

Thank you, Mrs Figg. Very Happy

I think I've reached a point in the story where I must be beware, as this has become a Project for me, and a consumer of time. I know myself, when I get to ths point in writing I always ask myself, do I go on? The style and story is pretty much set. More editing (and addings) will occur. Is it something that will continue to be read by others? I wonder, I do. scratch

by azriel Thu Jul 18, 2013 11:33 pm

I love this story telling verse ! It reminded me of "The Lady of Shalott" by Tennyson, or "Morte D'Arthur" also by Tennyson. Id read it if you carried on ? Ive got engrossed now !

by The Archet Bugle Thu Jul 18, 2013 11:58 pm

Thanks Azriel. Very Happy

I have been chipping away in spite of my uncertainty. I try not fight the urge to write - because contemplating ideas that one might write down sometime (with all it's attendant self-doubt) is rarely useful, while pressing on regardless at least gets something done! Very Happy

by The Archet Bugle Fri Jul 19, 2013 12:07 am

5
Owen

Owen was the kind of boy,
Who busy kept was at his best,
But as he groomed the horses
His mind it could not rest.

A dreadful numbness lay in his heart,
For the future now haunted him,
What would he do with no one?
No family - no kin?

Yes, he had his Father’s cottage,
Both a drab and mean affair,
An empty place, a Mother’s grave,
Now a silent place and bare.

He thought then of the Ostler,
The mean and cruel, Aethelfane,
Bitterly Owen thought on him,
As he brushed a horse’s mane.

“How can I stay here?”
But of the stable he was fond,
And he would miss the horses,
Where he'd struck a sturdy bond.

But Aethelfane! How could he stay
Under the rule of such a beast?
Owen fell to thinking of his Father,
A far better man, indeed.

Sadly he remembered now,
The day he came and saw,
His Father’s fishing boat,
Washed up on the Evan shore;

All twelve hands were never found,
And the cause was plainly spied,
Goblin arrows were lodged in prow and mast,
And blood where men had died,

The sail was slashed and torn,
Every net was ripped asunder,
The hold was empty of the catch,
The Goblins had got their plunder!

His Father's men were warriors all,
Who'd fought in the Goblin War,
Owen trusted they had fought
Bravely at the fall.

Owen had kept his Father’s boat,
He had repaired it for a day,
He dreamed of hiring a fishing crew,
To free himself from the Ostler’s pay,

But fisher crews were hard to find,
For a boat that was old and frail -
Owen knew it's every sad detail,
It’s every rotting board and rusty nail!

The boat, of course, still floated,
But how seaworthy, who knew?
Owen was sure of just one thing,
It would never hold a fishing crew.

“Why even think on it?” he asked,
Forlorn, he brushed the horse’s mane,
And for a time he knew he must
Remain with Aethelfane.

by azriel Fri Jul 19, 2013 12:10 am

Oh balls to that ! If you feel the urge to write then, write ! its best to get it down while its fresh in your head, its when its at its best ! you can always tweek it later ! If you let it slip away, when you come to try & remember it, you often find its not how you "heard" it in your head, Even if its one line only, write it down ! Very Happy

by Mrs Figg Fri Jul 19, 2013 12:11 am

loving this Orwell, its so romantic and sad. Razz

by azriel Fri Jul 19, 2013 12:13 am

BTW, this poem is going VERY well Nod

by leelee Fri Jul 19, 2013 12:26 am

That is so beautiful and well I cannot even express myself. My whole fam thinks so and they are critics of the highest order
Your name suits you and this wondrous stuff flows from you like a crystal clear water that has always been there, only the sun was not shining the way it should til someone cut back the foliage. I cannot not wait for more. Kissing

by **Orwell** Fri Jul 19, 2013 12:52 am

Thanks Leelee. Very Happy

With this kind of support, I may yet write an Incredibly Long Epic. Laughing

by **Orwell** Fri Jul 19, 2013 12:56 am

Mrs Figg wrote:loving this Orwell, its so romantic and sad.

I never know where this Romantic stuff comes from, Mrs Figg - me being such a Slam Bam Thank You Mam Sporty Jock kinda guy... Shrugging

And I don't mean 'kinda' as in 'kind' or 'thoughtful', because, as you know, I have a mind of utter steel! Nod

by The Archet Bugle Fri Jul 19, 2013 2:03 am

6
Olaf

The sun on the port was shining,
But in shadow sat a beaten Man:
Olaf sat among the charts,
His head hung in his hands.

For fifteen years he’d watched her grow,
He had been there for this child,
A passionate girl, and naive,
A headstrong girl, sometimes wild,

A thoughtful girl – too big with thoughts! –
A girl to make an Old Man smile,
A girl he thought of as a daughter,
Who should never be defiled.

A hand fell upon his shoulder,
A gentle hand but firm,
He saw it was the maid, Maud,
Her face was grim and stern,

“My Lord Chamberlain, I have heard
That you were once Captain of a Crew,
Who faced the Goblin Fleet by Angle Isle,
And like a Demon fought through,

You feared not Horak the Foul,
Whose jaw dripped with blood of men,
Admiral of the Goblin King,
His head from neck did rend.”

“And would you have me slay,
A Lord of Evan Realm?
That would be an act of treachery,
With consequences too profound,

It would throw the Realm into discord,
And why? Because of a girl?
Who has my heart in her grasp -
Because I adore her every curl?

What kind of fool would risk the Realm,
For sentiments so meek?”
“That sentiment,” Maud avowed,
“Is what all bold men should seek."

“You sound just like our High King,”
Olaf grimaced in pain.
“Do we call him the Poet King?
Don’t we all use that slanderous name?”

“Ha!” Hywell laughed just then,
So suddenly, all jumped.
“A gentle soul, our High King,
Methinks, a heart of gold.

‘What would his judgment be,
If Elena begged a boon?
Imagine this: ‘Oh High King,
I don’t wish to marry soon!

I am but a young Princess,
Not old enough to choose,
A proper Man to be a King,
And hand him Kingly rule!’”

“What whimsy! Are you mad?
What time is this for jokes?”
Maud smiled grimly,
“Do our words not yet provoke

Some sort of Plan to save this girl,
From a Fate thought worse than death?
Why not send her to the Poet King?
Let his Romance be addressed?”

Olaf looked at them in loss and hope,
“His heart is soft they say....”
“He is a Bard, a gentle heart,” says Maud,
“We must send her there and pray!”

“But will he listen? She’s just a girl?
A young girl not yet wise?”
“But would not the High King also hear,
Her Chamberlain’s advice?”

Olaf’s face took on color,
His eyes allowed a speck of light,
“I see, we would ask for time
For her to grow a little wise...”

"That's what we think," Maud enthused,
"Experience will build her thought -
And, wait! Is it true a Poet’s Soul
Is ever by beauty caught?”

Elena stood by the window,
Feeling lost in all the world,
She did not even hear Maud say,
“And is that not a pretty girl?”

by The Archet Bugle Fri Jul 19, 2013 3:02 am

7
The Butler

The Butler stood against the door,
His ear against the wood,
He listened with sharpened ears,
And picked up what he could.

When he heard his Duke speak,
Of marriage to the child,
His ears pricked up the more,
His face betrayed a smile.

“Ah! Lord Angus was right,
The Duke would be a king!
But alas! Lord Angus
Would never want such a thing!

So there’ll be poison before I allow
Such plans to come to be,
And in good time much gold
Will surely flow to me!

'But what's this? Things change around?
What? The marriage will not proceed?"
The Butler groaned within,
How would he slake his greed?

But even as he winced,
Another plan was put afloat!
What was that about the Poet King?
That old sentimental oaf?

The Butler listened all the closer...
"So they plan to seek the High Kings help!
Yet, Lord Angus has many ships!
Ha! Then must plan to leave in stealth!"

The Butler was a cunning man,
An evil man, indeed,
He often saw two steps ahead,
His thought much fed by greed.

“The Duke will need a sturdy vessel,
I must listen and so learn,
Of the secret boat he has in mind,
Alas! that all boats burn.”

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