Excerpts from the Damask Songbook, Week 3

[Damask the Minstrel]

All right, so I planned on making this a pseudo-post, since it's in character, but it doesn't really fit in the story, per se, so it's a bucket of worms (tasty worms, no less!). It's especially out of character if I get voted off, since, well, who can publish poetry from beyond the grave?

Basically, this is where I'll put up poems that Damask would compose/has mentally composed. An Easter Egg, so to speak, to enhance the story. Since, what's the good of playing a poet if you can't abuse it? ^.-

(And, before you begin, yes, they're all sappy and mushy. As the new sig points out, Damask is stupid in love. It happens.)

-----

Imagine ye a brackish world
A place of dark. Where beauty hide
In smell and sound. And not unfurls
A rosy dawn upon this endless night.

Oh if Dark Forest had a gate
For beast to see upon the land
It would be here. I beg, you Fates:
Do not abandon me beneath the sand.

And yet, without a pause of breath
I would myself give up, if for
My belle. For her I'd face my death
To keep her safe from Fates' eternal door.

-------

Our hero did below the ground
Encounter his amaz?d belle.
And yet, to him it soon was found
That she did not return his love as well.

But still our hero did persist
His suit to her -- this scorning dame.
Oh he did woo and did insist
That she -- to him do give of love -- the same.

Oh how his words did batter at her heart,
Affection that 'til now she'd never known.
And so, each moment that they were apart,
He absence did leave her alone.

But do not worry, reader fair,
Our hero did the damsel find
Before she was lost to dispair,
And she to him return?d love in kind.

--------

Oh, silver is a metal cool.
Though it does shine, it is not warm,
And not for it would this love's fool
Risk of himself or risk himself of harm.

The same for gold! Though it does shine
And gleam and sparkle like the sun,
I'd rather have a maiden kind,
Who could enflame my soul with eyes of dun.

The world itself could offered be to me:
The power over all, yet I prefer
More than a promised empty destiny
A moment here, alone with her.

For all the treasures in the ground
Are worth less than a single kiss,
And never have I ever found
A greater trasure than a love like this.

------

(Hope you enjoy! And, for the English majors: I wanted to putter about with the lyric ballad form, which is iambic, but has a syllable form of 8-6-8-6. It's too short for me. But iambic pentameter is too long, I feel, for work such as this, so... I decided to try a new, rigid format. 8-8-8-10 for verses 1,2, and 4, with a third verse of 10-10-10-8. Kind of like the movement of the third quatrain of a Shakespearean Sonnet, meant to give a dramatic feel to the poem. To the poetry-lovers: how do you like the Damaskian quatrain? ^.^)

[Jarrtail]

Wow, this is really good. You've certainly got a talent, Damask. Did you plan on doing something like this when you created your character?

[Damask the Minstrel]

Kind of. I wanted to incorporate poetry, of course. My only plan, originally, was to do a sonnet apiece for the ladies of the group. Then, instead of taking notes during a class, I started writing the second one you see, there, mostly just to play around with poetic forms. (Mind, this was after I had written the sonnet in my last post -- that was the first big piece of poetry I had done as Damask.) I liked it, so I thought, "Hey, why not make it a recurring theme?"

Well, both the sonnet and the piece of poetry at the start of my second post were received well, so I decided to stick with it. But, as I said, I don't know if I'd call it in-character enough for a post, so... it goes here. ^.^

[Cairn Destop]

Each day that passes 'neath the shifting sands --
Always moving down -- from heavenly light,
Still I within forgotten midnight lands
Amaz?d am by this seraphic sight!

Oh fear you, here, as if the land of sleep
Could lend its nightmare form to waking life.
Your tears have moved the very ground to weep
As if it echoes back your whimp'red strife.

Do not, your beauty seek to mar with frown.
Upon your visage let no worry stay.
And weep not, most adored, for this I vow:
I shall not from you ever go astray!

O you are dearest, love, so don't you fear:
Until my final days, I will be here.


Eliza Lacrimosa

Not what I'm use to as a definition for acrostic poetry, but it is a valid form.  I thought everyone should be let in on this poem's secret message as used in the story.

[Jarrtail]

Clever, both of you. Cairn, I can't believe you picked that out. Damask, I can't believe you hid that so well.

[Damask the Minstrel]

Well, I wasn't sure how soon I wanted to reveal it to the world at large, but Cairn's right, this is a good place for it. (The idea came from Poe's poem, "A Valentine" EDIT: And, in case you bothered counting, that's the first letter of the first line, second of the second, etc. Not just, you know, random letters -- and thanks Cairn, for the bold-case.  :P)

And, thanks. ^.^ (It made writing a sonnet -- normally challenging but fun -- into a nightmare of, "Wait... that fits the rhyme scheme, but where's the 'm'? Two letters off? All right... it works! Wait... that threw off the rhythm! Argh!" I'm glad it came out the way it did, though. As a sonnet, it's not top shelf, but I was willing to sacrifice that, 'cause... her name fits!)

And, for more English-nerd trivia, that's a Shakespearean sonnet, which is what I based my current poetic form off of.

[Sparrowhawk]

poor Damask. If only she had feathers, maybe he'd have a chance... :(

Can't comment much further besides that it has that nice antiquated, flower-ous feel which I love (complete with stress?d verbs, no less!). But yeah I know next to nothing about poetry, besides the standard Shakespearean sonnet structure and the basics of how iambic pentameter works. And, um, this. ;P

GOOD JOB MUCH KARMA FOR YOU

EDIT: cairn how did you figure that out so fast i am amazed :o

[Damask the Minstrel]

Hee! That's great (though stop giving me ideas! I almost decided to go with ancient Gaellic poetic forms, but they're evil. All consonant-based and not translating well and based off of syllable numbers).

And all the poems are supposed to have iambs, the unstressed-stressed feel. The "pretty" verses usually end with a phrase/sentence break. For the more "disturbing/dramatic" ones -- I've tried to use enjambment (where you end a line in the middle of a thought). 'Cause that's much cooler.

EDIT: Aww... it's okay. Damask doesn't really want "a chance". It's courtly love, 'member? Where two years of batting eyelashes in a sitting room gets you a minute of hand-holding.

EDIT 2: And the other big influence was a lai by Marie de France: Lanval.

[Cairn Destop]

EDIT: cairn how did you figure that out so fast i am amazed :o

I cheated. 


Remember at the beginning of RV-5 how I said I did not intend doing any reviewing because of the backlash I received?  Remember I did offer to give private reviews if the member asked?  Now you know who asked.  And I'll not say if Damask is the only contestant that did.

[Revel]

I asked...  :-[ Or does it have to be by PM?

[Damask the Minstrel]

See... I almost didn't want to tell them, Cairn. So they'd be like, "Wow! He has magic powers!" ^.^

[Jarrtail]

See... I almost didn't want to tell them, Cairn. So they'd be like, "Wow! He has magic powers!" ^.^

-wait, he doesn't?! Why hasn't anyone told me?!

[Cairn Destop]

And the price for such honesty?  How about a reduction in karma of three points. 


As to "magic powers," mine seems to involve a size ten shoe and a mouth two sizes smaller.   Hmmm ... wonder how you would say that using fingers and a computer keyboard?

[Opal]

Maybe three people made you a karma, but they eated it? :P

**gives Cairn a karma, because she isn't a meanyface**

[Damask the Minstrel]

Just one, this week, as personal obligations ate into free time. Here is my second sonnet for a female venturer. And, after reading it, you'll see why he'd never, ever actually say it aloud. (Inspired, part, by Shakespeare's Sonnet 130. ^.-)

My dearest comrade is a maiden fierce;
Her brow is scarred by many battle fought.
Through narrow, slitted eyes her gaze does pierce,
As if she could discern your ev'ry thought.

Her voice is low, it rasps upon the ear,
And it is nothing like the matin bell.
Yet saved is it, not wasted on a jeer
or mocking tone -- no, it is us?d well.

Her fur is tattered, mapped with life so mean.
'Tis pocked with scars and matted down with sweat,
And never have I seen it with a sheen,
Yet she's the greatest friend I've ever met.

Her loyalty is true until the end
And so to her my strength, and claw, I'll lend.

(For the dorky: a standard Shakespearean sonnet, this time. And yes, I know it's not the highest quality... it was written in a mere 15 minutes or so during a class.)

Still, hope you like it, Bells!