Laureate Archive

An archive of winners of the Laureate competitions of Trimaris.

To submit your work for inclusion in this archive please send an email containing your SCA name, date of laureate win, laureate category and a copy of your work to <melessee@gmail.com>. Original song lyrics and poems as well as period items performed in Troubador Laureate are welcome. Videos and sound files may also be possible to accommodate.  

Vengeance

posted Dec 10, 2013, 10:31 AM by Kristen Gilpin

Author: Madame Melissent Jaquelinne la Chanteresse
Poet Laureate 2013 MMM

They brought my brother home on his shield,
Mother screamed and father wept.
I sat by him and took his hand,
It was pale and cold in death.

They told us who had taken his life –
A knight named Ronan with wild eyes.
My rage burned hot and my soul was fierce
He would regret my brother’s demise.

You’ve killed my brother, you made my mother
Take her life of unending pain.
I will avenge them; you’ll die at my hand,
Blood falling like Christmastide rain.

For leaving my father so alone.

My father said I could not go
Because I was his only daughter.
I vowed I would avenge these deaths,
So I cut my hair, donned his armor.

I took his sword, it was heavy to me
But I knew my cause was true and just
I would face the wild-eyed Ronan,
And strike him down as I swore I must.

I came upon him on the field of battle
Slaying our men both left and right.
He wore no helm, his face was gleeful,
So I ran towards him and joined the fight.

Men slashed at me and I dodged them
Small, I could run through them all
I came upon the warrior Ronan
It was time for this murderer to fall.

He then gave me a mocking bow;
I swung at him with all my might.
His cruel laughter rang in my ears
This time, I felt my keen sword bite

His eyes went savage and he swung again
His blow struck me upon my shoulder,
I tried to kill him, but he was stronger
And ensured I would grow no older.

I fell.

As the light left my eyes dimming
And the rush of blood coursed through my ears,
All I could think on was the man I left
To live out his sad, lonely years.

Father, I am so sorry to leave you alone.

Alone

posted Mar 28, 2013, 12:22 PM by Kristen Gilpin

Troubadour Laureate 08/01/2012


Title: Alone


Author: Aedan O'Diomasaigh

 

do i hear your song upon the wind

do you sit in a tower dark and dim

longing for you love to finally see

open the gates let it be me

 

do not hide behind walls of stone

do not cry all alone

come to me heed my call

in my arms you'll never fall

 

you sit in your tower ever so high

I cannot climb no matter how I try

Lower your hair let me in

let the love story now begin

 

what is it I have to do

in your song give me a clue

slay a dragon or charm a snake

what is it my case would make

 

gaze out the window you sit and sigh

look down look down here am I 

a pauper a poet a man I stand

I've placed my heart in your hand

 

you lift your voice to sing a song

you don't hear but i sing along

a far you look for your love to see

but i'm right here please look at me

 

Spirit of the Dream

posted Mar 28, 2013, 12:19 PM by Kristen Gilpin

Troubadour Laureate 09/03/11

Title: Spirit of the Dream

Author: Aedán O'Diomasaigh


I have made many friends and wonders beheld
I have found a family in Oldenfeld
met some Laurels, Pelicans and some brave Knights
been treated to the troubadours by firelight

Trimaris, Trimaris, There’s no place quite like this

I have learned to dance and sing and verse to write
seen lords helping ladies what a beautiful site
people teaching younglings tirelessly it seems
what a beautiful thing we call the dream

Trimaris, Trimaris, There’s no place quite like this

Nobles doing battle, they fight with grit and steel
at night in the feast hall they share a great meal
the children serve the feast for me and you
thank them often and give them their due

Trimaris, Trimaris, There’s no place quite like this

I have learned so many things with more to come
I'll teach what I know till my days are done
all of you my friends in my heart I'll keep
the thing about our dream is I need not sleep

Trimaris, Trimaris, There’s no place quite like this

When my life is over and my spirit is gone
bury me with sword and shield at the break of dawn
and when the sun shines down and my armor does gleam
all around will know I still live the dream

Oldenfeld, Oldenefeld no better place have I beheld

When the sun shines down and my armor does gleam
all around will know I still live the dream.


Death of a Poet

posted Mar 28, 2013, 12:17 PM by Kristen Gilpin

Poet laureate 11/12/2009

Title: Death of a Poet

Author: Aedán O'Diomasaigh


Dedication: written for and dedicated to all the brave women i have had the honor to fight with and against on the field.

As a poet for deeds i travel far
upon tales of a squire bold
I traveled night and day by sun and star
for something bid my this tale be told

as luck would have it when i arrived
inspiration fought high on a hill of green
the victor the victor the one still alive
the beginning of a song i did glean

My moment shattered by sight next seen
tired helmet fell to a field of grass
i stood entrapped by the scene
for the squire so bold was a beautiful lass

a new song did well within my heart
and the words as if by muse herself came forth
begging from her let me never be apart
moved by song she felt my worth

for months i lounged in her strong hands
tracing scars that graced her fair skin
content next to a muse i laid my plans
that would make hearts sing from deep within

but war tore apart my moment of peace
knights and lords did give commands
and on the march did our dalliance cease
but i served as well with lute in hand

as a poet i watch the deeds from afar
but only one would catch mine eye
death, grace, beauty is what you are
then for the worse the battle went awry

tired helmet crashed to a field of grass
I stood entrapped by the scene
some hellish knight laid low my angel lass
my heart shattered by sight last seen

no new songs can come from this broken heart
my angel lass laid low by others plans
I walk as the dead a man with no heart
for my soul lounges in her strong hands

So Far from Home

posted Mar 28, 2013, 12:14 PM by Kristen Gilpin   [ updated Mar 28, 2013, 12:15 PM ]

Poet laureate 05/24/2008

Title: So Far From Home

Author:  Don Aedan O'Diomasaigh




Irish lad borne in a river towne
Dreamed of sailing towards the west
When the barge for limerick comes round
I be on it he would jest

In limerick towne he dranke and sang
Soone his purse dry to the bone
With no liquir he felt a pang
Why am I so farre from home

Sailers offer drinkes in their sea slang
Drink much as your will allow
Woken to a shot nay a bang
ah! Boy in the navie now

The Watry sea did become me bride
fight with hanger I was shewne
Fought for money or tooke a bribe
What to doe so farre from home

Tooke up with a ship from trimaris
Flew a triskel blew and white
Met up with a lass most fairest
It twas an great delight

But king and sea did call me away
Yeares apart the sea I roam
Absence made her heart goe astray
What I'd give to be backe home

For king and queene we protect the shoare
Fight and sing and drank our fill
if the casks goes dry steal some more
Heave to and you know the drill

Warres are ore and me job twas dun
I liv'd on the suds and foam
And of children I have a sonne
And sometimes I dreame of home

Winters chill is upon this old man
As I set sail one last time
To see greene grass where once I ran
Quick ere the death bell doth chime


Death did come whilst I voyaged at sea

Plac'd me in my family tombe

Buried now a mistake it be

Here in Ireland so far from home


The king says the world is round

posted Mar 28, 2013, 12:12 PM by Kristen Gilpin

Troubadour Laureate 09/01/07

Title: The king says the world is round

Author: Aedan O’Diomasaigh


Well the King he says the world is round
So to pillage and plunder we go west
Warn the Pope for Italy we’re bound
We’ll steal his money and burn the rest

We sailed west till a song we heard
A siren cried for a child of her own
She’s dangerous don’t you get too near
So overboard our cabin boy was thrown

Well the sun was high and the wind was true
We drink and sing on our westward run
Heading ever west towards a shoe
God help us if we run out of rum

Roar bellow for food it had come
The waves crashed and the see it did spew
We ran to and fro as if struck dumb
Cried as one when the kraken we viewed

She was dreadful she was big and loud
But the boson yelled I can handle this
I’ll save us all he bellowed he vowed
It ate him and sank with bliss

West and west in to a clear blue sky
Captain says land we’ll see soon
If much longer I’m sure we’ll all die
But not before he hangs from the boom

The sky turned dark and the wind did howl
Poseidon saw fit to send a storm
We rocked and rolled our bellies turned fowl
The sails came down all tattered and torn

Well priest did not back down from that storm
Instead he cried I believe not in you
What I saw next was the most gruesome
Lightning flashed and blew that man in two

The sky is calm we can barley move
In my heart of heart I see our doom
I brought it up and the crew approve
Captain looks good hanging from the boom

Well this great crew seems have all caught sick
It wasn’t the food or drink or brew
I blame the pink rats I’ve seen on the ship
Can’t believe what they’ve done to the crew

Well the doc she tried to save em all
I think she did her job fine and swell
But a rogue wave took her overboard
And then she was eaten by a whale

Too far afield I think we have roam
Blue and white Lions yellow and green
Visions of a land of Great big fun
Have come back to haunt me in my dreams

The edge of the world grows ever near
It’s over now I see it’s almost done
Ever west no matter how I steer
Cause of this crew I am the only one

Over the edge I give a great cheer
Italy was lost but heaven found
I wish I could have had one last beer
Seems the priest was right I’m heading down.

Departed Friends

posted Mar 28, 2013, 5:00 AM by Kristen Gilpin   [ updated Mar 28, 2013, 5:02 AM ]

Poet Laureate: Spring 2006

Title: Departed Friends

Author: Maebdh ni Siobhan


Death is one thing we cannot fight.
Lord or lady, serf or knight.
As life begins it’s doomed to end
Adieu to our departed friends.

Poet, husband, father, son.
Friend to many, foe to none.
He hunts now in the Summerlands.
We said goodbye to one fine man.

Our little songbird passed to soon.
No more we’ll hear her crystal tune.
In Heaven’s choir she takes her place.
We’re left with memories of her face

A soldier, brave and true and strong,
But soldier’s lives are seldom long.
As one more to Vallhalla wends
We cry farewell to fallen friends.

Your faithful steed, your hound so true
Wait at the rainbow bridge for you.
Each life must end in it’s own time
And we, in mourning, left behind.

Death is one thing we cannot fight!
But ere we face that final night
We each can laugh, and love, and give,
And brightly shine while yet we live.

2006, for Scout, and others

Prayer for Rain

posted Mar 27, 2013, 4:02 PM by Kristen Gilpin

Troubador Laureate: Martinmass Moot 2003

Title: Prayer for Rain

Author: Lord Dmitri Skomorochov
MKA: Michael Blascoe


Long ago in days gone by, men would work the land,
They'd harvest and they'd sow the earth, all with a gentle hand,
To nourish all the plants and trees, and wet the dusty plain,
Every night, they said a prayer for rain,

Chorus
Roll of thunder, hear my cry, lightning heed my call,
Bring about, oh awesome wind, the greatest storm of all,
Cleanse this land of all the hate, cleanse it of the pain,
Bring to us the peace we need in rain,

The burning sun will dry the tired earth of all it's life,
A single ray of light can pierce the field just like a knife,
Golden sunlight gives us life, it also gives us pain,
So every night, we say a prayer for rain,

Chorus

Fires ravage through our fields, destroying peace and rest,
The blaze can burn away our homes and make us lose our best,
When the flames have done their worst, we say a prayer again,
We say a prayer to bring to us the rain,

Chorus
...Bring to us the peace we need in rain...

The Poet's Lament

posted Mar 27, 2013, 3:56 PM by Kristen Gilpin   [ updated Mar 27, 2013, 3:58 PM ]

Poet Laureate: TMT 2007

Title: The Poet's Lament

Author: Lord Dmitri Skomorochov
MKA: Michael Blascoe


I've writ many poems, and sung a few songs,
All for the sake of this craft that I love,
Each word that I write is another step forward,
Until I've writ everything I can think of,
But I don't sing the songs to be counted the best,
And I don't recite poems to win with my word,
I only perform them to finish the circle,
And do all I can to help make my words heard,
I'm a writer by choice, a performer by need,
To share what I've done with the people around,
If I could, I'd write songs and never perform them,
But nobody else would know how they should sound,
I'm just a man who loves dreaming and writing,
And just a performer to share what I write,
If you like my words, who cares how I tell them,
Tis only by sharing that words can be right,
But if words are my gift, then I happily give them,
And you can decide if they're worth what you've paid,
However you judge me won't stop me from writing,
My words will continue, though the music will fade.

Se Bordweall Wille Astigeð Agen

posted Mar 27, 2013, 3:36 PM by Kristen Gilpin   [ updated Mar 27, 2013, 3:44 PM ]

Poet Laureate, October 9, 2004

Title: Se Bordweall Wille Astigeð Agen

MKA:  Richard Lobinske

 Se bordweall
fram ða land
Seo hearte of ðis folc
und na se leodhata
Ure worda forseon
Huntað swa se heort
Gereord of heora
spring swa unhælu
Tima mynie naht
swa Knut und suna
His boc na rimmaþ
Utan ealdor geanwyrde
From dægas of istoria
to Alfred astigen
und ða unræd
Niehst ða fyll of
Denelagu se gemynd
Norþmandisc licettanas
þis folc hyldu to
Seo igland wille

 wille astigeð agen
se bastard hæfde stalode.
se soþ cynnig gesið
to haebhe.
swa na clæne, werhð
in ða weald.
elreord und biter
on heora tunge.
we hæfden gearas geðyld
geasced beforan.
seo soð of ða land.
næfre weorð.
Hengist und Horsa
fram Guthrim forspillan,
gegiefen Æðelred.
Harold Godwinson.
Haardrada geasced.
na cunnan maceþ na treow
land und cynnig.
wuneð, Angleland


The shieldwall will arise again
from the lands the bastard has stolen.
The heart of the folk is the true king’s companion
and never the tyrants to own.
Our words are treated as unclean, cursed
hunted as a hart in the forest.
Speech of theirs, strange and painful
spread as disease on their tongues.
Time means naught, we have patience for years
as Knut and sons learned before.
His book reckons not the truth of the land.
Outside lords are noted, never honored.
From days of legend, Hengist and Horsa,
to Alfred rising from Guthrim’s spoils
and the evil counsels given Æthelred.
Lastly, the fall of Harold Godwinson
Danelaw is a memory, Haardrada learned.
Norman pretenders cannot make untrue
the folks loyalty to land and king.
The island will remain, Angleland

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