Stag 3

      

Wander-Song

Through all the paths of Ieswind, and through the Deeping Wood,

Wanderer who wanders, ‘tis Green thy cloak and hood!

Your Song is light, as wind in the leaves,

As Sweet as the sound of the stream,

Your voice was Fair as Spring-passing Eve,

As the night where the fire-flies gleam!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Through all the coast of Ladh-Lüin, and up the Cliffs of Weven-Land,

Wanderer who Wanders, Thy Fiddle still in your hand!

Your bow is swift, and dances on

The strings like Maiden Fair!

Your Tune is light, while we are

Sad and worried down with care!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Through all the plains of Kyndillic, where Valkyries ride their steeds,

Still Merry-Joe thy tunes still are, still sweet thy pipes of reed!

The night is dark and soon we ride to rout the foes so fell!

But be tonight our final ride, we sing and bid thee well!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Brainstorming at 9:38 PM

Come, let us look from the mountain top and stare below us,

O look at the world!

Oh see how it passes!

Oh, see how it fades away and is forgotten!

Seahorse Steeds

The Knights are charging,

Silver Armor and Azure on the Shields,

Charging up, up, up the Sand, on Blue Seahorses,

Who gallop on the White, foamy tails of Waves,

In the high tide.

Do not stop, do not wait to rest,

Stop not for the Green Dragon kelp-weeds,

Stop not for the scarlet-backed crablings,

Stop only to hear the thunder and beauty of water,

And let your steed feel the golden sand under hoof and tail.

For your life is short,

And with the tide you return,

And then I will forget you.

Leaves in the Stream

The grass that was green is forgotten,

The earth yields no bounty nor fruit,

No more grow the cornfields a-golden,

Gone is the Farmer and his Flute.

Gone are the Men of our people,

Dead are our Kings who stood proud,

The gold-bells ring no more in the steeples,

What is left are ashes, and the mourning shroud!

The wolf that was dead is awakened,

The wall of the city are ruins,

The might of our towers is shaken,

The owls haunt the night with their tune.

Here now, it the fire and warrior,

A new race of Red-Blood and Blade,

Our people are older and wearier,

We see our people fade!

Alas, all is not, all but leaves in the stream,

Down we go and we sail away!

Away we go and dream our dreams,

Until the King may bring the Day.

May it be,

Amen.

A Rather Interesting Quote

"The greatest problem with Humanity is not that we are unable to make, or think, or invent; it is that Men do not have the perception to use what they make and think and invent wisely."

Anonymous

Thoughts on Compassion

We were seated round the table. It was eight thirty and we were in English Lit Class.

I was joining a poetry slam Ms Amy had organized for Edison, and said the proceeds from the program would raise money for a poor entrepreneur who needed a loan in South America. I was trying to figure out how much money was to be raised, when suddenly Paik Suan started talking. Here's the convo:

Paik Suan: "You know, Aunty Amy, wouldn't that money do so much more good for like some orphans in starving Ghana or something? Why waste it on some fella who's just trying to start his own little business in who knows where?"

Ms. AMy: "Well, we support this loan program, under KIVA, because it's basically to give the businessman-to-be some dignity when he starts his business. We don't just want to throw out money to the masses, and have them eat it constantly, without ever climbing out. It's to get people out of the poverty line, without the bailouts and such."

PS shakes her head. "I still think it ought to be given somewhere else."

I was sorting this all out, and then I spoke, suddenly, and a bit awkwardly too. "But It's the individual that counts. Sure, that money could go somewhere else, it always will! But our job is not to bailout money just so we can meet a quota. It's about helping the world around us, one man and woman at a time. It's all about that one person! It is so worth it -trying to make that one man's life different, regardless whether he lived in Ethiopia or Japan. It doesn't matter."

PS rolls her eyes. Josh is on his crusades again. Charles guffaws. WHy did I bother trying to reason with logical, practical, PS with philosophy? I sighed, a little embarassed by the scene I'd made.

I returned to my seat, and class resumed again.

Who comes...

Thoughts on our world, and on Hope, or else its absence...

Who comes now in so dark an hour,

Who comes to retake what was lost?

Who comes now to storm down the Tower,

Who comes to make gold out of dross?

Who comes here to hearth and rekindles,

Who comes with a blade to defend?

Who in the storm plays his fiddle,

With song set with spell set to mend?

Who comes here to find hope in ashes?

Who now holds the Door out to men?

Whose crown in the moonlight now flashes,

Who now the throne room ascends?

Where now is our Promised Lord,

This King of Age and Renown?

From where comes his horse and his sword,

By what does he now claim his crown?

Who comes to heal now the weakened,

Who comes to cure now the sick?

Who is this tower, this beacon,

Who comes to relight the wick?

Who comes now in so dark an hour,

Who comes to retake what was lost?

Who comes now to storm down the Tower,

Who comes to make gold out of dross?

That's it!

If those nuts try to comment on this post with more of your be-slubbering Pornographic Nonsense, they are admitting they are cursed idiots...

So post at your own risk. :)

Because only honor-less losers post nonsense like this. See if they can defy so easily who I am and what I stand for! Fools!

Verdigris

Oh, Hello there!

You, standing with your Roman blade thrust into the blue sky,

And your horse rearing up in its hind legs.

And You, your eyes

Gazing at the cars in the street,

Or else I don't know exactly what,

As four hundred years of wind and rain and reverent hands reaching to touch the hem of your riding cape,

Wear your spirit away.

And as he Verdigris

Pales your eyes into filmy green

Blinding your vigilance,

Like vermilion rust on alert, once-proud, whitewashed,

Fences.

griffin-song

T'was days long gone,

When stars had shone,

Upon the House Érdh-Keyün,

Tis' days long past,

And so, much hast

Been lost of the tale of Kyn-Griffin:

Part I

When all the world in Steward's keeping,

T'was when the Giant, old and sleeping,

T'was when the Stars were not yet weeping,

When all the world in Steward's keeping,

Dawn-light ran down rivers deepening,

of Mount Sandoran, and through the evening,

Waded through the lands awakening,

Dawn-light ran down rivers deepening,

Men then heard wind-song and the glint of the stream-lings,

And the green of the grass and the stars set a gleaming!

Though, "Folly!", cry men of our day, in our deeming,

But the Old saw it not, or not at all seeming,

Like children were they in they in the land of the fay-lings,

When Seamen of old went gallantly sailing,

When kin came from far, with good tidings hailing,

Like children were they in the land of the fay-lings,

T'was then when the Sky Lords of old were appearing

Who flew like the wind, and with the wind, hearing

The sounds of the sky and the hope on their wings,

T'was then when the Sky Lords of old were appearing!

Part II

Like torch ablaze were the Griffin Kings,

Who flew to find Mount San-T'Noran,

With tales of sorrow and of hope on their wings,

The came with shereth, and brought Numan!

NOT FINISHED! MUST EXTEND IN THE NEXT EDIT!

hmm...

Is this world more sad or more happy?

Where is the sunset, this twilight?

Why are there no colors,

No painted hillsides of blue and pink?

Where are the stars tonight?

Hidden neath the veil of clouds?

Wrapped around in the smoky robes of factories and urban-ness?

Where is tomorrow's dawn?

Hidden behind the hills?

Or are they gone, not to come again?

May God and the moon hear what I say this night.

Playground in Suburbia

Wet slides,
Happy Children,
Fat kid too heavy for the See-Saw,
Impatient mothers waiting in the rain.

I'm out of things to blog! :)

More thoughts

Such darkness! Darkness among the kings and rulers! Such darkness in the hamlets and cities! Such darkness in the streets! Such blood on the cobblestones, but who knows of them? The night hides all! Such sorrows! Such filth! Such chaos! Such starless nights! SUch weariness, such frustrations, such disorder, indeed in our world!

In the hearts of men, in the sanctums of the citadels, in the cold hearths and houses of the living, such darkness! Such confusion, such blindness! What sorrow is this?

And men do not know the way! They have not heard the voice of the shepherd, or they choose to scorn it, even if they do. They have not heard of fire or light of dawn or day, and so are sad?

And among the lantern-bearers, among the light-holders, who are so few, why do so many hide their fires? Do they not see that all around the darkness is working its power upon the masses? What fools! What hypocrites, they are! Can they not hear the cry of the old, the weary, the tired, the sad, the angered? Why will they not turn their ears? Why do they hide in the houses and wait for doomsday like vultures for death? What Fools are we, all of us!

Alas, Emantor, Great God, do you see the plight of our earth? Oh God, my heart is weary! Give us strength to uphold the light and remember the light of the morning! May the dawn come soon, King of the Day and the Light,

Amen.

Silent stars

Stars are falling, and I feel so weary...

argghhh

Two weeks off facebook. I am far too addicted, and I am attempting to wean myself off of it in time. Let's see if my first sabbatical works out...

May God help me.

Thoughts of Eve at Death

I was Eve,
Of the first rib and with the first man,
Of the first breath God blew upon a woman,

I was Eve,
Of Eden, where the jasmines were,
And we would stand amongst the trees, the sweet, not-to-cloying scent of flowers hanging.

I was Eve,
With Adam, as he built for me that First boat, made of the palm trees,
And we slipped out onto the lake and were glad.

I was Eve,
Took the Serpent's Lies, of "life beyond life", 'and might beyond might',
All folly, all folly, all for the Fruit that Looked Good.

I was Eve,
When Jehovah came to me, and I met not His gaze and was ashamed for the Sin.
Amidst the falling Jasmines,

I was Eve,
Banished, from the Tree and the Serpent and the Boat on the Lake

I was Eve,
Bearing Cain,
And Abel, who was slain,
And Seth,

I was Eve,
Nursing Adam in my arms as the pink warmth of life left him,
And the black cold of death was left behind.

I was Eve,
And I shall die soon,
But where are my Children? Where is the Boat on the Lake by the Palm Trees? Where are the Jasmines?

I am Eve,
They are away, and I know not where.
But I will die soon, Elohim,

I am Eve,
My breath is fading under the wind,
And I am sorry.

I was Eve,
Take me, for I am repentant,
Take me to the lake with the boat and the jasmines,
I am sad, but hopeful.
May I be.

Amen, Elohim

Hi there!

Roast-pork and rice, takeway

I walk inside, with my phone tickling the edge of my pocket,
I rehearse my words again, my tongue silently rolling
Out my half-learned Cantonese,
The mono-syllable-d words I heard so often yet spoke
So little of, ringing in my ears.
My aunt’s voice reminds me painfully (and rightly) I need to
Start speaking my mother tongue,
Bananas, they said I was, a yellowed, black-eyed Asian without, white and empty within.

And I feel the tinge of shame of me never daring to speak Chinese even though
I am
One.

The coffee shop is small, the little corner-block Greasy
Spoon, its occupants sweltering under the heat, vainly trying to
Battle off the heat with ice cold cups of water from the
Tap, as the old men chatter in old Hokkien and Cantonese (both of which are common dialects for the Chinese around here). And then see a kid in school-uniform,
Bending over calligraphy homework, and I quickly glance
The other direction.

The hawkers from their little side booths entice me to buy some snack
Or dish. Mixed vegetables with rice...Malaysian-style noodles…a stuffed
Roll with all the crispy bits of fried egg and sliced gourd?? in-
Side.

I come up to the booth I want, tentatively waiting for his glance to
Meet my eye, (I am still unsure how to intonate ‘three’ in Cantonese right).
He sees me, and asks what I’d like to order.
Take-away or eat here? He fires at
Me in Cantonese.
I manage stammer out “take-away”.

With Pork or Chicken?
Pork.

Roasted or sweet-sauce barbeque?

Roasted please, (I say please, not sure if I said ‘please’ all right, and then glanced at his face to
See that twitch or raised brow that means I said something wrong)

And how many?

Three packs, please (I said it again, no twitch or raised brow yet).

He starts, pulling the slabs of roast meat from the hooks and throwing it brusquely onto the round chipped chopping board it up.
He calls the boy next to him to pack on the rice,

And starts to
Chop it, one slice after another, knife flying like an axe,
Soaring through midair,
Again and
Again.

He look up, his balding head
Gleaming a little, as he scoops up the meat into the
Styrofoam boxes, steaming rice waiting for the slices to just
Fall…in

He makes a quick mental
Count.

Fourteen forty, he tells me in Cantonese.

Nuts, I say, I don’t have time to translate, but I hand a ten-Ringgit bill with a five-Ringgit
Bill, and I’m halfway through translating before
He slaps the change into my hand with the plastic bag with the packs
Of roast-pork and rice.

I’ve translated it by
Now, and I bite my lip tentatively, and thanks him.

“Um koi,” I say, a little stilted, worrying again if my intonation is all right. He presses his lips tight a little, as if to
Say thank you and welcome, then calls out

NEXT!

And I walk off; content to leave the shop and get back to the car (Mom and my brother are waiting).

It was not so bad. I may end up a little less a banana, after all.

Oh dear...

Oh my. Someone told me about the bombings. Thank God at least one of the bombs didn't go off. It's sad indeed.

I have yet to wrap my mind around it. Why so much violence? I suppose the bombers felt strongly about it. Fanatically, perhaps.

But still, is it reasonable to repay an insult against one's God with violence? Is this not, if to a smaller scale, a little similar to the crusades a handful of hot-blooded kings and their pope waged against what they felt was so similar an assualt on God?

Will not God Himself be the Judge of the argument? If either side of the matter false, then surely the True God will reveal His hand and His might. He is above the King, the Court, or Christianity, or Islam. As I mentioned on Facebook, He is God, and nothing we could name Him could make Him mroe or less who He IS.

Where

I know this is an incoherent one...just thoguhts nad rhymes that piled into my head all at once...

Where does the wind go?
Where does the sea flow?
Where ends the blue sky?
Where does the bird fly?

From where will the stars fall?
And where is the King hall?
From where will the moon shine?
And where will the knights dine?

Where does the sword strike?
Where does the flow'r bloom?
Where was made so fine a pike?
Where did angels fall upon a tomb?

Where does the sea break?
Where lies the dead drake?
Where have the slain gone?
Where is the hidden Song?

2010

2009 has ended.

This was a short year, at least, in how it felt. The months and days and worries and joys slipped by like dreams, and flew out the window in the fleeting instant. 2008 was long, but not as long-feeling as 2005 or 2006. Perhaps years begin to feel shorter as you have had more of them.

But 2009 was a good year for me. No new enemies or bitter rivalries to plague my year...compared to 2008. Made new friends, learned tonnes more in poetry and writing, entered Facebook (which is, I suppose more detrimental than beneficial).

2008 was a crazy, hectic year of discovery. Rushing about, new people, new classes, new places, everything felt so new. Tyatora had been young then.

But she has matured with time, as the stars grow a little fainter and the grass a little browner, and the night a little longer, but the years remain good yet.

So has my last year, upon which I turned 13, turned. Hmm...and had Amentoris Baleyn given me a choice, I do not think I would have had my year any other way I can yet perceive.