Best Haec Poems
Rather I, Sharpen Blade, Saddle My Battle Horse,
(Dawn, First Battle, Part One)
Dare I, reduce poet's pen to a plastic sword
flee from shadows that invades as destructive hordes?
Nay, such would incinerate reborn poetic soul,
bring heartache and destroy path to truth's gallant goal.
Rather I, sharpen blade, saddle my battle horse
walk through searing flames alone yet on steady course.
Expect more vicious attacks around each bend,
live out my final moment with defiant grin.
Should I, with courageous pen far more truth post
ink midnight hours, not fear darkest of evil ghost?
Beg more paper, its white pages let my ink soak,
in my defiance, strike those wearing evil's cloak?
Can I, with good conscience, this hard journey trek.
Knowing Raven's curse, both my eyes- out IT shall peck.
Robert J. Lindley, 10-18-2019
Sonnet, ( If Valiant, Let Ink Splash To This Dark Beast Slay )
(Dawn, First Battle, Part One)
Note:
Fuscus, qui mortalium haec faciam tibi mali iura
Et invenies in me plus perdomandosque feroces et fortes periculum pertinet.
The helmsman sings a merry song:
Haec est vera fraternas,
and downs a cup of something strong,
Hick, vera, hick, hick, fraternas.
The sailors dance a lusty jig,
forsaking sails, crow's nest and rig.
Young princes and their ladies fair
join in the drunken helmsman's air:
Haec est vera fraternas.
Commoners with nobles prance.
Friars and laymen, how they dance!
The jester sports a broken lance,
a trophy from the fields of France.
"To Henry!" sounds the raucous toast.
Hear the young knights, how they boast
of conquests on and off the field,
when foemen or coy maidens yield.
While Fitzroy strokes a wench's leg,
the boatswain opes yet one more keg.
See their chains of gleaming gold,
but feel the wind grown strangely cold.
William the atheling alone,
to the marrow of each bone
feels what sorrows must atone
for the sins of court and throne.
Woe to the ship, woe to the realm,
where none is mindful of the helm.
Woe to the king who ne'er shall smile,
woe to those bereft of child.
Gone is that day and gone that night,
gone that ship so ghostly white,
gone the prince who bravely sought
to save his sister, deed ill bought!
If, one night by Barfleur's shore,
you may hear that song once more:
Haec est vera fraternas,
et haec est aeternitas.
The helmsman sings a merry song:
Haec est vera fraternas,
and downs a cup of something strong,
Hick, vera, hick, hick, fraternas.
The sailors dance a lusty jig,
forsaking sails, crow's nest and rig.
Young princes and their ladies fair
join in the drunken helmsman's air:
Haec est vera fraternas.
Commoners with nobles prance.
Friars and laymen, how they dance!
The jester sports a broken lance,
a trophy from the fields of France.
"To Henry!" sounds the raucous toast.
Hear the young knights, how they boast
of conquests on and off the field,
when foemen or coy maidens yield.
While Fitzroy strokes a wench's leg,
the boatswain opes yet one more keg.
See their chains of gleaming gold,
but feel the wind grown strangely cold.
William the atheling alone,
to the marrow of each bone
feels what sorrows must atone
for the sins of court and throne.
Woe to the ship, woe to the realm,
where none is mindful of the helm.
Woe to the king who ne'er shall smile,
woe to those bereft of child.
Gone is that day and gone that night,
gone that ship so ghostly white,
gone the prince who bravely sought
to save his sister, deed ill bought!
If, one night by Barfleur's shore,
you may hear that song once more:
Haec est vera fraternas,
et haec est aeternitas.
Skipping is binary,
one, nought, one, nought, one.
Clip clop.
Tick tock.
One foot up, skip.
Next foot up, skip.
Hop, step and jump,
'tis hopscotch time.
Heart in love, skips a beat.
Electrons skip in quantum rings,
dangling their participles.
Skipping off-beat in music
it's syncopation.
Flat stone, flat-thrown
bounces, skims and skips 'oer pond
plink, ploink, plink ploink, plonk.
Notice, perchance if you will,
each skip is smaller, than the one before,
descending in declension to rest.
hic, haec, hoc
huic, huic, huic
hunc, hanc, hoc
hoc, hac, hoc
Aah
Watch your Latin and don't let the cat in
Caesar had some jam for tea,
Pompei aderat.
ille, illa, illud,
but I'll have Yorkshire pud.
amo, amas, amat
Who let in the cat?
hic, haec, hoc
The mouse ran up the clock.
You can add another item
ad infinitum.