This year, the following Laurel Challenge put forth by Grim the Skald:
"Write a poem in a discretely period meter and a context appropriate to the poetic form. The form can be from any time or culture within the SCA period, but must be used in away that is appropriate for that cultural context – i.e. if the poetic form is only used with natural allegories then you need to use a natural allegory. Similarly the subject can be of whatever you chose, but must be appropriate to how the form was used in period. SCA specific subjects (SCA History, awards, etc.) are explicitly allowed if used appropriately, but not required."
The poem I wrote was based on a 13th century planh which is a grief poem or lament for the dead. I decided to lament the year lost to COVID.
Here is a link to me reading the poem:
https://drive.google.com/file/d/16RfpVZUdukD7xnYA7_nghR1cMo7Op5Mc/view?usp=sharing
Here is my poem:
The Spring grants blessings to all that is green
Raising even the lowly grasses high
Life all around us struggles to be seen
The azure dome stretches across the sky
Yet I know not how to find verdant bliss
And my heart knows not how to join the song
For my love is gone and all is amiss
The plague has changed what was once right to wrong
Though the world has turned from Winter’s cruel frost
And spun around to face Spring’s pure gaze
Though new born leaves dance spinning and wind tossed
And the sun on water does spark and blaze
I will find no joy in the birds’ rich choir
Nor will I take pleasure in fields of gold
I will wail and weep and call Spring a liar
Bereft of comfort with no love to hold
My sighs as cruel as blizzard’s freezing gale
My tears as cold as Winter’s icy flakes
My body weakens, withers, I grow frail
My wretched heart with each beat slowly breaks
There is no life to spark within my breast
For oh my love has been taken from me
His gentle hands in mine no longer rest
For the plague tears apart all we can see
No more do his eyes shine bright with love’s spark
Nor do I feel his soft touch on my face
No more does he sing, my dear meadowlark
Nor do we dance in love’s sweet embrace
For the plague keeps him from my loving arms
Tis nothing I can do to draw him nigh
Not honeyed words nor woman’s magic charms
Nor fervent prayers nor songs sent on my sigh
You dank and wretched plague, why have you come
To keep me so far from my soul’s delight
Fiend you have stripped me of all I have won
Turning the bright Spring to darkest of night
A pilgrim’s path you have placed me upon
How far have you thrust my beloved away
There is no day without his light to dawn!
There is only night without his loving day!
Oh, I weep in time with the dripping clock
For there is no Spring in this horrid year
I have no key for my joy to unlock
If my dearest love cannot join me here
