A subversive lullaby, sung by the mothers of an oppressed but never hopeless people, waiting to work out their own liberation (see Song of the Downtrodden 1 and 2 for more details). The 'garland of leaves' is the tsedek-bush crown with which the king-in-exile is remembered and honoured.
Writing a series of songs of the people for a story about a downtrodden race. Influenced by a documentary on the English civil war, having taken up the bagpipes and the history of banned languages (e.g. Welsh, Native American languages, Aboriginal languages, etc).
This is a lament for one who has fallen under the tyrant's hand. It is from a fantasy story in which the main characters belong to a downtrodden but quietly rebellious people. The lilies refer to the Lily Crown of the oppressor, the gold crowns are the money minted by the same, the linen is both a sign of the 'nobles' and an important trade item, and the mouth is covered because the people are forbidden to speak their own language. (I think the description is now longer than the poem!).
These rhymes don't belong to the Hahri-Diru people. They are about them. The ordinary folk are afraid of the old inhabitants of the land, who linger on in out-of-the-way places, and it comes out in their verse.
A friend of mine was working on a series of stories about the fair folk who periodically enter and depart from our world - so I contributed this poem.
This is a fragment of a story-in-progress, put here mostly for the sake of the song, which keeps getting caught up in my stories. It is written to the tune of a very slow, sad easter hymn. Back to the story: Alondra is the main character, but the early scenes show her only through the eyes of others. In this case, it is the minstrel at her betrothal-feast. He is an unnamed character who has a history with Alondra's family, and uses Alondra to get back at her father... which is probably the best thing that could have happened to that rather miserable child (apart from, well, her parents loving her, having a happy childhood, you know).
I had the first verse as the prologue to a story fragment about Melaine and her sister, and decided to turn it into a poem instead. Heavily affected by the grey sky outside (Queensland - beautiful one day, underwater the next). I do write happy poetry, honestly! Read the poem as you like (and the pronounciation of Melaine is entirely up to you).
Yet another one about the pending return of the king-in-exile.