There once was a girl named
Orual, who dreamed of being
Pretty. Along came a girl named
Psyche, whose beauty was amazing.
Orual was very envious of Psyche’s
Beauty and wished for herself to
Be as pretty. And her wish came true.
© by Henry Lizard
Through the darkest depths Of the deepest doom, You are the light that shines Through the gloom. You are strong through the Dark night, And you are the morning bright. You keep me going on a rough Day. You're right beside me, there to stay. Sometimes you're my only friend, Helping my broken heart to mend. Forever a friend, and very kind, You're the way out when dark thoughts Cloud my mind.
—Jasmine Guillen
Copyright © 2013
Soft, shiny, rippling mane, He stands, flaxen, tall, flung out. His noble, dished face is like that Of his ancestors who pounded Through the dry desert. His nostrils flare as he takes in The scents of the wild. His muscles ripple with the call to Run and be free. His silky mane rustles along his neck. He half-rears, dancing on slender legs. His whinny pierces the air. Small, neat ears are atop his Refined head, alert and listening. His fleet hooves are ready to carry Him across the desert. He stands on top of a sand hill, Clearly outlined against the setting sun. He trumpets his challenge to Anything listening. His proud fierceness is well-known. He is the Arabian Horse.
—Jasmine Guillen
Copyright © 2013
Finally, a third poem surrounding the life and death of Robin Hood and His Merry Men, one composed by Ellen Miller. I am blessed by some brilliant students in my Medieval Literature class at Coram Deo Academics—a homeschooling adjunct located in Owosso, Michigan.
Move over, Phillip Levine! Watch out world! For I have three brilliant academics in my class who will blow the lid off the world of prosody and poesy. I’m happy to be the first to present the works of these fantastic students.
By Ellen Miller
Deep in the heart
Of Sherwood Forest
Many tales have been woven
Of a great man and his band
Of merry followers and friends.
Not all started out as friends:
In fact, barely any at all,
Including me—ah yes, me;
We are now best of friends,
But that was certainly not always so.
We met on a bridge─
A log, more like:
He wanted to pass first,
But I had been there first
(Though he would say opposite).
So we had a quarrel,
A fight ensued;
I had to admit, he wasn’t bad,
But in the end, I knocked him off
With my broad quarterstaff.
After that (believe it or not),
We became best of friends.
This jest was the name he christened me:
“Little John,” how droll,
As I tower above them all.
So many adventures,
The two of us had,
With other merry men,
We made a name for ourselves,
And many good times and memories were made.
Alas—it was not to last,
For Robin Hood, I must say,
Was not loved by all;
This cousin, a nun,
Brought him down by her “healing” hands.
Did I say, “We are now best of friends?”
Make that we were,
For yes, Robin Hood died.
I was with him in his final moments,
And I shall never forget.
He raised his bow;
How he had the strength, I’ll never know,
And he shot one last arrow.
He told me to bury him
Where that last arrow fell.
And so our merry adventures
Came to an end.
But the memories and friendship will last,
And the tale will be told for centuries,
Of one man and his merry band.
Copyright © 2013, Ellen Miller
All rights reserved
Robin Hood’s dead!
What more can I say?
He died a sad death,
Rather than see a new May.
It wasn’t his fault.
It was that of treachery,
In the house of some nuns.
Yes, in the nunnery!
‘Twas his cousin who did it.
A fiend so cruel,
Well, she couldn’t hide him!
Her poor nunnish head
Would be severed for sure!
You see, Robin Hood, good,
Was in trouble with King,
For Robin liked Sherwood,
And preferred to sing!
Oh, the life Robin led!
With many a scare,
But a story for all!
The short and the fair!
He stole from the rich,
To give to the poor,
More “borrow,” he’d say,
But we all know what for!
And Little John, tall,
With a temper for sure,
But nothing like Tuck’s
A grouch who lived in a moor!
And sweet Allan a’ Dale!
Ah, the voice of a lark!
But where was his wife?
Why, mentioned at the start!
His life was exciting,
Oh, yes, for sure!
He robbed many fat friars
And one skinny one more.
What could Robin do
when outlawed so long?
Well, kill all the king’s deer!
What else would he do?
He knew the bad Sheriff,
A chum, you could say,
But only one-sided,
For Robin Hood may . . . .
The Sheriff was grouchy,
Robin Hood was a pain!
He could no longer go out
Without being robbed once again.
Hood was a good bow,
Too good, you might say,
For with every bull’s eye
His head became a balloon in the sky.
Lincoln green was his color,
That’s all he would wear!
He dashed about in green tights,
He scared the King’s men far from there!
And how far they would run!
But nobody knew if they ran
From his tights or his toes!
For little curled toes,
That’s what his shoes showed;
Sometimes they were called:
The Curly’s of woes!
But Robin Hood died.
Boy, what a tragic tale.
It would be great fun!
If his cousin wasn’t such a pill.
But it is all done.
His merry men cried,
And now I cry too,
For Robin Hood died.
But I must say, “Farewell!”
For there is no more to tell.
© by Katherine Miller (February 11, 2013), All Rights Reserved.
Carmina ad Gloriae Dei 