Gardening

Ruat Caelum

Inspired by this XKCD. Because obviously, the backstory of this strip is a romance between a stargazing monk and the queen of Faerie. Tune is almost certainly subconsciously plagiarized.


I met a mortal monk,
Bearing books, glass, and charts,
And we talked until dawn,
Watching heaven's bright arts,
He thought me a mere dream,
A fancy of air,
But next night brought him back, for
the stars were still there.

He unrolled a blanket,
Tripped into our ring,
I taught him to listen
To spheres as they sing,
His smile was infectious,
His laughter so rare,
But we kept looking up, for
the stars were still there.

I took him by the hand,
whispered "Dream you can fly,"
And we danced above lightning
That night in the sky,
His breath in the cold
And his hands in my hair,
And his eyes met my own,
And the stars, they were here.

Then this mortal left his stone god,
For what mortals call life,
Took his books, took his charts, took
A pretty mortal wife.
How could I be angry?
I'd more than my share,
He still thought me a dream...
And the stars were still there.

Child, never love a mortal,
With a life brief as day,
Your heart will go with them
when they rest in cold clay,
Still, I watch his descendants
As they leave this orb's air,
And I bless them on their journey,
For the stars are still there.
Gardening

Duct Tape, Sex, and Booze (This Bitch Sings of Calontir)

(Tune is probably, once again, subconsciously plagiarized -- although it came from legitimate work on my part: if you listen, you can hear the bones of Owen Alun's "Hairy, Scary," the theme song from "Underdog," and "The Number Nine Coal" rattling around in there. Song sprung from a random comment by Chesey. I feel like just about everyone's going to get a song. I look forward to the day I can get Dahrien to thank me, so I can say, "De rien, Dahrien." Obviously, this is a clumsy riposte to "Death, Doom, and Gloom [This Song is from Calontir].")


(My beta said this doesn't work, it's angry and directionless and terrible, and I obviously don't understand the original but I am non-working, angry, directionless, and terrible, and don't understand mean-spirited and deliberately bad songs that poke fun at people for amplifying the voices that don't get enough airtime, so at least it's on-brand!)

So you camped near our fire,
and were shocked that the choir
Sat and drank down the moon and sang up the sun?
And you seem to think it wrong
That our stories and our songs
Celebrate the broken mad knights,
Not the windmills who won?

Well, I'm just one voice,
But it's here to make a noise,
For the losers, the forgotten, and the queer.
And until that rainy day,
When my heart's blood soaks the clay,
I will sing the songs of Calontir.

Well, the winners write the history,
And the scholars probe the mystery,
Of the stories that were trodden in the rust-brown mud,
Raise your head for vict'ry's crown,
I shall keep on looking down,
Valor resteth not on cloth-of-gold,
But runs with blood.

Well, I'm just one voice,
But I'm here to make a noise,
For the losers, the forgotten, and the queer.
And until that rainy day,
Where my heart's blood soaks the clay,
I will sing the songs of Calontir.

Oh, I fight a little too furious,
And I take my songs too serious,
In this world where right all too seldom makes might,
(And it's a weird and tacky flex
(for a bard to sing of sex,
(But you bet I'm getting laid tonight.1)

Well, I'm just one voice,
But I'm here to make a noise,
For the losers, the forgotten, and the queer.
And until that rainy day,
Where my heart's blood soaks the clay,
I will sing the songs of Calontir.

1Artistic license.
Gardening

My Calontiri Bard

Original: "My Pretty Irish Girl." Look up the original if you want to see Sean Connery lip-synching a Disney song and being a semi-swoonworthy version of Xander Harris doing it.

Male and enbee version forthcoming. Probably. Look, this one is for Tali.

"My Calontiri Bard"

Have you ever seen the noon sun
A-fryin' folks at Lilies?
Where Three Rivers meet, the water's sweet,
So dip your tankard hard.
Well, the ladies' eyes all sparkle,
And the lords all grin like sillies,
For up next in the circle
IS my Calontiri bard.

For she is the dear, the darling one,
for pathos sweet and filksome puns,
No other, no other,
Can match the likes of her.
Oh, she is the dear, the darling one,
The terror of the chicken run.
I loveeach song she makes me hum,
My Calontiri bard.
Gardening

Always Welcome at Bardic

I know it's been done, but the image of a terrible Lovecraft-based B-movie of Internet meeting participants dying gruesomely one by one by means [sigh] remote, eldritch and squamous-adjacent amuses me. Apologies to all I mangle, especially Sir Erich's name. If I missed you and you wish to volunteer, please speak up! I can kill you gud!


(Tune: "Always Welcome in Our House")


I wanted to go to Bardic, Bardic, Bardic,
I wanted to go to Bardic, when work was done,
But I’d read this eldritch grimoire, and cheesy 90’s movie scripts,
And [Hastur, Hastur, Hastur] going to have some fun!

And you’re always welcome at Bardic,
Every Friday night!
Always welcome at Bardic!
(And relax, I don’t bite.)

Jon Chesey came to Bardic, Bardic, Bardic,
Jon Chesey came to Bardic,
To host and talk about stars;
So I chatted abhorrent glyphs at him,
Which sucked him into the Internet,
And I promptly beamed his signal to the
face of Mars.1


And you’re always welcome at Bardic,
Every Friday night!
Always welcome at Bardic!
(And relax, I don’t bite.)

Gwen came to sing at Bardic, Bardic, Bardic,
Gwen came to sing at Bardic, with voice like a bell.
So I did my little keyboard dance and sent her to Project Gutenberg.
Have you read Blackwood’s “The Willows”?
Well, that’s
just as well…

And you’re always welcome at Bardic,
Every Friday night!
Always welcome at Bardic!
(And relax, I don’t bite.)

Erich Hlodowechssun came to Bardic, Bardic, Bardic,
Erich Hlodowechssun came to Bardic,
To “Benevento” play,
But I tried to do my thing, and the cat jumped on my keyboard,
They expect to find the rest of his head
any day.

And you’re always welcome at Bardic,
Every Friday night!
Always welcome at Bardic!
(And relax, I don’t bite.)

Eliane came to Bardic, Bardic, Bardic,
Eliane came to Bardic,
To post some links,
But I know she’s a librarian,
And I am not an idiot,2
We had a nice conversation about
Louis Mink.

And you’re always welcome at Bardic,
Every Friday night!
Always welcome at Bardic!
(And relax, I don’t bite.)

Tali Essen came to Bardic, Bardic, Bardic,
To sing Voltaire,
I messed with HTML
To show her a color out of space,
Now she’s just a smudge upon what used to
be a chair.

And you’re always welcome at Bardic,
Every Friday night!
Always welcome at Bardic!
(And relax, I don’t bite.)

Owen Alun came to Bardic, Bardic, Bardic,
Owen Alun came to Bardic,
To kennings cull.
The old gods walked from the whale-road,
And the skalds all hollered "Hwaet!" or "Bro!"
At the internal, bloody caesura
Of Owen's skull.


And you’re always welcome at Bardic,
Every Friday night!
Always welcome at Bardic!
(And relax, I don’t bite.)

So if you sing at Bardic, Bardic, Bardic,
In dulcet tones,
I shall summon up my new friends,
But there's no need to worry!
I'm sure that they'll eventually give
back your bones.

And you’re always welcome at Bardic,
Every Friday night!
Always welcome at Bardic!
(And relax, I don’t bite.)




1What? Mars is in Pisces tonight? Oops! Sorry, Cheesey. Enjoy Capella! See ya in 2104!
2Artistic license.
Gardening

Of Cabbages

It may be ambitious of me to want to sing two songs; my body has decided it's discovered the novel coronavirus, which apparently disguises itself as innocent-looking joints, plus a power outage, means I'd missed most of the last three weeks' offerings. But hope springs surprises upon the unwary.

There are actually lyrics to this out there on the Web, but I think they may have been either autotranscribed or written down by someone learning English, as the poor farmer ends up pining forever after lithely-dancing sheep, rather than Sidhe.

Of Cabbages
Mercedes Lackey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqtwu0PqJuo

I've always been a farmer and
My heart's bound to the land.
The earth's deep roots are in me blood,
She answers to my hand.
I grow the best damned cabbages
You ever hope to see.
And once upon a moonstruck night
I watched the dancing Sidhe.

Their music came before them,
And it pulled me from me bed.
It flowed like cool wine on the breeze,
And got inside me head.
It made me drunk and sober both,
It made me sing and cry,
It made me want to weep and dance,
And dream that I could fly.

And then their voices, caroling,
Like bells, like birds, like rain.
In words I almost understood,
In joy to near to pain.
The songs were like the ones you hear
In dreams but can't recall...
That fill your mind in slumber,
But with dawn you lose it all.

And then they came so wondrous bright,
So quite beyond compare,
With starshine in their eyes
And silver roses in their hair.
Wrapped with an aching beauty,
Sweet and bitter, crystal bright.
A beauty that you' fear to see,
But fear to loose the sight.

I saw them at their dancing,
Leaping air and silver flame!
And conscious, all too conscious,
Of my clumsy mortal frame.
I watched them at their dancing,
Lithe, light-footed, full of grace,
With my legs of wood and feet of lead,
Stood rooted in me place.

I am a farmer bound to earth,
I know what I do well.
I'm mortal, and I'm common
Like the cabbages I sell.
There's virtue in a cabbage.
Even elves eat, I suppose.
But once, just once, I wish that I
Could grow a silver rose.
Gardening

"Star Lover"

Like other songs I've posted for Bardic Zoom, this is just so very difficult to find lyrics for on the Internet! Although "Marshall Don't 'Low" was mine, and so is "Does Dragon Taste Better?", even though several people swear they've heard both of them before. Sometimes art is so natural, it feels like plagiarism.

The Three Rivers Bardic an open meeting, if you feel like having a sing-along with a bunch of dorks who are, y'know, the coolest. DM for link.


https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrfp0pDUgPqyBTzvqfiNz-T4iLAo2Zlhc

"Star Lover," Craig of Farrington

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.

Leo's high up in the sky,
Above him are three pairs
Of stars: it looks like spring deer tracks:
A chase has led through there!
She's escaped the lion, but she's running to the bear.
In spring each year, the skies appear this way.

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.

Vega is the vulture
Can't you you see him spiral down?
Deneb, that's the tail of the swan above the town.
The third bright star is Altair,
There the eagle can be found,
Through summer skies, they'll always fly this way.

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.

Andromeda's as lovely as Cassiope is vain
The princess must be sacrificed so Cepius can still reign,
Perseus kills the monster,
But they'll all return again.
The drama of the autumn plays this way.

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.

In China, bright Orion is the prince that won the day,
The younger brother had to live his live so far away,
And what we call "The Scorpion," that's where he had to stay.
Look long, perhaps you'll see it this way.

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.
Gardening

"Do Dragons Taste Better?" (Friday night filk)

A dragon came out to our village last fall,
It seems the nearest town had no virgins at all,
He said he’d be most puissant but powerfully sweet,
If we’d only supply him with virgins to eat.

When treating with dragons, well, what can you do?
If you’re flamm- or inflammable, you’re mostly screwed,
So we shamefully caved in, but don’t you be vexed,
For the wise among you have figured out what’s next!

Does dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?
Do you garnish with pickles or pink candy floss?
Do you use the thigh bones for bouillon or lacrosse?
Does a dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?

First we sent him some incels locked up in a cage,
But the bars were no match for the boys’ pent-up rage,
They tossed one longing gaze at some corset-clad elves,
And beat that poor beast like they beat up themselves.

So we sent him to recess at our local school,
Where there’s thirty sweet eight-year-olds girls, as a rule,
He was covered in ribbons and hugs and in glitter,
But they mocked his style, now his morale’s in the

Does dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?
Do you garnish with pickles or pink candy floss?
Do you cut the sandwiches aslant or across?
Does a dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?

So he stagger-winged off to the convent that night,
Where the Sisters mercifully ended this blight,
They dragged him to the narthex, knocked back a wine cooler,
Then thoughtfully beat him to death with a ruler.

Now we’ve ten tons of meat for to braise or to stew,
He’s too tough and too flameproof to e’er barbecue,
We’ve made ground dragon bangers and drake tetrazinni,
And our cauldrons are quite sick of “leftover meanie.”

Does dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?
Can you make pemmican if you use the right moss?
Can you use a fish fork, would that be a faux pas?
Does a dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?


When I thanked Sister Bernadette for this great feast,
She said, “This fable calls for one moral at least,”
So this is the placard we left at the scene:
“Don’t mess with the nuns. (And third-graders are MEAN.)”
Gardening

Marshall Don't Allow

Tune is "Mama Don't Allow," https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqmGJcGZhZU

Marshall don’t ‘low no rhino-hiding round here,
Marshall don’t ‘low no rhino-hiding round here,
Well, we don’t care what Marshall don’t allow,
That was broken when I got here, anyhow,
Marshall don’t ‘low no rhino-hiding round here.

Marshall don’t ‘low no ankle shots round here,
Marshall don’t ‘low no ankle shots round here,
Well, we don’t care what Marshall don’t allow,
Better watch your tootsies, anyhow.
Marshall don’t ‘low no ankle shots round here.

Marshall don’t ‘low no 40-gauge helms round here,
Marshall don’t ‘low no 40-gauge helms round here,
Well, we don’t care what Marshall don’t allow,
There’s a sale at Wish today, anyhow.
Marshall don’t ‘low no 40-gauge helms round here.

Marshall don’t ‘low no naked berserkers round here,
Marshall don’t ‘low no naked berserkers round here,
Well, we don’t care what Marshall don’t allow,
ARRGAIHFDSGHFNFDSFG (anyhow).
Marshall don’t ‘low no naked berserkers round here.

Marshall says I’m the worst water-bearer she’s ever seen,
Marshall says I “don’t quite grasp the role,”
Well, Baroness Gwendolyn called just now,
Gonna take point at Pennsic, anyhow.
See you at Crown if I don’t see you round here.
Me

If you take nothing else away from dealing with me

Listen when I tell you this:

Asking whether a person deserves abuse is the wrong question.

The question is: does abuse help ANYTHING?

And it doesn't. It's an expensive and addictive drug with terrible side effects that doesn't actually treat anything and poisons the administrator and the "patient" alike. I will not have it in my life and I strongly advise anyone in my life to take steps to avoid, escape, or correct these patterns.

That's it. That's the blog.