Friday, April 3, 2015

In Days of Old

Dear reader

Today's prompt for #NaPoWriMo was to write on any subject, but writing it in a fourteener. This form has 14 syllables in each line, traditionally containing seven iambic feet (an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable, repeated 7 times). My inspiration for the subject came from a conversation I had with a lovely Scottish author. We were chatting about medieval curses, and from this I came up with the idea to write along these lines. Trust me, dear reader, I laughed and laughed as I wrote this piece. In no way is it meant to be serious, and I am under no illusions that it is one of my better poems. But I have to say that rarely do I have this much fun when writing a poem. It was nice to step out of my comfort zone of free verse. And with that, I present my poem for day 3 of NaPoWriMo 2015. I hope you enjoy it.

Rod E. Kok
April 3, 2015

In days of old when men did live by blood and sword and fear,
the common folk dwelt in their homes and tried to keep good cheer.
Their kings and queens laid down the law and fought to keep their thrones,
but it was hard when churlish knights were always casting stones.

They drank and cursed and had their way with poor folk fair and free
there was no price to pay for crimes committed with such glee.
Forsooth! Thou art a brazen wench, now pour me up some mead,
your waggish tongue will get cut out if my word you don’t heed.

Along the trails they rode their steeds, intent on causing pain
they marched through shires stealing food and goods to sell for gain.

But all was not so dank and dark, for there was fun and joy
The children laughed and played in mud, with sticks their only toys.
Their mums and dads did daily chores, worked hard by sun’s bright light,
when grizzled flap-mouthed miscreants came, they all put up a fight.

For no-one was allowed to hurt the ones they loved and fed,
not even those who thought they bore the king’s pernicious dread.
Thou cans’t not be but roguish louts, now of me lands you go,
leave us in peace to live our lives, our meager seeds to sow.

And so our tale ends with this tip, from days gone by to you,
we’ll help you pass this test of time, we’ll guide you through and through.
When spleeny hedge-born men arise to crush you under foot,
make sure you beat him on the head, out on his arse you put.


  1. That was fun. I can even imagine a bard putting music to this. :-) Good work, Rod!!

  2. HA a glorious, olde-worlde ROMP! Love it :D