Short Ballade of Henry V
(esse quam videri)
(esse quam videri)
Although my youth
was rough, I may defend
It. By its terms, one's immaturity
Is that imperfect
era one must spend
Developing, that
time when logically
The mind and morals
both are raw and we
Are all
inferior. I would not scheme
Like lesser youths
and falsely polish me--
Hypocrisy's a
sin. I'd be, not seem.
When I was crowned,
my youth was at its end.
Therefore, I ended
my frivolity
Lest I live on a
lie, lest I pretend
I somehow kept that
younger quality
That I had
lost. I acted honestly
Instead when
grown. I battled till supreme
At Agincourt without
distorting me--
Hypocrisy's a sin.
I'd be, not seem.
Lord, now I'm but a
spirit, I should be
In Heaven with the
bodiless. I’d dream
Of nothing
else. I’d feign no firmer me--
Hypocrisy's a
sin. I'd be, not seem.
Ballade of William The Conqueror[2]
(Norman conqueror of England)
They labeled me a
bastard, hated me
In those first
days. Though not my deed, still they
Held me
accountable. Adultery
Was somehow, too, my
crime. “Christians” could say
I sinned before I
was. Fools! Unborns may
Err though
unmade? What logic could defend
Such hate? Such gibberish could never say
How everything would
turn out in the end.
Perhaps Edward and
Harold both told me
The throne was mine
believing pledges they
Had made to bastards
could be broken free
Of sin. If so, I landed to convey
By my example some
instruction. They
Would learn what’s
right from William, comprehend
As well his
destiny. They’d learn that way
How everything would
turn out in the end.
I never doubted my
enormity.
When I was young and
made my pompous way
Into Westminster, I
had certainty
Of my great
measure. Later as I lay
Enormous, bloated by
the coffin they
Would force me in, I
hardly could pretend
More meagerness.
I’d learned to my dismay
How everything would
turn out in the end.
Lord, now that
rotting flesh and innards weigh
As much as
self-importance did, commend
To Heaven one who
finally saw today
How everything would
turn out in the end.
Hannibal’s Double
Sonnet
(A General
whose name meant “favored by Baal”)
In mortal combat
with cold, sterile Rome
I paralleled on
earth Baal’s war with Mot,
Black lord of death
and infertility.
As Baal climbed up
the frigid Milky Way
To chase the fiend,
I climbed the snowy Alps
(To me as high and
far) in my pursuit
Of Mot's foul
children on the Tiber's banks.
As Baal walked stars once (some of which came loose
And flashed below),
I walked those Alpine peaks
To me as high and splendid under snows
As Milky Ways I might have crossed.
As Baal raised fearsome armies, I raised up
My troops of diverse
colors borne by beasts
Unseen in colder
climates till we marched.
We brought our
vengeance down on trembling Rome
With
"Dido!" on our lips. Baal’s
furies, we
Combatted evil in
that filthy place
With prayers Rome’s
blood would also satisfy
The sacrifices
priests informed us Baal
Required of men for
earth’s fertility.
When Carthage could
no longer fund the stay
In Italy, I set out
on my own
And scourged the
various portions of her boot
Until I had no exit
left and thus
Turned on myself to
pilfer once again
Rome's final victory. With my own blade
I took Rome's
trophy--Rome could not parade
A ghost in
chains. Thus, I became a shade.
Ballade of Charlemagne[1]
(King of the Franks)
The center was
usurped and carried east
Though Rome defined
the circle. Finding that
Too byzantine for
reason, I rebelled
Against such strange
distortions. As the law
Of Rome of course is
Roman I therefore
Pulled back a
western throne distended east
Restoring law and
proving by the deed
That Rome reclaimed
law, faith and art through me.
Distorting earth distorted heaven, too,
Inverting Peter’s
throne outside itself
Into an oriental
occident
Of nonsense. Peter’s throne (like Peter, too)
Was crucified
inverted, overturned
By making east of
west until I raised
The popes again and proving by the deed
That Rome reclaimed
law, faith and art through me.
Though art was
warped as well, bent toward the east,
I drew it back into
its occident
Where Ovid, Virgil,
Horace and the rest
Wrote, where bright
architects raised monuments
Not even knowing
Christ. But I knew him.
We wrote of him and
raised cathedrals that
Befit the son of God
and proving by the deed
That Rome reclaimed
law, faith and art through me.
O Lord, I am the
West’s embodiment.
It rises once again
through me. If I
Fall, half the world
falls with me. None can doubt
That Rome reclaimed
law, faith and art through me.
Roland’s Rhetoric
From where I stand upon these starry peaks,
Mere Pyrenees I
climbed and crossed below
Seem childish
exploits now I gaze beyond
The world
itself. Mere Spain seems but a speck
Compared to what
unfolds beyond these stars
Inviting me to
cross. Should I await
Some horn sound from the
Lord? Or rather should
I simply charge
these heights? How can I know?
Our minds are limited, can never do
A proper syllogism. Only God
(Who knows all things) can know all premises
Required for proof. Perhaps we even risk
Our souls through hubris thinking we can think?
I'll not run endless circles of "what if?"
Debating tactics or morality.
Wise, honest men don't think. They simply do,
And like the best of them I'll charge forth, too.
© Harold Anthony Lloyd 2016
The current contents of "The Apology Box" can be found here.
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