Gwynn the Hunter disappears once
more within the wood. His bramble
beard and wilddog eyes are more
than most will ever see of him.
And to think he was a King’s man
once, with shining sword and lands
fullowned. Who knew he’d pine away
for that bastard whelp?
He sometimes thought back to that
longgone May. When frolic fires blazed
and peasants danced, a wenchmaid’s
arms were tightly twined in his.
The memory’s shadow barely crossed
his face before the WitchQueen
fetched and bled the cockerel.
The black and bloodsoaked feather
twisted in its crimson sea before it
stopped, pointing straight at him.
Charged with dalliance and falsehood,
his suit for her daughter’s hand was
soon dismissed. But the WitchQueen’s
fiery hate was far from cold.
His little girl died before the snows
had ceased. Her mother withered like
a springcut rose and faded into the
shadows of the scullery wall. Yet.
Gwynn has found his due. When battles rage,
his horn calls sons of Queens and serfs
alike. And all shall pay him homage as they
come to kneel and keen o’er freshdug graves.
Thane Thompson writes literary prose and poetry, fantasy, and science fiction. His work has appeared, or is forthcoming, at The Writer’s Eye Magazine, The Drabblecast, Scifaikuest, Every Day Fiction, and Poesia. He lives in southwest Ohio with his wife andtheir two daughters.
6 Responses to “L’HOMME DU BOIS • by Thane Thompson”
Comments
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November 4th, 2008 at 12:47 pm
How fun, a ballad!
Nicely done. I like the way that the story seems to climax in the two shorter stanzas.
November 4th, 2008 at 1:11 pm
The beauty of the language in this poem is so appropriate to its themes:”bramble
beard and wilddog eyes”
I could almost smell the dank woods.
“Her mother withered like
a springcut rose and faded into the
shadows of the scullery wall.”
It is elegant and succinct and that change of pace in the middle focusses the action, as Robin says.
Thank you for sharing it with us, Thane.
Oonah
November 4th, 2008 at 2:55 pm
Great use of language, very atmospheric.
Cheers
Mark
November 7th, 2008 at 6:30 am
Yes, very atmospheric! Like those stories of old, told in verse, that were remembered and passed down. These stanzas were particularly vivid to me, and rather beautiful:
‘The memory’s shadow barely crossed
his face before the WitchQueen
fetched and bled the cockerel.
The black and bloodsoaked feather
twisted in its crimson sea before it
stopped, pointing straight at him. ‘
Thanks for the enjoyable read,
Davina
November 17th, 2008 at 11:14 am
Thanks all for the wonderful comments! I just got the notice that this had already been published. Thanks for letting me be a part of Every Day Poets.
November 19th, 2008 at 9:26 pm
Great subject, and well presented. However, the structure seems a little off. I think a folkloric or mythic style subject calls for a more traditional structure. It almost cries out for less enjambment and a solid rhyme! Then again, I’m partial to more traditional ballads.
Still, it’s a nice enough read as-is.