Sir Otto, Sir Otto was raised in a grotto.
He may acquire a carriage,
if His Grace ever wins the lotto.
Sir Otto, Sir Otto prefers wine over ale.
'Tis easier to carry one bottle,
though there be a case of beer on sale.
Sir Otto, Sir Otto, Sir Otto plays a Duke
of Dusseldorf 'tis cried by the marshal,
and His Grace rides in sable and azure.
Sir Otto, Sir Otto, Sir Otto doth not drive.
His Grace expects his squire,
 exhuberantly to arrive,
who repaireth his armour,
and arms him from the ground,
 after sunset, to shuttle His Grace around.
Sir Otto, Sir Otto doth bark at his squire,
"Take me to the store!"
His squire, having trudged,
 and toiled all day,
waiting on His Grace,
hand and foot, doth say,
"After Vespers I shall work no more!"
His squire, who did joust with Sir Otto,
 only a week before...
The squire drives off,
 disgruntled and dismayed,
downtrodden, to the tavern
to drink his frustration away.
and recall to the wenches
of his own glory days,
with a gleam of hope;
that he will ride again one day.
'Tis  how the squire doth retain his sanity,
in spite of Sir Otto's  arrogance and  vanity.
Sir Otto, Sir Otto plays a hero,
 didn't thou know?
and even backstage,
 and after the show,
he fails to shed
his pride with his raiment,
and with his armour
 his sense of entitlement,
as he washes off the stage blood and sand,
still drunk not with wine,
 but from the cheers and the roar;
as the spectators revere him
 like a god, if not more.
Sir Otto, Sir Otto, don't let it go to your head.
Look behind you,
Not only are you mortal and a man,
I remind you,
you are that, and it's opposite too, it is said.
You're an actor in constant need,
I  can only surmise,
of an audience  you crave, yet pay no heed,
and you truly despise.

Medieval Jouster Man

 

 

There's a knight who rides in spite of danger.

Every knave he meets, remains a stranger.

For every lance he breaks,

another lance he takes.

Is this adventure, or a tale of sorrow?

 

Medieval jouster man

Medieval jouster man

He girded on his armour;

and rode into the fray.

 

Jousting at a renfaire arena one day

Laying up on a stretcher, the very next day

Oh no! You let a stirrup slip,

while falling from a forceful hit.

Looks like you won't joust at faire tomorrow.

 

Medieval jouster man

Medieval jouster man

He fastened all his armour

but forgot to check his girth.

 

Fighting in a melee on a Sunday,

walking with a cane by Monday.

Yesterday you were slow to draw;

today you're sipping from a straw

Odds are you won't ride again tomorrow.

 

Medieval jouster man

Medieval jouster man

He bought his horse and armour,

and fought in exile, alone.

 

Beware of pretty damsels like a fox.

A pretty face can hide Pandora's Box.

Be sure to wrap it up,

before you put it in,

or you may have more mouths to feed tomorrow.

 

Medieval jouster man

Medieval jouster man

He cleans up his own armour.

He can't afford a squire.

 

The jousting world has made great advances

in armour, tack, and hooked and pointed lances.

Are we mad or are we brave?

We are cursed as well as praised.

And still we joust as if there's no tomorrow

 

Medieval jouster man

Medieval jouster man

He has a horse and armour

and little else to show.

 

 

-F. Serna

March, 2011