Category: Original composition

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Lullaby for the Queen


Hush now, you Valkyr, lay down to rest
The times come, you’ve mastered your quest
Heimdall watches over, your land and your folk
Freya covers the land in her cloak

Rest now, our Queen, the time ends to play
The warriors have passed o’re the day
Sleipner, you gallant steed leads you to peace
Your kingdom now circled by Bragis sweet fleece

Hark now, the giants have laid all their waste
Bravely, destroyed all you faced
Even Kvasir had suffered his fate
Knowing that you had bore the same weight

Wait now, Loki has played all his games
Treading, right through the flames
Courageous and boldly you quenched all his deeds
Your people follow as you meet their needs

Sleep now, Tzarina, your time has come
No longer shall you feel the shun
Freya clasps your beauty as she would her own
Your time to rest , leave now your throne.

Below is a link to the rough recording of it (The lovely Bird the Bard on Guitar). Enjoy!
https://drive.google.com/file/d/18_whMpew5IFwiTa57gNDbLoFa3v8kzKE/view?usp=sharing

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Patronus- A Processional for Their Majesties Magnus Tindall and Albrecht

Patronus MP3

Click to access patronus.pdf

Digital for part learning

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1hvby7YD2y9oJRj0biix5tQtXn3OoN_Fh/view?usp=sharing

Bella terra et mari civilia externaque tóto in orbe terrarum suscepi3  victorque omnibus veniam petentibus4 cívibus pepercí. Externas  gentés, quibus túto ignosci potuit, conserváre quam excídere malui. Míllia civium Rómanorum adacta sacrámento meo fuerunt circiter quingen ta.


Wars, both civil and foreign, I undertook throughout the world, on sea and land, and when victorious I spared all citizens who sued for pardon. The foreign nations which could with safety be pardoned I preferred to save rather than to destroy.

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Lochleven Sheep!

At Palio this summer, Baroness Jocelyn and I were chatting about the sheep that has been gifted to Stonemarche from Lochleven. She had a desire, nay, a passion to have the world know of these infamous sheep. Her excellency entrusted me to share their story. Here is the Ballad of the sheep!  Recording to come:

The Ballad of the Lochleven Sheep

By Solveig Bjarnardottir

Year Thirty five , Pennsic all were off
The gate was naked, Ewe the list’ner may scoff
What a way for the glory of the East
Than to guard the gate with a flock of sheep

Sheep, Sheep, Sheep
Rustlin’, Bustlin’ Sheep
Roaming free without their Bo Peep
They once were lost, but now are found
Keep an eye out for the sheep soon to be bound
Lo le lo le Lochleven
Lo le lo le Lochleven

Like the story goes, the herd did roam
The Sheep were missing, but not a Scottsman blows
A ransom laid, of mead well made
Libations for liberation , a splendid set trade

Hide and Seek, Stonemarche’s kids ne’er fail
The sheep were returned with no avail
Honors bestowed upon them at their feet
The taxes roll in without a single bleet

Sheep, Sheep, Sheep
Rustlin’, Bustlin’ Sheep
Roaming free without their Bo Peep
They once were lost, but now are found
Keep an eye out for the sheep soon to be bound
Lo le lo le Lochleven
Lo le lo le Lochleven

A new herd was granted, but something was a wry
Amongst the skein, they did lack all the eyes
A haunted face, an image dare burn
Into the minds of the Barony, all stomachs did turn

When gifted this splendid drove, to our Baroness
Discomfort replaced dreams about the new largesse
How could we make these noble creatures sans morose
Replace these emptied sockets with buttons to diagnose

Two Mismatched pupils, handsewn with care
These two baaaaaad sheep, now serve as Ambassador Heirs
No longer haunting, a fond memory they serve
For Stonemarche, the Children and all who hear the word …

Sheep, Sheep, Sheep
Rustlin’, Bustlin’ Sheep
Roaming free without their Bo Peep
They once were lost, but now are found
Keep an eye out for the sheep soon to be bound
Lo le lo le Lochleven
Lo le lo le Lochleven

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By His Hand

“Look at that,” he said, “how the ink bleeds.”  
It mirrors the way the rivers  
of the soul soak in the parchment
He loved the way it looked
to write on a thick pillow of the pad
To him, it was like music, a song in his hands–
all of the possible drawings,
curves, relationships–  
all of the answers, questions, mysteries,  
all of the problems solvable in that space.
The pen in his hand,  
a key to the prison, that white space.
By his hand, a new beginning.
By his hand, imagery–flights of arrows
Piercing through the stark confines
Like a sword dashing through the dark,
Revealing a new light
in his work, in his words

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The Maiden of the Gardens

Through solitude’s blooming orchid garden,
A graceful and elegant maiden does stride,
Enters our lady, Camille Desjardins,
Lavender waves across an amethyst tide.

The flowers herald her arrival,
Blossom with each step serene,
As if her presence Spring’s revival,
All in her grace stay evergreen.

Careful she gazes upon their beauty,
with every floret’s form observed,
For she accepts her kingdom’s duty,
to see them on a scroll preserved.

Her brushstrokes capture and acclaim,
the trappings of renown and glory,
To skill and service she does bring fame,
And to great battle, and claimed quarry.

Upon her parchment she infuses,
Life into the artistry she weaves,
She is the favored of the muses,
Her inspiration the lakes and leaves.

She captures the beauty of color and light,
Immortalizing honors with ink and quill,
To bring glory to those who do right,
Her patient hands bear unwavering skill.

This art alone could be life’s labor,
Yet her talent flows without such bounds,
Her voice, her stitch, her nimble saber,
The quality of which astounds.

Her voice can soothe a heart of fire,
Granting peace and granting reason,
As a lark’s call disperses ire,
that sounds upon the warming season.

Her mastery of fiber weaving,
Shows clearly within her stitch,
The way she blends fiber receiving,
awe from those it does enrich.
And none would dare to test her mettle,
As this gentle flower does adorn,
Herself with not just purple petal,
But with our kingdom’s golden thorn.

A woman finely celebrated,
In talents stitched and inked and floral,
Does rightly need be elevated,
Into the Order of the Laurel.

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The Birth of Ravensbridge

This piece was composed for the the incipient shire of Ravensbridge. They has put forth a challenge to compose a Song/Story/Poem about their inception. This was my response. Recording to come.

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

Trapped between rivaling nations we stand
This place was not home, no not on this land
Together as people the plain that we spanned
to make a home not written in sand

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

We searched for a center, a place to call home
Two strongholds that stood, both we did roam
Endewearde, headland of swords north fair
Malagentia lit South, by the light of Sif’s hair

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

Our men speared-din worn, our people lost drive
‘til an outstretched arm lent our kinsman to thrive
A spot between moon and shield to be shown
Our wound-hoe, blood-ember and arms soon to be grown

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

Nameless the many who wandered are we
A name and an image we’re proud to be seen
In honor of friends and this place that we stand
The Raven and Bridge is our chosen brand

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

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Ballad of the Balladeer

This piece was written solely to honor Mistress Analeda Falconbridge. This was presented to her at Birka 2016 to honor her at her Vigil for receiving her Laurel for her years of dedication and inspiration as a Bard to the SCA.

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There is a tale set not long ago
Ventures a maiden, rare and bold.
Locks of silver, tresses of flame.
Her songs, her charms, her stories remain.
Fearless she seeks tales, ever forth.
Lo! The shield maiden appears from the north!

Besides you she sings, besides you she fights.
Circled by shield wall she’ll take up the pike
With bolstered hearts, the army ne’r yields
Joined the warrior, bard on field.
Fearless she hunts legends, e’er forth.
Lo! The shield maiden appears from the north!

Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.

This Balladeer n’er will leave your side
Your stomach soon filled as time would abide
A hearth ever lit where her songs resound
Souls never empty when she’s to be found
You will find savour burgeoning forth
Lo! The shield maiden feeds from the north!

Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.

As fire lay dying, coals lay to rest.
Fellowship lines the walls of her nest
More songs, more tales, the crowd would plea
She’d exclaim, “Said you! post the last 3”
As stories of snails and epics came forth
Lo! The shield maiden sings of the north

Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
If you are not careful, you too will reside.