Entries for the Construct Cup Version 2.0!!! |
Prompt for: June 13, 2014 Subject or Theme: Royalty Word(s) to Include: vague, fidelity Forbidden Word(s): Arthur, bridge, castle, crown, damsel, dragon, duchess, duke, Harry, honor, horse, Kate, king, kingdom, knight, lady, lord, majesty, moat, musketeer, queen, prince, princess, realm, royal, sword, throne, tiara, tower, William (or Will) Additional Parameters: Minimum 24 lines of free verse (no forms). Remember, do not use forbidden words ANYWHERE, including title. Camelotian Legacy When others played white hat/black hat cops and robbers games as children I opted for the heroes of centuries gone by choosing, instead, to emulate the hooded robin or Excalibur wielding blue-blood defending the keep. There was a sparkle ingrained in the old stories that I could not resist. That's where X marked the spot for me. Crenelated Camelot where one named Wart could rise to the top from lowly squire to create round-table chivalric justice: my version of white hats winning the day. Days of breeches with bow slung across my back, when my arrows found their mark: might for right and justice for all. Summer weeks high in my maple tree fort, monarch of all I surveyed even if it was just darning needles and butterflys. My grandmother, Annie (having had intimate friendship with those of upper lineage) spread picnics on the lawn while serving high teas with fingers crooked, scones and marmalade moments. She would teach me croquet, why sometimes setting a table involved four forks and that it was a manner of behavior, of eloquence, of elegant thought – a state of mind, that let a cat peer up and lick the best of creams. Then I would run off to battle mythical beasts with a wooden stick slashing at the fires, save the maiden and the day. Summers of magic that I never grew too old to practice, to enjoy, to write, though, at times, there were vague rumblings I should act my age. My grandmother would brush the hay from her long, bodice-ed silk and brocade gown, wink at me and then we would finish painting our shields. The motto painstakingly painted on mine was Fide et fortitude, quod tu te credeor. (By fidelity and fortitude, you are what you believe yourself to be.) It now is both my motto and my shield. I tilt at windmills and defend the down-trodden. My Camelot days grew beyond 'one brief shining moment' to encompass far, far more. Camelot can never end. It has no beginning; therefore, by edict, it cannot end; only change. We are ever "Less than a drop in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea. But, it seems that some of the drops sparkle, some of them do sparkle."* *The closing words of the musical, "Camelot" |