 Poetry: September 05, 2018 Issue [#9107] |
This week: Observations at the Renn Faire Edited by: Fyn-elf  
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I went to a restaurant that serves 'breakfast at any time'. So I ordered French Toast during the Renaissance.~~ Steven Wright
English has been this vacuum cleaner of a language, because of its history meeting up with the Romans and then the Danes, the Vikings and then the French and then the Renaissance with all the Latin and Greek and Hebrew in the background. ~~ David Crystal
Rapunzel is a bit more relatable than the other princesses, especially because she doesn't even know that she's a princess until the very end of the movie. I like to think of her as the bohemian Disney princess. She's barefoot and living in a tower. She paints and reads... She's a Renaissance woman.~~Mandy Moore
Great effort is required to arrest decay and restore vigor.
One must exercise proper deliberation,
plan carefully before making a move,
and be alert in guarding against relapse following a renaissance. ~~ Horace
For all sad words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are these, "It might have been.~~ John Greenleaf Whittier
Pick up a stone that feels good to you
and is small enough to hold in one hand.
Consider how long that stone has been around
and what enormous pressure it has experienced.
Draw strength from its long history.~~Mary Anne Radmacher
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Prithee, come and sit a spell; hear my tale and bode it well. For tis the time to scent of wing, to fly thy feet, of marvels sing. Fear not the mud or taunts thus thrown; bloom thee out where thee's been sown. For amidst the when of yonder faire, sink in, believe whilst thee are there.
The Renaissance Faire. A cast of characters.
Portly gentleman on his winged scooter, painted to resemble dragon scales, complete with dragon masque and a smaller flight of dragons riding on the arms of his 'throne.' Said dragons breathing 'dragon fyre' incense to dispel the stench of the crowd. His passion is dragons and weekends from August through September he inhabits the faire in Holly, Michigan. Then, following the flight path of his quarry, he roams to other worlds and other faires. Said his castle is home to over five thousand dragons. He is, indeed, the 'Dragon Master.
Dread Pirate Robert. No, not really. But this one gentleman was pirate from head to toe and one to have your back when the Pirate Queen attempts to take your ship on the high seas. Twenty-two pistols are stashed in numerous holsters, tucked in his be-plummed hat, at his knees, in his boots and across his chest. Pearled handles, engraved steel.. Knives, only seventeen (he says softly), are tucked in his vest, at his hip, behind his back. With straight or deliciously (his words) curved blades thirsty for blood. Three swords hang from his leathered hips. His mask, a skull with an ebony tooth.
Thin, twenty-something youth, with scraggly blond beard and stringy hair. Lowly thief, pick-pocket scum caught with his grimy paw in my purse. Elbow to solar plexus, fist to the groin. He ran with the oddest of ungainly gaits. Easy to describe to the sheriff as he was dressed in some manner of clothing not worn in the day sporting multi-pocketed cargo shorts, white (brand-new white) sneakers and black/teal striped shirt. He gathered naught from me but pain, for I be one to hold my wealth close to my chest!
A sprite, dressed in shimmering green gauzes that somehow managed to both cover and yet, entice, her reed slim frame. Iridescent wings shimmered behind her. Hip-long hair in a riot of curls sported both butter and dragon flies. Pointed ears, Kelly-green eyes and a wicked laugh.
The majestic Queen in high regalia of the day appeared calm and cool, despited ninety degree heat and swimmable humidity. I heard she had twelve petticoats under her gown. Long sleeved brocaid and velvet gown. For this day, one could be glad one was not a queen!
Six-foot tall potted green pillar of ivy mid-path. A wooden bucket with a few coins of the realm and a sign begging good folks to contribute to a hedge fund. Then it moved. Language unbecoming anyone burst forth from many mouths, screams were emitted by others. The children were rarely fazed at all.
Two dandified fencers pricked at each other's bodies and egos. Seems both fancied the same fair maiden whom I later saw with a stalwort fellow who could have lifted both men with one hand and snapped them like twigs.
No Captain Hooks to be seen, but a full compliment of scurvy sea-dogs who needed both shave and bath! Hip-high boots, bandanas, requisite gold earrings and leather jerkins. These scalliwags cowtowed and groveled at the feet of the every bit of six-foot Pirate Queen Grace O'Malley who commanded her men with colorful language and sword-sharp looks. She swaggered with the best of them and clearly had the men in her thrall. Expect it was that -- or be keel-hauled and who'd want that?
Two immensly tall Viking warriors made taller by horned helmets. Encased in heavy leather and silver armor, carrying heavy steel mauls as if they were made of styrofoam. (They absolutely were not!) Imposing character escorting the most delicate of unicorn princesses.She, with golden horn and gown of flowers, pranced between her two gallants.
A falcon wizardess sporting a mask with feathers trailing her head by at least three feet, a protrooding bill and a perigrin on her arm. She never spoke, but twittered ... or shrieked in perfect mimicry of falcon cry. Clothed in feathers from head to booted toe. Her minion, clad in soft hide clothing, trailed behind carrying water and bits of raw meat. (Reminents, according to the minion, of any who crossed her!)
Perhaps a once-upon-a-time monk, now dressed in tattered robes, sitting on a throne of mud selling cast-off sweat and bemoaning the fact he had no takers. In-between the moments of self-pitying diatribe, he would hurl curses upon any and all who passed, threatening doom, gloom and muddy days ahead.
Story-teller in forest greens and browns, looking a bit worse for the wear in worn boots and linen poet's shirt. Tall, gnarled wooden staff topped by a 'crittenwald' - a creature of bone and fur with over-sized eyes whose head would turn and bob at passers-by. She told stories of a dragon named Dalthyrian who coveted books as his treasure, a spoiled princess and a land named Alyndoria.
A walking cello, with sting and bow, who played himself and the music was stellar,. A rock who looked like a great place to sit, until it moved, and comlained at one's sheer audacity!
Buildings to house merchants and places of grog grew at various slants and angels. Window-shuttered and wooden-floored edifices of twisted rooms and spraling spaces. All manner of treasures and trinkets could be had for a fee as well as the ubiquitious turkey legs, giant's fingers, dragon pattys and draughts of golden meade.
The last of my cast of characters was the mud monster who, with the help of torrencial downpours the previous day, was pervasive and had spread itself several inches deep underfoot. A greasy, slippery character, he delighted in causing unexpected foot slides, generous splashes and copious amounts of flung bits of itself to splatter gowns and garments of rich and poor alike.
A day of scents and savory indulgences, of sweltering heat and water always at the end of a bedraggled line. A day of glorious costumes and cobbeled together looks, of jousts and knights and marauding pirate throngs. A day to rival any sauna, filled with laughter, song and enough warriors to fulfill any fantasy. A day of all sorts of foreign accents, real or made up, twisting the ordinary sentence into something magical and delightful. A visionary time where every coin spent was replaced by deposits into the observance bank to be withdrawn at my leisure in times to come.
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