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Songs and Verse of John Myers Myers Invocation
I invoke the Commonwealth!
I know what was in Orthroerir;
Orthroerir was in it,
In it, it was hoarded,
Hoarded, it was stolen,
Stolen, it was spilled,
Spilled, I caught it,
Caught, it was given away,
Given away, it stays my own,
My own is the Commonwealth.
I invoke it!
The land may not be hidden from its lover. The

The Death of Bowie Gizzardsbane

Harsh that hearing for Houston the Raven:
Fools had enfeebled the fortress at Bexar,
Leaving it lacking and looted the while
Hordes were sweeping swift on his land,
Hell-bent to crush him. The cunning old prince
Did not, though, despair at danger’s onrushing;
Hardy with peril, he held it, perused it,
Reading each rune of it. Reaching the facts, he
Thumbed through his thanes and thought of the one
Whose guts and gray matter were grafted most neatly.
“Riders!’ he rasped, “ to race after Bowie!”
“Bowie,” he barked when that bearcat of heroes
Bowed to his loved prince, “Bexar must be ours
Or no one must have it. So hightail, burn leather!
Hold me that fortress or fire it and raze it.
Do what you can or else do what you must.”

Fame has it fosterlings, free of the limits
Boxing all others, and Bowie was one of them.
Who has not heard of the holmgang at Natchez?
Fifty were warriors, but he fought the best,
Wielding a long knife, a nonesuch of daggers
Worthy of Wayland. That weapon had chewed
The entrails of dozens. In diverse pitched battles
That thane had been leader; by land and by sea
Winning such treasure that trolls, it is said,
Closed hills out of fear he’d frisk them of silver.
Racing now westward, he rode into Bexar,
Gathered the garrison, gave them his orders:
“Houston the Raven is raising a host;
Time’s what he asks while he tempers an army.
Never give up this gate to our land.
Hold this door fast, though death comes against us.”

The flood of the foemen flowed up to Bexar,
Beat on the dam braced there to contain it.
But Wyrd has no fosterlings, favors no clients;
Bowie, the war-wise winner of battles,
Laid out by fever, lost his first combat,
Melting with death. Yet the might of his spirit
Kept a tight grip on the trust he’d been given.
“Buy time, my bucks,” he told his companions.
“Be proud of the price; our prince is the gainer.”
Bold thanes were with him, thirsty for honor,
Schooled will in battle and skilled in all weapons;
Avid for slaughter there, each against thirty,
They stood to the walls and struck for their chieftains,
Houston and Bowie, the bearcat of heroes.

Twelve days they ravaged the ranks of the foemen.
Tens, though, can’t harrow the hundreds forever;
That tide had to turn. Tiredly the thanes
Blocked two wild stormings and bled them to death.
The third had the drive of Thor’s mighty hammer,
Roared at the walls and rose to spill over,
Winning the fort. But the foemen must pay.
Heroes were waiting them, hardy at killing,
Shaken no whit, though sure they were lost.
Ten lives for one was the tariff for entry;
And no man got credit. Crushed and split skulls,
Blasted off limbs and lathers of blood
Were the money they sought and minted themselves –
Worth every ounce of the weregild they asked.

Of every eleven, though, one was a hero
Turned to a corpse there. Cornered and hopeless,
They strove while they yet stood, stabbing and throttling,
Meeting the bear’s death, dying while fighting.
Chieftains of prowess, not chary of slaying,
Led and fell with them. Alone by the wall,
Travis, the red-maned, the truest of warriors,
Pierced through the pate and pouring out blood,
Kept death marking time, defied it until
His sword again sank, sucking blood from a foeman.
Content, then he ended. So also died Crockett,
Who shaved with a star and stamped to make earthquakes,
Kimball, the leader of loyal riders,
Bonham whose vow was valor’s own hall mark.

Crazed by their losses, the conquerors offered
No truce to cadavers; the corpses were stabbed
In hopes that life’s spark would be spared to afford them
Seconds on killing. Then some, taking count,
Bawled out that Bowie was balking them still;
Like weasels in warrens they wound through the fort,
Hunting the hero they hated the most.
Least of the lucky, at last some found him,
Fettered to bed by the fever and dying,
Burnt up and shrunken, a shred of himself.
Gladly they rushed him, but glee became panic.
Up from the gripe of the grave, gripping weapons,
Gizzardsbane rose to wreak his last slaughter,
Killing, though killed. Conquered, he won.

In brief is the death lay of Bowie, the leader
Who laid down his life for his lord and ring giver,
Holding the doorway for Houston the Raven,
Pearl among princes, who paid in the sequel:
Never was vassal avenged with more slayings! Widsith's Widsith's Song
East of Agamemnon was a city he had sacked,
West of him his heart went home to Greece.
Good and ill wear each a mask that never can be cracked;
He raced from what he thought was war to what he thought was peace.
He was cuckold by his cousin and he'd find his death blow,
But he made them burn the thole pins, and still he called them slow --
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho!
East of Ingcel One-Eye were his kin without their lives,
Westward was a chance to square the loss.
Men will win and men will lose, and only Wyrd survives;
He aimed his fleet for Eriu and flitted it across.
He would conquer mighty Conaire, but that he couldn't know,
He only knew that he must strike and he must not be slow --
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho!
East of O. van Kortlandt all the world was traced and known,
West of him the land leapt off the map.
Luck or loss, the dice won't speak till after they are thrown;
He stowed his gear and stepped aboard and braved Ginnunga Gap.
He would come back to Communipaw, but that just happened so;
He turned from men to mystery and did not travel slow --
He made them brace and bend their backs and row, ho, ho! Orpheus’

Orpheus’ Song

I have known both joy and grief,
Neat or mixed together;
Cold and heat I’ve known and found
Both good drinking weather;
Light and darkness I have know,
Seldom doubting whether
Tammuz would return again
When he’d slipped his tether.
I remember gaudy days
When the year was springing:
Tammuz, Gilgamesh, and I
Clinking cups and singing,
Till Innini sauntered by,
Skimpy garment clinging
To her hips and things like that –
Tammuz left us, winging.
So we welcomed Enkidu
When he came to Erech;
He was rough as hickory bark,
Nothing of a cleric;
But his taste in wine and ale,
That was esoteric,
And he used a drinking cup
Which would strain a derrick.
Khumbaba then felt our strength
In the magic cedars,
And we bated Anu’s bull,
Pride of Heaven’s breeders;
Thrice we struck, and once it fell,
Drawing wolves for feeders,
While we strode where drinking men
Called for expert leaders.
Tammuz must have joined us there,
But he’d just got wedded,
And Innini, blast the wench!
Hacked him as they bedded.
Damn such honeymoons as that!
Just the sort I’ve dreaded;
For a drinking man is spoiled
Once he is beheaded.
So we waked him with a will,
Ale and tear drops pooling,
Then we drank to him for months
While the year was cooling;
But he came back with the grass:
“Death was only fooling,”
Tammuz told us “Fill my cup;
I’m both dry and drooling.” &nbsp: Friar

Friar John’s Song

Old man Zeus he kept a heifer in his yard;
Hera smelled a rat and took the matter hard.
She swore she would watch the varmint anyhow
Damned if she’d play second fiddle to a cow!
Here’s to Zeus and his hot pants! He learned to pay his debts.
The more he started to explain,
The more she jawed him with disdain.
She wouldn’t hear; it was vain
He vowed he just liked pets.
Young Adonis was a handsome lad, I hear,
But some parts were missing from him, as I fear,
Aphrodite swung her hips and rolled her eyes,
But for once she couldn’t even get a rise.
Here’s to young Adonis, who is dead and ought to be!
He chased a pig, he shot and missed,
So he got killed instead of kissed.
I wish that what slipped through his fist
Had only come to me!
Once a centaur loved a Lapithaean dame,
So he thought he’d work to try to snatch the same;
But that cutie didn’t thank him for his pass,
For she said she knew he was a horse’s ass.
Here’s to Deidamia, for her husband ran away!
When he began to stay out late
She nagged, and so he left her, straight –
She wished she’d had the nag for mate
To whom she once said nay! Little

Little John’s Song

They said they caght me in the act,
Green leaves,
The sheriff rode, the bloodhounds tracked,
Green leaves;
There was the law, there was not any doubt of it,
There was the law, so I hustled right out of it;
Having but one life, I thought I’d refuse it
To those who were seeking but never would use it,
So I hit for the cover in green leaves.
They meant me for a gallows’ nut,
Green leaves,
A rope to hold my gullet shut,
Green leaves;
That was their plan, there is not any doubt of it,
That was their plan, I was shrewd to get out of it;
Some of my guts I’d give up without thinking
But never my gullet, I need it for drinking,
So I took it with me to green leaves.
My woman sleeps alone tonight,
Green leaves,
Or cuddles with some other wight,
Green leaves;
This is my grief, there is not any doubt of it,
This is my grief, I can make no good out of it;
Hunting and stealing, I’m pleased to discover,
Are simpler than working, but I had a lover
I couldn’t take with me to green leaves.
But, oh, the stalking of the stag,
Green leaves,
The ale cask found amongst the swag,
Green leaves;
Here is what’s good, there is not any doubt of it,
Here is what’s good, and I take my pay out of it;
Robbing the rich man to help the poor devil -
Myself – and rewarding myself with a revel,
It’s not a bad life under green leaves.