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Project poem


Looking for truth
For senior project, we had to write our own Canterberry Tales. I took the assignment literally, writing in iambic pentameter and using an aabbccdd... rhyme scheme. It doesn't have the satire of Chaucer, but I think I did a decent job at capturing the spirit of medevil aged poetry.


A man humble in stature found his way
Walking along the pilgrim’s trail this day.
Far from noble by birth and by action
He seeks forgiveness of his transgression.
A fisherman he was, though not by heir,
Choosing this life to escape all his cares
And woes to be forgotten in water
Disturbed only by his reed, his saber
Of his livelihood, tripping fish with worm,
Only able to eat what he could earn.

His body was shallow from rough years past,
His face marred with valleys that tears have cast.
His color rogue grey, in eyes and in beard,
Hair long and braided cut not through the years.
He wore a white tunic, though it was stained,
From times he had spent fishing in the rain.
He walked in pants with patches at each knee,
And one might cringe as he walked in bare feet.
But one could see the burden o’er his head,
And from the path he’ll not stray unless dead.

May you summon the courage to ask him,
What caused him to live as fishermen
Do, he will lament his tale of the past,
Of how he made himself a Church outcast.
He will tell of a battle of the heart
And his role in it, how he fit the part.
You may learn what folly dreams really are,
And how a monk had taken his too far.
But no more delay to this fisher’s tale
We trace back the path of the fisher’s trail.

The Fisherman’s Tale

I have not always been a fisherman,
This façade was a desperate escape plan.
I was once a Brother, servant of the Lord.
Satisfied I was, never wanting more.
Until into the house of God one day,
Flew in an Angel beauteous and gay.
A maiden of high blood and deserving
For humbler was never such a thing
Than this chaste one, making even I seem
To be a filthy creature, and unclean.

And I admit, unclean I was to look
At her in the way I found myself look.
She and I would discuss God and his will,
Whilst I would try to make my feelings still.
But daily I found myself confessing,
To the maiden and seeking her blessing.
And she would smile at my transgression,
she would say,” No Brother, it is a sin.”
Everyday though, she would come back to me,
A Lady I could never make her be.

Everything changed in a day and night’s course,
Giving my burden a definite source.
When the maiden came in one day, with news
That a husband her father forced her choose,
Was to marry her at morrow’s first light.
She did not wish to, and instead chose flight.
Beckoning me to follow her path too,
We ran until the Church was out of view.
There she made a most joyful confession,
That it was me she had her heart set on.

And my second sin was made, to take her,
In those woods, to lay her among the firs.
Her father caught wind of the Lady’s plight,
So he and her husband set out that night.
By morning’s break they had caught up to us,
And her husband declared among the moss,
That I relinquish her and turn my back,
And walk away, or force him to attack.
And I asked the Lady to step away,
Determined to prove my love on that day.

With a stick I fended away his sword.
By my final step away from the Lord,
A final blow landed which killed the man.
Then to the father I looked, who then ran.
But in a moment of clarity I
Realized my sins could not be denied.
So in such shame I could no longer love
I had walked from under God’s light above.
I sent the Lady back to her father,
I hid away from worry or bother.

And I never saw the Lady again.
That’s why I’m a fisherman among men.
So heed my tale and try to understand,
There is no such thing as a pious man.


Banned - What an Asshat!
good rhyme scheme. long, but hey its for school. Iambic pentameter gives me a headache. :thumbsup:


Trance Addict
Good writing scheme and great descriptive environment. well done! :thumbsup:


Excellent.... very nice!!