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Teach us, O Lord, true brotherhood

Teach us, O Lord, true brotherhood,
In daily thought and deed,
That we may tread with humble heart,
The path where Thou dost lead.

Give us the courage, Lord, to fight
With Thee all greed of gold,
To fight until Thy kingdom’s won,
Thy kingdom long foretold.
Love then shall reign supreme o’er all,
O’er heart and mind and hand,
Eternal love and brotherhood
In all this storm tossed land.

With vision clear and steadfast heart
So let us follow Thee,
E’en though it be that weary road
Which leads to Calvary.


Fast rode the knight by Stephen Crane

Fast rode the knight
With spurs, hot and reeking,
Ever waving an eager sword,
“To save my lady!”
Fast rode the knIght,
And leaped from saddle to war.
Men of steel flickered and gleamed
Like riot of silver lights,
And the gold of the knight’s good banner
Still waved on a castle wall.
. . . . .
A horse,
Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,
Forgotten at foot of castle wall.
A horse
Dead at foot of castle wall.


young knight (for Kees)

I wear the clothing of a Knight-at-Arms
And bring about me all my noble things.
My sword and shield, my silver coat of rings
To ready stand to keep my land from harms.
I ride my horse all in my battle gear
And fight to free the innocent from wrong.
I climb the castle tower, high and strong.
And open up the gate to rousing cheer.
I know that some will say I live a dream
That "Knights and what they stood for all are gone".
I follow not their words for they are wrong.
For Knights do live, and what they give does gleam.
One only needs to do the deeds of right
To live again the honor of a Knight.


the fighter's war cry is poetry, for it comes from their soul

The poet settles through the hall at night.
He joins within the scattered talking there.
His lute and harp are strung to ease the fright
Reminding sons and brothers what they dare.
The heroes from the past do live again
With legend for their blood and fame their name.
Cold weapons hot with purpose do begin
To pulse with passion for the daylight game.
Around the hall, the hounds of battle stay.
And, with the night, lay quiet for the now.

Come dawn, all thought of else will shattered be
But now, in dreams, their fear does furrow brow.
The harper plays to give them strength and cause.

The morrow sees him sing with what he draws.



honour (The Sonnet form of the previous piece)

A rock will break before it ever bends
The moon repeats its masks in monthly wends.
The Sun is ever faithful at the dawn.
The Seasons overtake us one by one.

The tides do sweep the shore in even turns
New babes are born, grow old and so do learn.
Each spring sees swallows coming back to sing
And summer sees what harvest's promise bring.

That Nature sets these things to be's assured
And each in turn repeats its part rehearsed.

We have, in our cacophony, endured
By willingly adapting each day's verse.
Our actions guided by what's sworn on sword
Take well their noble shape from honor's word.

Timeless vigils

Two warriors, who've seen the face of war
And lived to sing the song of their own deeds,
Sit now in silent darkness 'gainst the door
While lonely timeless vigils Anguish feeds.
Too sharp, the cold of mists bite into bone.
Too dull, the thought that shapes their tired mind.
Too quick, the spark is gone by embers thrown,
Two hard, these tindered steels do wait the wind.
With memories that warm small parts of pain
And crack the door with soft, warm light of dawn;
To grin cracks lips too used to frowning's name.
But now two lips do open, bringing song.

What waits is nailing at the hem of night,
But never will delay the coming light.



Of all the fame of Knighthood's name, the swords & spears & shields

The Banners flying from the walls Of castles and the fields...

The horses charging at the lists The glint of armored steel

The best and noblest of them all are hearts where Truth is real.

the tourney prized (for Thorin)

For Champion and Protector vie the swords

Of many mighty warriors on the field.

And each a noble fighter of good word.

And each full ready to give victor yield.

What grace of prowess was there seen that day!

Good courtesy and chivalry full flower'd!

What inspiration shared, what friendships made

That audience, both royal and mean,* were proud.

The evening cool did witness one alone

Who all the rest did grant the victor's place.

Well earned the mantle of the Champion's throne.

Well honored by his lady, and her grace.

Each fighter and their favored were well shone.

This is the way that battle should be done.


victory's warrior

"For every cause that's given us there's Victory at hand"

No thing that ever sees the sun can be without this brand.

Tho' we may fail or fall too short in seeing fly our flag

We make the ways and palisades that centuries see stand.

Among the lost, the vanquished foe, the innocent and ill

Our path and Fate winds through them all to bring us to our will.

We joined this army when we stood and shouted out our brag:

"Let me be called to serve with all my strength & heart & skill."

When we so choose to join these troops of warriors and kin

We then concede our right to plead for what we "should" then win.

We serve ideals, we stay the quest, we climb the icy crag

Then let the Victory be shared. Let Bards their stories spin.

We serve the goal, we fight its loss, we keep it flowing on.

And where it takes us we will go... for less would see it gone.

  The fighter's war cry is poetry, for it comes from their soul

The poet settles through the hall at night.
He joins within the scattered talking there.
His lute and harp are strung to ease the fright
Reminding sons and brothers what they dare.
The heroes from the past do live again
With legend for their blood and fame their name.
Cold weapons hot with purpose do begin
To pulse with passion for the daylight game.
Around the hall, the hounds of battle stay.
And, with the night, lay quiet for the now.

Come dawn, all thought of else will shattered be
But now, in dreams, their fear does furrow brow.
The harper plays to give them strength and cause.

The morrow sees him sing with what he draws.

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.

Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky

And the affrighted steed ran on alone,

Do not weep.

War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom --
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.

Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,

Raged at his breast, gulped and died,

Do not weep.

Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button

On the bright splendid shroud of your son,

Do not weep.



Oh Lord with silence we hear,
Oh Lord with song we cheer,
Oh Lord with spirits so high,

Oh Lord with banners to the sky,
Oh Lord with sounds of battle crys,
Oh Lord with martyrdom we fly,
Oh Lord with beauty & grace,
Oh Lord with steel we chase,
Oh Lord with sword we trust,
Oh Lord with strength we thrust,
Oh Lord with crosses of red,
Oh Lord with prayers for the dead,
Oh Lord with brothers in arms,
Oh Lord with sacred charms,
Oh Lord with mantles of white,
Oh Lord with chivalry we knights!


The Last Battle of The Knights Templar (May 15th 1290)

Great battlements rose by the Syrian sea,
Acre they’ll talk for centuries of thee,
On that fateful day on the fifteenth of May,
When Al-Ashraf Kalil, it’s people did slay.  The Caliph his father as if by God’s hand,
Lay dead by the walls, in the whispering sand.
Kalil, laid siege with his army so great,
Templars and populace awaited their fate.Some, but only a very few
To escape by sea, lots they drew
The panic was great, fear of Kalil renowned
And old and young in the sea they drowned.  The Templars fought like lions deranged,
From dawn to dusk, but nothing changed.
Now Kalil to them, no quarter gave,
Not a single soul, that day they’d save.  The son of the Caliph now breached the wall,
Then blood ran free in St. Andrew’s Hall.
The last bastion of the Crusaders fell,
The sight of carnage, was a scene from hell.  Young and old, he spared not one,
Dark smoke covered the rising sun.
The great doors of St. Andrew he carried away,
To adorn the tomb, where his brother lay.  The last battle of Knights Templar was fought on that day.
And in Europe the church kneeled humbly to pray.

Templars’ Field (Graveyard)

I layeth down my sword and shield
and pray forgivness from my Lord
for sins I carried since my birth
I wish redemption
though sword was cast into my hand
to cut down those with devilish plans
and shield protected me their ills
bless me Lord in Templars’ field

In visions that thou gavest me
I kept my word of charity
and helped the weak and poor go free
from slavish masters
and when the bounty came my way
I proved to give it all away
and now before you naked say
in Templars’ field I wish to stay

In Templars field I seekest home
where other Knights reduced to bone
lay buried pure but not alone
my only brothers
they too like I sought saviours dove
we carried flags of holy words
and nailed the crucifix to shield
pray bless me Lord in Templars’ field.

- By Sir Knight of words


Knights Templar

Three by three in
line they come
courteous men of
templardom! Christtian
men who’ve
bowed the knee
At the cross of
Calvary. Each with
dedicated sword to
the glory of the Lord.
Guarding still the
faith they hold
as was done in
days of old.
For their history trails away to the dark and bloody day
When the Christians made their stand in the troubled Holy
land And the followers of the Christ Ruthlessly were sacrificed.
There amid the inky gloom shown the Templar’s spotless
Now this need for
strife has gone,
Still the termplars
follow on, Though
their swords in
silence sleep, Still
beneath the glittering arch
candidates for knighthood
march, And by taper
and by sword, Pledge
allegiance to the Lord.
Templars all, my hand
I wave Be you steadfast,
be you brave! Old the
order! Old the need!
For the valiant Christian
deed bigotry no more
holds sway. But for valiant
knights today And
for christian gentlemen
Still the need is now, as then.


The Knight Templar at Rest

Resting in calm repose,
The fiercest blast that blows
And bows yon sturdy oaks on Bashan’s height,
Can yield no influence here;
For many and many a year
Hath “slept in Jesus” this our stalwart Knight.
While rust corrodes his great cross-hilted sword,
The toil-spent Templar rests before the Lord.
He heard an inward call, —
“Leave home, leave country, all
That love you or are loved, — leave wealth and fame,
And with this ruddy Cross,
Count other things but dross,
To go and battle in your Master’s name!
There, where I walked in early clays with men,
Go, I will meet you, striving there, again!”
Meekly he rose and went;
His hard-earned fortune spent
In the high cause for which he took the sword
He chose the lowliest place;
For nothing can abase
The servant when he imitates his Lord.
Yet where the strokes fell thickest midst the din
He listened, yearning for that voice again.
And here the Templar fell; Battling full long and well;
He fell beneath the point of Paynim spear;
But to his dying eye The Master’s form drew nigh,
The Master’s whisper blest his dying ear; —
“Well done, true Knight, inherit thy reward!
The servant is not greater than his Lord!”

Templar Knights

White habits, Red Cross
Four ranks of brethren
Nine Templar Knights
Impoverished status didn’t last long
Proved their worth –
Extraordinary fervor &growth.

Lay authorities
Heaped on them favors
Both spiritual & temporal
Moved swiftly – sharp singing
Exempted from all jurisprudence –
Okayed by the Pope.

Property assimilated
Exempted from taxation
(Without representation)
Not even ecclesiastical tithes
Soon gave way to speculation –
Conflict proceeded in the Holy Land.

Landed property of the Order Led
Revenue due the churches quite certain
Castles turned quickly into remarkable ruins
By first to attack, last to retreat
New factions, blind obedience –
Also, docile to the voice of the ‘leader’.

Now,400 Templar Knights strong in Jerusalem
As an army they were never very numerous
But were inspirited by a force quite Christian
The terror of the Mohammedans
90 met death & 80 were taken prisoner –
To the spoils belong the victors.



Oda a los Templarios

Corría el año del Señor de 1118
y un anhelo en la mente de nueve valientes
se hizo finalmente realidad.
Al mando de “Hugo de Payens”
secundado por “Godofredo de Saint Omer”
se concreta la Orden de
“Los Pobres Caballeros de Cristo”
quienes de allí en más
llevarán en alto el estandarte del Reino de Dios,
en tanto siga fluyendo por sus venas
aquella sangre abnegada y heróica
que no dejaría de acompañarlos jamás.
Todo para lograr el noble propósito
de defender sus ideales
aunque pudieran tropezarse con la muerte
en aquella sagrada misión que se habían trazado.

Con la anuencia del Rey “Balduino I de Jerusalén”
lograron establecer su alojamiento
en un lugar que el soberano dispuso para tal fin,
y durante nueve años vivieron sobre
la parte principal de lo que fuera el templo de Salomón.
Fue entonces que su nombre se transformó
en el de los “Caballeros del Templo”
y posteriormente llegó al de “Caballeros Templarios”
o simplemente “Los Templarios”.

De un coraje sin igual
se involucraron en mil combates
con su pensamiento y su ideal
puesto profundamente en la fe Cristiana
y en los objetivos de la Iglesia Católica
como en la defensa de la Tierra Santa.

La figura del “Abad Bernardo de Claraval”
influyó en forma tan importante
que su Santidad el Papa otorgó
grandes atribuciones y privilegios
a esta organización de monjes guerreros.
La Orden fue creciendo
y siempre sus espadas y sus servicios
se mantuvieron fieles a Cristo y a Dios.
Sus ropajes o hábitos eran blancos
y en ellos lucían la bella cruz roja
que caracterizaba la presencia de los monjes
en toda lucha…en toda contienda.
Muchos murieron como héroes
en el campo de batalla
y justificaron el valor que jamás ocultaron
como también su humildad y su nobleza.

Corrió el tiempo y estos valientes luchadores
no cejaron en su misión,
y en el respeto y la defensa
de la Iglesia de Cristo.
Y así continuaron demostrando su valor
como también ofreciendo
hasta sus propias vidas para defender y fortalecer
los ideales que se habían impuesto mantener.

Más llegó un momento
en que todo se trocó en desgracia
y no se podrá conocer profundamente
que intenciones maliciosas
pobló la mente de sus perseguidores,
quienes lejos de obrar con ecuanimidad
los persiguieron, traicionaron, y los ajusticiaron.
Estos siniestros personajes fueron
“Felipe IV – Rey de Francia” y “Clemente V – Papa”
a quienes se sumaba el cruel y despiadado
“Guillermo de Nogaret”.

Cobarde y traicionera fue la sentencia
y así enviaron a la hoguera
– un 18 de marzo de 1314 –
al último Gran Maestre “Jacques de Molay”
junto a otros tantos Templarios.
Se cuenta que el Maestre antes de expirar
grito su maldición dirigida a sus verdugos,
y paradójicamente y en forma progresiva
aquellos que lo sentenciaron
terminaron siendo condenados por la
enfermedad y la fatalidad
y en poco tiempo éstas acabaron con sus vidas.

Aún queda una deuda pendiente
para con estos fieles y nobles hombres
que fueron expuestos a la persecución,
al destierro, y la muerte,
y que deberá en algún momento
reconocerse como una notoria injusticia
por parte de las autoridades
que hoy día les corresponde tomar tal decisión.
Pues la historia aún no admite aquella tremenda inmoralidad
que todavía no se puede olvidar, ni mucho menos comprender.

Que los poderosos del mundo
jamás se puedan atribuir
injustas potestades que condenen
a aquellos que merecen proseguir!

Caballeros de la cruz y de la espada
sus nombres permanecen en la historia,
sus nobles corazones aún perduran
poblados del valor y de la gloria!


The Knight's Call

The knight’s call,
is that of pain,
suffering and
undeniable anger.

They were sent away
with honour intact
Positive weeping, from the mothers.
Proud smiles, from their fathers.
Then they were dispatched.

Murder, massacre,
butchering of innocent boys.
Lynching and bloodshed.
The demons let rip,
on the unsuspecting knights.

“Move squire!” He shouted.
But there was no movement.
Only a trail of innards, and
the blood that leaked into
the cracks of the earth.

If you listen closely,
in the fields of
the damned.
You can hear them
wailing and screaming.

The fields where
they lay,
are filled with:
blood, mucus and
a suspicious oozing puss.

This is the Knight’s call.
A brutal event at best.
Your sons are dead,
Your brothers,
Your sisters.
You are alone,
with nothing but a memory. 

Thy Knight for all times

Dark steed, a vision dress-ed in black,
wild silken mane, bless-ed be thy nature.
A summers eve, let he taketh my life.
Perched high aloft his back, trudging t’ward my princess.

As sun doth set o’er unbroken brow,
only sunken hoof, makes sound upon mine ear.
Light makes no haste, as moon rises heaven bound.
Let glimmers be upon mine armour and my golden locks.

A darkened wood bereft of love,
nocturnal creatures frequent natures dwelling.
Of tales foretold, I do not fear,
for I am Lord Gwendal, first of my name.

With blade unsheathed, tunes shall sing of my quest.
No conquest unfought, no crusade bereft of my presence, they’ll recall,
“Thou shalt banish any foe who dareth confront!”
Head held high with self-pride and courage to match.

Upon reaching woods end, mine enemy approaches.
Steeds all forlorn, swords of weak blacksmiths steel.
With no whisper to speak, steel taketh their lives;
piercing armour with ease, I forge onto my grail.

Strewn with courage, I dismount and call to fair maiden,
“Princess Gwyneth, I beseech thee, it is I, your Lord knight.
Thou art so fair, ye ‘est beauteous a plenty!”
Replying my words, “Good morrow my lord, come hither dear sir.”

With fire in my belly, I push t’ward my sweet lady.
No-one can cut me down, for I dost conquer all.
As the last life I take, lie slain, perchance hither stands my sweet,
Forcing oak from its frame, moonlight shines upon her skin.

Whilst I fall to my knee, offer greeting, bid audience,
I fortell of my wish, “My fair lady, by my troth,
Thou shalt live in rare comfort and hath sacks full of gold.
Prithee accept my love and go thither whence I came.”

“Wherefore art thou from my Lord Knight,” came her words.
“A Princess I am yet, Her Grace, I am not.
Nor a wench may I be, so if ye thinks so, fare thee well.
Yet if thou doth love I for goodly length, I shalt always be thine.”

Whilst I brave watered tears, me thinks deeply so.
I accept her as Princess, no more or no less.
“I wanteth thou,” I speak, forcing smile to her face.
“Yet anon shalt go thither, as afore this……Whither is the Privvy?”

With frown upon brow, she takes a step and hails loud,
“Make your leave Sirrah, we are done!
Although thou art handsome, I bid thee, make me your first thought?
Choose the privvy or me.” Hence, I bid her adieu and descend alone. 

Valiant knight

Horse taking flight,
Quickly then dove in to fight,
Reins gripped tight, whitest steed
Saddled by valiant knight

Soul twisting howls, echo, sheer fright
Fluid strikes cutting foes To abyssal night,
Moonlight steel ran red,
Swift wounds from which blood fled

Fields of endless bloodstained red
Among dead, one Knightly soldier...
Raised his head
Victory he cried

When from darkest shadow sped
hellish bolt, struck him dead
Moonlit steel..ran red

A Knights Honor

This time, I shall certainly win,
No greater task for my sin,
My sword and armor are strong,
My love and knowledge isn't wrong,

I fight to reap what they sow,
They killed for a mere show,
Not for money or food,
But only to ease their mood,

I will fight the evil I hate,
My sword shall end their fate,
My right shall be their wrong,
Their shackles shall sing my song,

They are not humane,
They fight as if insane,
Enjoyed being in control,
Now the lack is taking its toll,

An easy detail they thought,
As if victory is bought,
Dare not deny a knight,
For you will lose the fight,

Cowards they are as they run,
Tripping towards the western sun,
Not an honorable bone exists,
Now shackled ankles and wrists,

They thought freedom was free,
But it doesn't matter to me,
For when there is wrong,
I'll be there before long.

The-White-Knights-Germany TILL 2018

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