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The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak

Of all the Knights in Appledore
The wisest was Sir Thomas Tom.
He multiplied as far as four,
And knew what nine was taken from
To make eleven. He could write
A letter to another Knight.

No other Knight in all the land
Could do the things which he could do.
Not only did he understand
The way to polish swords, but knew
What remedy a Knight should seek
Whose armour had begun to squeak.

And, if he didn't fight too much,
It wasn't that he didn't care
For blips and buffetings and such,
But felt that it was hardly fair
To risk, by frequent injuries,
A brain as delicate as his.

His castle (Castle Tom) was set
Conveniently on a hill;
And daily, when it wasn't wet,
He paced the battlements until
Some smaller Knight who couldn't swim
Should reach the moat and challenge him.

Or sometimes, feeling full of fight,
He hurried out to scour the plain,
And, seeing some approaching Knight,
He either hurried home again,
Or hid; and, when the foe was past,
Blew a triumphant trumpet-blast.

One day when good Sir Thomas Tom
Was resting in a handy ditch,
The noises he was hiding from,
Though very much the noises which
He'd always hidden from before,
Seemed somehow less....Or was it more?

The trotting horse, the trumpet's blast,
The whistling sword, the armour's squeak,
These, and especially the last,
Had clattered by him all the week.
Was this the same, or was it not?
Something was different. But what?

Sir Thomas raised a cautious ear
And listened as Sir Hugh went by,
And suddenly he seemed to hear
(Or not to hear) the reason why
This stranger made a nicer sound
Than other Knights who lived around.

Sir Thomas watched the way he went -
His rage was such he couldn't speak,
For years they'd called him down in Kent
The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak!
Yet here and now he looked upon
Another Knight whose squeak had gone.

He rushed to where his horse was tied;
He spurred it to a rapid trot.
The only fear he felt inside
About his enemy was not
'How sharp his sword?' 'How stout his heart?'
But 'Has he got too long a start?'

Sir Hugh was singing, hand on hip,
When something sudden came along,
And caught him a terrific blip
Right in the middle of his song.
'A thunderstorm!' he thought. 'Of course!'
And toppled gently off his horse.

Then said the good Sir Thomas Tom,
Dismounting with a friendly air,
'Allow me to extract you from
The heavy armour that you wear.
At times like these the bravest Knight
May find his armour much too tight.'

A hundred yards or so beyond
The scene of brave Sir Hugh's defeat
Sir Thomas found a useful pond,
And, careful not to wet his feet,
He brought the armour to the brink,
And flung it in...and watched it sink.

So ever after, more and more,
The men of Kent would proudly speak
Of Thomas Tom of Appledore,
'The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak.'
Whilst Hugh, the Knight who gave him best,
Squeaks just as badly as the rest.

poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Related quotes

My Knight and My Hero

I know he isn’t handsome man but he’s like a knight
I know he don’t use armour or brave horse but he’s like the big hero
He have given his hand to me and teach me to help each other
He have given his wisdom sword to battles problems in my life
And only him that have given to me a great weapon to heals sorrow
The smiling face is great weapon to heals sorrow
My knight and my hero
He changes my life simply
His instict says that he will always be my knight and hero
And he certains that I always love him too
And I know he is true
I will always love you, Dad
I will always admire you as my kngiht and hero
Always and forever more than your desire

poem by Deasy Anggraeni
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Bold Knight

He rode is gallant steed
the sun reflecting off his breastplate.
He rode into the dragon’s den
to rid his precious homeland
of the monster that stalked it there.

This bold knight whose armour
glinted in the sun
rode high upon his steed
and would soon be
a hero to everyone.

Many had died at the breath
of this monstrous beast,
now one man
with the courage of a lion
would soon end the rein of terror.

Dismounting from his steed,
sword and shield in hand
approached the monster’s lair.
A sheet of flame emerged from within the cave,
and then came the bellowing roar.

The dragon emerged
and studied the silver figure
that stood before him.
He blew a gust of flame.
The knight raised his shield reflecting the fire.

The knight advanced
towards the beast
that towered over him.
Before the dragon
could blow more fire.

The knight rushed forward
and thrust his sword deep
within the dragon’s belly.
The dragon reared up
its wings flapped in a gallant gesture
before it fell silent to the ground

The beast that had terrorised
his beloved lands now lay slain
by this mighty knight’s hand.
No more would it scorch
his beloved land.

24 April 2008

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Quest

Once upon a time a princess
was in distress
in a beautiful country
called Ireland
the handsome knight came
to impress
and to win the
princess hand

the knight set off
on the quest
to return the pot of gold at the
end of the rainbow
as the beautiful princess
had request

the brave knight was
eager to begin
everyone had faith in the knight
for he was the champion
this quest he was determined
to win

there were quite a few mean trolls
taking a stand
the whole kingdom was
in an uproar
they came from England to
take over the land

the knight set out on a
path of danger
flying overhead was a great dragon
keeping an eye on the unicorn
things couldn't get
much stranger

the knight met with the fairies
who came up with a plan
to buy the magic wand from the
leprechaun if he can

in an instant the rainbow
did appear
the brave knight returned the pot of
gold to his princess
and everyone in the kingdom
gave a great cheer

poem by Rachel Nichols
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Enigma of the Knight

I dreamt that I was dreaming
And in my dream beheld
A knight in fading armour
His name from me withheld.
Relentlessly the tolling
Did saturate the air,
And filled the empty graveyard...
The one with no-one there.

His sword within his scabbard
Still sharp and virgin clean,
I wondered if to battle
This knight had ever been?
No blood upon the countenance
Beneath the iron hood;
No answer to my question,
The mystery still stood.

Of toil and sad confusion
And hatred and disgrace
He told me, then I looked again
And thought I knew his face;
I felt I recognised the voice
That whispered soft as mute:
'A song will be our epitaph,
Sung sweetly on the lute.'

The vision turned and made to leave,
I asked him not to go,
He drew a little closer saying:
'Do you wish to know?
The timer drawn of molten glass
Is running out of sand;
This dream within another
You will never understand.'

His life was nearly finished
And so, I thought, my dream,
I turned away and over
To try my sleep redeem;
Then dreamt that I had woken
Still puzzled by the knight,
Then woke again to find that
I, like he, had lost the fight.

(Written April/May 1996)

poem by John Carter Brown
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A Knight At The Seashore

the knight came from the enchanted forest
onto the shore, came the galloping horse
with a handsome knight still unknowing
could this be the sparkling castle?
the castle of the most famous king
the seabreeze was welcoming
with the waves so gentle
the horse slowly went onward
watching the seagulls fly overhead
out to sea, in the distant horizon
the sun was lower, as if going for a dive
with light playing in the water
the knight saw only a fair maiden
in the far distance, walking alone on the shore

poem by Rachel Nichols
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Fast rode the knight

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.

poem by Stephen Crane
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Shameful Death

There were four of us about that bed;
The mass-priest knelt at the side,
I and his mother stood at the head,
Over his feet lay the bride;
We were quite sure that he was dead,
Though his eyes were open wide.

He did not die in the night,
He did not die in the day,
But in the morning twilight
His spirit pass'd away,
When neither sun nor moon was bright,
And the trees were merely grey.

He was not slain with the sword,
Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,
Yet spoke he never a word
After he came in here;
I cut away the cord
From the neck of my brother dear.

He did not strike one blow,
For the recreants came behind,
In a place where the hornbeams grow,
A path right hard to find,
For the hornbeam boughs swing so,
That the twilight makes it blind.

They lighted a great torch then,
When his arms were pinion'd fast,
Sir John the knight of the Fen,
Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,
With knights threescore and ten,
Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.

I am threescore and ten,
And my hair is all turn'd grey,
But I met Sir John of the Fen
Long ago on a summer day,
And am glad to think of the moment when
I took his life away.

I am threescore and ten,
And my strength is mostly pass'd,
But long ago I and my men,
When the sky was overcast,
And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen,
Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.

And now, knights all of you,
I pray you pray for Sir Hugh,
A good knight and a true,
And for Alice, his wife, pray too.

poem by William Morris
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Hors-d’oeuvre

Long ago and far away
lived a knight not so bold
and he often considered
how he would rescue a damsel in distress.
Not being bold or handsome to
the knight wondered what he should do.

Then came a day
when his lady fair was kidnapped
and the knight was perplexed
at what he should do.
Mounting his steed he galloped
to the castle where she was held.

The walls of the castle
seem to stretch to the sky.
How was he to save her
and rescue her virtue from these wicked men?
He could not scale this fortress
and breech its stone walls,

From within the walls he heard
groans and wails ring out.
The thoughts of them
stealing her virtue
made his voice ring out.
“Open the gates and let me in.”

The gates duly opened
and the knight with sword in hand
quickly rode his steed in.
There was his lady fair
being ravished by several men.
“Leave ye lady fair alone.”

The knight was taken back
as his lady fair’s voice
echoed in his ears.
“Be gone you silly knight,
can’t you see this lady
wants to have some fun.”

6-7 September 2010

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Armour and Amor

Now listen to me now
And to me pay attention
Sometimes the course of love
Needs a mother's intervention

Now listen to my tale
How some Armour old and rusty
Led Lass to discover
Love deep and true and lusty

One day while cleaning house
Mom found a coat of Armour
She didn't want the dusty thing
To clutter up her parlor

She made Lass take it back
And thats how Lass met Laddy
He was a big improvement
Over Tom and Dick and Harry

It worked out for the best
And thus did Lass acquire
A true love who's a knight-
She didn't settle for his squire.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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Be My Hero Be My Knight

When all the men died in my world
I have you the only one left
When all the important men died suddenly
You're taking a helicopter to come
You started a new revolutionary
But be careful, don't die yourself in it.
Let everybody know your name
Let you be my Hero be my Knight.

I'm a slim woman with a mask
and a walking stick
Let you be my Hero be my Knight
If you still have a little pity on me
Come on time, be My hero be My knight.

poem by Yihuai Ying
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All are knights and princesses

A lass will fantasize about the knight
In the shining armour,
Who will come on a galloping horse
And sweep her off her feet
And walk with her into the sunset.

A lad will fantasize about the princess
In the velvet garment,
Who will wait for him in the parlour
And find him way to reach her
And walk with him into the dark spot.

Such like things may not happen in life
Yet don’t discourage them.
Thinking that it might or might not last,
No one will fantasize,
And the pleasure is neither denied.
13.10.2008

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Knight's Meeting

splash splash, the waves came onto the shore
the knight on horseback, rode toward the maiden
oh the vision was so lovely and the sea so blue
across the golden sand he rode
big fluffy clouds floated across the evening sky
the full moon was just now, coming into view
could any scene be more lovely
the knight was mesmerized
the closer he came to the maiden, the more so-
who was this lovely maiden, by the aqua blue sea
when his horse drew near, 'whoa' he cried,
he saw the beauty and was unable to speak
for the first time ever in his life
the knight was speechless, lost in a trance

poem by Rachel Nichols
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The Black Knight's Song

Knight And Wamba

There came three merry men from south, west, and north,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,
And where was the widow might say them nay?

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
And his fathers, God save us, were men of great faine,
And where was the widow might say him nay?

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire,
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay;
She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire,
For she was the widow would say him nay.

Wamba

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails,
Merrily sing the roundelay;
Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales,
And where was the widow might say him nay?

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay;
She said that one widow for so many was too few,
And she bade the Welshman wend his way.

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent,
Jollily singing his roundelay;
He spoke to the widow of living and rent,
And where was the widow could say him nay?

Both

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire,
There for to sing their roundelay;
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent,
There never was a widow could say him nay.

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Me, Myself & I

I need you!
That was the last word I said to you.
But do I?

'No matter what happens,
I'll always be with you! '
That was the last word you said to me.
But were you really there?

What I can't believe is that I believed every word you said.
I can't believe that I made myself believe
what we had will last.

How could you have said you loved me
when you didn't?
I thought you were my knight and shiny armour
I thought I was your cinderella.

I thought you were my charming prince.
How could you have left without a trace?
`leaving me with the hope to see your face.

It's been a while, time has passed.
I've moved on.
You hurt me bad,
but I'm a survivor.

I'll do just fine without you.
It hurts so much,
but I've learned a lot.
I have come to realize that I don't need you anymore.

I know I'll find the one for me
I know I can confide in me till then
I know I won't let myself down.
All I've got for now is...

Me, Myself & I.

poem by Eunice Ogunleye
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The Vision: (Katia: Easter Sunday, 1916)

She had a vision in the dark
Ere the first lark from nest took flight;
She saw her own son from fierce strife
Win to new Life and new Delight.

The clouds were tattered round his head
As sore bested he fought his foe,
Where in the conflict he was ta'en
And slain -- she did not see it so.

She saw indeed his bitter case
In that sad place, parched, without shade,
And how her Christian Knight must fall
In Paynim thrall, should Heaven not aid.

But now what light burns in the cloud?
What voices loud against his ear?
St. Andrew and St. Patrick ride
Close by his side; St. George is near.

His banner floats upon the breeze,
Like a gold fleece it wraps him round --
So, cap-à-pie from head to knee,
His enemy he strikes to ground.

He's won the day, he's won the day!
See the light play upon his brow!
Brave in his armour and upright
The Christian Knight is riding now.

She had that vision of her son
When by the moon asleep she lay --
And woke to singing birds and dew,
And knew that it was Easter Day.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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Journey to Paradise

She was a queen of the old Levant,
Of a country, lost in shame,
Each page, blood-drenched of its history
Was burnt, to bury its name,
The King had gone on the last Crusade
With his knights to the Holy Land,
But locked her into a chastity belt
Forged by a blacksmith's hand.

But Queen Fatima, known as ‘The Bitch'
Was a testy-tempered whore,
She raged and ranted at everyone
And chafed at the chains she bore,
She sent in search of the blacksmith to
Disable the King's device,
But word came back that the man was hung
So he'd never work it twice.

The King was away for three long years,
Fatima's tongue was a lash,
The sharpest thing in her box of tricks
Was the blade of the headsman's axe,
Her courtiers' popularity rose
And fell as her moods had bled,
And all had quaked at the first mistake
When she ranted, ‘Off with his head! '

She called for a Turkic Shaman to
Divine what her life would be,
Would she ever be rid of this chastity belt?
He cautioned her, ‘Wait and see! '
It wasn't the answer she wanted, so
He was tied to a horse, and dragged,
Down to the river and weighted down
Tied up in a hessian bag!

A number of fortune tellers fell
To the rage of a Fatima fit,
Off to the gory headsman's blade
Or cooked like a pig on a spit,
But then, the little court jester said
In a voice that was more like a whine,
‘Would it please the ear for a genuine seer,
At Delphi, I learnt to divine.'

‘You learned from the famous Oracle?
Come closer, this I must hear,
If the Oracle tells my future place,
Why, you have nothing to fear! '
‘My Oracle tells the key to your belt
Has been locked in the armourer's cell,
The King had ordered its secret kept
Or he'd suffer the fiends from hell! '

They carried the armourer shackled in chain
To the queen, he knelt in shock,
‘The key, if you please, or on your knees
You will feel my steel on the block! '
He babbled and begged forgiveness, said
He was caught between King and Queen,
And gave up the key to chastity
So the queen danced free on the green.

She spent that night with the eunuch slaves,
She crawled around on her knees,
She fed an insatiable appetite
Doing whatever she pleased,
At dawn she called for the headsman
Who was given his gory task,
And watched as her night companions there
Fell one and all to the axe.

She took in the jester, asked for more,
What news of the King from home,
‘Alas, ' he said, ‘the King is dead,
The vultures pick at his bones! '
‘Then what will become of his widow queen,
Say now, or you'll feel my curse.'
‘A knight in armour will come for you,
A knight on a coal black horse! '

‘Will he be the bearer of tidings, or
Will he be the bearer of lies? '
‘This knight has only one deed to do,
He'll bear you to paradise! '
She thought of the bliss of a loving knight
Who would take the queen as his right,
While she would rule with an iron hand
And he would make love at night.

The knight came thundering through the trees
One day, on his coal black horse,
The queen stood up where the parapet eaves
Hung over the watercourse,
She ordered the drawbridge down at once
And had the portcullis raised,
Then watched him galloping into the fort
And through the walls of the maze.

His horse came clattering up the steps
That led to milady's tower,
She thought, ‘At last, we shall bed this night
In the depths of my shady bower.'
The knight, not raising his visor there
Nor even dismounted yet,
Raised his scimitar up on high
Then cleft her head from her neck!

Her body dropped like a stone, and bled,
Her head flew over the wall,
She saw his face as she stared ahead
The Jester, watching her fall,
Her head fell down through the cypress trees
And she thought that the breeze was nice!
Those final seconds would lead her mind
To the Garden of Paradise.

1 November 2012

poem by David Lewis Paget
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