Poetry accolade for Wilson’s student
Many congratulations to Richie (Year 8) who has been awarded third prize in The Chaucer Heritage Trust's The Canterbury Tales Writing Competition 2023/24.
Students were asked to submit a story or poem about the experience of being in a group, evoking the spirit of Chaucer’s poem which describes a lively story-telling contest by a group of pilgrims as they travel together from London to Canterbury.
His poem does this fantastically, and the judges were very impressed!
Richie’s poem is attached below…
As the Parson ended his tale to the group,
Back to the hearty inn they did troop.
Their gait loosened from stead to swerved,
Yet more ale they waited to be served.
To the barkeep they turned, with mirth in their eyes,
“Good sir,” they implored, “judge our tales, be wise!”
So each retold their stories to solve this puzzle
Words poured from their mouths as ale poured from the muzzle.
Like an ash tree, the barkeep’s tin-grey beard swayed,
Though a seasoned elder, the travelers were not to be dismayed.
His eyes ablaze, yet his expression, a moon peaceful and cold,
Weathered wrinkles harbouring countless pages untold.
Wearing a wry grin, he surveyed the scene,
A mix of men, the pilgrims seem.
With a hushed low voice, he beckoned them near,
“No need for haste, good gents. An old man’s tale don’t you first wish to hear?
In distant field where sun doth grace the land,
Once a young toiling farmer took his stand.
From dawn to dusk, he sows the seeds with love,
Each sprout a testament to the hard work above.
A tyrant monarch, with royal decree.
His deer in fields, a trespasser be.
My precious plants of labour and sweat,
From the foul beast I sought to protect.
Convicted I was, for chasing deer.
A disgraced life I held in fear.
An outlaw born, in the greenwood deep.
With a heart so heavy, in shadows I'd creep.
Through forests and hills, I made my way,
A life of crime, a price to pay.
Yet sanctuary found, in a holy place.
A monastery’s refuge, a saving grace.
Within sacred halls, a brother stood by my side,
A fellow monk, or so I thought, in piety allied.
But silver's allure, a traitor's greed did sway,
Betrayed by vows, morality led astray.
A couple of coins, the price of deceit,
Whispers of treachery, a venomous conceit.
Soon the kings horses were at the cloisters doors,
And I, took flight, a convict once more.
Lost in the labyrinth of life's cruel jest,
I stumbled through the streets, a soul distressed.
Ale's bitter solace, a refuge sought in vain,
Drowning in despair, each drop a drop of pain.
Lost to the world, a beggar in the cold,
A tale of ruin, in misery untold.
Yet, in the shadows of fate’s cruel embrace
An innkeeper's mercy offered another saving grace.
Taken from the gutters, where lost souls linger,
Sobered by kindness, by a merciful innkeeper's finger.
I served him true, till the end of his days,
And here I stand, a man who has refound his ways.
So, my friends, the winner I shan't declare, for tales are like rivers, flowing everywhere.
Let each tale weave its path, through the night, In this cozy inn, by the firelight.
Here's to the stories, both old and new, may they linger and dance in the evening dew!”
In the warmth of the inn, by the fire's gentle glow, the tales continued, a never-ending flow.