An Irish conachlonn in praise of an Irish knight
by Caitlin Christiana Wintour

The Knight of Eire sails far away
Away from Eire his native home
Home green and mountains fair
Far from home Killian sails from Eire
Eire of the rolling hills
Hills of iron cold and voices strange
Strange voices in the wind.

Wind from the west blows Killian to cold steppes
Steppes to planes of Kievan Rus
Rus maid there he meets
Meets and sword offers injustice to right
Right for the sake of the Rus maid
Rus maid all light and fire
Teka fire of love.

For glory’s sake they travel to a farther land
Land of Caid gold under the sun
Sun burning bright the shallow hills
Hills of the strong hand, hills of the king
King’s crown won by trial of arms.
Arming well the Irish knight with his lady sail a sandy sea
A sea of desert springs and cities bright.

Bright his armor as an Irish knight meets three men strong
Strong warriors contending for the throne of Caid
Caid the fair, Caid the golden, Caid journey’s home
A home hard-fought and fiercely kept
Kept safe by the strong hand of the king
King’s crown glittering fair.

Fair fought was the first trial
Trial that ended with the first man’s hard fall
Fall of the anvilled butterfly and castle breached
Breached that holder of the Crescent Sword
Black-moon knight next weaves war upon the dragon
Dragon flown from the northern lights
Lights upon the field
Field of glory field of arms
Arms raining blows and sorely wounded is the Irish knight
Knight falls to the dragon-winged lion
Lion-like comes now Killian to battle the third man,
Man of blood and conquest on Hastings field
Field now turned to combat for the crown
Crown contested by two swords
Two swords weaving, two shields clashing
Clashing metal
Clashing bright
Clashing red until falls an Irish knight.

Knight lies still upon the field
Field of blood and honor
Honorable his lady and honorable his quest
Yet death overtakes them all.
All is silent, all is still.

Still the desert day
Day fades to dark
And darkly into star-blazing sea of night
The Knight of Eire sails far away.

Slan agus beannacht, Killian.

A conachlonn is an Irish form of chain verse. There can be any number of syllables per line but the first word of each line must either repeat or be a similar sound to the final word of the preceding line. The first and last words of the poem should match or rhyme, and the last line may repeat the first. The conachlonn does not lend itself to stanzas, but as I felt they aided in understanding so I made those divisions. This poem was an honor and a pleasure to write for Sir Killian and his beloved lady.