Saint Hildegard Von Bingen’s Recipe for Medicinal Nutmeg

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More Book Curses--and my own!

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A few more links I found: http://www.library.vcu.edu/preservation/curse.html http://ucblibraries.colorado.edu/specialcollections/exhibits/past/ploughing/index.htm I was trying to work on a poem for "inspiration" but these curses make me laugh. So, inspired by a favorite curse all around--book in the Monastery of San Pedro in Barcelona I wrote my own. The Original: For him that stealeth, or borroweth and returneth not, this book from its owner, let it change into a serpent in his hand & rend him. Let him be struck with palsy, & all his members blasted. Let him languish in pain crying aloud for mercy, & let there be no surcease to his agony till he sing in dissolution. Let bookworms gnaw his entrails in token of the Worm that dieth not, & when at last he goeth to his final punishment, let the flames of Hell consume him for ever.  from a book in the Monastery of San Pedro in Barcelona I wasn't found of the rhyme from this one but I did like the sentime...
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Saint Joseph of Carpenters

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Saint Joseph guide him well today, As he works, along his way Bless his plane and bless his axe, My husband joined may no saw take. Protect him well for his sake, The Lord himself was called a carpenter’s son, Dwell here with us for thought I fear, His worn hands are blessed indeed, Help us both for those you love, I pray in your spirit, guide him well. Amen. I wrote this for the Woodworker's competition at Bardic this year. I entered not to win but because I really loved the challenge of doing research, finding out period legends of Saint Joseph and getting to go to the library and use lots of different searches to find the material I was looking for. I loved it!
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The Pheonix in Fading Summer

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Somehow, I lost this poem. But I always intended it for the lovely shire of Shire of Rokeclif, Northshield, in La Crosse. Much love to that fair place. For many long year the Pheonix has grown And watched o’er the people here Alas in the fading summer For then, the Phoenix must die. He has exploded with wings And guarded the shire, Full of love for the people below, Alas that he must die. His cries can be heard in the heartbeat of the people, On the Fierce wings of Roacklif’s song People he loves, and people he guards For the will that he holds, but now he builds his pire. When at last he lays down his head The summer is at end, And people gather in the Hall, He sheds a tear as he vanishes in the ash and fire. But anon, here he comes In vibrant light! Rekindled by the beacons of flame. And that’s how the Phoenix lives! A toast to the people of the Phoenix, For his gift was the Autumn Rose, For the day that he rose from the ashes— He cried tears from whi...
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