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  • The Lone Knight of Kemsing

    By

    Jake Frost

    Comes the ghost at the hour
    Stars shine and comets shower
    That all men, by Adam cursed,
    Know the King to follow first

    Armor gleaming in the night
    With an otherworldly light
    On a spectral mission sent
    Riding through the hills of Kent

    The Lone Knight upon his steed
    Comes on Becket’s day to plead
    To the church at Kemsing town
    Where Saint Edith’s Well is found

    For here he stopped upon his way
    Riding forth a saint to slay
    From a king to win reward
    By the swinging of his sword

    For said the king at his feast,
    “Who will rid me of this priest?”
    “This low-born cleric who defies,”
    “The lord beneath the English skies.”

    But as tyrants often do
    The king said words that were untrue
    For never the cleric had denied
    His sovereignty, as the king decried

    What the cleric said, plainly true,
    Was:  “There is a higher power still than you,”
    “Who on Ascension Day did rise,”
    “To reign as King of kings above the skies.”

    “The King of kings, and bishops, too,”
    “To Whom accounting one day is due,”
    “For how we spent this life He gave,”
    “When we beg our souls to save.”

    “For when Michael calls the roll,”
    “God alone will judge the soul,”
    “So though you may wield the sword,”
    “My house and I serve first The Lord.”

    “God, Who has created all,”
    “Further sees than men who fall,”
    “Giving law to set us free,”
    “Guiding past what we can see.”

    “There are things no king may do,”
    “And every king is subject to,”
    “The King of kings above the skies,”
    “And all His law must recognize.”

    “As was seen in Jacob’s dream,”
    “To ascend to Heaven’s gleam,”
    “Men must climb where angels trod,”
    “On the ladder which is God.”

    “So as once Saint Peter said,”
    “Though by the lash our Savior bled,”
    “God’s commands we must obey,”
    “Above the will of men of clay.”

    For this the king would have his head
    For this his knights swiftly sped
    The Lone Knight and fellows three
    By four ways to Canterbury

    On the feast of David, who
    With a stone the giant slew,
    The shepherd God made His king
    Who wrote the psalms still we sing

    Fast rode the knights bearing lies,
    Like fire on the wind that flies,
    All things seeking to consume
    Unto ash and utter doom

    “Thomas,” they said, “seeks to take,”
    “From the king his crown, and make,”
    “Himself to rule all the land,”
    “So we bear the dread command!”

    Then in castle, keep, and hall,
    Dark as night was heard their call:
    “All the swords in England be,”
    “Raised in war on Canterbury!”

    The Lone Knight so onward rode,
    Heedless of the seeds he sowed,
    Raising not his eyes to see,
    Dawn beyond mortality

    When to Kemsing he was led,
    Ere the fateful night was sped,
    While before him still there lay,
    Chance to choose another way

    There he stopped, his steed to rest,
    Where Saint Edith’s name is blessed
    Where at Edith’s holy well
    From the blind their darkness fell

    For when there washed by water
    Of the well of Edgar’s daughter
    Once again the blind could see
    By the grace of the Trinity

    Granted through a princess born,
    Who could herself the crown have worn,
    Of the realm that Alfred won,
    At the Battle of Ethandun

    For at the death of the king
    To Edith came the signet ring
    Brought by nobles of the land
    To place the scepter in her hand

    But the throne Edith declined
    For she alone for one thing pined:
    Ever to live in accord
    With what was willed by The Lord

    The lamp hung upon the tree
    Bright, so all the world could see,
    Its burning light, far and wide,
    Shining on the countryside

    “Like The Handmaid first I seek,”
    She said when she began to speak,
    “To do what is our Savior’s will,”
    “And here His work is for me still.”

    “As the rain and falling snow,”
    “Where bids The Lord, there I go,”
    “Here I serve the Will Divine,”
    “Here the better part is mine.”

    So said Edith, so away
    Rode the nobles on that day
    Different kingdoms up to build    
    As for each The Lord had willed

    She who could have ruled the land
    Chose instead to turn her hand
    To the service of the poor,
    And sailors bring safe to shore

    Her sleeve, with a wave, dispelling
    Crashing waves and winds quelling,
    Binder of the secret schemers,
    Counsellor to kings and dreamers

    Freer of men held in chains,
    Healer of those wracked with pains,
    Refuge of all fleeing wrath,
    Guider back onto the path

    Friend of creatures wild and free,
    Dwellers of the field and tree,
    Quencher of the burning flame,
    By her saving prayers of fame

    So as sunlight through a window flows,
    So with its light the window glows,
    So was Edith set agleam,
    By graces God through her would beam

    That by wonders through her hand
    Men might come to understand,
    Like the blowing Burghmote Horn,
    The call of men to freedom born

    Did the knight there draw to drink? 
    Or at her well pause to think?
    Or wonder why such a sign,
    At that hour he should find?

    If he did, he cast aside
    Her memory on to ride
    On David’s day, who did stay
    His hand, forbearing Saul to slay

    For Saul was still God’s anointed
    Even when the spear was pointed
    At Saul asleep upon the ground
    Where his spear and jug were found

    When for wickedness was cast
    Saul from sovereignty at last
    For The Lord raises whom He will,
    And kings must answer to Him still

    For the might of man, in a blow
    Of a stone, The Lord lays low,
    A humble shepherd child slings
    To break the gleaming might of kings

    On went the knight armed for war
    To batter down a bishop’s door
    The door of a bishop and a church
    Where he went in bloody search

    For it was Thomas Becket, he,      
    Anointed Bishop of Canterbury,  
    Who was the cleric that the king
    A violent death sought to bring

    The saint fed with leaping fish,
    When from his lips fell the wish,
    For what food God would provide
    Then leapt the fish from the tide

    Who in dreams the augers told
    Of quilts all England could not hold
    Colored deepest crimson red
    On the baby’s cradle-bed

    And stars that fell from the skies
    For the Bishop in disguise,
    Twelve to make a martyr’s crown,
    For when the swords would strike him down

    For Cross and crozier the king would rule,
    As seeks every tyrant fool
    Like Nebuchadnezzar, the braying ass,
    Eating thistle and tearing grass,

    Whose golden idol and furnace blast,
    Were brought to naught at the last          
    For the might of man cannot compare    
    With a song of God upon the air

    Too, England’s king chewing straw,
    Whose ears heard not, nor eyes saw,
    Driven onward by the goad
    Of Pride, down the smoother road

    For, as once at Babel’s tower,
    Ever men by their power,
    Seek to grasp, in hubris, things
    Only for the King of kings

    So from Eden still the lie,
    Whispered so that men would die,
    Borne upon the poisoned breath
    Of the serpent, brought men death

    Into Canterbury Cathedral burst,
    With naked steel drawn in thirst,
    For the blood of holy men,
    Evil worked through lies again

    The four knights came at the head
    Of men-at-arms that they led
    From the castles of the king,
    Doors with the axe splintering

    While monks sang at the altar
    David’s hymns from the psalter,              
    Came the knights that blood be spilled,
    And there was Thomas Becket killed

    Blood and brains upon the stones
    Spattered from his shattered bones,
    And skull, opened by the blade,
    And the wounds their swords had made

    At the altar where the day
    He was ordained he first did say
    The holy words of mystery
    That the Eucharist would be

    The heavens burst in power
    In judgement on that hour
    As on Canterbury there broke
    Storm upon the murderous stroke

    And then away rode the knights
    Flushed with visions of delights
    That their wicked deed would bring
    In recompense from their king

    But ever the deceiver,
    The liar and bereaver,
    On his promises reneges,                          
    As graves and more graves he digs

    So learned Adam hiding, when
    He was less than he had been,
    And became a slinking thing,
    In Eden once he ruled as king

    For sin degrades and breaks us,
    And from God’s glory takes us,
    And our destiny betrays,
    As through sin the serpent slays

    The knights, too, as Adam learned,
    Found the fate their sin had earned,
    In the dragon’s clutches caught,
    Was not the glory they had sought

    No riches, rank, or station,
    Was theirs in compensation,
    For the wickedness they’d done
    Pain and woe were all they’d won

    Like leaves scattered on the blast
    From their nation they were cast
    Into foreign lands to die
    Far away from England’s sky

    And long the years of regret
    Bound them and still bind them yet
    Like glowing coal, still it burns
    And so The Lone Knight returns

    To the church at Kemsing town,
    Entering in and kneeling down,
    With bowed head he comes to pray
    Every year on Becket’s day

    While earthly kings come and go,
    Like the changing winds that blow,
    In witness down through the years
    In ghostly form he appears

    As a sign the knight is shown
    In his prayer that it be known
    Who is Ruler of all things,
    Who alone is King of kings

    Comes the ghost at the hour
    Stars shine and comets shower
    That all men, by Adam cursed,
    Know the King to follow first

  • Jake Frost

    Catholic writer of novels, humorous essays of faith and family life, children’s picture books, and poetry.

    His Amazon author page is here:
    https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jake-Frost/author/B00LCREHNQ?ref=ap_rdr&shoppingPortalEnabled=true&ccs_id=91f4669a-1ba9-4663-bcb4-a3458669ff2d

    Comes the ghost at the hour
    Stars shine and comets shower
    That all men, by Adam cursed,
    Know the King to follow first

    Armor gleaming in the night
    With an otherworldly light
    On a spectral mission sent
    Riding through the hills of Kent

    * * * * *

    What if the legends of King Arthur have survived for a thousand years because of the secret they hold, hidden in plain sight? What if the legends have survived for a thousand years because they’re true?

    Winner of an Honorable Mention from the Catholic Media Association book awards.

    Crows by the hundreds among the trees
    Their cawing’s clashing like the seas

    When through the forest fiercely blew
    The wind and then the crows all flew

    A murders so vast it darkened the sky
    Flung on feathered wings to fly

    * * * * *

    Humorous essays of faith and family life

    More stories of faith and family life

    A book about blessings, wonder, and gratitude, and remembering to say thank you to Jesus

    A daddy-daughter book about life’s little moments and the love that can transform them into memories for a lifetime.

    He was a Craftsman at play in Creation
    All things to Him a delight
    When He laid the world’s foundation
    And divided from day the night

    * * * * *

    Winner of an Honorable Mention from the Catholic Media Association

    Palm fronds strewn upon the road
    Covered the dust where the donkey strode
    That carried the King of Peace to war
    And well He knew what lay in store

    The kiss, the scourge, and the crown
    Thrice His falling to the ground
    Then His cross lifted hight
    Between the earth and the sky * * * * *

    God said to Abraham, “Look and see
    The dust upon the earth
    For so shall your descendants be.
    In you shall nations have their birth.”

    Later God said, “Look now and see
    The stars up in the sky
    For no more as dust shall your descendants be,
    But as the stars on high.”

    * * * * *

  • Every Corner of Creation

    From my book The Lone Knight of Kemsing:

    Every corner of creation
    Has its tale to tell
    Of its Maker’s imagination
    For in each does wonder dwell

    For everything that is, He made
    From the soaring granite peaks,
    To the slightest, waving, grassy blade,
    And each of its Maker speaks