Year 7


[Year #7]
– Autumn of the Grey Sky
– Winter of the Silver Snow
– Spring of the Tangled Oak
– Summer of the Scorched Bough

A Collection of Winning Song Contest Entries

Autumn of the Grey Sky

December 8th, 2002

First Place

~How Consonance Was Saved In Mossflower~
By Treerose

Redwall Abbey is known to all
As a polestar of melodic sound,
There, music stirs the heart and soul,
No dischords unresolved are found.
But once a ship came o’er the seas,
The Tritone was her name; her crew,
A searat band of aspiring conductors,
Schoenberg their captain was rotten through.
At the sight of land, he spoke in sprechstimme,
“These woods are full of harmony,
Cadences and chord progressions
Abound amidst tonality.
“This must stop at once, I say,
Down with tonal consonance!”
The rat crew waved their batons in glee,
And shouted off-key tone row chants.
The crimes they spread through Mossflower woods!
Parallel octaves and fifths were rife,
Shoenberg wouldn’t hear a triad,
Not even to save his atonal life.
Rules of counterpoint were flouted,
Voices crossed, leading tones doubled,
All tenets of harmony were broken,
The woodlanders were sorely troubled!
The vermin turned their pawsteps towards
That tonal haven, Redwall Abbey,
Singing 12-tone marching tunes,
Written by their captain crabby.
In Redwall, Abbot Mordent called,
A council of war designed to halt
These fearsome tone-deaf vermin hordes:
What could stop the rats’ assault?
Arco the Warrior had a plan,
The others laughed aloud in glee,
And hurried out to meet the rats,
As they marched in from the sea.
Schoenberg swore in microtones
And urged his searats to the fore,
But the Redwallers were armed and ready
With things atonal rats abhor.
With drawn batons the searats came:
Bawling many a bitonal ditty,
Filled with tritones and cluster chords,
All out of tune… they had no pity!
The two leaders met as the battle joined,
Arco twirled his baton: “En garde!”
In answer Schoenberg raised his own,
And heedless of the fray they sparred.
Those who saw them knew at once
Which of the two would no doubt win
Arco’s stick technique was flawless,
While Shoenberg stabbed himself in the chin.
Because atonal music was
The passion of the searat’s heart,
His brain was addled; he had no rhythm
Arco had him from the start.
Meanwhile, the Redwallers were parrying
With things most dreadful to their foes:
And fortississississimos.
Ornaments and double-stops,
Chord inversions, figured bass,
Canons drowned the searats’ noise,
Chaconnes and scherzos filled the place.
Their battle cries were terms they took
From fugues and sonata-allegro form…
So when Arco broke their captain’s stick,
The rats fled shipward t’ escape the storm.
“Be off now,” Arco sternly said,
“Consonance triumphs any day,
O’er vile dischord such as yours
Leave our woods, begone, I say!”
Thus Schoenberg ran the first of all,
As the Redwallers drove them on before,
But the rats, repenting of their deeds,
Marooned their captain on the shore.
Back they sailed to Aleatoric,
And founded a school of tonality,
They renamed the island Ionian,
And the sea around it Monody.
But Schoenberg, alone and uncontrite,
Wandered throughout Mossflower lands,
Doomed to teaching tonal theory,
And conducting UDOR marching bands.

Used with permission

Winter of the Silver Snow

February 16th, 2003

First Place

Why Hedgehogs Can’t Fly
By Slagar the Cruel

Did you ever look up at the sky
And wonder why a hog can’t fly?
The birds just have to flap their wings
And up they go. (The lucky things!)
But all hedgehogs, most beasts have found,
Can never get far off the ground.
Hedgehogs can jump, hedgehogs can leap,
And yet they fall (sometimes to sleep).
The birds can stay up in the air
For lengths at which hedgehogs can’t fare.
So have you ever wondered why
A hedgehog simply cannot fly?
If you listen close, then you’ll be told
The tale, so many seasons old.
It’s filled with danger, war, intrigue,
A sorrowful battle of pain and fatigue!
Well, maybe not. But it tells why
A hedgehog isn’t fit to fly.
Hedgehogs once came from the wombs
Not with spikes, but instead with plumes.
They could flap their arms and leave the ground
To get away or to get around.
One day, a hog was in midflight
When he was struck by a very odd plight.
He flew into a briar patch
Yet he emerged without a scratch.
His feathers, sadly, were all lost:
Upon his back, thorns were embossed!
Now, such a crash is mortifying.
The hogs would jeer at his bad flying.
This hog, however, full of guile,
Claimed it was a fashion style.
“His taste is grand!” the hogs all clamored.
And slowly, they became enamored.
The spike sensation began to spread.
Soon every hog thought feathers “dead”.
Upon each back was a bunch of spikes.
It was even a hit with unborn tykes!
And that’s the story, however shoddy,
Of why a hog has spikes on it’s body.
The story’s true, you heard me right.
‘Twas vanity that took their flight.
And so, if someone asks you why
Hedgehogs never seem to fly,
Tell them this song, each verse and all,
Or maybe say, “I can’t recall”.

Used with permission

Spring of the Tangled Oak

June 1st, 2003

No Entries

Summer of the Scorched Bough

August 24th, 2003

First Place

By Slagar the Cruel

For so many seasons I have wandered
How many seasons, I don’t even know
I’ve walked the lands from north to south
Through the rains of spring and winter’s snow
My armor and blade are dented and scratched
From a thousand battles for my cause
I’ve overthrown tyrannical hordes
To uphold the sacred badger laws
Not even the mountain is refuge now
As I watch my old friend’s children die
Always I wander, delivering justice
Forever. And this is the reason why

Used with permission