As well as writing content, I create award winning bespoke medieval style poems/rhyming speeches for medieval weddings and castle weddings worldwide. Over the past few years I’ve written for weddings at Warwick Castle, Peckforton Castle, Rowton Castle, Ruthin Castle, Colchester Castle and Herstmonceux Castle. I’ve also written for medieval weddings in Canada, America, France and South Africa.
Who commissions my wedding poems?
Most of my poems are written to be read aloud at wedding receptions, vow renewal celebrations and anniversary parties. Usually they are commissioned by the groom, the bride, the best man, the father of the bride or a close family member. My poetry can also be given as a gift, in which case I print it onto high quality parchment style paper and send it in a gold tube.
How does my medieval wedding poem service work?
Interested in finding out more about my poetry writing service? simply email me at email@example.com or give me a quick call on 07760356519. If you decide to go ahead, I will send you some questions that will help me to gather the information I need. Feel free to include plenty of details, as these will help me to create a poem that is truly unique.
Here are a few of the poems I’ve written for wedding receptions and vow renewals and anniversaries. All names have been changed.
The Right Knight
(written for a vow renewal celebration)
This is a tale of two hearts entwined,
of a knight and his lady who one day would find,
That oft cupid’s arrow is guided by fate,
and the truest of lovers is well worth the wait.
Sir Robert the Gallant did travel the nation,
installing thatched roofs with improved insulation.
One day, ‘pon his travels he heard a sweet voice,
with a pretty Welsh lilt, his accent of choice.
The voice did belong to a maiden most fair,
who possessed a sweet face and lustrous blond hair.
Yet she wore not a dress but a man’s shirt and hose,
when she climbed ‘pon a roof, the knight’s eyebrows arose.
The world of thatched roofing seemed suddenly hollow,
Sir Rob knew at once ’twas his heart he must follow.
This pretty Welsh maid seemed a heavenly match,
a true gift from God, a maid who could thatch!
As the lady descended Sir Rob took his chance,
he hoped she’d respond to chivalric romance!
“My lady,” he said, “would’st thou care for some mead?”
The Welsh maiden smiled and said softly, “indeed.”
They shared conversation and a goblet of mead,
who could predict where this friendship would lead?
Upon that encounter ‘tween knight and fair maid,
the firmest foundations of true love were laid.
In Sarah-Lynne’s eyes this knight was a charmer,
who’d look most appealing when dressed in full armour.
It seemed that they shared the same humour and wit,
before long the fires of passion were lit!
Sir Rob was an expert at wielding a lance,
he was skilled in the practise of courtly romance.
A champion jouster of local renown,
he captained the jousters of Hereford town.
His love, Sarah-Lynne, was a maiden of action,
to gallop at speed gave her great satisfaction.
To climb every mountain, ford every stream
and one day to fly, was this brave lady’s dream!
And yet Sarah-Lynne had one ladylike passion,
her closet of shoes, all the latest in fashion.
For every occasion she’d a suitable pair,
and hours were spent wondering which ones to wear.
And so knight and maid set up business together,
installing thatched roofs in fair and foul weather.
Their love grew in strength and they set up a home,
Rob’s sword collection had a room of its own!
Then one day Sir Robert did fall ‘pon one knee,
and ask his good lady, “wilt thou marry me?”
She said, “would this marriage require a new dress?
for if so, the answer is certainly yes!”
Today is the day when you both celebrate,
the love you encountered upon that first date.
‘Tis a joyous occasion when two lives unite,
and a ring seals the marriage of lady and knight.
Love fadeth not, love endures forever,
and like a thatched roof, can withstand any weather.
Who could have guessed that roof insulation,
could lead to this day of great celebration!
So let’s raise a goblet to many years more,
for yours is a love that was worth waiting for!
The ballad of Richard and Tess
(Written for a bride and groom to read at their reception)
Our tale doth begin ‘pon a cold Monday night,
in the tavern I sat, sipping mead by firelight,
When a fair-haired young gentleman strode through the door,
and the night did not seem quite so dull anymore.
My eyes did alight ‘pon this charming young wench,
so I took up a seat on a rough wooden bench,
She had long golden tresses, her eyes sparkled, bright,
‘twas then that I knew, it was my lucky night.
His features were pleasing, his figure was fine,
I knew that this handsome young man must be mine.
He asked, “prithee young maid, would’st thou care for some mead?”
I was quite tied of tongue, so I whispered, “indeed.”
Cupid, it seemed, had shot a true dart,
and his arrow had pierced the depths of my heart.
We did flee the dull tavern, and by light of the moon,
I strummed ‘pon my lute, a romantic tune.
Our new love grew stronger, no more was I lonely,
for Richard was mine, I had eyes for him only.
We took lodgings together, our lives we did share,
and in time, two sweet bonny babes did I bear.
With the clamour of children our home did resound,
then the meowing of cats, and the bark of a hound.
In the day I would toil in my gardener’s boots,
in the eve, I would strum gentle tunes ‘pon the lute.
While I helped my family, butcher’s by trade,
and the townsfolk all knew that our pies were handmade.
At home we were busy, with two mouths to feed,
but at night, we’d find time for a goblet of mead.
For many a year we did live a good life,
but I knew that one day, I would’st make Claire my wife.
After fourteen long years, did I fall ‘pon one knee,
And ask my good lady if she’d marry me.
I replied, “would this marriage require a new dress,
for if so, the answer is certainly yes!”
And so, we are here in the castle of Warwick,
a building magnificent, grand and historic.
The tale of our romance doth draw near an end,
with this wonderful gathering of family and friends.
Tess, thou ‘art a vision in silver and white,
and my shiny new codpiece awaits you, tonight!.
We thank all our friends, and our family so dear,
for travelling cross land and cross sea to be here.
Behold the fine ladies in beautiful robes,
and the men dressed in fashionable tunic and hose.
To our families, you’ve helped us in so many ways,
we thank you, for making this our special day.
Love promised today, is love promised forever,
and as some would say, better later, than never.
Tess & Richard
So please, raise a toast, to love and long life,
For Richard and Tess, are now husband and wife!
Copyright Anna Whitehouse 2011
The Mysterious Minstrel of Nice.
(given as a gift from French bride to her English husband)
Our tale begins with a sweet crème brulee,
served at the Duke of Nice’s birthday.
For the Duke did adore feasts and great celebrations,
he oft hosted gatherings of friends and relations.
Betrothed to the Duke, Lady Bridle of Nice,
tapped her spoon on the table for talking to cease.
She announced, “Let the troubadours take to the floor!”
The party of guests gave a thunderous roar.
Lady Bridle of Nice rolled her eyes in despair,
for she’d spent many hours seated on this same chair.
First to the floor came a sprightly young chap,
dressed in bright purple with feather in cap.
Lady Bridle tried not to appear very bored,
‘twas a welcome surprise when he swallowed a sword.
Then on came a fellow who played on a lute,
and impressed with some tumbles, then juggled with fruit.
Next, came a minstrel, fair-haired, dark of eye,
who spoke not a word, he was handsome but shy.
He held a strange drum upon which he beat,
soon, the Great Hall resounded with tapping of feet.
The rhythm did alter, the beat gathered pace,
Lady Bridle appeared very pink in the face,
For the young dark-eyed minstrel beside her did stand,
she offered her freshly French-manicured hand.
“Would you do me the honour, my good Lady Bridle?”
Our heroine blushed, but towards him did sidle.
As they walked to the floor, he moved closer to hold her,
it seemed his dark eyes with desire did smoulder.
Our heroine whispered, “From whence do you come?”
I have never seen such an unusual drum!”
“My lady, though French, I’m of strong Scottish stock,
this drum I play comes from the land of the loch.
One day I will wed in my family kilt,
return to the croft which my grandfather built.
My children will run free and breathe country air,
but first I must find me a wife, rich and fair.
The world of the Great Hall seemed suddenly hollow,
Lady Bridle knew then ‘twas her heart she must follow.
Of castle and court she had had quite enough,
No more of the smooth, it was time for the rough!
“Sir take me to Scotland, and I’ll be your wife,
For I crave mountain air and a simpler life,
I will dress as a servant, escape in the night,
we’ll elope on my horse then by boat we’ll take flight.”
Our young handsome minstrel could hardly refuse,
he had plenty to gain and nothing to lose!
Together they rode, braving seas in wild weather,
‘til they came to the land of mountain and heather.
They lived by a loch, eating freshly caught fish,
and despite thinking haggis an unusual dish;
Lady Bridle missed little of France, but the wine,
though as a replacement, the whisky was fine.
And so ends our tale of a Scottish romance,
but though it may seem we’ve departed from France,
On days when the mountains seem misty and grey,
our lovers enjoy eating sweet crème brulee.
Copyright Anna Whitehouse 2014
A Tale of Two Farmers
(written for a best man’s speech)
Our tale doth begin with a handsome young farmer,
Sir Rupert of Sussex was a tall dark-eyed charmer.
As skilled with a plough as he was with a lance,
Rupert’s long hours left no time for romance.
For Rupert of Sussex the farm was his life,
yet oft ‘ he did yearn for a like-minded wife.
Finding the right match became Rupert’s quest,
a task he approached with vigour and zest.
Now these were the days long before mobile phone,
when a message was writ upon parchment alone,
Sir Rupert did send out a general plea,
appealing to maidens both single and free.
He quickly received a reply with potential,
from a maiden with traits he considered essential.
At Overton tavern the couple would meet,
for a goblet of mead and a morsel to eat.
When Rupert arrived at the tavern that night,
he spotted a steed in the fading light.
Upon this fine horse sat a maiden most fair,
she dismounted and shook loose her long golden hair.
Her smile was entrancing, her eyes sparkled bright,
‘Twas then Rupert knew, it was his lucky night!
As they sat in the tavern, the crowds seemed to hush,
Sarah’s cheeks glowed with a most comely blush.
The evening was merry with plentiful mead,
who could predict where this friendship might lead?
“My Lord,” Sarah asked, “wilt thou send me a letter?”
Agreeing, Sir Rupert knew he’d not forget her.
Upon that encounter ‘tween farmer and maid,
the firmest foundations of true love were laid.
The pair exchanged letters by galloping steed,
which, ‘pon receipt, both did avidly read.
Each Friday they travelled in fair or foul weather,
longing to spend the whole weekend together.
Sundays brought sorrow as both did depart,
Rupert and Sarah were smitten of heart.
Wiltshire and Sussex are miles apart,
and one’s true abode should be with the heart.
A job move for Sarah arose quite by chance,
paving the way for a lasting romance.
Thus our two lovers did make their first home,
on the edge of the Downs where sheep freely roam.
With Sarah’s two horses, a sheep and a hound,
the walls did with neighing and barking resound!
Sarah thought Rupert a passionate farmer,
who’d look very good in a full suit of armour.
He rode with skill as he hunted for deer,
then relaxed in the inn with a mead or a beer.
He admired Sarah’s grace, for she rode with such flair,
and her knowledge of horses was without compare.
Yet ’twas her talent at driving a tractor,
that convinced Rupert she had the wife factor.
Now planning ahead was not Rupert’s way,
for he is a man who takes life day by day.
‘Pon the eve of their first ever Christmas together,
some pigs did escape due to wild windy weather.
As he ventured outside on that Christmas eve night,
hunting for pigs in the glow of torchlight.
Sir Rupert did realise, ’twas almost yuletide,
and he had no gift for the lass by his side.
And so this young farmer who lives in the now,
presented his love with the gift of a sow.
Sir Rupert may be very skilled with a lance,
but requires some improvement in the art of romance!
Yet do not fear Rupert, time’s on your side,
for today your true love doth become your own bride.
As vows are exchanged and sealed with a kiss,
we wish you a lifetime of true wedded bliss.
To Colchester castle from throughout the nation,
we have travelled to witness this great celebration.
Now let’s raise a toast to love and long life,
for Rupert and Sarah are now husband and wife.