Best Beowulf Poems
With these twelve words...
art has no restrains
there is nothing that can chain it down
no fabric that can not be broken from.
*FoRm?
>that de...pe...nd...s.
Inside my mailbox late last month; nine packs of seeds - a mystery!
I hadn't ordered anything, but curious was I to see
what might become of planting them. So grabbing trowel, hoe, and rake,
I set about to till some soil; a little garden plot to make.
To my delight, the plants grew fast. I'd saved the packs to see each name;
though Latin isn't my first tongue, I'd know each blossom as it came.
Each flower shape was like a quill, which I then took back to my room
and onto paper, words would spill from every seed's enchanted bloom.
The packet labeled "Clio Phlox" was my first taste of mystery:
the quill-shaped flower wrote and wrote a tome of Roman history!
"Euterpe Hyacinth" was next: this writing didn't take as long.
Within ten minutes, written down were lyrics of a lovely song.
Then "Terpsichore Ranunculus" - after it drew a five-line staff,
composed a lively dance tune for the song lyrics - it made me laugh!
Speaking of laughter, my next bloom; the "Thalia Agapanthus" wrote
a stand-up comic's funny script - a joke or two I'd love to quote.
"Melpomene Nasturtium" was the one I needed tissues for:
as tragic words came pouring out, my teardrops splashed upon the floor.
"Urania Hydrangea" wrote sweet poetry of sun and stars,
of comets, and alignment of the moon with Jupiter and Mars.
"Erato Rosa" wrote some rhymes of kisses under stars above,
some ballads of infatuation, some of unrequited love.
"Calliope Plumeria" wrote fast and long: one poem came -
a tragic tale of epic length, it put poor Beowulf to shame!
"Gardenia Polyhymnia" wrote Psalm-like hymns, I said "amen".
My eyes were reverently shut, but when I opened them again -
I realized it was a dream! Nine muses came in flower form.
I woke, and quickly wrote this down (believe me, this is not the norm!)
//Note: The Nine muses of ancient Greece were:
//Clio - History Euterpe - Lyric Poetry Terpsichore - Song/Dance
//Thalia - Comedy Melpomene - Tragedy Urania - Astronomy
//Erato - Love poetry Calliope - Epic poetry Polyhymnia - Sacred Hymns
//... the remaining Latin words are names of some of my favorite flowers
written 12 Aug 2020
You must believe, to have your poetic
soul become reality.
Unlike any other, I hope you are!!
Dull, Beowulf poetry do not re-create.
Speak your soul, whatever that be.
Don't compare your writings to
others, you will create fragility.
Write of subjects that brighten
your soul like a star.
Not just long words, they make
me pronate.
If you are willing, write poetry that
sings of thee!
12-30-2020
12:30pm PSt
An Epic Woman
Woman tell me your thoughts
Shall I be the fool and you the teacher?
Am I your Adonis, or do you see a toad.
Chivalry demands that I am your knight without reward,
For my kin is that of Beowulf and Lancelot,
Dragon slayers, so command me.
I am woman I need no gesture, for wisdom lies in,
Raindrops hung out to dry on silken cobwebs.
And in the beggar who is happy, while his king sleeps in fear
For my kin, blessed me with a rare beauty,
For my reflection rivals that of the queen Of Sheba
My thoughts entwined with the warrior queen Boudicea,
My tenderness lies in queen Amyitis and her Hanging gardens of Babylon
My passion is that of Cleopatra for Mark Anthony,
And my faith equals that of Mary
So beware young Jason, speak from the heart,
Or you will summon queen Kriemhides in me,
For she killed Attila the Hun for less,
This Woman will send you to phineas
A slave for the harpies, if you lie,
My lady, I have slain the sirens with Lyre music,
For my love for you was greater,
Alexander wept when there were no more worlds to conquer
Achilles killed Hector for Helen,
And King Leonidas defeated the Persian Empire
One glance from you and their deeds fade into oblivion,
Medea the Sorcerer, My mother,
Gave birth to me, for this moment.
Woman take my hand and show me your love
Jason of Argo, look into my eyes
For I see the soul of a man
Your shield is heavy to stop you running away.
Your Hero Achilles was slain by a true suitor Paris,
His love for Helen, was true.
You deceive all women.
Your Friend the Goddess Hera
Was killed by you,
It is my enslavement you seek, not love.
I send you to the Eighth Circle for Eternity to be whipped by Devils. For the Harpies deserve better.
And Remember, these words
The Wisdom of King Arthur,
When a Woman you seek, be honest at all times,
No matter what the cost.
And defend her faith, her home,
And her country with your life.
For these are the Thoughts of all Women.
Santa Monica Pier
I remember watching
the ocean roll on the shore,
wave after wave,
crashing down on the solid sand
and I idly staring back
wondering if the Atlantic was as blue.
I watched him light a candle
and move in the swaying light
from a bygone age.
The flame flickered, so fragile,
it leans and sways in the cold breeze
My burning love is the flame in the lamp
From antiquity--a pre-industrial artifact
An oil lamp of glass from Rome
Bronze from Carthage
A terra-cotta from Athens
He smiles at me
in a flicker of light and
knows all my past like a line from Virgil
A chronicle from Homer
An essay from Milton, a history of Herodotus
And me, ignorant,
knowing nothing of him
can only quote
from Ovid,
Beowulf,
Caedmon and Gilgamesh.
The flame descends,
From the nape of the lit candle,
and we are lying in darkness on a spring night.
Everything in history is forgotten
and yesterdays are not so many
as night descends,
the lit moon cast in the glow
of the lamplight of our love.
Fertile Crescent
Ghosts of pharaohs
Branded timeless in stone
Reigning order
Condemning the vilified,
as it is published by
The Royal Geographical Society:
Syria as the Gateway between East and West
Leonard Woolley
The Geographical Journal
Vol. 107, No. 5/6 (May - Jun., 1946), pp. 179-190)
And why shouldn’t this be so?
Beowulf, an earliest epic
Of Old English
How proud and agile to be able
To confer your legacy in written format
Onto your generations and incursions ~
Oh,Denmark
There is a dragon still alive a live
With all the gold
I hope that Beowulf will finally have his day
Heorot will help the king
With a sling of his sword
No wounds will hurt
No dragons will live
In Denmark anymore
People will love the king
Finally they can win at something
They can say they are from Denmark
The dragons will come but they will die in their own fires
King Hrothgar builds Heorot Hall
Shield Sheafson who founded the ruling house
The temples of Plato will take a incense of dragon's blood
Virgil will rhyme how the Lord saved the king
Plato will talk about a far off land call Woodland
With all the forests and rain
In the south Schleswig
Has trees and meadows that grow
There rose thorn's are a pain
I hope I can kill all of them before I'm too old
I watch the crows and wish I could fly away
With my baby and Marius by my side
On a dragon's back.
To the land of wood and trees.
Dipping into Beowulf with Grendel,
and Chaucer's Canterbury Tales;
Wading into Paradise with Milton,
then submerging with the Bard:
Sinking deep into Lear and Othello
Hamlet and Macbeth, trying not to
drown. Rapidly surfacing to the
Tempest! gulping some fresh air.
Now sailing toward the Five Romantics,
In Xanadu did Kublai Khan...
Water, water, everywhere!
and so many drops to drink...
Poetry aficionados reside on dry land,
Yet life, fully savored, lies deep in ocean sands.
I should have tattoos
I should have a woman
instead I carry a purse full of empty.
Thats right-return me back to the womb
away from Bad tv
Bad people
cheap food
cheap women
cheap love
I should blame this on bad liquor
but I don't drink
I should blame this on drugs but
I don't take'm.
angels pay a price for there halo,
there peaceful garden.
maybe I'm better off pondering Picasso
or figuring out Beowulf instead of sucking
the blood off of my cracked lips.
I was out of control, spinning
on the whirligig of youth,
giddy to be caught
in what Kerouac called
"the whole mad swirl
of everything to come."
I didn't know what to expect.
I was ready for nothing
though I had spent years
in solitary confinement
with books, exams and degrees.
You would think I'd have learned
something about life as it is,
not as I wished it to be.
I went out on the street
to look for work
and was surprised to discover
no one spoke Old English
like Beowulf or Middle English
like the Wife of Bath.
An old professor told me
I talked the way
e.e. cummings wrote
and no one would hire me.
A few years later I married
a woman with several degrees.
She thought I was normal.
We had five kids in six years
and drove landlords bonkers.
"The Lord will provide,"
we said, and He did.
Fifty years later, the five kids
have rucksacks of their own
packed with jobs, marriages,
children and good lives
measured against
the standard of most.
Their mother is dead,
and like everyone else
on this strange planet
I am in the process
of dying in the jaws
of what Kerouac called
"the whole mad swirl
of everything to come."
I have seen almost all
of "everything to come"
except for the best part
and that, I am told,
will take my breath away.
Donal Mahoney
There is a man and there are worms,
We are the worms my brethren,
Beautiful and perverse, wicked and evil, depraved and unjust,
Good and righteous and wonderful, we are the worms.
There is a man my brethren, Paul Maudib, Gandalf the Wizard, Beowulf, who was a Power.
He was a power and he wanted power and glory and honor.
And he saw our suffering.
For man has always been a weak creature.
He is the son of Dune, the son of Earth, for he fused with the earth through man.
He fused with the worms my brethren to live forever.
His flesh is a radiant glory, flame on, he is as firestorm and Wolverine.
He is as professor Xavier, He is the shining one.
And he was not all good.
Like us, he had evil in him.
And he sinned.
But in the midst of his torment and his madness, he saw the sky.
And knew of God’s love.
Rise my brethren, for God is man and we have the power.
Rise my brethren, for God loved man so much that he became man.
God became the worms and saved the earth.
Turn to the earth and heal it.
And allow it to heal you.
Heal the rabbits, heal the deer, heal the trees.
And share in its pleasure.
For the earth loves you and the earth is our mother.
And our Father knows of our torment.
But there is a God, a Power who knows the secret.
He has fused with the worms and now we all shall ride.
Know this my brethren.
Whether you confess his name or not, he has saved you.
For he is you.
He is the murderer down the street.
He is the rapist in jail.
He is the tyrant ruling governments.
He is the whore on the street.
He is the man dying of leprosy.
He is the insane man, rambling into nothingness.
He is the mother who loves her children.
He is the man who suffers deep so that he can feed his family,
He is the man that curses man and God.
He is the priest who sees visions of a new tomorrow.
He is us and we are him my brother and that is the great mystery of his victory.
For whatever dark force keeps us separate.
He has vanquished it and now in him whether we believe or not we shall be one!
Rise brethren.
Rise brethren.
For man has the favor of God and man has been declared good.
We are good, from the worst of us to the best of us, we are good.
And we shall rise.
Look at the tree leaves rustling in the wind and know that God loves you.
Feel the storm, for it is coming.
Feel the storm, and scream freedom!!
Villanelle : It's all been said said better and bolder before
It's all been said said better and bolder before
Worse now most repeat over and over again
No shibboleths now to test smooth words more hollow
Those who trouble not to delve into sages yore
Make not but weak links in the derivative chain
It's all been said said better and bolder before
Those who toiied without e'en recompense for valour
Toiled for insights ripped out of seething guts in pain
No shibboleths now to test smooth words more hollow
Homer Murasaki Valmiki Boccaccio
Gilgamesh Beowulf Pillow Sei Shonagon
It's all been said said better and bolder before
How much the " creative " writing courses ignore
Those whose suffering wrought talents in deep dungeon
No shibboleths now to test smooth words more hollow
The reign of digital maths spells poiein woe
Business minds now serve as mid-wives during birth-pain
It's all been said said better and bolder before
No shibboleths now to test smooth words more hollow
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
Western education,
Taught us everything.....
Everything, that is......
It taught us about
Early man, slavery and slave trade
It taught us to,
Turn to the right cheek
When smacked on the left cheek
It taught us that
The white man discovered Africa,
The earth revolves
Around the sun;
That a white lie
Is subtle and harmless
While,
A black lie
Is insidious and dangerous
But, it did not teach us that:
A cool pound is far better than
A blazing, hot Rand
It did not teach us that:
Only your brother can intimate you
That you are suffering from halitosis;
That whoever is poised for a brawl
Must be ready for a bumpy head
Western education taught us everything.......everything
About Space, Beowulf and going to the moon......
But,
It did not teach or tell us why
The banana is crooked;
It did not teach us
That,
What an old man
Sees while sitting,
A young man
Cannot see it
While standing
That,
The sun will first
Smile on those standing,
Before those kneeling
They did not
Teach us that
A child who swears
That,
His mother will not sleep
Must also be ready
For a very, long, dreary night
They did not
Teach us that,
A child on it's mothers back
Does not remember
How long, dreary and weary
The journey is
That,
A child's palm
Is not scaled
By a hot piece of yam
Placed in it
By the mother
They did not teach us
That,
A blind man cannot see
With someone else's eyes
That,
Foxes have holes
While,
Birds have nests
It did not teach
Us that,
A deaf man
Does not need
A megaphone
To tell him that
War is at his door post
Western education
Taught us everything....
But,
It did not teach us,
What makes a tortoise
Recoil into its shell
Even when,
The lion has not roared
Western education taught us
Everything.....everything....
But,
It failed to teach us
How to count our teeth
With our tongue.
In my eyes I’ve lived 2 lives within 1 life/
Strutting by live strife and grief like you wouldn’t believe/
It’s how you perceive what’s kept to conceive /
Just relieve your relief and turn over that leaf like a page of Beowulf/
I frolic at a bay in a gulf as I lay and I sulk/
I may stray and talk muck as I’m holding a glock on a duck/
I lock, tuck and strut towards a touch on some smut/
But I forgot to load as I locked and cocked so I had no ammo to be popped/
Slipped into a camo lambo with a lamb bro/
And a banned brand of dro to tell high where to go and to sell a low show/
Allow the youth to grow from the gallows of hoods and hollows with their bartered blows/
Departed from homes inside the deep hearted that love holds/
The gold that grows cold coves in the hearts of sold souls/
I’m connected to codes that decipher the cheats/
As it sleets I creep obsolete on my own recluse, resolute street/
So deplete what you peep to delete I’ll be elite and won’t see defeat/
I’ll say it twice if you need a repeat or thrice for a three peat/
You need to retreat before there’s a breach on your beach/
You don’t have the arm length to reach/
You’re a slouch with a dress and a blouse as I address any lout mouse that bows
Anonymously I remain faceless in a soundproof booth when dictators reign
Unforgivable leader guiltless non-truths, I’ll hide from the suffering in vain
God willing I’ll move unseen unknown like the Beowulf poet wounded within
Underhanded sinful strife crushing the heavens with tunes of a sad violin
Sonnets I’ll write of undecided weak given into evil who’ll willfully applaud
The fifty percent who stood divided, if fifty fifty then there is no room for God