Best Norsemen Poems
Behold Beatrice, Pitcairn
the paradise sunsets lie in Tahiti
sunrise, the folly of Easter
islands, sanitoriums, deluded, denuded
limbos and purgatories, the never evermore
Polynesian metaphors transmigrate my mind
O to graze with the deer, dear
the tree never falls silently
lizards scatter, birds scurry to flight
i could never buy into falling silence
let alone fate of Galileo's descending weights
church theologians preferring an atheist Aristhrottle
forgive me for being sententious dear
no pity for Cyrano
the hidden Darcy
in another failed Benedick in port
without Dante's delusions
love with no embrace
Service, woman, a slightly tainted saint
Tennyson's wound that never heals
Petrarch, Augustine, it grows insane
ah the vicissitudes, where was i
yes, leaving metaphors and literate men
your laughter starts in those ignescent eyes
ignition, brush fires of rippling ballerinas
facial muscles lost in abandonment
to some elfish music i see, never hear
lips widening, bursting rubaiyat pandemonium
i adore your infectious risibility
it is your amatory smile i love most
demure, candles gamboling in the moonlight
i am a moth lost in the flames
of your demanding timidity
it is then i see in your eyes
the dove gracing your hands
the beast who serves your lust
this is why the Norsemen
fear nothing but women
swords once ready, berserkers, Odin
now lie silent volcanoes in my heart, Freya
the seas are without headstones
and i am wondering again terricolous
all of this are the clouds overhead
it is the heavens i see in your eyes
not the red dawn i fear
we see the jungle, its' song, inevitable war
the struggle to stand in the light
possibly besotted, erratum
the seas have long not cared
with you, i learn, heal
we are undeniably humanity
we are paradise lost
the hells of yesterday
need not rule the heavens of today
your arms gravid with red sunsets
fill my deepest hopes of all morrows
its' ultimate price is gladly paid
Miramar 94 The Patient Stones
Revised 5/22 OKC
see on Youtube
Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 Is Not What It Seems
there are certain words in here common in 19th Century literature that always remind me....besotted with Jane Austen
Vikings and Islam
Way back in the 7 hundred or something when
Islam leaders tried to establish a Caliphate in
Europe, they met Vikings who were plundering
their way down the river of Volga and often
employed the barbaric Norsemen to do a bit of
plundering on their behalf.
A few Vikings converted, when coming home
they spoke about the evil of fermented drink
and it took hold, even when Islam, the religion,
was forgotten the idea of sobriety lingered and
has had a deep influence in Nordic Societies
ever since. Well, the Moslems are back, not as
occupiers, but one wishes, on Saturday nights,
a bit of sober Islam would be remembered.
Odin looked confused, and Thor did too,
But none of us bothered to wait
Ten thousands years of warrior souls,
Charged the dark foe right out of the gate.
My boys they shot out Fenris’s eyes,
And the old 7th cav, they rode in
Slashing hard with drawn, curving sabers,
They cut off the monster’s four shins.
The wolf he roared, and his great mouth flared
Blood-read teeth set in wide-open jaws…
But a slew of TOW missiles leapt from the lines
And streaked into the beast’s gaping maw.
The wolf he collapsed, trailing gray smoke,
But Fenris’s life had yet to be spent
So the samurai charged, long katanas drawn
And his flesh they chopped up and rent.
Up came Jorumgandre, the world serpent
Expecting a loud chorus of screams.
Instead he went up in a fiery rage,
Bombed by a hundred B-17s.
A breaching charge set against his flank,
Tore a great, gaping hole in his side
And the Boys of Dunkirk rushed in headlong,
Shooting up his guts ‘till he died.
Then Surtr drew near, his big sword aflame
Ready to bash, to burn, to lay waist
But along came the treads of Patton’s brigades,
And shelled his ankles to make them break.
Surtr fell back and was lost to a swarm
Of plaid Highlanders dense, in a charge.
And when they sheathed swords, all that remained
Was a corpse, quite unusually large!
Finally came dread Loki, marching along
At his back the great host of Muspell.
But from the rear came Puller and US marines,
And to that dark horde, they brought hell!
As they fought, the Berserkers, they charged
Norsemen delivering the last blow,
The horde crumbled quick, turning to flight.
Leave Loki standing alone in the snow.
He turned to run but I shot out his knee
And then dragged him to the gods in chains.
Thor just shrugged, and Mjolnir he swung
And dashed out the deceiver’s brains.
It was the only blow the gods did land,
Most were too stunned to lift an arm.
The Einherjar had slaughtered all before them,
Not a single god had come to harm!
CONCLUDES IN PART III.
In the one skip of light fantastic
Stands the butler dressed in black plastic,
Then from under the kitchen table
Crawls the sister who's near disabled;
Watches brother run with his cohorts
While his hands are shoved into white shorts.
Then appearing out on the pavement,
Near the old shop that sells engagements,
Are the dancers caught in slow motion;
They've run out of elixir lotion.
Music's blaring but no one's singing,
They're fearful of what autumn’s bringing.
When the words came down from the Heavens
They'd gambled on sixes and sevens.
O'er the ramparts was hung the traitor
While the cannons shot down the sailor.
The high priestess opened the prisons
And erased all soothsayers’ visions.
On the morning of the night after
There's no joker spreading his laughter;
No ships sailing that carry Norsemen;
Just the echoes from the Four Horsemen.
Now the preachers have turned to fasting
As they wait for the everlasting.
Little sister's running for freedom,
Heard the Horsemen as well as seen 'em.
Brother's standing with hands in pockets
While he's watching ten thousand rockets.
In a short time it'll be revealed . . .
Armageddon’s coming to Springfield.
I’ve written enough small poetry
to start a nuclear war.
Do you want to die in traffic
behind the wheel of your car? Or in yr rodeer camp next fall.
Control eludes us. The hero
loses urinary control, the unified nation
loses missile control, lost my timepiece, lost my metronome,
now my music is ethereal as an archangel’s.
No owl hoots or duck quacks
or squirrels screwing
or spiders spanning rampikes.
The floccinaucinihilipilification of nature.
No greater tragedy than a tipping
point that tests the hero’s gullibility, complicity,
self-control, comity, sense of humor
which is the only remedy not to hate those in authority.
Them guys with guns at the Michigan state house,
fat bearded tattooed pissed off white bros.
Norsemen, Crusaders, Vikings, Britons.
For despair there is no forgiveness. Peace out.
Nuclear mischief, mad Man’s most incandescent bloom
and the devil who exists to carry the load
when we misbehave and fight among ourselves.
I wake up to my skin boiling off my bones.
Humor is the only remedy, or is ardor the best way forward.
We’ll see how things work out in the next generation.
The same diverse, spoiled, unpatriotic revolutionaries as at the nation’s
beginning
trying to reverse the future, making phone calls to get out the vote in
Georgia, hating the desert for having no water.
Events keep piling up,
the future depends on ourselves.
Conflict is inevitable and in this conflict power must be challenged by
power
so err on the side of patience, perseverance and impermanence.
M anors towering
Over the horizon
Western skies ablazon
With majesty possessing.
E arth trodden soil
Bearing feet of noble birth
Tramping blades of aged turf,
Hearts destined to inner turmoil.
D anger lurking in
Shadows of the silent souls:
Smoldering, burning coals
Leaving scares of ashes within.
I nsightful minds too
Rare to locate in this time,
Appearing so sublime
Their radiant light shining through.
E vening abbey bells
Sound the coming jubilee,
To mass we grandly flee
The Sabbath day the priest foretells.
V iking raiders come
Arriving by the ocean,
Longboats sail in motion,
Stealthy in their horrible glum.
A rmies marching near
Pillaging every city
Sorrow filled with pity,
Echoing cries of solemn fear.
L aughing now has ceased
Only silence here to reign
With nothing left to gain
So many loved ones now deceased.
T ime is ticking to
A close, another plunder
Resounds like dark thunder
Beckoning to “The Red” anew.
I nto the misty,
Frosty air of the midnight
Eric leads the new fight
Away from the ruins gritty.
M an after man of
Norsemen racing to the west
Shouting cries of the beast
Charging towards the mountains above.
E arly morning now
Is here, but the Viking king
Is nowhere to be seen
He has fled after half a bow.
S ilent knights stand tall
For they have fended the
Scoundrel attack; they see
New rays of hope starting to call
“Long live Christ Jesus,
Savior of us all!”
Is part of Halifax
This island is 42 km. long
It is the equlvalent of walking
In sand from downtown Halifax
All the way to Peggy's Cove
Sable Island has 500 wild horses
After surviving centuries of the winter
The exact amount of horses unknown
Some believe they are ancestors of horses
That survived the shipwrecks
While these claims Norsemen John Cabot
Or the Portuguese explores or Acadians
Had left them on the island
The most popular is likely explanations
In the Boston merchant hired to transport
Acadians during the Expulsiion not the horses
The island is gradually moving eastwards
As it slowly washes away in the west
While sand builds in the eastwards
Others believe the island centre suffering
Just that island is shrinking
Then one day eventually disappear
Finally by the blood of swordsmen
They reach the mystic shore
Torn by battle each parched tongue
Corrupts it’s enemy once more
Flesh and spirit torn then stained
In legend myth and tale
Blew them, this final war
Llyr upon his sail
Bleached bones, sinew, hungry fists
Baying for a fight
Women to there long lost lovers
Avenged by firelight
No god of light ever brings
The blood of there’s back home
To the shores of Avalon
Once the soldiers gone
Then finally by there longboats
They reach the mystic shore
Fighting Norsemen cross the Styx
To battle ever more.
Ron Kempton
LOST
When she is away
My bubble of life will sink
And move but heavily in the sea’s sway,
Her return an eternity’s blink,
My sphere all but lost.
Horned-helmeted Norsemen at night
Drifting too far south o’er the horizon,
The peaks of Spitzbergen out of sight,
Watched without hope their lodestone,
And longed to see the stars of home.
God is not a cliche,
but a derivative of historical man's interpretation
via ancient civilizations' understanding
as to what a 'deity'
symbolic model
that they had extrapolated
for the mere reason of
controlling the masses
by undergoing thorough
the guides and, or guise
known as
"centralization of ideology."
Easy if you got a book
like a Bible,
or a Koran,
or a Torah,
etc.
Egypt had Ra,
Romans had Jupiter,
Greeks had Zeus,
Norsemen had Odin
and American Indians according to their tribes
and Hawaiians had them too
our's was Kane
Thanks to the missionaries,
who had brought the 'g'od fact into perspective,
via,
the capitalization factor.
In my view,
'tis a futile attempt of
The Early Churches
to part WAY
what I--
and the silent,
have known ...
in the aforementioned.
It was part of my thesis
for Theology Admittance
when I was 16,
extra points for raw concept
methinks ethnic bias--Hawaii College.
Easy with my Mom, ...
"Just 'mum' on that subject son."