Epithets Poems

THE IMMORTAL MIGHTY MORTAL- THOR

The names for Thor and Epithets most odd;
Birth Thor Odinson also known as Þórr;
The original name for the god,  of Thunor of the thunder god, 
Donar, a name for Thor, Thunar, Asa-Thor;

Æsir-Thor his position within Æsir, one of the two major groups of Norse gods;
Hlórriði and or Hlóriði "the loud rider" connection to thunder sounds loud;
Sounds of a chariot ride in heavens rumbles;
Þun(a)raz, meaning "thunder", with his association with thunder;
 
Pórr, Thunor, Donar, and Thunar, 
all stemming from the Þun(a)raz, meaning "Thunder", 
Hhich mean "Æsir-Thor" and "the loud rider";
Odin, who be Thor Father;

Thor most powerful, revered god;
In Norse mythology,  His name evokes rains,
fearsome storms, the flash of lightningThorcalled, 
a fearless protector of gods and men;
Thor was also a dedicated protector of humanity, 
fighting enemies who threatened the order of the worlds;
Notable  human aliases Donald Blake, Jake Olson
Alas He is aGod of Thunder
though yet presently he’s  mere mortal Thor just-
 …a man with a hammer Sigurd Jarlson 


8/30/2025
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©

Etched in Stone

Contest: This or That, Vol 30 – 2-4-25 Sponsor: Edward Ibeh  - Title Chosen: Etched in Stone
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Etched in Stone

Two hearts glare at each other
Clutching their stone tablets
 Written by the finger of their rightness,
  Guarding the secret handshake
In single sighted delinquent tantrums
Refusing to share the offertory
 Of a loving cup - 
Consumed by daggers of thoughtless words
Carved deeply in a scarred heart.

Floral offerings wilt 
Upon stone manifestos
Where ashes of incense lay impotent
To clear the air
And wipe clean the embedded words.

Passion falls in pixels of distortion
Blurring valleys where sacred poles burn –
 Lie in dust written in the past –
Paralyzed 
Unable to rise from handwritten crypts
Placed in captive marble altars,
Epithets like an epitaph for love.

Immoveable stone resists the transcendent
Until forgiveness’ chisel
Re-writes the script of etched words
Crumbling in swaddled tears of humility
That know their need for grace
Consummated in love’s perfect signature.

Word of Mouth

When his stiff larynx shifts,
a caviling bone that darts for cover
as if caught in its bell tower
with a high-powered rifle.
I see his desperate need to talk.

"Those dumb forks,
ingrates, free-loaders, punks."
Salty epithets
march up and down his throat,
as if menacing the very fabric
of his Adam's apple.

Behind his eyes
the damned are piling up.
We are out here alone,
just him and me, and this anger
strangling his windpipe.

He once carried a buddy
out of a kill zone,
but not a lot of himself,
just this bitter slanguage.

I want to grab hold of him,
hug him,
let him talk it out,
allow his wounded words,
to spill out of their foxholes,
then share a dirty joke or two.

From Kisii

From Kisii's loamy terrain, I ascend,
Maroo's clasp, my rooted blend.
A Christian's essence, bathed in God's grace,
Sinner's visage, yearning His face.

They perceive a flawless meld,
Upon God's throne, destiny unveiled.
For poetry's allure, ardor resides,
Singing resonates from within, abides.

Daily toils, domestic strife,
Castoff epithets from bygone life.
They lacked discernment, their judgments piled,
In their assessments, I stood beguiled.

Now mature, I stand resolute and tall,
Prepared for life's summons, answering the call.
In pursuit of a partner, grace I beseech,
Understanding's warm clutch, within reach.

Kneeling humbly, I petition and implore,
Guide my path, dear Lord, forevermore.
For a domicile and sage to guide,
In steadfast patience, I'll abide.

Oh, Almighty, in this relentless quest,
Grant me the boon that suits me best.
A peerless maiden, I fervently pray,
To be my rib, come what may.

©Otieno Elvis Gikoi
?ArtFromHeart??

Transformations a Freed Verse

TRANSFORMATIONS
perceived
  daydreams
a flas
of
the conscious
  conceived

a sudden
  salience
sufaces
causuality
  creates
i. a
state
of emergence

a poesis
 realised
in a
  vision
of the
infinite

dissolving
  dissipating
    diffusing


a flurry
 of simple
speech
a frothy
 excitement
of concrete
things
epithets
  decorative
thrills
so
bright
yet
flash
 senility

Gardens of Regrets

Gardens of Regrets 
David J Walker

Here is how we thrive on grief
Grown in gardens of regrets
just beyond a pale belief 
Preserving how one forgets 
Rehearsing erstwhile
tactile threats 

Here is how we thrive on life
And laugh at epithets in rune 
And dance a thunderstorms delight 
A summers night enbibed in June 
Perceiving fractal
 		Cursive cume

Way of Life

WAY OF LIFE
engraved portraits
    fundamental elements
of
elegance
& noblesse
an evident emphasis
 shadowed &hidden
in
formal
tradition

an established
supply categoric
in strict
criteria

contact
thorough replicas
   formed &contemporary
though
vague
   bequeathed
with extraordinary quality

 alluding epithets
  of such illustrated
 treasures

 denied
in supplementary
   composition
 extended &originating
with
visual expression
both systematic
& somewhat
 incomprehensible

 this appropriate patronage
stimulated &recognised
  then decisively
discerned
&
augmented


THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived

Poetry Oblivion

"Lost in poetry oblivion"*
Surrounded by words and images
Mind is as dark as obsidian
Abounding with musing-filled pages

Thoughts flow freely when one is asleep
Vanishing in the fog of daylight
You’ve got to rack your mind and dig deep
If you want something worthy to write

Penning poetry is a tough grind
Requires time and ideas unique
Novel descriptive ways, one must find
To touch other poets in the clique

Yet, they are addictive soul-outlets
Where sometimes, poems take their own shape
Writing themselves with hued epithets
Surely, a heady means of escape.


01.10.2022




* the first line was mentioned by Paulette Calasibetta in her comment to one of Victor Buhagiar's poems, "Bedtime" and I was inspired by it:)  


Thank you, dear Paulette for the inspiration:)

Possessions

briefly uttered
epithets
in chalked
    pictures
a
quest
    for forms
to gladden & enchant

a delicate
        response
            to entrance
to save
      a dream
a stimulating 
               force
with beauty's
            imprint




THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived

What's Wrong With You, Man

If I spit at you
  Wouldn't you smile at me

If I swung a bat at you
  Wouldn't you give me a big hug

If I trashed your store
  Wouldn't you want to hire me

If I hurled epithets at you
  Wouldn't you vote for me

If my folks and I'd been doing this for 65 years
  Wouldn't you want to live next door to me

Huh?  You say you wouldn't?
  WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, MAN?

Part of It All

Under a star-studded, ebony sky,
quietude summons silence to the Night.
Scintillating shooting stars fall and die;
their epithets inked in a blaze of light.
And as dusk drains the color from twilight,
Luna gilds the clouds with golden moonlight.

Night's shifting shadows sully silhouettes,
as darkness drifts, like a curtain of smoke.
And fireflies, flicker like lit cigarettes,
burning through Night's impenetrable cloak.
And gobsmacked by the feelings stars evoke,
you bathe in their light, letting your soul soak.

In silence, pierced by the hoot of an owl,
clouds of bats flap webbed wings in the night air.
And nocturnal creatures begin to prowl
as glowing yellow eyes return your stare.
And when the cosmos comes into full view,
you understand, creation includes you.

And you somehow feel a part of it all:
surfing space on a cerulean ball.

Word of Mouth

When the larynx shifts
(a caviling bone) darts for cover,
as if caught in its bell tower
with a high-powered rifle.
I see his desperate need to talk.

those damn people,
ingrates, free-loaders, punks.
Salty epithets march up and down his throat,
as if menacing the very fabric
of his Adam's apple. 

Behind his eyes
the damned are piling up.
We are out here alone,
just him and me, and this anger
strangling his windpipe.

He once carried a buddy
out of a kill zone,
but not much of himself,
just this bitter slanguage.

I want to grab hold of him,
hug him close,
let him talk it all out,
allow his words
to spill out of their foxholes. 
Then break some ciabatta with him,
some Ligurian olives and chianti,
share a dirty joke
between wine sweetened gums.

Respect Your Name

Everyone has a given name,
that is certified and true.
That name belongs to no one else,
that name belongs to you!

It’s your official moniker!
When there’s a need for you to sign,
this is the name that you must use!
That’s the bottom line!

But, there’s other handles, you’ll acquire,
throughout your lifetime story.
Most are friendly nicknames,
and a few, derogatory!

So just sit back, relax, and reminisce,
when you’ve nothing else to do.
Recall the different names you’ve had,
there’s probably, more than just a few!

I’ve been called a gentleman,
which I always try to be.
Whether or not I qualify,
that decision, isn’t up to me!

The epithets I miss the most,
that I no longer hear,
are the ones my wife used on me,
like darling, love, and dear!

Uncle, grandpa, son, and brother,
are other titles that I’ve had!
But, the title that I treasure most,
is when my children, call me Dad!

Your name, of course, is what you’re called!
But it’s much, much more, by far!
So, don’t take your name for granted,
it’s a special part of who you are!

Lost In the Surf

The idea I’d been trolling for
			was hooked just short of the shore.
			As soon as I could see	
			the grey beast from the deep
			just beneath the last line
			of the breaking surf,
			the thing broke free
			along a different ledge of thought.
			Too little lip I’d caught.

			O I had plenty of words--  
			curses, epithets, adjectives, verbs--   
			both for myself and the grey shape
			gone back to the dark sea,
			leaving me unbalanced
			with no upright tug on the line.
			I’d been tied to thought’s pull,
			then flaked from the wall
			like the cheapest paint.

			I know that too much lip defines
			a dictator posed in profile 
			on a Roman balcony;
			but too little lip left me short
			of dancing in the sun
			with the coveted catch held up
			from the dark womb of thought,
			an alive and wriggling thing
			pendant from
			an invisible string

A - Sonnish - On Fluidity

Don’t define me by what you think I am
I refuse to label myself 
Exclude me from your pre-program
I don’t follow your parallel
How I express things is me being me 
Sometimes I’ll be one thing, and later another
No need for the labels to quantify what you see 
I’ll just do my thing and leave you to wonder 
Minute to minute I may fluctuate
I am what I am based on how I feel 
Under your epithets I would just stagnate 
It may be confusing but my changes are real
I have decided that I’ll be a fluid 
I’ll no longer let myself be diluted 
I am just me, and that image is lucid

• Short Epithets Poems
• Famous Epithets Poems
• Best Epithets Poems
• Read Epithets Poems
• Long Epithets Poems
• Epithets Quotes