Long Crows Poems
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With the end of days upon them
Nears the time of final battle
In the halls of high Valhalla
Asgard senses its death rattle
In the forest crows the rooster
In the sky the sun does darken
In the cave the hound is howling
To these signs the Aesir harken
Heimdall blows the Gjallarhorn
Dark the rainbow bridge is turning
Vivid lightning cleaves Yggdrasil
Then the central tree is burning
Aesir watch in fascination
See volcanoes spew like fountains
See the heavens splitting open
See the oceans climb the mountains
See the continents convulsing
See the forests burn to ashes
See the sons of Mim awaken
In the fatal lightning flashes
As the winds consume the wasteland
From the south Surtr advances
With his minions tearing corpses
Bright his sword and sharp his lances
Aesir then prepare their weapons
Eyes are clear and arms are steady
The Midgard serpent Jörmungandr
Upon the battle plain is ready
With his heavy hammer Mjolnir
Strides the mighty god of thunder
To do battle with the serpent
And to rend the world asunder
June 30, 2014
N.B. This poem is an Epyllion, a brief narrative poem with a romantic or mythological theme. It is written in trochaic tetrameter, like some of the ancient Eddas.
Glossary:
Ragnarök - Final battle and death of the Aesir
Aesir - The Norse gods
Asgard - one of the Nine Worlds and home of the Aesir
Valhalla - a majestic, enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the chief Norse god Odin
Heimdall - A Norse god who blows his horn to signal the beginning of Ragnarök
Gjallarhorn - Heimdall's horn
Midgard- Middle Earth, or the world of humans
Bifröst - the burning rainbow bridge between Midgard and Asgard
Yggdrasil - The sacred Norse central tree that holds the Nine Worlds
Mim - an Asian renowned for his knowledge and wisdom who has been beheaded. Odin carries around Mím's preserved head and it recites secret knowledge and counsel to him.
Surtr- a fire troll with a flaming sword who sets the world on fire.
Jörmungandr- The world serpent or ouroboros that surrounds the earth and grasps his own tail. When he lets go, the world will end. Jörmungandr's arch-enemy is the god Thor.
Thor - The Norse god of thunder
Mjolnir - Thor's hammer and principal weapon
"Puzzle Stomped"
Pieces scattered
placed on a table
with boundaries
between
the incarcerated margins
there are strict conditions
Time drips
its wet connection
each piece a stair fitted
imperfectly
perfect
towards upwards
new mirror reflection
a cracked heart piercing
the tear with savage dedication
behind her veil
the known Morpheus assails
her compromised senses
holding her captured
behind the external view
eyes blindfolded
the blue sashes now let loose
opening green windows to
free the redressed vicissitudes
to undress the crisp breeze of her
monk chanting wake
a new phantom arrives caressing secrets
gambled on a fresh Delius
composing his unfinished symphony
he’s looking for her singular notes
Somewhere,
he stands behind her
sharp as a needle,
cutting tall poppy
each step she takes
towards her freedom gate
In his hands he cups
the hidden
missing piece
The sewing of pages
she continues to bind
in her sleep
along a strong spine
turning and folding stories
uncommon ne'er sublime
their spelt magic
grows majestically spoilt
seeded from a sweet perfume
conducting intoxicating notes
stories flying black-winged
off all the slippery knaves
and wax-sealed pages
like ebony feathers
mummerating starlings
turn into suffocating
dream stealing
king crows smiling maces
She the Smythsewer
laying tenuous imprints
for a new road home
He the myth Beyond
shakes the game board
peace in pieces, a long forgotten song
the chance card thrown
the blanket of romance
thundering over a stormy mind grows
patch worked with glassed-in
jarred ghost bees, the old
puzzle of a story stomped on
He places his feet
firmly between hers
closing in on time
Beyond takes her hand
And sensually whispers
along all her fairest fears
sweeping all pieces off her
tattered story board
fallen irretrievable
forgotten
left lacking
on the harsh floor
Cum dederit
dilectis suis somnum,
Ecce haereditas
to the tune of fate
there is so much more
the words are sewn and sung
the child in time fled
long gone, as if all was pure fantasy
destiny arrives supernaturally too soon
Time for a new story
He says darkly
and swiftly closes
Past’s door.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Was the purpose of your absence an attempt at causing me pain?
That crippling feeling, a spider spinning its web inside my mind.
That arachnid, poisonous, jeers the word space like a handicap.
That parasitic relationship forms a cloud covering the moonlight,
A fog that swirls like a whirlpool in your absence. How rapturous
Your paradox forming a bridge made from our memories. Broken and
Reshaped they become the foundation to a journey in that sea you
Created within me. Your withered emotions and fleeting empathy
were a false proposition of hope only a jester would find funny.
An exhibition of animosity lies in the silent waves – waiting –
for our sunset. How beautiful its rays are against the black water;
falling into the abyss, hidden under that rain your pseudo blanket.
Does the sunrise when you are blind? Does the moon set when
You can’t see the sky? That colorblind man sits there on the beach
Looking in silence. He cannot see his reflection within the water, he
Stands and walks to its surface. There he finds a crow crippled, limping
In the ripples where his reflection should be. That psychedelic feeling
Draws in his drowning breathe, falling into the sea. Paramount to his
Survival the man drowns, his understanding a paradox in his memory.
Only he, the crow, remembers the light of the moon. Its pompous shape,
that transcendent light, a memory to your decay. Only when yellow hits
the eyes of the crow will that white light fade beyond the thunderstorm.
He cries to the heavens, yet his speech murmurs under the weight. That
Black water suffocates his prayer, but he finds comfort in his anonymity. In
the presence of absence the crow longs for loss. He who is stolen from
wishes to be further buried, lost in the waves. That siren sings a fading
melody back into his ears. His own prayer an anchor tied to his feet,
crippled in your memory. Fractured in his own faith, what god heard
his suffering, his murmurs clots of air in a salty sea; black as the blood
from the wound you carved out in his chest. What blessing filled
his misery, that pseudo composition you create is a platter filled
with the feather of the crow. His words held sweet your grace,
an ensemble dancing in the mind of the forgotten. in the sea of
his followers he is Poseidon, yet still the crow sank, anchored in misery.
Even Dawn Cried About Death Of The Poet
They that see dawn in softest crimson glows
Having sought to embrace the golden moon!
They that ink paradise as a true gift,
Sings praises of the gentle month of June!
Whilst feeding at midnight the hungry crows
Sometimes with iron, and with eager breath
Oft each stands alone, watching dark world turn
Then she that inks paradise as a gift,
With compassion, romantic flames that burn
Wrote faithfully, even unto her death!
Dawn that foretells of living and true love
Helplessly seen as the poetess died
Cast its brightest rays to heaven above
So angels could see how too few cried!
R.J. Lindley, Jan 25th, 1987
*******
Dare We Pray, Humanity Wakes To Be Redeemed
From blacken hills into magical woods we wade
Where golden mushrooms ring shrouds of ancient trees
Praise God, that this earth and humanity he made
Although from great divine wrath it so often flees
In morn's mist, airy shadows rise and slowly fall
'neath hopeful promise of resplendent future state
Whilst those ever beckoning hills heed Nature's calls
Same as man bows to ravages of horrid Fate.
Therein comes immense pleasures of paradise dreams
Too often laced with folly of human schemes
Were it not that love may gift that which hope redeems?
Aye. Love and pleasure are as candy to a child
And thus sweet blessings flow unto those meek and mild
Whereas thistles and thorns pierce deeply those too wild.
Dare we pray, humanity wakes to be redeemed
From evil wickedness, that mankind daily schemes?
R.J. Lindley, March 6th, 1987
Rhyme
*******
From The Virgin Light Into The Dark Mist
There within such immensity of solitude
Rests a billion threads but a sad solitary thought
Of life, earth and barest naked soul therein nude
In worldly prison, dying entity thus caught.
Oh but, tis not that tragedy our daily bread
Fodder for rampaging fires eternally lit
We but sacrifice for those gods long ago dead,
And bawling mass for Hades and its burning pits?
Tis not mankind a true enigma and a bit more
Far, far more than a fallen fly in the hot soup
Once stuck down below but by own hand now can soar
Risen up by vicious might in one dark fell swoop ?
Aye! One may fear to such reality admit
As it leads backward, to thoughts of hot burning pits!
R.J. Lindley, March 22nd, 1987
Rhyme
2/23/24
It's not in all the books we read
Souls put to sea
Continual butchery
They carry on crookedly
Trying to coat the truth with something sugary
Some know and don't care others never could agree
A never ending battle where evil is trying to make the good bleed
Nah no really look at me
I stirred the hornets nests and shook the trees
Among endless wood debris
To be an honest man, you've no idea what it took to be
Gone beyond lucid dreams
Please do believe it's about much more than you perceive
Hmm the conclusions seems
They never have our best interest at heart nor any future needs
While unscrupulous humans scheme
They left our bodies out to rot all through ravines
As well as areas where sewage seeps
The truth it seeks
A way out usually
Regardless of opportunity
My mom asked son why must you suffer so
Caught up in an undertow
There's just things a mother knows
My true colors shown
I called my brother's phone
He thought he knew how it does and doesn't go
Unlike other folks
Through centuries still much unknown
All across this bloody globe
Studies show
Most want the whole honeycomb
All to themselves like life's only about hitting the motherload
As they judge and drone
It's not all cut in stone
Told him what was once a home
Started from just a stone
Now it's a bunch of those
Amid piles of mud and bones
Nearby encrusted tomes
Beside dusty clothes
Sat an old toolbox that rusted close
Outside stood trees full of a dozen crows
By fields with buffaloes
Bumps arose
In clustered nodes
Turning it into a rugged road
Nearby water full of sunken boats
The destruction grows
Life comes with no instruction codes
For any sudden woes
You'd think eventually it struck a note
Many looking through a tunneled scope
Always fascinated by the puppet shows
Another day redundant and alone
A struggle to find love blows
Causing a loss of what was hope
Reaching the point of being ready to jump below
By the end of it my bro said I must atone
He said I chucked the stone
At what I thought was a toad
Then went back to work in the construction zone
Only to find out that it wasn't though
Said he began to suffer slow
Caught in a thunder dome
Until he discovered those
That suffered the same fate buried right under nose
With a new adjusted approach
Learned first hand and through several hundred notes
I spend time with a friend
well, a pseudo-friend
an acquaintance of sorts
no, I guess he'd be a friend,
****, who knows
one of those types you never really share your heart
that authentic trembling you
I guess
he's more like a radio station
on a long lonely road trip in the night
or late night cable when the kids have left
a thousand channels
bright flickering nothing
we meet after hours in the deepest of dives
I just sit, listen,
curl myself into that hunching shape
looking like someone piled old laundry on a stool
and act as chaperone
an escort of sorts, you know, like those fresh faced kids in college
earning some bucks walking lifesize cartoons around for pictures
and with a bar top slap, I know he's got one, he's revved up
a steampunk machine running on old rye and spasms
"know this! I have faith in our sacred family values, our brave military and our cellular plans!"
(it's hard to not chuckle a bit, enjoy the aerating effect a good laugh does to spirits and your pallet, just avoid aspirating too much or you bellow and cough like an amateur drinker, good god don't show weakness in a place like this or the crows will circle and I swear the shadows lengthen under the bar)
most times, as I sit next to him, removed from his sphere
detached observer that I always find myself
I notice he talks to that small sliver of himself seen between the dirty glasses
piled up against the old mirror with faded silvering
and the blackened spots frame his face
like an old time picture
representing a vast loneliness of a nation
this goddamn solitude we find in crowded rooms
"My opponent here is working with Chilean miners, violent video game makers and angry chefs, goddammit"
once curse words are added, we'll be on our way soon
the barkeep's tips weren't that big
and the mutterings from the corners are beginning
as his outbursts begin to chisel into the hazy bubbles of regulars
I pull him out into the night
away from cheap wine and leaded glass
red faced, blustering,
cool air confusing him for a moment
and, lightswitched, he walks with a purpose,
back to the maindrag and streetlights,
calling it a night with a wave and one last holler:
"I want an America where Somali pirates and Rupert Murdoch yes-men cannot corrupt our precious environment!"
I just stand and wave back.
Clouds close in
Now darkened skies
Filled with fear
And many cries
Children shouting
Men are scared
Mothers doubting
People died and no one cared
Once in danger
People become selfish
Everyone became a stranger
And the world became hellish
Loneliness now sings from above
And anger echo’s from below
Everyone abandoned the ones you loved
Now it’s raining pain and sorrow
I feel watched
Surrounded indeed
Buildings notched
Everyone is filled with greed
It’s now our life
Or our sanity
I’ve already died twice
And lost my humanity
I lost my life
My soul is gone
This endless strife
Why do I bother to carry on
A flock of crows
Forgiving none
Fetching souls
No one can run
Here I stand
Full of fear
Left with few hand in hand
I just wish I could disappear
This is a slaughter
Filled with laughter
Why would you do this to me
Will this last for eternity
The world is now rubble
Reduced to ash
Breathing alone is a struggle
Everything looks like trash
I can’t explain
All this pain
I swear I can’t be sane
Hatred now will reign
The gust of wind
I’m swept away
Have I sinned
Is this the price I pay
Ground is shaking
Tearing now
My heart is aching
And now gone somehow
I can’t explain
This searing pain
I can’t contain
It doesn’t matter, I’m not sane
The rain is blood
The lakes are fire
My face is to the mud
And the flames keep getting higher
It’s getting hot
It’s hard to see
Flames are everywhere
This cannot be
My eyes are melting
Draining from my skull
This pain is overwhelming
And I can only sit in this flaming hole
I have died ten times now
I don’t know why, I don’t know how
But every time I die
I go through it all again somehow
Flames surround me
Yet I feel so cold
Does no one feel sympathy
Because my pain is now tenfold
Everything is gone
Though my eyes are back
It’s only black but feels so wrong
Why am I here and for how long
A heavy pain rushes over me
But now that’s nothing new to see
I’m now drowning in tears
Flashbacks, memories and fears
I close my eyes
Cover my ears
Everything’s quiet
Everything disappears
As my eyes open
They are flushed with white
It aches my eyes but feels great
Maybe Jesus will give me a clean slate
I lay floating in this room of white
I don’t mind at all, not even slight
I will rest till something happens to me
Cause there is nothing to do till there is something to see
Could this be the end of my agony?
The warmth no longer comes
it seems to only leave.
The furry ones, all
caught in hypnotic disbelief:
hardening ground's
taken root
where once
gardening grounds
(forsaken, mute)
were once and again
makin' fruit.
Each beast, shaking
like a leaf
(though, truth be told
I've only ever
seen 'em dance)
as if to compel
the sun to
sidle up
'n stay a bit.
The butterflies are all turned
to windblown, drying leaves.
The biting clouds of gnats
are now
the biting cold of early flakes.
All hatched and reared
(the secret thrush, the ungainly, splashtering loon,
the burly snakes)
as evening hurries home
to be home for the night.
It's so early, so late.
The fatted robin's gone
just as the field mice hid
from barn-now-lapcat.
This constellation of crows,
a raucous perch, tried
that hiding ploy: their clotted knotted
silhouetted faux-leaf blackening hide out
where the leaves’d lived but crows are not
meant to blot the low sun as they’d plotted...
And so it was as so its been since Oh, so ever since -
a bird of prey, answered their
plaintive caws with painted claws -
a fracturous startle from above
a crash! a cry! a scattering!
one down, one murder
still.
Nothing softens, nothing greens.
No flowering as Southern urges
force flocks into making V-lines.
Each nest left: all break routines.
Summer is souring, as frost emerges
and last-one-picked, the pines -
lefties left in left field;
icing soon, their needles their shield
and, the coach never intervenes...
The light more slow to show
more tugged and bent to slant.
The sunshafts seem to push
the cold ahead as snow by plows.
And for our part we too as well
well, we turn away, turn indoors.
We turn our dreams to
make-it-through this.
We turn our collars up,
and too, our eyes to floors.
We turn our (each seems to)
thoughts inside this shell
not towards Inner but
rather, of course, truly from-
far and away from the
Cold & Falling, closing crisp.
How unlike the Scholar's Cup!
Our husks indoors,
our thoughts follow
but burrow deeper still.
Don't blame the light
for not keeping company
so deep where hides
a fearful, frigid 'you.'
It's Autumn
all turns on
one point.
It's Autumn
Fall burns on.
It's Autumn
sun burns on
one point
(of light.)
I have never felled so alive
as now.
I was on me way to Adelaide, to watch the Blues take on the Crows,
it’ll be a super effort winning there, as every Vic here knows,
I could have flown and watched the game and done it in one day,
but decided on a tourist drive to catch the sights along the way.
I took the narrow winding path along the Ocean Road;
took in mountain views of sandy beaches, these special vistas showed;
spent one night in the Grampians with Zumsteins Kangaroos
and another in the Little Desert; a garden filled with many hues.
Then I drove down to Mount Gambier to visit rellies there,
I toured around the blue lakes and the limestone caverns where
stalactites and stalagmites grew from the roof and floor,
and then I found my el dorado… a McDonalds store.
Since the morning I left Melbourne, it’s been all fruit and weet bix,
so its great to find the ‘Golden Arches’ where I get my ‘Macca’ fix;
a nice thick super burger, with a coke and double fries,
and it’s waiting on the counter and so attractive to my eyes.
I found a table that was empty, put down the tray and ate a chip,
placed a serviette upon me lap, grabbed the coke and took a sip,
unwrapped the burger, ate more chips; had another drink of coke,
then watched a couple sit beside me, but neither of them spoke.
It’s obvious that they are married and that both are elderly,
but it seemed strange they ordered, the very same as me,
then I watched the fella cut the burger, in half carefully,
divide the chips and into glasses, pour the coke out equally.
I must admit I felt embarrassed as I watched this small charade,
and thought that being pensioners, times must be pretty hard,
so with a caring gesture, I offered them my burger, chips and coke,
but they refused me generous offer, and the lady quietly spoke.
“I know you mightn’t understand”, and then continued with her riddle,
“But through our married fifty years, we’ve split things down the middle,
what we buy is always shared, including everything we eat.”
Then she sat and watched her husband, scoff his Macca’s treat.
Here I am still quite confused, as I scrutinize what’s going on,
she’s watching as her food goes cold, so I asked her what was wrong,
“Oh nothings wrong” she said, then took a drink to quench her thirst,
“It just so happens that its Harold’s day, to use the false teeth first.”
Come by the Sword, Die by the Sword
They stood in ranks a thousand long
High upon the hill
The Roman legion, fierce and strong
With sword and lance and bill
The Briton hoards below them stare
With wild fanatic eyes
They jeer the foe and beg them dare
With anger and despise
Come and fight you cowardly foe
Come and meet your fate
We’ll cut you down, row by row
Send you to heavens gate
With scoff and scorn the Romans yawn
What empty threats you speak
We’ll rip you limb from limb this morn
You’re scrawny, thin and weak
Down below, laughter roars
Your bellies, we will slice
We’ll lay you dead, in your scores
Come prove your men not mice
We will arrive and make you pay
For indolence and taunt
You will eat every word you say
When they come back to haunt
It’s easy up on high to gloat
But everybody knows
It’s our intent to cut each throat
And leave you for the crows
But when we make our move towards
There’ll be no shy nor rests
We’ll plunge our sharp and bloody swords
Deep in those ragbag chests
Think of your girlfriends, mothers, wives
For them there’ll be no gains
Will be, as we, cut short their lives
When we spill out your brains
For one last time you’ll see the sky
Cause you’re not leaving whole
When heathen head is raised up high
On legion victory pole
Gasp deep upon your final breath
Invader of our land
Your destiny this day is death
By rude and brutish hand
With sword and lance and bill
All break into their stride
With voices booming still
Blood fills the wide divide
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March forward to today
Though forces re-arranged
And ask them in what way
Anything has changed