Mortal 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

Bound by belief

Some still say repentant combatants can’t change,
Though thought to be tamed, they tread a thin track.
When many men mock them, madden, and malign,
They charge with chained choler, yet sworn they stay still.

Fighting foes find few among people preaching peace,
Before battles, they brood, bound by belief.
For futures frame fates none should tether with tears,
While miscreant multitudes

Why? - Tune of our mortal coil

The tunes of my cries goes
Why the breathe, the life?
A question that has creapt its way in and taken root into my very soul
At times a wail but mostly a cry to be freed of it all

Why?

No recollection of a choice but here i breath
So fluid life goes yet i fight the reality of conciousness
A

In the mystery of the universe, where mortal hands cannot stop the fall of flowers

In the mystery of the universe, where mortal hands cannot stop the fall of flowers,
tears gather like pearls on the petals of destiny, without defying the law of time,
for what must be, shall be, like the twilight that bows before the night,
and the stars, in a trembling choir, bow to the dusk with grace and

Onward And Upward

Until it's time to pop my clogs,
shuffle off this mortal coil,
I'll ensure my life is fun-filled
not just daily drudgery and toil.
As all work and no play
would make me one dull boy,
listless, senseless, bored witless,
not my Mother's pride and joy.
And so, in closing, I'm compelled to say,
"Exercise free will,
don't wait, hesitate or trust to fate,
before you're

Mercury's Requiem

There was a young man named Fred
(the tooth fairy lived in dread)
a wild flamboyant from afar
the spice island Zanzibar
a singer he'd been
and sang a good song
with four-octave range
in the band called Queen
tho' considered 'strange'
with plus four in the upper jaw
he had more teeth than most
once nicely depraved
now dead and gone
when he gave up the ghost
shuffled

Puberty And Dotage

Having tasted substance abuse,
today in truth,
many of the young
are wasted in their youth.
But 'God damn' only the pusher
you didn't oughta
as, without the doer,
the dealer, he'd be dead in the water.
One and the same, they're both to blame,
as off each other they will feed,
the former for avarice, a.k.a., greed,
the latter for a misconceived need...
if not to

A Mortal Toll

My soul’s confession knows no ordinary
penance—nor knows, nor feels, another mind
the nebulating sorrows therein maligned—.
I doubt my own can judge the cemetery

of bygone thoughts, dead dreams, and funerary 
pathways—twisted in patterns twice entwined
through one and another—lurking behind
my steeple-belled conscience. On the contrary,

sermon is held just out of sight of that 
sinister scene. By holy spirits

The Mortal

Ethereal Goddess, give me  your light
Your beauty is ineffable, and cold as ice
Your heart must be a labyrinth full of tales
Euphoric is the man's love that never pales.

Your voice must be quite lyrical when you speak
A lullaby of love, versed with a birdy tweet.
Did all love stories have romance in such a way?
Perhaps you

Darkest Evening

This frail feeling of worldly fate
Drowning and fast fading, mortal and degrading

This voice, his lips on my ear; whispering, 
Hurtful hate; feeding on fear

These choices, crucial, turning life into a surreal blur of chaos 
Dreadful moments just waiting to occur

The darkness pounces on my soul wrapping and clawing its way to my mind, 
There is

The Distant Song

Perhaps you heard a distant song
That mortals cannot sing;
Perhaps it made your heartbeat long
For such a pretty thing.
Perhaps you saw beyond your eyes
What dirt and clay can’t form;
Perhaps you know what beauty lies
Beyond the mortal storm.
Why then, pursue it, as you must,
One cannot let it go;
But gold is not akin to rust,
We can but little

How one twenty first century married mortal male me - Matthew Scott Harris

How one twenty first century married mortal male (me - Matthew Scott Harris)...
found himself bewitched about Circe,
particularly after reading book title by the same name.

An enchantress and a minor goddess
in ancient Greek mythology and religion
depicted as living on the island of Aeaea
(pronounced "ee-EE-uh"),
the daughter of the sun god Helios
and the Oceanid nymph Perse
Circe renowned for

Ordinary married sexagenarian mortal feted as savior incarnate

Ordinary married sexagenarian mortal fêted as savior incarnate...

Courtesy a plethora of marriageable females
dogging, hounding, and lowing the living daylights
forcing yours truly to go undercover and into hiding 
within the heart of darkness
at a remote undisclosed location in Perkiomen Valley
changing my name, rank and serial number
to protect what little remaining innocence
(analogous from the salvaged wreckage
of the

Mortal Souls

Donning my Sunday best,
I glance in the mirror—
a twinkle, a gleam in my eyes.
A special day today.

My eyes lift to the heavens,
a miracle in a way.
The stairs to the big blue sky
invitingly beckon mourners
between the hours
of never and forever,
within reach for those called home.

I tremble feebly on the first few steps,
casting a glance at the

Mortal Conflict

I would love to speak to you alone, 
No one could ever guess my aggressive tension.
I would like to call you a moron,
Years passed by, yet you are still in your reflection.

I would let go of my chain,
Oxygen creates a vague reaction in my infected brain.
I would let go of my disease,
The disease is heavier

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