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Loudly it sounded,
The horns message clear,
The gods had been warned,
The giants were near.

From Jotunheim to Midgard
To Asgard they came,
Their intent was clear,
Their purpose the same.

Loudly they shouted,
They yelled, and they raged,
The gods and the giants
Were battle engaged.

Thor with his hammer
and Vidar with shoe,
One would think battle
Was all that they knew.

Tyr with one hand
And Frey with no sword,
They should have stayed back,
But of their own accord

Into battle they leapt,
Into battle they ran,
Against the giants
To make their stand.

The moon and the sun,
Luna and Sol,
Went into the bellies
of Hati and Skoll.

Tidal waves crashed
all over the world,
Out of the oceans came
The serpent of Midgard.

Thor ran at the beast,
The great Fenrir Wolf,
But he was soon
In snakes coils engulfed.

Thor pounded away,
He hammered the snake,
But he did no damage,
No dent did he make.

The great Fenrir Wolf
Rushed at Odin,
The god stabbed with his spear,
But the great wolf did win.

Vidar rushed at the beast
With his big heavy shoe,
Kicked in the jaw,
The Fenrir Wolf flew

Away from the battle,
away from the fray,
In the depths of space
The Fenrir Wolf stays.

The gods and the giants,
The battle they fought,
And in the end
it was all for naught.

They destroyed each other,
Each and every one,
And out of the darkness
Came a new sun.

In the sun’s warmth,
A great green was spread,
The great land had died,
And was back from the dead.

Two gods were left,
The young sons of Thor,
They were spared because
they were good and pure.

The gods met with two humans
Who had lived through the strife,
And together they planned
a new and better life.

And for this reason,
The Norse people say,
The gods stay in Asgard
To this very day.

But if in the future
The giants attack,
The gods will come to Midgard,
And they will attack.
i read some Norse mythology, and turned it into a poem.  this was written a while ago.
JL Dec 2013
It didn't make sense
It felt Fingers
Chain link fence

So the moon dim
Gibbus tide riddle

Keep your wheel in the hairpin
Bite  a hook
You'll be my friend

Go ahead
Spike the ocean
A drop of salt blood
The wolf of horizon runs
Spilling fangs of
red dwarf sun

Can you water:
Crash against the rock
Until pieces of you break off
Pristinely lying on my skin

Think air until you hear
Grandeur breath of leaves
Mountain or dog
Sing songs of love

Goodbye
White cheek
Spun in moonlight
Foot to the path
Song on the tounge
Free til I'm dog
Whiskey til I'm drunk
Hold my breath
Count to ten
Blue eyes / begin again
Vlarken Hvyrmtor Jul 2015
Witchy witch your
hair swirls about like
an ash-filled firestorm

Lips of razored glass
cut my throat and my
cry of pleasure is a
coughing bloodspray

Witchy witch I thought
I'll take you naked in boiling
cauldronwater

wet hair skeining over
******* shadowcupped like
two ripe halfmoons

I knew your hair was red
down there too

and in you I'm burning until my
skinnerves are eaten
and I can feel naught but

in you I take your hair like
Fenrir's fireleash
and pull me deeper into your
fleshrose

Witchy witch I thought
your throaty cries meant
I'd tamed you I thought

I am dead because you are
flown
and with you
life

Witchy witch
come back sometime
with wings
of heady night

I wait for you
dead
Nihl Jun 2013
From now on
there are no more excuses for you
not to become something great.
No more hesitation,
no more self-deception
and no more hiding from yourself.
If you can’t place trust within an oath to yourself,
then you are obsolete.
-
It may seem like wrestling a bear.
But the instant the kodiak lies slain at your feet,
armed with nothing but your bare hands.
You’ll know true metamorphosis,
true rebirth,
true strength
true power.
-
Grow strong,
or die with your face against the asphalt.
Fighters, fight.
I am Fenrir.
Born to destroy.
Give me darkness.
Give me that real sleep,
under blanket of oblivion.

N.H.
Through the fields of stars and through the black forest,
And always West, trailing behind them a glowing disk,
With their frizzy coats and gnarling smiles; the heroes try to **** them with meteors.

Scattered shards of stone-fire bits, and the ashen paw prints evading it,

…and the horse shines upon Lykaon’s grave.

Howling are the wolves of Phanes, their number growling with the rains.
And matching windy howling screams, with hoots and hollers inbetween…
The great horns point at the wolven den, from which Fenrir’s gaze sees all man’s sin.

And the flames of Cerberus lick the hori-zon;

…as he descends into Hell’s cave,

And the Drakon hungry for lycanthropes, he hunts the plains of Hades;
But the cunning beasts avoid him while calling out to the moon, over their master’s grave.

Calling out over Lykaon’s grave,

Cyclopean-cotton collects, a smoking pillar covering guide. Obscuring the light and now they are vexed, as the Lykos struck down, they have died.

And their flesh is what the Drakon does crave, as they are devoured on the stones of Lykaon’s grave,

…at that place known as Lykaon’s grave,

Struck down with asters
and gobbled-up,
over Lykaon’s grave.
Wyrd-wolven stars at night

…over Lykaon’s grave,

A werewolf at,
The entrance,
To the cave,
And that King,

…who stands before Lykaon’s grave.
Bryn Dawes Apr 2015
I have seen the boy tear at the stitches his shadow sowed,
You are an old man who I have neither a need, nor a want of anything,
I have seen lungs gasp for air while the stupid ******* drowned you,
Hidden in the Old Mill, left to drink Complan and ***** nightmares,
I have seen your mother dying whilst she was making the children sandwiches from her bed,
The Lost Boys forgot, grew old and had Lost Boys of their own,
I have seen you try to fly from the world which is now on your shoulders, whilst the eagle circles in the sky you dreamt of,
The storm of madness continually crashes against our walls of concrete and imagination,
I have seen failure after successive failure wave to me from those eyes,
A father and a husband locks himself alone when the sentiment kicks his guts,
I have seen a head wrenched back to the barrage of pills and pain by wretched Ephialtes and his like,
Running from the hospital because they want more blood,
I have seen you scared, naked and drinking toilet water,
Everything went blue and time slowed down in riotous Belfast,
I have seen ****** and *****

We nursed our bruised bodies and mutinous minds from themselves,
I have seen late night talks of tears but freeing none whilst brooding on Dundee benches,
You misunderstand my intentions but I do not blame you,
I have seen petrified thoughts begging for company, abandoned to fight the lonely nights,
In dark rooms full of empty Coke cans and never-to-be-used condoms,
I have seen the miscarried baby and the aborted foetus and I have wept in secret over dreams of their lamented birthdays,
Prodigies of stardust and walking infinity,
I have seen a baby boy born into dyslexia, depression and death,
Reflections meander on the television with maddened eyes and religious fists,
I have seen the bite marks on my own arms as Fenrir knaws at his chains,
Graveyard whispers cry of Elliott Smith and James Dean,
I have seen the suicide note torn into pieces, but put aside ready to be glued back,
My brothers Icarus, Atlas and Prometheus all shake their heads in dismay,

I have seen friends and strangers and imagined all lives unlived,
Felt every tear I have not cried, cried every tear I have not felt,
I have seen the life that will never be and thereby choose not to live,
Sing a requiem for futures lived,
In the present now passed into the past,
I have seen prison bars,
I have seen closing doors without handles, hinges or keyholes,
I have seen the invisible voice,
I have seen beaten tracks leading nowhere,
I have seen blue eyes stare back from the abyss,
As soon as see me, gone,
I have seen forests of my mind burning,
I have seen the scorched mattress,
I have seen a lifeline on your wrist dying to live,
I have seen Ragnarok,
I have seen too much and felt not enough,
Though I could bear no more

Holy Trinity of death, divorce and debt,
Haunt the adult-minded children,
Manifest the shroud of sorrow around you,
As if a shield of darkness unto all light,
My legs are not yet buckled but do sink with every blinded step,
I have seen words upon pages but not felt the anguished breath slap me as you scream them in my face,
I have seen everything and nothing, that which has and has not,
I have seen things never to have been, be,
I have seen things never to have happened, happen,
I have seen a woman **** for feelings that never come,
I have seen her undress me with her stare and then blink,
I have seen a forgotten man escape his crazed mind by losing it,
I have seen him in love with ghosts that are not dead,
I have seen children fading from photographs that do not exist,
I have seen them lost in a Neverland that never was,
I have seen; now please let me see no more, not ever,
Now I am lost,
Now I have seen enough,
Please no more, not ever,
I have seen enough.
I have seen enough.
Charlie Dog Aug 2018
The dance of the pack,
wild and carefree.
Amidst their merry howls
a haunting laughter calling out-
"Fenrir awake, tonight we feast!

Beware o' ye child,
lest your bones,
like the white ash
of a forrest charred,
be your only remnant;
and your spirit join
those of the cursed.
Remembered only
as a tale of caution!
A W Bullen Dec 2016
A Husk of Thule brew..

A Fjord born tang of Fenrir cold
To yawn the must of comet tails
In rings, around the naked oak.

That broke the spineless whims
Of reed, that set the Heron folk to flight
From scrivened rims of frosted pools.

To run in footless constellations
About the broads of bitter miles
And, there to spill the coffered frays
of Autumn’s final standing.
if youre going to send
three pigs to my door
ill huff and ill puff
then ill blow the ***** up
your duty of care
doesnt work any more
it will get us all killed
in a cloud of brick dust
Justus McMahon Jan 2016
All who strive and struggle
All who love too deeply
The souls whose heart mourns for others
The ones who feel the pain of empathic compassion

Empty your selves atop of me
Give unto me your hate
Tear the sorrow from your core
and be free

For I will consume
I will fester and writhe
For hate I loathe
and into the abyss I dive

Into the cryo-depth of darkness
Through the teeth of winter
Swallowed by war and hatred
For in the icy maw, hope thrives

Frozen inside his core
Fenrir engulfs the sun
Frigid I wait, rigid I stand
Fires of hate, Bless my son

And with the force of a thousand flames
The cries of a million strong
The spear that ended kingdoms come
****** the point of my demise

Belly splitting the beast howls
Birthed I am with the blood of passion
The light is once again released
Forged from the ice and compassion

Find joy my beloveds
Find happiness
Breathe your love onto me
For I am defeated

Valhalla, hear me now!
I am afraid to fall into the abyss
Guide me to the rainbow bridge
and I will lay my body beside the gate
Connor Jun 2017
Peacock summer (yolk & barnyard coffee shop for strawman Sal)

cactus palace, alps figured in stonework train terminal/Dylan hollering (I am the vessel for the ghost of me)

transmuted nostalgia, blank graffiti gaze/the alchemic architecture of skyscrapers replacing skyscrapers (an image made more blinding, the child raised to be dissociative & intolerant. I miss the oaken texture of your voice)

bulbous glass humidity, I am poet/poet build word house/in surrealistic wood/fireplace made of naive rainbow and the bones of a whole universe (Sun paints its terror on the back of my neck while I sit here watching a Supermodel with a 3 thousand dollar paisley pattern olive dress walk outside towards Gastown, her rings are worth more than a boreal dream)

Japanese weddings in Elizabethan gardens/grey Fenrir cloud-beast approaches with its faint dew/kites strewn between the Willow trees/Canyon instrument drum/ponderer creates masks of flowers/she sinks into the soggy earth/her primal home (I value those who are humble and beautifully so)

the more poems I read, the more mosaic my soul becomes like world-tree (roots collecting together, vibrant stems of skeletons & Springtime goliath)

do not fret the newspaper will never stop screaming, your cigarettes will never run dry, the ***** platform will never stop bathing itself in the city,

God, to answer your question
yes I am still godless
& yes I am happy

growing thin in the phantom pull of your vastness

(to essence of Lavender)

the sea its
own travelling
fortress
invulnerable
to time
Graff1980 Jul 2017
It is Ragnarok in the heavens
as the long snouted giant wolf Fenrir
faces off against rust colored clouds.

The Midgard serpent
stretches its purple, orange, and grey
body across the sky,

while embers of Surtur’s raging flames
cascade like spiraling waves
during the last seconds of
this dying day.
Scorch'd Diana Feb 2021
Runes on urns
Bones burn
do not turn your spine to Rome;
cry to the heavens
ravens nest on crosses
do not turn away from your faith
for their so called Holy Tome.

Be stalwart
ward off this Christian bane
demons lurk in prayers for a scarecrow nailed to its fate.
Wickedly, your spirit is snatched away
the death gate is one,
one of their prayers away
wickedly, our brothers, mothers,
all of us are gone.

Poisons slowly sicker
within an uncaught breath
Our grounds being wounded
where hellhounds maul Fenrir to death.
our myths are torn apart
part for the stories told by a crowned snake
shake it off, before it snatches, bites
strangles you to death.

Scream to Odin
Freya, Tyr and Thor
power your believes
sharpen your tongues and words
fire your forges
flail your name deep into stone
stand your truth deep to the bone
you will never fight alone.

The harbingers battle in the skies
fathom our valkyries cry
blades cutting deep
steel and blood weeping
we try, we stand, we defend
our harvest, heritage, home
let their scrying angels die
shut close, smash
banish their so-called
Holy Tome!
Christianity can be one path to the Good; merely an action itself
can call for reaction which is
in the need for expressions to mind.
Mateuš Conrad May 2022
knackered... absolutely knackered... i wish i did yesterday's
shift at the London stadium...
i've built up an implosive furore with the crowd...
i just look at them: hmm... look pretty excited
but at the same time content...

    i can't believe it... since starting this... rather menial
job... i've been referencing it like mad...
i really shouldn't... i remember days when i was
sitting in my ivory tower touching on subjects
like the Katakana... with so much free time on my hands
i'd explore...
       i'd try something akin to Miroslav Holub...
in all earnest? i was never much of a poetry reader...
but if i were to compare Miroslav Holub with another
Czech: a Milan Kundera... well...
Kundera "stole" my youth... Holub cemented
my early adulthood...

          i'm sort of envious that i don't write like him...
you're almost always envious of the people
who don't have much of a readership...
              i could never be envious of Stephen King...
he figured out a method... a structure...
mind you: i never read a single Stephen King book...
not that i'm being pretentious...
i just didn't feel the need to read him...
       the whole horror genre is... limited for me...
horror needs to be visual...
   i can't be scared of text... via my imagination...
it's different, though...
   i once had an ******* reading some Marquis
de Sade... which might tell you a lot...

        i'm writing about work that i think is...
not really work... so what did i do with my day off?
i ****** off on my bicycle for about 4 hours...
yes... i know... 60+ kilometres in 4 hours is not
good enough... but i did stop off to drink a bottle
of cider and buy some Turkish bread for this
greedy dish... 400g of beef can disappear in one
sitting when shared between three people...

      i'm pretty sure surgeons don't write about their work...
but this Czech immunologist somehow did...
maybe that's why he's so under-read...
he was an immunologist foremost...
it's almost as if people don't take his poetry
seriously because of that...
                but either him or Kundera...
the former...

                    i don't even think i'm working:
oh... i'm pretty sure i was working when working as a roofer...
manual labour can do a work of miracles...
at least you don't need to become a gym hamster...
bunny... whatever you want to call it...
all that physical potential... wasted on... treadmills...
if at least those treadmill runners could be
the ones that generate energy... that's stored...
like a watermill...
               you know... generate enough energy
to power the lighting in the gym...
maybe someone should invent a treadmill that
allows these people exercising to do something
useful...

60+km in 4h... it's not good... but then again i did
cycle into central London...
   past the houses of Parliament...
May 1st... so a lot of the ****** protests...
but pretty tame...
            traffic lights... terrible traffic...
i could have probably put in an extra 20km in those
four hours if i cycled out of London...
but i'm a curious creature... plus... i said to myself...
nature... or... "nature":
yes... i want to cycle into central London
to look at some girls... where's the best place
to spot some girls? Brick Lane...
                Oxford Street...
    
   imagine my disbelief... there aren't that many...
that might attract your attention...
i tried... didn't find any... well i did find the opposite
***... but... there was nothing curious about
any of them... they all looked like tourists...
i hate tourists... well... i don't hate tourists...
only today i was speaking to this Danish guy...
who found the English very friendly...
which probably implies that he wasn't talking
to an English man... because: i'm sure as **** am not one...

but i did cycle into central London
to look at some ***...
                eh... it's sometimes worth it...
but all the under-read poets are the ones i am most
jealous of... such style... such grace...
don't even mention... Maya Angelou to me...
please don't... i've been keeping a KLEX...
in my **** for an entire day...

what's a KLEX?! it's a ****... with remnants
of a ****... that... when properly treated... when having
sat down on the throne of thrones...
explodes into an "******" of untangled intestines
that also gives you an *******...
woke up in the morning... had a ****'s play in three
parts... the 4th part... i kept for the entire day...
the KLEX...
              of my god... the glorious agony of walking
home from Romford station... trying to **** in the far
with the ****... meditating on torso muscles...
is this what **** *** feels like? you get the shivers?
the sweats?
    the agony... i've already emptied myself
in the morning... all i have is a **** and some shotgun
**** in me... **** ******* it in...
it's trying to get out! **** ******* it in!
it's trying to get out!
    i get home... haplessly undress... take my socks off...
sit on the toilet...
                                      BOOM!

i just dropped one on Hiroshima...
          because it's unlike the slithering sensation
of a serpent when it feels... really smooth...
when you've eaten the right sort of food and it has
become properly digested and...
i've kept this one hidden for an entire day...
if my **** had a tongue, while walking...
it felt like licking ice... can you imagine?

mein gott... the relief... better than ***...
for a while i was of the mindset... **** it... pull down your
trousers... you have tissues in your pocket...
crouch... on a piece of grass and do your ****...
no no... the agony first... walking just agitated the ****
more... more agony... wait for the release...

- seriously though? why would i even entertain some
some high-brow topics?!
the time's not right... i have cat peacefully sleeping
in my bed... i have a ******* sending me selfies of herself
indicating she misses me...

one thing amazed me today... i've found out about this
already, from my grandmother...
she liked watching me eat...
               fair enough: because i ate as someone who,
in the words of Socrates: ate to live...
rather than live to eat...
                    
after coming back from the Putney Bridge shift...
i only had a bagel with scrambled eggs and some bacon
for breakfast... wolf! fenrir! i sometimes "misplace"
actual hunger for ****** desire... all of a sudden...
no... these are not beer goggles...
they're hunger goggles... every woman is
attractive... in my head i sometimes do a few revisions:
like my grandfather used to say...
no woman is unattractive... some are just neglected...

oh so ******* true...
   no woman is unattractive... some are just neglected...
that's so ******* true...
i get hungry... i get tired... i become ***** as...
don't know.. my face becomes the following:
my mouth becomes the eye of a Cyclops...
while my eyes become two mouths of Orthrus...

but that's what's something amazing when eating
alone in public... you bring your household habits into
the fore... for everyone to see...
you're not eating with your mouth open...
you're not watching anything beside the food...
you wipe your mouth and finger generously...

the look on the chicken shack "restaurant" personnel...
before and after...
what did i order? the classical box...
two pieces of chicken... fries...
can i eat in? sure you can...
i'm not into processed burger fillets... i need...

    ich bedarf knochen mit "mein" huhn!
i need nones with "my" chicken!

lightened faces... once they saw me dissect
that chicken thigh and leg...
KNIRSCHEN... i.e. CRUNCH...
hmm... some bones...
cartilage? no... bone...
       knorpel oder knochen?!
does it even ******* matter?!
   let's eat...
        
              it's when i started biting into the bone
marrow... of the chicken legs...
no... i wasn't wasting any of it...
none of this is waste... hands shaking...
i wish i was drunk...
     i was just hungry... it's as if Eid passed me by
without the proper sort of impromptu
to stop...
                  i might as well licked my finger tips...
but the look on those guys behind the counter
serving this chicken...
yes, me too... i'm glad you washed your hands...
before serving me this dish...

why did my grandmother find it important
to find me in that "80 to 20%" attractive
eating something?
            maybe it's the Socratic methodology...
i eat to live... i don't live to eat...

this isn't work... this is a joke of work...
            work sets you free:
arbeit macht frei: conjured up like sometimes
from an ancient textbook...
since no conjunctions...
since no pronouns...
  sometimes from a: how Latin used to be
spoken.. maybe the ancient Latins did use
pronouns and conjunctions...
but... didn't... when writing?!

                  i only do it to get out out the house...
   you start cleaning the chicken bones from all
the muscle... then you bite into the marrow...
obviously the chicken shop owners will look
at at you with a degree of glee...
look! he didn't waste anytthing!
just the potato chips!
                            
i need sleep...  beste zu schlafen:
                         mal als sie ar...
                            
eis ist nein schnee!
               licht ist nein farbe!
mann ist nein affe!
              
                                 freiheit ist nein: arbeit!

— The End —