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Apr 2016
beard-red explorers
pillaging-horror practitioners
tribal-family groups
insurgent-nomadic roots
trailed wave-rammers across never-ending spans,
continuously-toilfully matters not the demands
women and men side by each
beastly-feasters no table safe
stand up for yourself or be a weak-waif
in the bloodshot soul-panes, fierce
pagan-purveyors by rites
a blood-spilling bee
treasure trove crash n’carry
Thor had his hammer
every wave-rammer had an oar for every
pair of life-stained hands, the stains
were borrowed and the very life-drained out of others
blood-smitten berserkers, heart-stoppers
and yet
discoverer’s children
wandering wet-wilderness
found a Stormy-Stop, a few
actually, and one be Newfoundland
may-haps they settled in peace.
Yup I am so proud of them, they made me who I am.
Inspiration Poetic Edda, did I tell you when my beard
grows it grows in red.
Written by
Ottar  where you will find me
(where you will find me)   
     victoria, bex and ryn
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