Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mia Kuhnle Dec 2019
Meet me at the edge of the mountain
With your arms around me, breath heavy
Take me away, towards the persimmon sun.

Rest your head upon my shoulder
And share with me authors you read fondly.
Send me to a land, where gleaming parties and revolutions are canon.

Sit and read to me of Grendel
And the darklings of Keats, his solemn pastorials
Protect me from all, Sir Beowulf, my knight with bravery ineffable.

Traverse with me the woods
Away from the cabin, and to the pond.
Tell me of the leaves you see-- muddy, mucky, made webbed.  

Sing to the moon the poetry of your swoon
The light that cares and dusts away your desk
O Gabriel, my knight and day, scare away his hooves.

Lead me to a life far from Auerbach
Yet so near, through your words on our mountain walk.
Show me the world you see through literature.
Bohemian Mar 2019
°                °       ☽     °   °              °
      °   °          °     

  _________
If you feel free
Being wicked even,that you've turned
The acceptance may begin to vindicate the sins.
Anna Sophia Dec 2018
As children, we are told to be a Beowulf.
To be brave and to put others before ourselves,
To be the strongest and the best,
We are told to be the perfect hero.

In this day and age, it is never really okay to make mistakes, even if they say it is.
We have a drive within us that being the best and the strongest is our only option.
We put the pressure on ourselves to be the Beowulf, which only causes us to wake up the Grendel.

But the real problem is, we are ashamed of that.
We are ashamed of fear, which causes us to act out and create evil.
But when you think about it, what is bravery without fear.
Because the truth is, no one is ever going to be one-hundred percent a Beowulf.

All of us have a little Grendel inside, it’s called being human.
We yell, we scream, we scare each other,
We lie, we cheat, we judge.
We are vicious and hurtful with our words.
At times, we see no light in our hearts,
We let evil win.
We are often so far from perfect.
In fact, the Grendel in me is sometimes more prominent than the Beowulf,
But we have to realize that sometimes, that’s okay.

You see, if not for the Grendel in me, the Beowulf wouldn’t know it’s true strength.
For the Beowulf in me, within all of us, would not fight nearly as hard, because it would have nothing to overcome.
The point isn’t to be ashamed of the Grendel within,
The point is to keep pushing through so the Grendel doesn’t win.
Do not isolate yourself and hide away in the depths of darkness when you can’t seem to find the light.
Find the Beowulf within yourselves,
Embrace it’s fierce loyalty and drive to destroy evil.
Welcome the light within you,
If you do that, you will win the war within yourself.

To all those out there desperately trying to be the hero:
Accept that losing the battle sometimes is okay,
Try your best to win the war,
But do not take on that army alone,
Because the person who fights with no one by their side is bound to lose eventually.

Because how can you be a hero, when you have no one by your side?
Beowulf vs Grendel, war within yourself
Lawrence Hall Aug 2018
Cheaply manufactured in India
Its fake marbled cover fakier than ever
But not as fakey as this assignment
“Grendl symbolizes existential…”

Cross out cross out crossoutcrossoutcrossout

“Grendl symbolizes…” my senior year
Nobody understands why I don’t want
To go to college, why I quit the band -
Grendl and I are both exiles, okay…?

Cross out cross out crossoutcrossoutcrossout

I love my fountain pen; its deep, dark lines

Just like me

Refuse to be MLA marginalized

“Grendl symbolizes…”
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
***** down Onceknown Road, an older morning
bursts outta the grit. Flytipt empires,
laidback wasteland warns there'll be no warnings.
Smiths'-song-street all shut suppersuppliers,
where might carpark oak or traffic isle elm
egdeh-comb cyclist's quiff should kerb unhelm,
next to busstop ad for new nervous tic.
Path of trundling on, tumultuously
normal, obliquely extraordinary
now flashbacks draw out, razor nostalgic.

Rowdied w/ 2 hubblydribbling drummers,
crumb comrades of cheeba cheer 'long  this road.
Studenty stovepipe house rhythmic slummers
fauve-fengshui'd, tho' precise narriow abode
alt-rawk teen trashedom PWNed, I'll pass outrite.
This road tho'. Omissive potholelands' tite-
lipt pockpits are due to dumb blip veil, Youth's
doob loop. ******* as scones, but partying
nous postponed postpubesecent perma-aging
for hol of nice naive brave haze, loose truths.

We were 90s grinadiers, lushes lean,
but did svelte sybarites swear off jimjams
& sack jobhunts to trade kugs w/ a Treen,
chug ponders peapodded w/ Grendel's mam?
Thought nonstoppathon tootenanny
altered moodiness like a green granny...
Piffleflaps! Prosphene Raybans of Blowmance
screen 1st gapyear on the dole for gads all
so legendary they sidestep recall;
for we steal liberty from ignorance.  

Later came grinning nadirs: alcaponed
& algerhissed drift from drumming duo,
all my old mates, to ***** & **** alone
on Chronic Island. Years beached like fatsoes
of the ocean, sonar bloaters. The mail
washed up: 'Why did you never find me?' Snail-
mail sans sails, once ale-full, in my own hand,
same grubby starfish that lobbed littoral
letter indicts loner as terminal
islander, tho' I quit Chronic Island.

Just kids, but faked stuff sincerely then, at one
leas' thru fakealong faith in fun. Yet the
quarries of qualms churned, gyres of the undone
unspooled kudzu spinelessness, a kidder
undefinespun. Zhuzhedup Past a plaintive
'sheesh', last niche pastiche, same intempestive
taisch, a disembodied gulp, a limbed fib.
Lightweights in the mist of dawn's roachbow trails
to noon brainjails. Start states sacrosanct, stale.
Tsk, Past teaches how to pish. Sunrise squibs.

Even in England, the nite is slitely
more junglish, even inside. Nite's teen knites
genied swanvestas like titch diwali,
not to sway over choral candlelite
- over gummy coffeetable waitin'
for stoner Noah's dovetail joint. Raven
rectricarse of raspiration adult-
hood's sulferous selflessness will whistle.
'Cras cras!' Dust wassails unexcitable
stardusthood. Asthma, my own stupid fault.
There once was a man named Beowulf
Who was fiercer than a demon or werewolf
Except that he had a flaw
A dragon made him mortally sore
This prologue is prophetic
To the ending of this epic
So I’ll tell you more


Beowulf made his mind up at twenty-three
He would race his friend to swim across the sea
But fighting many sea monsters is quite trial
Beowulf only caught up in the final mile


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Breca nearly beat him
He managed to defeat him
But he would make up his mind


Beowulf made his mind up in his head
He would battle Grendel until one was dead
But even though his strength could cause a lot of harm
Beowulf only severed Grendel’s left arm



Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Grendel he had saddened
Beowulf wasn’t gladdened
And he would make up his mind


Beowulf made his mind up then and there
He’d **** Grendel’s mother in her watery lair
Although the angry tarn-hag had put up a fight
Both monsters were beheaded that very night


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He took a child and mother
Like Cain had killed his brother
But he had made up his mind



Beowulf made his mind up when he was old
To slay a raging dragon of whom he’d been told
But Beowulf couldn’t deal with the dragon’s fire
And he was later burned atop a funeral pyre


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He once was a great hero
And now his worth is zero
But he would make up his mind
A parody song/poem I wrote a couple of years ago when studying the Beowulf epic.
Noah Stowe Jan 2016
TWANG TWANG TWANG

Oh how the twang of man’s harp
Disrupts my precious sleep.

TWANG TWANG TWANG

It’s never put at rest,
“Control yourself,” I thought.

TWANG TWANG TWANG

My rage grew deep,
I could hear them laugh at me, already an outcast in this young world.

TWANG TWANG TWANG

Somehow, almost as if I were possessed,
I began to **** them one by one.

TWANG TWANG TWANG

Night by night the casualties grew,
I couldn’t control myself, it’s a demon’s curse.

TWANG TWANG TWANG

I kept killing them,
Until the final night.

TWANG TWANG TWANG

The young hero pulled out my arm
And raised it up in a bitter-sweet victory.


TWANG TWANG TWANG

Away I ran into my lair
What have I done?

TWANG TWANG TWANG

Was this the pain I inflicted on man?
The pain was throbbing and strong, like no pain I had ever felt.


Finally the world went black.

The twang was gone.

At peace I will lay forever.
I hope mother won’t make the same mistake.

— The End —