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Hermes Varini Dec 2021
Mid Guðrum sê lêodgebyrga eft
On wanre niht, monajjfyllene!
Wulfe mîn geniwung! ond heorudreór,
Forescýwum wældreor-randwíga Ic,
Nêarra heoruwearg forþgêng
Monajjfyllene swâ! on hê byrnes scan
Æfre! êacen ond eotonweard æghwær,
Weelseaxe! ond êacnum ecgum Ic wæs,
Swâ bælegsan sê Ôfer-mann nu hâten,
Heolstorscuwae nu Ic, Lígetsliehtes Þegn,
Mid mîn styrme, æcse ond heorwe swâ!
Sê Brynewielm-Sundorgenga nu Ic!
Selden ond tówunderlic swâ
Norðanwinde eac Ísenhelm hâten,
Æfre scielde sê Ôfer-mann swâ Ic!
Wulfes êagum! ond hwítum fængtóþum,
Binnan swâ sweart wudubearo,
Mîn ðæt wildor, hwæt! on gehwæðre hond,
Eft sweordwígend ond sweordwund
Réadede Ic swâ! wundor sceawian Ic!
Hwonne swâ mîn gúðgewæde,
Beorht bleóreádan bladesungum
Hwæt! æfre sê feorhléan wæs swâ,
Ond uferra sîn heolfrig andweorc
Swâ âstemped eft mîn cwealmdréor!
Ærdæd unsigefæst þær biþ
Mînes gewilles beadwum swâ,
Hwonne sprindlíce, giet monajjfyllene!
Beadwe-grîman Sceade Heorudreór gladaþ,
Hwonne swâ snyttrum ond singale!
Êcan arodscipes hringedstefna
Þunringe mîn ealdor-dôm âheardaþ,
Hwonne stearcheort on ecnesse swâ!
Onforeweard Þunores Heall heoru-drêore
Mîn scinn wiðerwinna flângeweorc
Ealfela! giet on wanre niht eftwyrde,
Stíele ond forescýwan! sê Ôfer-mann Ic,
Swâ wæpenþracu! Swâ sigorwuldor!
Æledfýre bisene Ic, sê Swígtíma-Wrecend!
Swâ Mônan Wulfe! dæges ond nihtes nu!
Hríðe mîn írenhelme gegangan:

A composition of mine in full Anglo-Saxon, as ending in Classical Latin. “Scyld” is an Anglo-Saxon variant for “shield”. A message is contained, told in the first person again (“Ic” or “I”). The narrator walks through a dreary forest, wearing a Sutton Hoo type helmet (“beadwe-grîman” meaning “with the War-Mask”, a kenning, my own, for “helmet” and “írenhelme”), alone and wounded, indeed empowered with a Sacral Fire, at night (“on wanre niht”) and in a time of full moon (“monajjfyllene”). The whole alliteration focuses on “swâ” meaning “thus”, “so”, “therefore”. A Drakkar is mentioned, with its spiral figurehead associated with the motion in Pure Core Energy, that is, in my own Return of Power event, the latter granting, in purifying Heraclitean fire, the necessary Return of the Antithetical Overman. "Heolstorscuwae nu Ic, Lígetsliehtes Þegn" reads "now through the Darkness I, the Thane (historical title, Lord) of the Thunderbolt", "Wulfes êagum! ond hwítum fængtóþum" "with the wolf's eyes! and the white fangs" and “sê Swígtíma-Wrecend” “the Avenger of the Silence” (this latter a kenning, my own, for "warrior"). The god Þunor is also mentioned. As to the final verses, the Old Norse word “ÚLFHEÐINN” stands for “with a Wolfskin Cloak”, thus indicating a Berserker. “HRAFNSMERKI” refers to the Black Ravens of Odin as appearing on Viking battle standards (VEXILLA), these generally dark (CALIGINIS).
Chris Saitta Oct 2021
Love, unruliest hope, when fierce Diana went wild
With savage discourse, the arrow-stroke of her tongue—
While rage-hounds bay in wooded Gargaphie—aimed at Actaeon.
Or old Baucis her god-giving bone fat of mind,
Stewed the broth of covenant for Zeus to repay in kind.
Then Parthenope, siren-stung in her whirlpool of sea vines,
Her maiden-voice is a breath of sand for Naples to muse upon.
The body of Helen still lies in ages-old smoke over our cities,
We live in the timberframe of her bones of burned ships.
Why can’t her death be an end to all skies?
All these myths have some form of love, whether unrequited, holy, self-sustaining, or ruinous.  

Diana, goddess of the hunt, turned Actaeon into a stag who was then chased and killed by his own hounds; he had gazed on her bathing.

Baucis and Philemon, an old couple, provided food and shelter to two wandering peasants, the gods Zeus and Hermes in disguise.  The town had shunned the two, and Zeus urged the old couple to safety while he destroyed the town.  Their home then became a temple.

Parthenope, a siren whose name means maiden-voice, drowned herself when she failed to lure Odysseus; her body washed up on the shore of what became Naples.

The well-known myth of Helen, whether seduced or abducted by Paris, launched the Trojan War and as Marlowe famously wrote, “Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships, / And burnt the ******* towers of Ilium.”
Hex May 2021
Slipping free from yester's time,
A Feather trapses yond the way,
On wind it floats, a step, sublime,
Dipping and ducking flakes of grey,
Those forged by winter, the sun's decay,
Plates of ivory, why must they hack?
Torn soil, a relic of why you turn away,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Sea, so fair, shimmering as a chime,
As the wind you switch, and you sway,
And your blues shine like a dime,
But if he drifts beyond the bay,
Will waters claim him, as they say?
Or shall he wash back, with the wrack?
To you, O Sea, he mustn't stray,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Mount, your peak, the rigorous climb,
At your summit, scores kneel and pray,
Your caps glow white, with a grass bed of lime,
If you were where the feather must stay,
Shall your perils bring him fray?
Must he lie in caves of black?
Nay, a feather must fly, and outward he must splay,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Feather, O Feather, where will you spend your days?
Here I must halt on the trail of your track,
Seize the wind, O Feather, the world is your prey,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
A tale of independence.
Bobby Dodds Apr 2021
All things ancient are once born young.
All things secret are shared by tongue.
All things hatred are worn with love.
All things whispered are sung by doves.
All things stone always come undone.
the inspiration for this poem primarily came from the thought i had, that all things like ancient or old or archaic were once young, smart words out of the mouths of the loud. brand new and original, and here we are, writing about them, like they're old news or yesterdays column.
Inori Kimimoto Feb 2021
I remember when we first met,
t’was a chill’d Autumn day.
Oh, how ever could I forget!
it was a Friday, many a May.

On that day, stood thee:
fair skin’d and rosey cheek’d,
dark plumes in morning gust.
your gaze my eye had seek’d,
your touch my heart did lust.

on that day, stood I:
heart heavy with fluster,
stood I still as time did flow;
if only courage could I muster,
my love for you would I show.

Wo! my heart did cry,
Wo! had I sadly weep’d,
until my name you did call
and my heart to heavens leap’d.
oh the joy! I still recall.

~ Inori
A poem for a girl with fair skin and rosey cheeks
Norman Crane Feb 2021
Five red haired maidens / resting symmetry
Draped in bluest sky / arranged peacefully
Interwined pink flowers / chaining togetherly
One composition / from Antiquity
Arms wilt with leisure / classically painted
Their wild thoughts blooming / a pale recreation
Seated in judgment / of time untainted
By modernity / By degradation
in eternal youth / in a single row
They sit and they watch / seasons come and go
Norman Crane Sep 2020
Despite all my rage
I am still just four minutes
of silence
                          —John Cage
Norman Crane Aug 2020
a melody in
        to another flows
a third
            divine counterpoint
Alex Jul 2020
Fascism sings with sweet lies as
The chorus wails. We sit weeping,
Our history bastardised and
The body of our nation growing cold

Console us not you priests!
We need more than your words
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