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Val Vik Mar 2021
The cracks within dried fruit
of my mind-meadows
dampened by teardrops.
The seeds synthesizing patience
for Poppies to emerge and sprout
back into flaming rubies
from the dirt, the dew,
and the bits of ash.
First attempt at kenning OE!
Mind vegetating on its own actions. Gardening the wounds of a broken heart; the strength of grief, crying is not weak.
K E Cummins Jun 2020
Today a thousand burdens coalesced;
Mind-monsters made meal of me.
Grief carved my face. Cry not, cry not,
We have no room for more tears.

In the morning, I saw dawn rising,
And a grey world turn green.
The sky was emptiness, blue bold music,
Over the sun that swift leapt high.

So cry not, cry not, my friend in sorrow,
Though masked faces weep in silence.
We are not alone in this desperate anger;
Dim lies the light before dawn.
Experimenting with Norse verse patterns: kennings, alliteration, consonance, etc. Any Beowulf scholars out there?
Fel Apr 2016
Music maker, trombone player
Master-to-be of all instruments
   For my passion
   an educator in the making
Those notes that live within
Their stave homes on the aged paper
   Are composed of the very things
   that run through these well-played veins
They are the building blocks of my being
That brought me to world-class stages

Music maker, trombone player

I am a future Great
This is for a project in my English class to help us better understand kennings, and their use in Beowulf. I thought my kenning poem was pretty good, and decided to post it on here since I haven't been very active on this site. Enjoy!
Ottar 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.
Andrew Fahey Oct 2015
Walls close
Echoes burning
Writing unpleasant
Light flickering
Shadows jumping
Locks secure
Footsteps distant
Invitations lurid
Seat flipped
Room empty
Time still
Feeling calm

— The End —