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J J Oct 2020
Mothlet-like owl midges fizzling in and out of the waves
   that shuffle the moon's shed reflection,
hovering and imitating like a wettened rorschach--

with disembodied tiny teeth for feet
suckling from the scurvy gums
where shadows are allowed to be kings.

Kings that observe a godess body that spans the whole sky with ******* made of crinkled ash dripping latex that falls
then cuts into the grass to
                                        spread life--perfection spares no time for the impatient.

Glistening stream,mucky dewlap of the mountain carving a caricature of someone  praying for rain and dreaming of a metamorphoses into ice.

With the night comes tide. Comes time. Comes death. Comes life.

If you were to sit down in one spot
anywhere in the world and not move
for another second of your life

from there on in--
you would see so much beauty and pain
You'd wonder what you ever did to be

as lucky as you had been.
I've been wandering around, like a waltzing matilda.
From Fife in the lowlands, to the cliffs of St. Kilda.
Carrying my life, and all that it wills
Appalachia and plains, to the mighty Black Hills.
Trekking so far, exploring the Earth
Miles away, from the place of my birth.

From the land of the Scots, to the land of the Sioux
From familiar homes, to the places so new.
I'm wandering around, with so much to do.
In the land of the Gaels, to the land of Lakota,
I'm slinging around, like a waltzing matilda.
Lately, I've been trying to find a way to celebrate both my Highlander and Lakota ancestry, and I decided to try writing a poem about it. I hope you all like it
Hermes Varini Oct 2020
Och! Airn an' Thwndir!
An' Urquhart's Wae Verra Hel!
Great Warlike Glamis' Firey,
An' Hwmyd Loch Doon's Orrah!
Downe! Downe! tae thad howch owre miserable!
Ye a' swithe hame, hame! wae ma Airn ***!
An' weile 'yont yondir Suthron!
Waefu', waefu' heyre Ah! War-Ironclad heyne Ȝell,
Wae burr-thistle’s Gowlin’ Storne Micht!
Frae ma verra, verra! Ah ageyne!
Tae the Cauld Enraged Wynde
Unco! intae Æternall Battle Scorchin'
Towardis Moorlan Chain Mail-***** o' mine!
O'er an' o'er IT! increasingly thro' Force returnin',
Wae ma verra Blacklyn Tartan o' War heyne,
An' Silvery Brooch, wi'in yondir Lone Sceadewe!
Unco! wae the Rubye Stane deep-shimmerin'
Naixt tae Carham's Gory Landis, an' the Targe-Hell,
Thro’ nowe Tune Martial, stick-an-stowe Ȝell!
Airn-Curse Core-Firey, Hye-Flamin' IT!
Heyne unco rychte Airn-Moorlan o'er ye a'!
Ah, bye nowe the FEUDAL OWAR-MANN!
'Yont thad Auld Whunstane Tower-Shrine
Togider wae Lang Titanium-Claymore, Airn-Dazzlin'
An' ne'er, ne'er, IT! stick-an-stowe tae wane!
Wi'in theis Bluish Fyre syne! Verra War-Swaird Rairan IT,
Intae Thae Hringiren Æternall, Thwndir-Devastatin' o' mine!

QVOAD FEODALE MEA CVM RVBRA SPATHA
ET RELVCENTE HOC SCVTO AC FVLMINE NIVEO
SCOTORVM INTRA HANC TEMPESTATEM MAGNAM
QVÆ FLOS IGNEVS EST TONITRVO NOMINE ALTO
NEMO GELIDO HOC LOCO IMPVNE ME LACESSIT.
The scene refers to medieval North Scotland, in what is today Aberdeenshire, during a storm, before the dreary ruins of a forgotten tower. The narrator is wrapped in a Black (Blacklyn) Tartan. The Battle of Carham (ca. 1017) is mentioned. "Targe-Hell" is a kenning for "battle", the "Targe" being a small round Scottish shield. Three verses form, indirectly, the word "Auld Lang Syne". "Swaird" is Scottish (archaic) for "sword". "Wae" is "with" (also "wall") whereas "OWAR-MANN" is, of course, "Overman", my own. "Ȝell" is "yell" (13th century). My own Return of Power event appears.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Skellums! Intae doomed countra
Ironclad ah dwell,
Claymore flashing in yon mirror,
And o'er the dreary muir.
There is a semiotic variant of this poem. It includes the image of a sword placed over a mirror as one with a medieval nasal helmet.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
In the year 1332, at auld Dupplin Moor,
Wi' a shimmering Dagger of War,
Ah pierced the Looking Glass,
And amid so wild a Fire Mass,
Ironclad and devastating,
Mine awn Wraith cam.
Owre He beheld me!
His Claymore gleaming, unsheathed,
Into a darkness no one could see,
Ghaist, I winna yield to thee!
Across yon shield wa, quo' He,
In tyme of war ah threw myself,
Wi' gilded Targe and unforgiving Fury,
High flames falling athwart my iron wame,
While thoosan times boiling wapin fell
O'er that clan of skellums (Wundor Sceawian!)
Frae the white barbican, before the black well,
While thoosan times rising nae fellow-mortal
Amid thoosan deadly onslaughts
Ironclad frae the Fire;
But now man, to my warlike whisper do listen:
Ere the rust, in robes of Time,
Shall curse thy blade,
Airn fist ye maun ay wear,
To hold the Firestorm,
To avenge yon star shining still,
And auld Duntulm's stane,
Sae ah shall be strolling forth
In battle ahead of thee!
And when before Dirleton's Wa,
Wi' Colour of Hell reddening,
And next to auld South Ruin,
Yell warlike, enraged Wha Daur!
To thy enemies, and to thy consumed flesh
Doomed I say no longer
Within a forerunning Shade of Death;
And now advance! thy lane, and faithfu'
To thy auld Emblem of Steel,
Whar moorlan winds gaed,
Whar Immortality gleamingly dwells.
There is a semiotic version of this poem, which is written in a potent, altogether martial medieval Scottish tone. It contains my own image "Ghost of Iron". The main theme remains the speaking double, or alter ego, as generated from within a very mirror, and as leading the narrator to immortality. In this light, the underlying message can be looked upon as proving antithetical, although no doubt related to Edgar Allan Poe's own tale William Wilson. The title refers to Dirleton Castle, in Scotland.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Play mae, auld moorlan wise,
Wi' thy martial Steel Lyre,
The enraged Sound of the Thunder,
While ah shall be, again,
In nae unworthy mare,
Wi' Targe Shield and Dagger,
Rising nae fellow-mortal,
Amid thoosan deadly onslaughts,
Ironclad frae the Fire!
Another brief composition of mine, as glorifying the non-human voice of the thunder.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Thou, dishonorable Highlan' skellum,
Thy dreary whunstane shall not see again!
Nor thy unworthy Clan Banner,
Yet my Blade!
Yet my Blade!
Gleaming here, owre,
At auld Stirling Bridge,
Wi' fiery bluid imbued,
Graving still deep mirk stane,
Under yon Steel Glare
Ne'er to wane!
Another poem of mine, still in a medieval Scottish tone, and mentioning the great battle of Stirling Bridge in AD 1297. There is a semiotic variant of this martial-philosophical composition.
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Once across a Caledonia dreary, whose Echo,
Amid the Jötnar, was MAN, I wandered hurt and weary,
Until yon Glare, with deadly Rage flaming,
Lo! I beheld, next to the Iron Gates
Of a long-forgotten Ruin named still
After incorruptible Titanium.

A noble, finely engraved feudal Vest,
Under a Luminary invisible, implacable,
Shone thither with a Glare fiercer, methought,
Than that of the rubies at warlike Valhalla,
Amid Walls time-eaten, kingly Banners, and proud Towers,
And dwelt there in melting Titanium.

Deep memories of martial Woe
Like an arrow piercing my *****, and aimed
Thro' the Night with lethal Glare,
No barrier was there to be found
Between my Past yielding and this conquering Robe
With Runes marked deep in Titanium.

Thus I remembered having once graved,
In revered silence and solitary anger,
Into the Glare, within the Hills, upon the Dust,
The Emblem of the OVERMAN,
Which thou may again now see gleaming,
With pride Superhuman, o'er this garb of Titanium.

My Enemy Wraith haunting me no more,
Into a most profane dying hour,
I walked forth, to wear of the Armour of the Glare the worth,
And felt, intensely, from the Zenith of a most fiery Heaven,
The Rays from the Stars imbuing my Very Gore
With blinding, rageful Titanium.

Hereupon, with Cuirass thus worn, I bethought me of boldly ascending,
With heavy Claymore drawn, in a Guard of the Hawk,
At Ultima Thule, of the Bluish Glare, the Hidden Rock,
And at its scorching Crest, with Blade o'er me flashing, widened my gathering Breast,
The Largest Mirror, the Highest Beacon, aye,
Before the wild Blaze molten down in Titanium.
Of this narrative-philosophical poem of mine, as focusing on the dichotomy between man and the antithetical Overman, a semiotic variant exists. The narrator meets at length with a surpassing mirroring force.
I'll hold you in my dreams until our first day.
I don't know your face, but I know your presence.
My heart has been yours since you first caressed my cheek
But seas between us have made me grow weary;
Will time be on our side?
Or will our shadows forever fade with the sunset?

Cumaidh mi thu na aislingean mi gus a' chiad latha againn
Chan eil mì eòlach air d' aghaidh, ach tha fios agam air do lathaireachd.
Tha mo chridhe air a bhith leatsa bho bhuail thu mo ghruaidh an toiseach
Ach tha cuantan eadar sinn air mo dhèanamh sgìth;
Am bi ùine air ar taobh?
No am bi na faileasan againn gu bràth a 'dol fodha le dol fodha na grèine?
Someday, I'll find you.
A man with secrets known only to him and God,
he walks along the machair with pride.

He's unbothered by the ghosts of the waves and water
because his destiny lies on the shore's other side.

A brave and bold young man with dreams of a better life,
he's now begun to put this goal in motion.

One more drink at the Rosie Tavern before he goes
to say goodbye to the friends and men he knew so dear

Or maybe one more walk around the neighborhood
to say farewell to the family he held so near.

Come aboard the ship, ye brave and bold young Robert,
for there's a fortune to be made across that western ocean.

You'll be leaving behind memories of that coal burnt town,
but pay no mind to the darkness that'll be falling.

When songs of the old country bring tears to your eyes
think only of your strength; your legacy is calling.

Ye brave and bold Robert, you'll have all the fortunes you can see
Ye brave and bold Robert, you'll break the shackles of poverty.
For my grandfather.
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