"celt" poems
I’m a Polyglot Polymath, Microphone’s a Polygraph,
Manners of a Sociopath-Rhymin’ keeps me on the path,
Else I’d be hackin you up like a cannibal,
Pullin the Chianti out-serve you up like Hannibal,
Words heavier than Elephants invading cross the alps,
Under Armour over Body Armour-waistline fulla scalps,
From the Belt o’ the Celt o’ the Schizophrenic Sandman,
You’re triple teamed by -EC- Raps new Xmen.
I broke me chains,some say I went insane,
But it’s simple,all I went and did was grow a brain.
be the Bane of your life,while Mal plays Dark Knight,
A rhyme Super Villain with a verse of Dark Light,
The searchlights on-watch the cockroach scatter,
We speak Dark Matter while your brain gets battered,
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
Mal and Sandman's Positively Mental Attitude.
It’s the original Irish OG rough rugged and ready,
Battling me is futile keep your hands steady,
I’m no pacifist,and if you take the ****
I’ll clap you with a fist like an obelisk,
That’s a grave warning,-global warming,
The Dragon of Eire ,skies look stormy…
Since cassettes and disks I’ve been spittin ****
That makes wannabee’s wanna slit their wrists,
The Sandman’s calling,come in and take a mauling,
Rappin since clappin one two and yes y’allin,
from New Aulins to saint Pauls my kin,
Are gathering for the quickenin,pulse races,air thickenin'
Highlander in a land cruiser,take your teeth out like a dentist
E.C’s BRUISER.
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
by Mal and Sandmans Positively Mental Attitude.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
Are those tiny strands really me?
They say each set is unique
but no one is anonymous
like an inherited trace book.
I carry my history with me.
No wonder I'm overweight
celt viking or anglo-saxon
or two out of three a cross breed.
I even passed this burden to my kids
left slivers all over the place
though I was always told to tidy up.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
Holy yards of hallowed houses of prayer
rise in sublime chants and hymns
at this hour of the blessed dawn
when auspicious shades of light
grace the scabbards of swords
long sheathed and covered in shadows
of figures on the stained glasses
A divided land of long used to darkness
engulfing, rejoices: a saviour rises,
a hero who can unite and heal:
purple robe and the rag, Roman
and Celt: the long suffering realm
finds solace at last in order and justice;
A quest brews, of sacred chalices
In the noble hearts of faithful knights:
Alas, a tragedy in the shadows,
whither, famed Artorius, wise?
Hades schemes to ****** away
your Persephone to Annfwyn afar:
No mortal wounds could fell you alive,
But this, you carry on to Avalon.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
the beauty of english nakedness, look at it for long enough
and you get to retract or at least crab-walk east
into the pincer plateaus of the frozen tundras and see
again, proustain afresh in the cork-lined room:
what bothered me was the acute stress on the faroese a -
english really is a blank canvas: or a complex canvas with
many unique distinctions of individual words - perhaps
the dementia crisis in english-speaking societies -
also why the accent diversity between all those who come
to learn it, and those who live in the zeitreich
of the absteigen sonne - but theories are theories.
so back to the blank canvas, which allows so see
the dynamics, although as i said, the acute faroese a
(acute, because derived from the latin verb of needlework /
puncture) - ~etymology (approx. because not
related to words but phonetic units, i.e. letters)
thus reveals that the latin accents died, truth tooth
of the phrase latin is a dead tongue - but not as dead
as when you see remnants of the transformation,
in that certain latin activities (verbs) spawned the stressing
revisions on letters to appropriate the nordic and germanic
slavic, *** and celt into its ***** acute to puncture -
like the polish acute o (ó), meaning to puncture the o
and make a U sound, although when otherwise acute is
needed, but the geometry is less obvious it means not to stress,
but sharpen, cut-short, exfoliate into a range of onomatopoeic
comparisons: sneeze - wheezing - high pitch flute -
play the clarinet - pincer the tongue - pliers -
god knows what instrument i'm really playing: ć, ń, ś, ź -
cut the letters from cen nan sap zed into the uniqueness
of the actual first letter, go into roman do re mi fa so la
****** musicology) rather than greek omega omicron
alpha beta. so this acute faroese a, what bothered me
was the suffix -áp... the p you see, if the accent dynamic
was to end with a german umlaut -äp or with a
māori macron -āp... i would have said the p...
rather than ending with a b.
*"heimlich" tongue-numbing d.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
Poetry, the reason we are all here.
Writing words that we hope someone reads and hears
Hears in the sounds of the words, them coming alive
Vocally there is a potency to written words
Say them out loud, hear them, feel them form in your mouth
Soulfully continue this aged tradition of story telling
Poetry, is known globally, it transcends diplomacy,
it reaches souls, hearts and minds.
Like a minority,poetry is seen as weak and bleak,
but then life is not a bed of roses, there are thorns.
Reproachfully it is scorned, 'poet? Try writing a novel'
Wrongfully seen as the poor man to a novelist, poetry
at its best conveys, more in a few verses than a thousand
pages of a novel. Lonesome is the poet, that sees truth.
There is merit in poetry, the continuation of odes told by
the fireside, Viking, Persian, Celt, all historic bardic civilisations.
Purity in poetry leads down a path least travelled these days
but tales of yore still prevail, and Beowulf still roars.
Canterbury tales still elicit smiles, cries and woe.
Shakespeare, Dante, Poe, Neruda, Thomas, Petrarch all Poets with soul.
So, you tell me, and all of us poets are we the novelists poor relation?
Or, just reclaiming our station in life as the purest storytellers?
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
*enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a ********* or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ****** i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.*
i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into f*ck.... ah ****
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Ross was good,
Part-Choctaw, Part-Saskatchewan,
he'd sniff the air for his direction,
could spot a pebble out of place,
understand broken twigs.
He loved to work at night,
backtracking was a skill,
garroting his specialty,
he had fourteen dings.
Part-Celt, Part-Heinz-57
I understood similar things,
my notches stand
at just under ten.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
The Harbour quakes as we break your Boom,
The Nemesis Sails-Harbinger of doom,
A New Chapter - the Sly Celt Raptor,
Bain Shi proceed us-Scream in rapture
As The Bodhran shakes your eardrums shatter,
Lightning rakes- your defences Scatter,
It's raiding season!-Take your Oars!,
Boats filled to the brim with Ores and ******
our targets-fat Merchants waddle,
Crimson seas as the Forces Battle
The Morrigan Swaddles our mind with the caul (call)
no Mercy asked(None Given!) SLAY ALL
Widows scream as they're dragged to the Ship
Towns burn to ash in our wake as we rip,
A Blood red Swathe Through the Dawn in the east,
As the Nemesis Sails,The Harbinger Feasts...
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 7:08 PM UTC
Heart-affluence in discursive talk
From household fountains never dry;
The critic clearness of an eye,
That saw thro' all the Muses' walk;
Seraphic intellect and force
To seize and throw the doubts of man;
Impassion'd logic, which outran
The hearer in its fiery course;
High nature amorous of the good,
But touch'd with no ascetic gloom;
And passion pure in snowy bloom
Thro' all the years of April blood;
A love of freedom rarely felt,
Of freedom in her regal seat
Of England; not the schoolboy heat,
The blind hysterics of the Celt;
And manhood fused with female grace
In such a sort, the child would twine
A trustful hand, unask'd, in thine,
And find his comfort in thy face;
All these have been, and thee mine eyes
Have look'd on: if they look'd in vain,
My shame is greater who remain,
Nor let thy wisdom make me wise.
1k
Welcome Stranger come and hear
the words that draw the heavens near
and listen to it's breeze that blows from the East
of whose Ancient cast melody tames Man and Beast.
For Tis a song so old that time has forgot
the writer of its winds wherein it's Lyrics are caught
But it's secrets may be heard and it's power felt
within the heart and mind of a truthful Celt.
For its words though obscure hold the greatest key
for all the descendants to come and see
The place where verse and rhyme equate with time
to show man's greatness and his crime.
Tis a place where all may come to Ken
the song Of the Bard over Hill and Glen
Tis a song of Being, Of Life's joy and its pain
O'Blissful tender passions and tortures mournful slain.
Tis a Journey back into the past,a relic of times gone
and yet a journey into the future, O'Life's greatest song
So Welcome stranger into a World of verbal fantasy
and to the inspirations of this Bardic Rhapsody.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 1:58 PM UTC
*there’s a motto,
treat a cat like a cat,
when a cat ***** in your bed
smack him over the head for him to learn
and...
gentlemen never drink in the morning.*
the last motto can be changed to:
gentlemen never drink in the morning
unless they take the remnants of the whiskey
with coffee... now you’re talking irish gentlemen,
or perhaps northern irish, because that’s
where the english ***** bank was established...
that great big sandpit known as lough neagh
(that's ulster... or ulcer?).
blake was wrong... there are more ***** tadpoles
in every *********** over the years than there
are grains of sand on the seasides and stars in the universe...
it would be counterproductive otherwise.
i’m not going to be one of those repentant drunks
who suddenly find poetry or prose
lacerating myself on ‘oh poo poo poo’ memories
and how one can become a respectable citizen via newspaper publishing,
**** that, **** you, eminem gave me all the clues;
swearing? taking oaths? it's called punctuation in połlish.
come on celt... let's tango!
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
Seeing a swarm of flies
Seeping the sap of
A hand-deprived
Leaper's fresh wound
A good Samaritan
Disarrayed them with
A hand clap “Twa!” sound
Getting as close as he could
In vain expecting
“A thank you!” gratitude.
“You shouldn't have done that
When the former ones,
Who had their fills, depart
The famished ones come forth
For their part
To siphon my blood
To their hearts delight!”
The upstart incumbent
Closed a curtain
On at the-end-of- the-tunnel
-alluring light
Let alone warrant
The much-touted
Days bright—Democracy
Deepening
Across the board wealth sharing.
Revolutionary democrats
Who boast “Brave
In a guerilla fight
We have sent
Tyrants to a grave!”
Serving the people
Opted to forget
So as
From government's coffer
To line up their own pocket.
Tax-comafledged exploitation
Compounded by
Government-sponsored corruption
What is more intimidation
From one's land
Or abode alienation
Research aiming
At ethnic cleansing
Bureaucratic logjams
And maladministration
Creating a non stop
Hassle and tension
From fever-pitch
Brewing up
Political tension
To divert attention
Are the tactic
They use
To sustain
Their tenure
And advance
Bad governance.///
African politics © 23 hours ago, Alem Hailu Gabre Kristos sad poems • society poems
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Likes: Alem Hailu, Peter the Celt
Alem Hailu - Thank you
8 hours ago x edit
Peter the Ce
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
This Anglo-Celt
Is blood and guts
Living. An ancient cradle
Harbouring the fugitive -
Wanted, Dead or Alive.
An asset untapped
In any official aspect,
But coming online
As we speak in tongues
Of this multi-flavourism
We call Australia.
Idiots are idiots
The world over -
They'll never learn
And we, the enlightened,
Can profit no end
By their foolish follies.
So sit back - relax;
The hard work's done.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
Mythologically
GODS ASSEMBLE
(Mythological gods)
SEE! SEE!
Them!
The MYTHological gods!
THEY ARE ASSEMBLED!
(Wow)
...
We sit and watch them
They are assembled!
We too
We are assembled now
Watching the gods
---//////---
*its
Like a night at the movies!
Nothing ever happens ' Celt our
Minds
Being slowly and
Methodically erased*
---
BORING!
-----
Tired ole Humanity's now dead on the ground
We look for lovers but none are found
We look for eachother
But no ones around
Cause we're not around
YOU AND I!
We
We're not around
//
ONE MYTH REMAINS
ONE
YOU
know which one i mean
-
ONE MYTH REMAINS!
Wake up and love it please
Wake up and live it
YOU KNOW YOU CAN
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
English and Celtic Poets
A Sassenach assembles words and lines
In order, disciplined, like hammer-falls
Upon reluctant steel in armories
The beat and off-beat in formation set
A Celt sings challenges carelessly into the eagle-skies
To soar among the storms in sorrow and in joy
Laughing among full cups of heathery vowels
Claidheamh-mor swinging against blank verse in English helmets
An Englishman sends words to fight and work
A Celt persuades wild words to fight and dream
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
When the door slams they put a name and number card outside,
it has a large red F stamped on it.
This is called “F-Watch”…it means they think you’re suicidal!!!!
They check every 15mins…
..fif..teen minutes…
.try to stay calm!….focus on a constant!
…OK….focus
Right…..focus….every 15mins I jump out of my skin!
What causes that?
…..it feels like a habit…
BANG!
There it goes again…
the eyeball in the door…
unblinking…
staring at my shape on the floor…
little does the eye know…I have dug a tunnel…
it reaches beyond the wall and the fence…
it reaches far past the range of the CCTV……
it surfaces deep in the forest
all I need to do is close my eyes
and I’m running down that tunnel
which increases in size every time I use it…
the exit is via a door in an ancient oak tree…
above the door, neatly carved is my family name
and an hour-glass of salt
that is always 15 mins from running out…
I create a mind-map that helps me
find my way back through the forest
to the tree in time to keep my appointment
with the eye…
the unblinking eye…
assesses my body
sprawled on the rubber mattress,
unaware of the trees that surround me …
that protect me
that shield me from its Gorgon gaze…
and days pass into months
and the months flutter toward the light
which lays on the other side of the darkness…
darkness being a measure in old money.
Then just as suddenly
I find myself reprieved…
relocated for two eternities
to the Mirrored Halls
of the Black Widow
to absolve the sins of my forefathers…
the eye in the door blinks
something is different…
the eye now has the a sense smell!
and it can detect female pheromones
3 days ride away by horse…
it smells Norse…and Celt……
it smells ……
it smells…
its own mortality…
15 minutes pass……
it blinks again…
it breathes deeply and detects children…
two born of royal blood and one of angels…
it blinks…
the body on the mattress moves…
it stretches…
turns over…
now the eye can hear…
it hears the rustle of leaves,
smells breast milk and skunk
from the sweat of the punk…
an assault to its senses…
it primes its defenses…
and…
releases a tear…
a solitary tear …
laden with just enough salt
to take its pain away…
time passes…
the hourglass releases one more grain of salt
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 7:41 AM UTC
You know that I won
Some say I clear lost
Their whines so exhaust
Wrong man they just crossed.
How wrong they all are
Fools to a man
When I've only began
To work out my plan.
Just wait and see
The Don at his best
When put to the test
I’ll make them all stressed.
First up I'll sue
Reverse the dumb vote
My win then promote
Un-float their small boat.
That all said and done
If not quite enough
I may tweak the math
Then get rough and tough.
Call up our fine troops
Coerce the weak judges
Then when in my clutches
It's me or coarse crutches.
I think that will do it
But should I be wrong
There's a place I belong
The land of the strong.
A country of Lochs
Of moors and steep hills
Abundant in stills
Real folk with few frills.
That land I can buy
In fact much I own
And Celt to the bone
I’ll claim Scotland's throne.
A great fallback plan
Melania as queen
All day she can preen
Unspoken just seen.
Once king I can rule
Play golf and write laws
As a man without flaws
Days filled with applause.
My plans fully set
I'll ponder and see
For whatever will be
Yet I’m ready to flee.
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 11:58 AM UTC