"foredoomed" poems
"See! warp is stretched
For warriors' fall,
Lo! weft in loom
'Tis wet with blood;
Now fight foreboding,
'Neath friends' swift fingers,
Our grey woof waxeth
With war's alarms,
Our warp bloodred,
Our weft corseblue.
"This woof is y-woven
With entrails of men,
This warp is hardweighted
With heads of the slain,
Spears blood-besprinkled
For spindles we use,
Our loom ironbound,
And arrows our reels;
With swords for our shuttles
This war-woof we work;
So weave we, weird sisters,
Our warwinning woof.
"Now Warwinner walketh
To weave in her turn,
Now Swordswinger steppeth,
Now Swiftstroke, now Storm;
When they speed the shuttle
How spearheads shall flash!
Shields crash, and helmgnawer
On harness bite hard!
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof
Woof erst for king youthful
Foredoomed as his own,
Forth now we will ride,
Then through the ranks rushing
Be busy where friends
Blows blithe give and take.
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof,
After that let us steadfastly
Stand by the brave king;
Then men shall mark mournful
Their shields red with gore,
How Swordstroke and Spearthrust
Stood stout by the prince.
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof.
When sword-bearing rovers
To banners rush on,
Mind, maidens, we spare not
One life in the fray!
We corse-choosing sisters
Have charge of the slain.
"Now new-coming nations
That island shall rule,
Who on outlying headlands
Abode ere the fight;
I say that King mighty
To death now is done,
Now low before spearpoint
That Earl bows his head.
"Soon over all Ersemen
Sharp sorrow shall fall,
That woe to those warriors
Shall wane nevermore;
Our woof now is woven.
Now battlefield waste,
O'er land and o'er water
War tidings shall leap.
"Now surely 'tis gruesome
To gaze all around.
When bloodred through heaven
Drives cloudrack o'er head;
Air soon shall be deep hued
With dying men's blood
When this our spaedom
Comes speedy to pass.
"So cheerily chant we
Charms for the young king,
Come maidens lift loudly
His warwinning lay;
Let him who now listens
Learn well with his ears
And gladden brave swordsmen
With bursts of war's song.
"Now mount we our horses,
Now bare we our brands,
Now haste we hard, maidens,
Hence far, far, away."
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
Curses to that boy.
For spoiling you; leaving a dent
For taking your energy
For leaving you spent
How dare he think he could keep you to himself?
For months on end
Until I didn't recognize the beautiful you
You were covered in a cloud of him
Curses for that boy
who cursed you
because why else did your eyes so blue turn a pale grey?
if you were not used?
Cursing myself because I befriended him
so I can see in his eyes the sadness he feels
and he's regretful
but he's not
because he doesn't want that path
the one of guilt so strong
where you're hanging on the edge of the crack
and the only rope is to right your wrong
but you both know
you wouldn't take him back
And there are real curses.
If not, then why did that lady who looks so lovely
have such a tragic story?
Cursed by time for the older mother, soon gone
Cursed by disease as her mother departed -
no match for her cancerous beast.
Cursed by fate.
As she made soup for a queasy sister.
Such a small hint, a short phone-call
And she arrived to greet the deceased.
And she was foredoomed to relent her peace.
Curses to anyone who has wronged!
I should think.
I hate how there are two sides
Because then I remember how I used to love it all
And I'm afraid
of that love resurfacing
And I'm afraid
that I am verging on witch-hood
And I was raised never to curse
Lest I become the devil at its worst
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
Peculiar Spring
Seeps through my skin
Invades my soul
And garrotes me within
Unhurried strangulation
My spirit weakens
A rush of horror
At the sight of the Warden
He's cloaked in death
Speaks with decaying breath
"It's all foredoomed
I'm threading this path"
Limbs frozen stiff
Hasten, flee … if
Death travels swiftly
Radiating a putrid whiff
A nipping hoarfrost
Spring slays those embossed
Come Summer, come
Before I completely exhaust
This peculiar Spring
Its nature - bristling
Beneath a flaccid quiescence
I'm being garroted within
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
God made the country,
Unbeknowst to hope are we all as
Great oaks from little acorns grow;
So many countries gilt,
So many cultures, alack
unblemished feathers of eternal service
Scabbard in sheaths quilling Gods glossary
And man made the town, pilgrimiges and suffrages;
A foredoomed geniture of the Evil Ones chaology
Hewn to bell the cat.
The worst of Heavens vengeful justice is not
Always rightous as in faithfullnesses eschewal.
The Heirophants pen a tolling knell
Without any hope; least said
Heaven twice, soon mended-
As words in mode of passion are
Material manifestations and
Manners make the man whilst the
Hand that rocks the cradle cannot
Put brains into statues; but,
Yet, rule the bilge when the
Angels doxology enunciates war on
The world as the Devil espies all
And God ensconces but the few!
ELEETE J MUIR
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
Bleeding heart, blinding sun,
Fleeting art, mind undone.
Internal prattle, cumbersome,
Eternal battles to overcome.
Shaky hands presumed a tale,
Of forsaken plans foredoomed to fail.
Reverberating, uncertain shouts,
Illuminating those hurtful doubts.
A soul misplaced, fragile, fraught,
A goal once chased with agile thought.
Pursued the picture to yield the prize,
Who knew the scripture was filled with lies?
Kept the scars to quell his worth,
Leapt to stars and fell to earth.
Conflated pride and forespoken schemes
Became fate denied with broken dreams.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 7:56 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
One dead, fifteen wounded
When an argument broke out
But ya might have assumed it
Brown liquor there’s no doubt
At the club they consumed it
Fallen people all about
Because that foredoomed it
‘Woulda thought we had enough
Of people running around
All over town with gats and stuff
Ya know the consequences
Can be more than rough
When you wind up arrested
And being handcuffed
And it’s usually the case
That they can’t shoot straight
Someone’s hit in the face
That didn’t participate
Cos’ a stranger had bass
They took the weight
Wrong time, wrong place
This time it happened in Ohio
Cincinnati to be precise
But why oh! why oh!
Couldn’t they have played nice
So no one had to die, though
It's a fool’s advice
They shoulda applied, yo
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
"It's raining in my skull,"
says the woman who creases
matter-of-factly into sunned chop
of stone beside me on a city corner;
her eyes topple and drop into
her sullied mauvish oval bag
which spills crowds of rag and bone
into her floral fields of lap.
Then: a sudden psithurism
fences us in elm tilt, we sag
into the listen; what strange words
these foredoomed leaf-curls brush
into prose, sericeous speech
that smuggles death lessons
through the ring of afternoon.
It shakes us both: a mouthful
of extermination addressed
to us in the language of night places.
An empire of silence is reinstated
for a lonely tyrant minute until
the bus arrives; she gathers
her handfuls of sparks and solemns,
steps up into the air, and is gone.
Alone, I rescind every mercy I was ever given.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 11:07 PM UTC