"longinus" poems - Hello Poetry

I know that I hung on a windy tree, cross Nine long nights. Hanukkah, Christmas, Saturnalia Wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin, Longinus Myself to myself... Abandoned by God On that tree of which no man knows The Tree of Knowledge from where it's roots run. Laws by mankind No bread did they give me nor drink from a horn, Suffering, no mercy I arose with the Word, Ascension and came back down to them. Resurrection *

0

Feb 7, 2018

Feb 7, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC

david-john-mowers

Esus

I know that I hung on a windy tree, cross Nine long nights. Hanukkah, Christmas, Saturnalia Wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin, Longinus Myself to myself... Abandoned by God On that tree of which no man knows The Tree of Knowledge from where it's roots run. Laws by mankind No bread did they give me nor drink from a horn, Suffering, no mercy I arose with the Word, Ascension and came back down to them. Resurrection *

18

d'harga'h! urn! and sung clemency with the sign of the cross - Mr. Longinus - a baptism awaits... in the Turkish shop buying my beers - politics talk, gone Razza - Tahir - talk of politics - deciphered a word: Erdoğan (Erdoghan, Edrogrzan, what was it - macabre radish to taste - niechmaj sto Vlad'a reka na tle kiwnieniem raz! i krok poza 'sztem! bogiem byka wybryk szto?! - the crowds descended, and the kestrels and the pigeons, and the swans, and the migratory storks, and the seagulls - for the Winged-Hussar Polonaise. fluff of the wings - the Mongol stench reinterpreted - i rather be picking ethnic mushrooms - kropki polka - and koniewki - łopieniek & canary - grünling in German, gąska zielonka - Pan Kleks - or Chanterelle Mushroom - pepper shakerz - kurki, tzn. te słynne grzyby. the deviating kurka - or chickpea foetal variant of fungus - or alias chick. each time they pithy my assertion to claim the ethnic brothel of Europe that Poland is for the noble families - each time they undermine the worker testifying the fuck-worthy **** prior sleep - pride settles in - and a long forgotten assertive builds up to architectural proportions - it just ends up being a game of throwing copper coins into Scotland, potatoes into Ireland... and dinosaur bones into Wales... and post-colonial subjects into England, lazily packed with the labels **** and Hindu; Karzimierz Dębski could have said: it was never supposed to come to this; shame that it did; the safety option was exacted.

0

Jul 18, 2016

Jul 18, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

Winged-Hussar Polonaise / Dutch spits at a Polish girl's face - apparently i'm speaking Czech when angry

d'harga'h! urn! and sung clemency with the sign of the cross - Mr. Longinus - a baptism awaits... in the Turkish shop buying my beers - politics talk, gone Razza - Tahir - talk of politics - deciphered a word: Erdoğan (Erdoghan, Edrogrzan, what was it - macabre radish to taste - niechmaj sto Vlad'a reka na tle kiwnieniem raz! i krok poza 'sztem! bogiem byka wybryk szto?! - the crowds descended, and the kestrels and the pigeons, and the swans, and the migratory storks, and the seagulls - for the Winged-Hussar Polonaise. fluff of the wings - the Mongol stench reinterpreted - i rather be picking ethnic mushrooms - kropki polka - and koniewki - łopieniek & canary - grünling in German, gąska zielonka - Pan Kleks - or Chanterelle Mushroom - pepper shakerz - kurki, tzn. te słynne grzyby. the deviating kurka - or chickpea foetal variant of fungus - or alias chick. each time they pithy my assertion to claim the ethnic brothel of Europe that Poland is for the noble families - each time they undermine the worker testifying the fuck-worthy **** prior sleep - pride settles in - and a long forgotten assertive builds up to architectural proportions - it just ends up being a game of throwing copper coins into Scotland, potatoes into Ireland... and dinosaur bones into Wales... and post-colonial subjects into England, lazily packed with the labels **** and Hindu; Karzimierz Dębski could have said: it was never supposed to come to this; shame that it did; the safety option was exacted.

37

Without reason, in peacetime state There stands the enemy at the gate And the gates are holding, iron-wrought But arrows slip through the bars and rock And with his army held but immortal still The Lord of Babylon waits until A weakened moment, the changing guard To bring fire and doubt and idol gods But in castle courtyard, stands a Shepard Who in faithful watch serves duties two On his blooded right: the arrows And in the other hand is you. It's unthinkable to a castle's king That victory be in surrender But never had the Shepard led astray And was let through unhindered And the army lacking death and reason Drew back their ranks in fear For here stood the Shepard, proven dead By Longinus's spear. And the clanging sound of sword and shield Of armor, whip and chain Fell for the first time ever, silent. At king's crying of His Name.

0

Sep 20, 2015

Sep 20, 2015 at 6:26 AM UTC

AnonymouslyPretentious

A King Does Not Consider Lillies

Without reason, in peacetime state There stands the enemy at the gate And the gates are holding, iron-wrought But arrows slip through the bars and rock And with his army held but immortal still The Lord of Babylon waits until A weakened moment, the changing guard To bring fire and doubt and idol gods But in castle courtyard, stands a Shepard Who in faithful watch serves duties two On his blooded right: the arrows And in the other hand is you. It's unthinkable to a castle's king That victory be in surrender But never had the Shepard led astray And was let through unhindered And the army lacking death and reason Drew back their ranks in fear For here stood the Shepard, proven dead By Longinus's spear. And the clanging sound of sword and shield Of armor, whip and chain Fell for the first time ever, silent. At king's crying of His Name.

24

*it's a dead, obviously, working from per se, i only used prae to be near per, i could have used foris, or even ante, but given the dictionary and the necrosis of the Latin tongue per se as in: per - by rather than in - and se - himself rather than itself, you can imagine the complications of coining a phrase for the antidote of in-itself, i.e. outside-itself.* revision of Enya: **** away **** away, against the wind against the wind; mash up... brrrrapt big up big up east end Loud Don... bonkers bunch... now that is random, i wanted to make a serious point, and i will (insert snigger)... eventually. what i wanted to communicate was the revenge of von Kleist against Kant... Kant is the enemy of poetry we're led to believe, i can imagine, only Heidegger took Holderlin seriously and lectured on his poetry, von Kleist committed suicide out of despair having read Kant's critique... but what i want to do: to take each poetic technique out of poetry, and then use each technique to describe it's origin... so for example metaphor... given that poetry is ensō (one smooth stroke) - ever watched the t.v. series Wolf Hall? it's about the dealings of Thomas Cromwell, all matters of intrigue, Henry the VIII, and Anne Boleyn... so the metaphor describing poetry... at the end of Wolf Hall Anne Boleyn is about to be decapitated, because she ****** like Catherine the Great (although i'm sure the myth about the horse by polish / lithuanian conspirators isn't true... or applicable to Anne) and that offended the king... so on the scaffold, there's the swordsman (using a sword was a clean affair, axes were brutal, imagine hacking at stump of wood, or like Longinus Podbipięta, who with a Teutonic sword cut three Turk heads in one go, so Longinus Podbipięta vouched to a lady his chastity that he'd bed her if he also cut three Ottoman heads in one go ref. Sienkiewicz with fire and sword - the sword that cut ****** Mary's head was, blunt)... so there's this scene in Wolf Hall, ah man, the swordsman is classy, Thomas Cromwell asks him, 'will it be a clean death?', 'only if she doesn't move', so on the scaffold, he takes his shoes off, speaks into her right ear as if she's expecting the swing to come from there and then with great stealth moves in the other direction and cuts her head off from the left... so i guess poetry is a metaphor of that, an ensō, an evolution from haiku: one smooth stroke and you're done: nothing airy fairy, like you need to sigh... no... you need to drop the anchor: poetry prae se, as described by metaphor.

0

May 8, 2016

May 8, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

necrosis of the Latin tongue

*it's a dead, obviously, working from per se, i only used prae to be near per, i could have used foris, or even ante, but given the dictionary and the necrosis of the Latin tongue per se as in: per - by rather than in - and se - himself rather than itself, you can imagine the complications of coining a phrase for the antidote of in-itself, i.e. outside-itself.* revision of Enya: **** away **** away, against the wind against the wind; mash up... brrrrapt big up big up east end Loud Don... bonkers bunch... now that is random, i wanted to make a serious point, and i will (insert snigger)... eventually. what i wanted to communicate was the revenge of von Kleist against Kant... Kant is the enemy of poetry we're led to believe, i can imagine, only Heidegger took Holderlin seriously and lectured on his poetry, von Kleist committed suicide out of despair having read Kant's critique... but what i want to do: to take each poetic technique out of poetry, and then use each technique to describe it's origin... so for example metaphor... given that poetry is ensō (one smooth stroke) - ever watched the t.v. series Wolf Hall? it's about the dealings of Thomas Cromwell, all matters of intrigue, Henry the VIII, and Anne Boleyn... so the metaphor describing poetry... at the end of Wolf Hall Anne Boleyn is about to be decapitated, because she ****** like Catherine the Great (although i'm sure the myth about the horse by polish / lithuanian conspirators isn't true... or applicable to Anne) and that offended the king... so on the scaffold, there's the swordsman (using a sword was a clean affair, axes were brutal, imagine hacking at stump of wood, or like Longinus Podbipięta, who with a Teutonic sword cut three Turk heads in one go, so Longinus Podbipięta vouched to a lady his chastity that he'd bed her if he also cut three Ottoman heads in one go ref. Sienkiewicz with fire and sword - the sword that cut ****** Mary's head was, blunt)... so there's this scene in Wolf Hall, ah man, the swordsman is classy, Thomas Cromwell asks him, 'will it be a clean death?', 'only if she doesn't move', so on the scaffold, he takes his shoes off, speaks into her right ear as if she's expecting the swing to come from there and then with great stealth moves in the other direction and cuts her head off from the left... so i guess poetry is a metaphor of that, an ensō, an evolution from haiku: one smooth stroke and you're done: nothing airy fairy, like you need to sigh... no... you need to drop the anchor: poetry prae se, as described by metaphor.

50

As I dwell in the burrow rotting, dying, and suffering but deep within, there’s a rope reaching the hollow. Reach forth into pain and agony—perhaps you are the remedy. I’d be in 16th century forgetting thee like we are etched in latin poetry. I would perform sorcery just to have a glimpse of you and me Neither spells nor poetry are enough to prove but rather Salem’s trial will be your testimony: you've bewitched me. None may hear thy hymn, yet it echoes deep within. Chant of the weak, unheard and grim Hear thy alluring rhythm — accept one’s altruism. Millions of lifetimes, I’d rather be back in a period of millennia—clandestine affairs under the moonlight of Lupercalia. If all be thy Judas, I shall be thy Saint Longinus. Divine will, pure and ill—chant thy prayer, and hear my will. Every church you desecrate, I hinder none, and wander forth to witness me hanged and desolate.

0

Apr 22, 2025

Apr 22, 2025 at 4:57 AM UTC

quincyll

Beau de Nuit: Once Upon a Time

As I dwell in the burrow rotting, dying, and suffering but deep within, there’s a rope reaching the hollow. Reach forth into pain and agony—perhaps you are the remedy. I’d be in 16th century forgetting thee like we are etched in latin poetry. I would perform sorcery just to have a glimpse of you and me Neither spells nor poetry are enough to prove but rather Salem’s trial will be your testimony: you've bewitched me. None may hear thy hymn, yet it echoes deep within. Chant of the weak, unheard and grim Hear thy alluring rhythm — accept one’s altruism. Millions of lifetimes, I’d rather be back in a period of millennia—clandestine affairs under the moonlight of Lupercalia. If all be thy Judas, I shall be thy Saint Longinus. Divine will, pure and ill—chant thy prayer, and hear my will. Every church you desecrate, I hinder none, and wander forth to witness me hanged and desolate.

8

Forgotten in a hell begotten within the confines of my own depraved imagination Will there be no end to time spent wasting away in the shadow of Babylon’s polluted shore? A poor, condemned wretch wandering this wasteland devoid of the prospect of Heaven's divine redemption. I'm naught but a reflection of the vanity I embraced in a lifetime of dismal remembrances. The mercy of perdition's flame would be a welcome alternative to wandering endlessly in this darkness fashioned by my own hand.

0

Jun 10, 2011

Jun 10, 2011 at 9:48 PM UTC

patrick-mcfarland

Longinus

Forgotten in a hell begotten within the confines of my own depraved imagination Will there be no end to time spent wasting away in the shadow of Babylon’s polluted shore? A poor, condemned wretch wandering this wasteland devoid of the prospect of Heaven's divine redemption. I'm naught but a reflection of the vanity I embraced in a lifetime of dismal remembrances. The mercy of perdition's flame would be a welcome alternative to wandering endlessly in this darkness fashioned by my own hand.

23