"mead" poems
You bought me sunflowers last Saturday
because you like the yellow orchestra we can
listen to, but you do not have to direct.
It plays a private concert only for you.
I play a few notes here and there too,
but nothing can compare to sunflowers.
I compare lots of things to
flowers,
like your eyes.
You do something to my insides
I cannot explain
in a metaphor to flowers.
You planted a gilded seed.
It grew faster than any ****
more delicious than homemade irish mead.
Sun shining, birds chirping, children playing-
all of this-
sounds like life’s decaying
because you’re not next to me.
You make oxygen more than a box on the periodic table.
I’m not suggesting I’m unable
to perform tasks without you.
I’m used to ashes in my coffee cup.
Your presence seems to open up
cold sunflowers.
You set ablaze the sun’s powers.
I could go on like this for hours
about the love you built;
iridescent solid sunflowers
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Eyes like diamonds that sparkle and shine
lips so plush a ruby red wine.
Voice so majestic, you melt to the core
you crave for her love so you come back for more.
Skin so soft that it doesn't seem real
you love her so much you can't keep it conceiled.
She is all that you want and all that you need
she's your glass of champagne not a pitcher of mead.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 5:57 AM UTC
I'm a gamer
The things I do
Mapped new worlds
Slain a god or two
Blown up stars
And lead revolutions
Gained experience
And Increased my Constitution
Drove a tank
A star-ship
A dragon
Killed a zombie horde
Drank some mead from a flagon
I've built cities
and worlds
and life
I've ended wars
and Famines
and strife
I've lived more lives than one can live
I've seen the work of hundreds in the span of moments
More personal than literature
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.
Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.
Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.
Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.
Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
I say unto you with a sniveling snarl,
Will you go on and be friends with an owl?
Why, YES! I said boldly with a pompety grin
My new owl friend will be lucky and win!
He will hoot and toot a most beautiful song
He will win a singing contest and sing all day long
We will take all his winnings and spend it on mead
We'll sing, drink and be merry, indeed!
we'll capture a horse and dress it in tweed
then ride to the sunset on our horse named, "Sardine!"
Sardine might get hungry so we'll feed him some hemp
We'll lay down to rest on a bed that's unkempt
We'll wake in the morning to see Sardine's fate
Sardine has died from starvation this date
The sorrow we feel is so hard to beat
So opon his flesh we started to eat
w'ell pair it with taters all mashed in a pan
we'll eat up our dinner as fast as we can
but hold on a second, how silly are we!
We tripped on some mushrooms we found on a tree!
our minds started swirling and twirling; so dizzy!
my owl friend shrieked and then started to tizzy
he gouged out my eyes and laughed at my pain
I fell to the ground and made peace with my name
for I never did say from whence I came
cause stories like this are not easy to tame
I lay here in misery, my friend's not to blame
It's all in my head, this silly word game
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws
And grasses in the mead renew their birth,
The river to the river-bed withdraws,
And altered is the fashion of the earth.
The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear
And unapparelled in the woodland play.
The swift hour and the brief prime of the year
Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye.
Thaw follows frost; hard on the heel of spring
Treads summer sure to die, for hard on hers
Comes autumn with his apples scattering;
Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs.
But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar,
Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams;
Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are
And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.
Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add
The morrow to the day, what tongue has told?
Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had
The fingers of no heir will ever hold.
When thou descendest once the shades among,
The stern assize and equal judgment o'er,
Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue,
No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more.
Night holds Hippolytus the pure of stain,
Diana steads him nothing, he must stay;
And Theseus leaves Pirithous in the chain
The love of comrades cannot take away.
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It was an autumn day; a fresh aroma the air.
Breathing in deeply, I was trapped in a snare.
How was I loured into this dangerous trap,
I just was not looking or even aware.
There was a sweet sticky dew tasting like mead,
This honey nectar turned my head to greed.
Losing control I was going out of my mind,
In a strange flower bed, I left my world behind.
Now wondering in a deep psychedelic dream,
I am floating eagerly down a rainbow stream.
Tender fresh flesh standing bold and proud,
Attracting prey with her bright coloured shroud.
Giving in freely, about to be devoured.
My censors telling me I was being deflowered.
There were silky soft hairs all over my skin,
Is a shocking end about to begin?
If no one had noticed I was ensnared in this place,
It may have all ended in humiliation and disgrace.
Now in so deep I have lost all self control,
It was as if a demon had stolen my soul.
Just then a watchful serpent raised its head,
Looking straight at me it hissed and said.
“I can see you; you have had your fun,
Now it is time to pay, or get out and run”.
Shocked out of the dream, I saw my plight,
What he said was true, I made my flight.
Lucky to escape, my advice is here,
If you see a Venus Flytrap,
STAY CLEAR.
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 6:19 AM UTC
Day breaks over a sleepy village
Morning absolutions completed
An excited buzz is in the air
Everyone is a buzz with cleaning
Hundreds gather wild flowers in the fertile fields
Many were in charge of raising the fires
Soon the whole town had bright blooms weaved from one end to the next
The horizon alight with smoke and power
Goddess and God rights invoked within circles round
Pulsating, rhythmic energy racing through each dancing body
Gyrating to the cosmic beat of life
Couples jump merrily together over cauldrons ablaze
High hopes rise and give way for dreams of children
Lovers round and round they twine
Maypole ribbons rainbow hued passing through hand to hand
As dusk falls the Queen is crowned
Mead flows freely through the jubilant worshippers
The moon hangs round with fullness above their heads
Lighting the way for love into the night
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
I have no fear, for when I die I know I will hear the Valkyries cry. As they carry me to Odin's hall up high. There i will drink my share of mead and hear my brothers sing.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 4:16 AM UTC
Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot,
…stirred her iron ***
Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot,
…home of death and rot,
Abigail Primpot sewed and stitched a lot.
She produced a sweater that shined like treasure,
…and no one else has ever seen much better!
Abigail Primpot learned to cook from old wives’ tales in an old dusty book.
Frog legs, bird gizzard, wolf’s bane, small lizard, one rotten apple and one sharp tooth, …cup of mead, some spices and a bottle of vermouth, a chant and a song and a wizard’s spell, …and a whirlpool in the cauldron that went to Hell! Abigail Primpot likes to stitch ‘cause she is a witch and though she was quite young; she lived with snakes, bees and scorpions and things that stung!
*Abigail Primpot would become a Beast when she wrapped herself in her shining fleece!*
Abigail Primpot,
...her home stunk of death and rot,
Abigail Primpot,
...sewed and stitched a lot,
Abigail Primpot,
...she had an iron ***
Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
Skyrim, Land for Nords
Filled with Mead and Honningbrew
Singing with blood and cords
Disagreeing to their Divines and Lords
But raging with war and Talos Blessed
Destroying the empire, liberating Skyrim
Once Again
But a nightmare appears
"DRAGONS! DRAGONS!" a filthy Nord say
Running away pityfully as the Myths slays
A man stays
A nordic lad
Tough like Talos
***** as a rag
The tongue of the ancients
Shouting, stealing the souls of the Myths
It's the Dragonborn
It's back
Since centuries
And has came
To Unlegend the Myths
Once Again
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
I was once a man greater than any other man,
Against the greatest odds I stood, where many ran.
It was I who would slay mighty dragons, and triumph over evil kings,
In every tavern and mead hall, they would hail my name and sing!
I was at the top of the world, and nothing could knock me down!
For my blood they came, but in their own they drowned,
I was hailed a hero in my province and legend in the realm!
Mighty Legions under a great empire, with me at their helm,
Glorious was the ground we tread upon, the sky open and free!
I used to be an adventurer like you…
But then I took an arrow to the knee.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
It was a hundred years ago,
When, by the woodland ways,
The traveller saw the wild deer drink,
Or crop the birchen sprays.
Beneath a hill, whose rocky side
O'erbrowed a grassy mead,
And fenced a cottage from the wind,
A deer was wont to feed.
She only came when on the cliffs
The evening moonlight lay,
And no man knew the secret haunts
In which she walked by day.
White were her feet, her forehead showed
A spot of silvery white,
That seemed to glimmer like a star
In autumn's hazy night.
And here, when sang the whippoorwill,
She cropped the sprouting leaves,
And here her rustling steps were heard
On still October eves.
But when the broad midsummer moon
Rose o'er that grassy lawn,
Beside the silver-footed deer
There grazed a spotted fawn.
The cottage dame forbade her son
To aim the rifle here;
"It were a sin," she said, "to harm
Or fright that friendly deer.
"This spot has been my pleasant home
Ten peaceful years and more;
And ever, when the moonlight shines,
She feeds before our door.
"The red men say that here she walked
A thousand moons ago;
They never raise the war-whoop here,
And never twang the bow.
"I love to watch her as she feeds,
And think that all is well
While such a gentle creature haunts
The place in which we dwell."
The youth obeyed, and sought for game
In forests far away,
Where, deep in silence and in moss,
The ancient woodland lay.
But once, in autumn's golden time,
He ranged the wild in vain,
Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer,
And wandered home again.
The crescent moon and crimson eve
Shone with a mingling light;
The deer, upon the grassy mead,
Was feeding full in sight.
He raised the rifle to his eye,
And from the cliffs around
A sudden echo, shrill and sharp,
Gave back its deadly sound.
Away into the neighbouring wood
The startled creature flew,
And crimson drops at morning lay
Amid the glimmering dew.
Next evening shone the waxing moon
As sweetly as before;
The deer upon the grassy mead
Was seen again no more.
But ere that crescent moon was old,
By night the red men came,
And burnt the cottage to the ground,
And slew the youth and dame.
Now woods have overgrown the mead,
And hid the cliffs from sight;
There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon,
And prowls the fox at night.
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My heathen greeting for I am old now
Wildfowl whispered on marshland like maidens around burning fires,
The Norse winds breathing in my soul ‘Odin doth call’
Blood is the sweat of this iron sword; proud are war smiths
I watch the coal biter musing in blood damp earth,
Before a fire and smoke of tallow he dreams of war
Fill these horns to brim, for I shall drink to Odin’s law
And eat I this meal of bread oyster and mussel shell
I see heavens stained blood red clouds as we cross the rainbow crystal bridge, we shall enter Valhalla victorious once more,
Lo shall they bleed at shores blooded by iron the Saxons fall,
Raged fires shall consume their roof as thunder of north comes forth
You call us ****** that which pierces dark shadows,
We blow our horn in assembly before Odin warriors of the north
Settings suns shone red as quiet falls, serene I see Valhalla
the goat and mead hall, roasting beef and herring
I no longer fear drowning suns for the Valkyries sweet song I do hear
Freyja shall breathe my new reign at dawn
The old wars are over but our fight shall ne’er end,
─ Lo I see my father
ASPAR (Arnay Rumens) © 2013
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
O, dear friends! May I tell
a , tale of Graceful Norse God ?.
Odin or Woden of the Norse Myth
Father of gods and men on Earth
Faced much risk, to help His world
Mimir the God of Knowledge claimed
One of His eyes to share knowledge.
Suffering much studied Woden-
Runes on wood, metal and stone.
Ravens on either side of His shoulder
Fetch the news from far and wide
Thought and memory were two birds
Hugin and Munin they were called.
He got skaldic mead from the Giants
Touch of which makes anyone a poet.
Gracious Odin gave away His skills
To all gods and men of His reign.
Can you be such a heroic leader
To save our sighing Motherland?
=============================
Note:Norse Myth=Mythology of the Scandinavian area. The day of the Woden is Wednesday.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
I'm making a pub pilgrimage,
A malted Mecca trip;
I'm leaving all I love at home
Crusading with the Picts.
I'll be alone with all my thoughts,
It's what must needs be done,
To keep the demons off.
Publicans meet me on the steps,
On Sundays by the side;
This trip of three thousand miles
May **** should I survive.
My altar's elbow worn,
The finest oaken wood;
I'll climb the stairs on knees,
Hear bells, raise cups of cheer.
There's games of chance,
Some romance,
With songs and several fools;
It has trappings of Canterbury
In pubs all called O'Tooles.
There's Highland mead,
And broken bread,
With harps from inner rooms,
I'll have dispirited spirits
And revel inside tombs.
My cave awaits on my return,
It's dark and hard and cold;
But I know the light's within my sight,
If I move this granite stone.
I'll bring with me a scapula
To make those visions stop,
The relics that I sought,
Those demons of a sot.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,—he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant ****
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
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Mayday: two came to field in such wise :
'A daisied mead', each said to each,
So were they one; so sought they couch,
Across barbed stile, through flocked brown cows.
'No pitchforked farmer, please,' she said;
'May cockcrow guard us safe,' said he;
By blackthorn thicket, flower spray
They pitched their coats, come to green bed.
Below: a fen where water stood;
Aslant: their hill of stinging nettle;
Then, honor-bound, mute grazing cattle;
Above: leaf-wraithed white air, white cloud.
All afternoon these lovers lay
Until the sun turned pale from warm,
Until sweet wind changed tune, blew harm :
Cruel nettles stung her angles raw.
Rueful, most vexed, that tender skin
Should accept so fell a wound,
He stamped and cracked stalks to the ground
Which had caused his dear girl pain.
Now he goes from his rightful road
And, under honor, will depart;
While she stands burning, venom-girt,
In wait for sharper smart to fade.
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Merrily swinging on briar and ****
Near to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name.
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed,
Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders, and white his crest,
Hear him call in his merry note,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Look what a nice, new coat is mine;
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a patient life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Brood, kind creature, you need not fear
Thieves and robbers while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee.
Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note;
Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Never was I afraid of man,
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.
Chee, chee, chee.
Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight:
There as the mother sits all day,
Robert is singing with all his might,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.
Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
This new life is likely to be
Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work, and silent with care,
Off is his holiday garment laid,
Half forgotten that merry air:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
Nobody knows but my mate and I,
Where our nest and our nestlings lie,
Chee, chee, chee.
Summer wanes; the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows,
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum drone;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink,
When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.
Chee, chee, chee.
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At last these Plums took the Daughter in Kind
From Lord Raffles' Paradise she adored
A Marriage of Saints she thought to remind
Though behind her Door was Melancholy.
But who a Pony-Child in Fashion's New
Could taste the Recipe she may not like?
Clotted Cream? Or Fish in the River-View
Tore through the Muddy Dress to greet her Delight
This is not the Age, Tories of the West
To switch on Lights dimmed for your Books to read
She is a Sweet-Tooth; Or Filmer at best
Just give her a Spoon; She makes one Great Mead.
She is my Friend. And the Plum's Diver Son
Rewarded a Follow never un-done.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
Leaves
Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees.
Lives
Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Birds
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Bards
Singing of summer, scything thro' the hay.
Bees
Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Boys
Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Flashes
Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling cold.
Fleshes
Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
A mead
Bordered about with warbling water brooks.
A maid
Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
The heat
Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Her heart
Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Braiding
Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Brooding
Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Stirs
Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Stars
Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.
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Hither hither, love---
'Tis a shady mead---
Hither, hither, love!
Let us feed and feed!
Hither, hither, sweet---
'Tis a cowslip bed---
Hither, hither, sweet!
'Tis with dew bespread!
Hither, hither, dear
By the breath of life,
Hither, hither, dear!---
Be the summer's wife!
Though one moment's pleasure
In one moment flies---
Though the passion's treasure
In one moment dies;---
Yet it has not passed---
Think how near, how near!---
And while it doth last,
Think how dear, how dear!
Hither, hither, hither
Love its boon has sent---
If I die and wither
I shall die content!
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Beowulf the hier of nothing of rot
Mother he know not
Raised in shame banished wroght
Returned to his village to seek wrothgar a father he yet sought
News of death the sorrow he fought
Till the night trouble it brought
Grendal at night did strike
Killing thous from wicked and strife
None but Beowulf saw the **** of the fight
Guards did come, and saw a false sight
Beowulf they thought the killer that night
Sentenced to death but never to suffer that blight
Beowulf escaped and rode at dawn, Off to seek golem and where he lurk
Off to the woods there they found Grendal
With much haste golem charged Beowulf dirk was drawn
Hacking off the fingers of golem was hurt
Grendal roared and ran
Holding tightly to his wounded hand
Beowulf returned with trophy in bag gasps where made across the land
Guards double watch patrolling village to make a stand
Night came and blood was shed
Grendal made way to the mead hall all the way warriors bled
Beowulf was ready and calmly said
I have his fingers how about his arm instead
Attacking the creatures buckled arm ripping it off golem then ran and fled
Beowulf grabbed arms and said fingers now arm soon his head
They reassembled on horses arms ready and raged
Gave chase
All fell but Beowulf by accord golem laid dead he lead deeper around bend
mother by him seducing Beowulf of power and ***** by all that was said
Beowulf accepted the fouls bargain
But all was not well in thee end
Dragon flew to the sky warriors of King Beowulf Fend
Beowulf killed his son of the dervish deal the dragon
But deadly wounds of were not on dragon alone Beowulf had fallen both a killing blow send
Beowulf funeral ceremony of fire and water below the deep the foul was spotted to be burned alive with Beowulf lover in arms
Blasphemy and Treacherous woes for all of she slaughtered
Now known Beowulf deed leading men like fodder
Against them knowing deal he had waged
Too be written and sung in the latter days
Beowulf the hero king the liar the cheat they called
Beowulf the man flawed as all that ultimately brought his downfall
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 6:56 PM UTC
Come down the tree, Molly, sweet Molly, sweet Molly,
Come down the tree, Molly and dine ye with me.
And though ye be weary, I’ll make your day cheery
To welcome you, Molly, so young, wild and free.
We’ll live for the season, we’ll love for the reason,
We’ll run o’er the valley, o’er meadow, o’er glen;
We’ll fall in our laughter, and roll morning after,
When things went all awry for now, dear, and then.
Come down the tree, Molly, sweet Molly, sweet Molly,
Come down the tree, Molly and dine ye with me.
And though ye be weary, I’ll make your day cheery
To welcome you, Molly, so young, wild and free.
And ye shall live freely with kitten-girls dearly,
While counting the stars on this summertime’s night
And deep be our need of the champagne and mead
To drink to Contessa, and her kittens tonight.
Come down the tree, Molly, sweet Molly, sweet Molly,
Come down the tree, Molly and dine ye with me.
And though ye be weary, I’ll make your day cheery
To welcome you, Molly, so young, wild and free.
If ought you will tease me, assure you can please me
And that we must merry be, joyous and gay;
Then we’ll live together, both now and forever
While our love prevails each moment a day.
Come down the tree, Molly, sweet Molly, sweet Molly,
Come down the tree, Molly and dine ye with me.
And though ye be weary, I’ll make your day cheery
To welcome you, Molly, so young, wild and free.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 6:17 AM UTC