"nordic" poems
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chipped wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame
rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on an iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat
bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls
whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight
sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base
cornice clipped by gully goats
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies
triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 5:50 PM UTC
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 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 daydream that the
recruiters go out of their way
not to promise dates and even
marriage with **** Nordic blond
beautiful co-eds for the players.
I daydream that they the recruiter bring
in local so-called cool jet set
types to add spice to the recruiting
process.
I daydream that the recruiters
take notice of whether the local
layout of the campus is ideal for the players
and that they show 'em around
the campus and in the city or town (including
"campus town") of the respective schools.
I daydream that they definitely
don't promise under the table money
and everything is on the up and up.
I daydream that they
emphasize the liberal arts programs
of the respective colleges
and suggest to the players that the
combination of a good liberal arts education
and skills learned in sports could lead to a good position later on.
I daydream that they emphasize
the building up of what I call
the two key faces of college football
and basketball programs - depth
and balance of the players.
I daydream that they emphasize
that the players obey conduct rules.
I daydream that they emphasize
the well-roundedness of their
respective programs.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC
My fantasies turned blonde in ‘seventy-six.
Bjorn, Benny, flickas, sailed from East to West.
Santa Lucia never shone so blessed
as she did in my private Euro-mix.
Perfect pop longs for that feminine fix.
Cassette wheels whirred – branding, then impressing
grooves upon the brain; my thrall confessing
love for Nordic light (in Disco metrics).
The names still strike flames, kindling bright renown:
Frida, Agnetha – your longships linger
Your Viking faces sacked my harbor town.
portaging hope to this shipwrecked singer,
enwreathing smiles to reach our further shore.
I Do… (times five – and will forevermore).
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
i care, i really do...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
no, i do...
i'm trying...
ha ha...
i'm just imagining what
that one word
looks like in Hebrew...
the...
ha-shem...
i.e.
the-name....
laughing, but at the same time
saying the definite article
over, and over, and over again...
the the the the... v'eh v'eh v'eh...
"point"?!
what point?!
calling a cactus a *******
cactus?
or calling it
an semiticl headscarf?
which is which?
a skirt just covering
the knee?!
better ask your women
to wear gloves...
i seem to enjoy the fact
that the most ****** part of
a woman, are her hands...
geisha hands...
and wrists i could look
at like i might an enjoy an hour
with a bottle of wine...
aha!
tell me...
what's the difference between
a didgeridoo...
and a modern, nordic shamanic chant
akin to to the berserker warcry
in one of
heilung's song,
notably
alfadhirhaiti
where the audience go mad
with fervor & fury...
because didn't you know,
they say:
don't take to d.n.a. ancestor testing,
watch what you absorb culturally...
from what i heard...
the ugly vikings founded
the city of Kiev,
so they must have passed past my parts...
hidden Baltic -
grazing mother of soured milk
that intermediates
a stasis prior to yogurt -
no wolves in england...
i'll pet a a fox therefore...
scoop and swoon -
the baronical patience of
a shadow admirer.;
even if the Jews have abandoned
Europe...
what the left?
is beside the origin of what
the crucifix constitutes...
even if the Jews abandoned
Europe, what they pressed was
the antagonism of Greece -
they pursued ancient Greece -
until the world, and all matters Latin -
stood to understand -
the Jews left Europe,
abandoning the pursuit of Greek -
penitent people, noble people...
until the library of Nag Hammadi
emerged from
the sands of both time,
and Egypt...
noble people... penitent people...
these Israelites -
these Jobs of disgruntled time -
Hiob, Yob, Hiob, Job...
i am barren in wanting to "forgive"
the Jews...
how they pursued ancient Greek
to avenge the emergence of
the Second Troy in Rome...
with Rome...
no Greek will stand on these words
with an Achilles heel...
the Jews pursued the Greek
revisionism of their testament
long enough...
as what Nero found hilarious...
i take to wind and soul with
a drunk mind,
but a sober heart.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
♪♥♫♥♫♥♪♥♫♥♫
My fantasies turned blonde in ‘seventy-six.
Bjorn, and the flickas sailed from East to West.
Santa Lucia never shone so blessed
as she did in my private Euro-mix.
Perfect pop longs for that feminine fix.
Cassette wheels whirred – branding, then impressing
grooves upon the brain; my thrall confessing
love for Nordic light (in Disco metrics).
The names still strike flames, kindling bright renown:
Frida, Agnetha – your longships linger
Your Viking faces sacked my harbor town.
portaging hope to this shipwrecked singer,
enwreathing smiles to reach our further shore.
I Do… (times five – and will forevermore).
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
sacred
silent season
wrapped in silk
in your tall towers
imposed
with the
ambling sense
of reason
and ripe blossoms
bathed in ***** milk
never again
left to wonder
the aimless
riches of yesterday
and the golden
hopes of tomorrow
such are the joys
of a Norseman
pillage and plunder
I will rummage
your sweet gardens
let your woven path
lead my feet
free of chains
to your doorway;
and the Viking
stirs and hardens
alpha breath
against moist
misty white skin
my cobalt aquas
revel in the seas
of your chastity
now ablaze with
nordic sweat and
archaic sin
Let the games begin
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
Leong dreamt of meeting Jesus,
at the Koffee coffee shop.
It was early and not too busy,
so they had a chance to talk.
He was well dressed and looked quite nordic,
which was a surprise to her at first.
“Because we all know he was born in China
and Beijing the city of his birth”
At first, he kept it casual,
he talked a lot about his dad,
but he began to be rather judgey,
as some religious people can.
When he asked her for her digits,
she was put off by his entitled vibe.
In the end he got fake-numbered.
“It was a lowkey way to decline,
and both pacify the “boss’” son,
and keep him on her side.”
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 3:50 PM UTC
There is a certain devil in my eyes
a twinkling trickster who despises
all pomp and proper posers who lie
to gain the affection of the less informed.
There is a puckish knave who raves
to undue the chains of those enslaved
by creative play and poetry
by active explorations of prose and nobility.
I know such endeavors are things of futility
for if they knew my form of Anansi
silk spinning spider
or my formidable four legged figure of coyote
who runs under the Nordic name of Loki,
I am certain they would try to lightning fry me.
Instead, I buy some time masking my mind
tapping out binary bridges of ones and zeroes
with mythic folk and fairytales to educate
my elves who have lost
their pointed ears and no longer hear
the sound of nature’s truth
concealed in their very flesh.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
Morning
the alarm goes off
I wake up
I turn it off
I go back to sleep
My mom or dad comes in
they wake me back up
I lie in bed
for 10 more minutes
then I get up
I go to the bathroom
and stare at myself in the mirror
I sigh...
I pretend to wash my face
I go back to my room
I stare at my closet
and decide what I'm going to wear
I get dressed
I go down stairs
I eat one of the following items:
oat meal
-Chocolate chip
-Maple brown sugar
-apple cinnamon
Whole wheat bagel with almond butter, peanut butter, cinnamon, and/or jam
cereal if there are any good options
-Peanut butter bumpers
-GOOD granola
-organic chocolate *****
with coconut milk
toast with the same things as bagels
I say good morning to parents
I argue with my sister
I drink my orange juice
eat my vitamins
bring my stuff up to the sink
go up stairs
I lie on my bed
I go into the bathroom
I brush my teeth
I go downstairs
I pack my backpack
I pick out some shoes
I yawn
I go to school
School
I go to advisory
We play cake(a game)
First class
I space out
I draw pictures
unless that class is of the following:
PE
Writing lab (if it's not about grammer or spelling)
Art
Music(Because all the string instruments make it impossible)
I go to math
I get too confused to know what the hell is going on
I go to writing lab
we write and then teacher goes into some speech about commas
I go to french
I have no idea what the teachers talking about
I go to PE
If we aren't playing soccer, basketball, dodgeball, batmitten, capture the flag, or volleyball than I ****
Lunch
Yay!
I eat
I talk
I chill
More classes
Art
I tell my teacher how much I love her outfit
I read the board
and I make art
Music
UGHHHH
THE TEACHER IS SUCH A GRUMP!!!
I listen to her yell at people
I play my instrument
Study
Almost done with school
I finish a bit of homework
Going home (Or going nordic skiing)
I get a snack
I do homework
I have dinner with the family
I do more homework
I get ready for bed
I read
I go to bed
Every day is the same
the weekend is just a bunch of chores
hanging with friends some times
and stay up late watching my favorite shows:
Bones
Glee
CSI NY
CONAN
SNL
Ugh I need a change.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 1:12 PM UTC
Oh, planet of the azure,
Cypriot sands,
Nordic beauty,
Amazonian lands,
Nile river plains,
It’s plain to see that our world
is a paradise for the
paradisiacs and the aphrodisiacs,
The business suited men,
The wedding dressed women,
The children of the soil.
But also plain to see are the
oil-stricken sands,
Viking battlegrounds,
Deforested lands,
Dry river plains.
Unknowns and ****** deviants,
Power hungry animals,
Divorce cases to be,
Already dead.
Oh, land of the azure,
Strike up a match and burn us all down,
Won’t you?
Oh, paradise world,
A giant floating blue pearl,
Cut us all down and burn our ashes?
Let us make amends,
Blue and green marble,
For we have doubted your sands,
Lands, and beauty,
We have doubted them whilst we have stood upon them.
For we are too tall to see what heaven lies beneath our feet,
And we look to the skies for heaven whilst we are among angels.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 6:58 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
.*of course i dream i fame, who doesn't dream of either fame or fortune... but... i'm sane enough to want to achieve that sort of stature, postmortem... what? with all the celebrity culture big brother ******** who the hell seeks fame while still alive? oh... well... there are the countless examples...*
and why would i take an ancestry test
of my D.N.A. make-up?
i remember the first conversation
i had with the father of my
first girlfriend...
how many famous Poles (Polaks...
do i look like something akin
to an anorexic waving a *******
flag?) there were...
i forgot Copernicus...
i forgot Marie Curie...
i forgot Chopin...
**** i forgot my own name
when i saw my first girlfriend's
sister walk down the stairs...
why would i do D.N.A. testing?
i just looked at what we eat...
and i mean we, truly,
it's called haggis in Scotland,
it's called black pudding
in England,
and it's also called
czarna kiszka (black intestines)
in Poland...
the Vikings founded Kiev
after all...
i like Nordic music, take a guess...
take a while...
my maternal surname is
Batuk... which is a Bohemian
variant of the Polak Batóg...
so a mix of Czech and...
Viking? the Goths...
if i had the time, and also the time
reference to reply to my first girlfriend's
father... while i was rudely
interrupted by the nymph that was
her sister... it's still a dream to me...
or what's called an arranged marriage
in India...
well... i would reply...
and how many Nobel literature
laureates... came from... England?
deathly silence...
you're right...
you're importing all this ******
post empire post colonial
perspectives and you have...
0 Nobel laureates in
the category of literature...
none!
zero! nil! oh!
yeah...
oh... really?
yes!
zilch... so zip-it-up, shrimpy.
i take certain words to heart...
sharpens my memory,
i'm not offended...
i just remember better...
you sometimes require certain
rubrics that are exclusive
and do not include
the rubrics of formal education...
this memory?
oh...
2003.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
Streetlights glow softly tonight, oh such a simple delight,
Fleeting through the blurred streets, how quick my heartbeats,
Footsteps in snow; paired with faces aglow,
Pitter-pat they go,
Down in Trafalgar Square
A Nordic pine so fine, a true one of a kind,
Upon which one could not scribe such beauty in mere rhyme,
And you'll know it's the right time
When ears hear tunes of glee, eyes see sights carefree,
For it is the season of joy and celebration,
Down in Trafalgar Square
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 9:03 PM UTC
I could cast my gaze toward anyone,
but connection comes in small moments of understanding:
When we direct our attention long enough to contemplate the colors,
To regard the size of the darkness we see the world from.
Sometimes we only catch a hit-and-run,
But when it sticks, when souls connect, and we see the other for who they really are,
It leaves me with something I can't forget,
My mind has yet to find a greater but just as simple communication in adoration of another creation.
There's something powerful in the one-on-one,
Undeterred by surrounding crowds or events in motion all around,
Eyes still meet and lock, no passing thing can break their talk.
With every burning second the mirrored sensation of optical reception resembles the sweet weariness of a Nordic midnight sun.
And then it breaks as thoughts swirl in passion heated from skylights.
The warmth runs through the whole body, just seconds filling every cold spot.
As the windows close no one knows, but those dark spots and colors burn in the silence.
I think you may understand, relate in some way, but in reality these words aren't for everyone.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 2:52 AM UTC
The simple life
It is cold;
sea spray paint the ship white,
light green
is the Nordic water,
a mighty cocktail
of clinking ice cubes.
I scratch a happy face
on the thick glass of
the porthole.
We will dock in a town
that have warm rooms
people sit around a fire
give a **** about sailor’s
miserable life.
Seascape paintings hangs
on gilded walls;
look at that sea,
so verdant,
delicate brush strokes;
the artist died at a mad house.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 5:51 AM UTC
feet travel only as far as the mind will lead them
each step full of spirit and strife
golden rays of sun illuminate me as i walk
the natural world is only seen by those who want to see it
the trees spoke words of encouragement
roots reminded me that i am a creature bound to mother earth
leaves showed me how we must make sacrifices for others to live
branches offer support and strength
eastern travels lead to immeasurable mountains
nordic nights of cold blue and purple
western landscapes painted with watercolors
sanguine sunsets in the south
my voyage is infinite
earthly attachments do not bound me anymore
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
The Clouded Sea
The sea lies flat setting just off shore a billowy cloud tenderly rests this sky voyager floats on the waves a misty guest
The two always complement each other one widely flows the other bestows willowy snow like scenes to enchant
The air stands between the swells and the moist over hanging shell set among azure blue once flight was the quest
The painter’s mind it does spark illuminations submerged in soulful wells truths transferred on canvas holds you in its spell
Who writes in the wind to the closest friends he sends these weighty thoughts stirred he will enclose them then disclose all
Yes the sea will tell of richness the boundless waves in their glorious spray will touch with magnificence this tribunal voice
Speaks every language has and knows the most dramatic utterances that blend with silence the soothing on the soul it falls
Text books widest roads it runs them all to their ends it investigates with tender’s breeze or with a squall it may favor a call
You sit among the cool frothing suds the sands grow no buds but oh what sights sea grasses grow amidst the dunes flume like
The gulls sail on the wind and delight with their aerial antics Pelicans fly in squadron formation seal and otter amuse and delight
The chill spreads inland, sweaters appear couples huddle close generating warmth cherished feelings rise ever as high as a kite
Smiles spread no Nordic blast can take away pleasure that is seated in oceanic sprawl the emotions deepen with the tide
The final pleasure you can’t ignore this chance to inter a cloud bank puffs of crystal standing two stories high float into the mist
Reach out swirl your hand in a circle make portholes turn slowly you are now engulfed in chiffon elegance a cumulus ball awaits
Step by step walk on moist softness feel the lightness as it springs then leaves delightful delicate prints only the unicorn will visit
The untraceable path through earthbound cloud at the sea shore for you it came to be just a puff of magic fluff for your embrace
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
The light from a Nordic sun
Casts soft shadows around your haloed skull
Blessed with the voice of God
Speaking through every crack you have let come loose
Your laughter ricochets off of glass screen
Thor's thunder in mortal form
LED back lights highlighting your face in joyful relief
I am in awe
Across many landscapes our revelry roams
Making bold statements through electric edges
Slinging axe and sword for sport
Yet you gentle at a warm touch
Curling possessively around those you love
A protector unknown but always on watch
Your rough hands glide over plastic satin buttons
ahhh... such sweet music they make
Lulling me into a lassitude of comfort
Of good humor
Of lust
We are like children in our recess
Bantering from one side to the other with gauntlets thrown
Pick it up!
Gladly...then up the bar and throw it back down
Will it always be like this?
"I don't know"
I plan on sticking around to find out
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
The Clouded Sea
The sea lies flat setting just off shore a billowy cloud tenderly rests this sky voyager floats on the waves a misty guest
The two always complement each other one widely flows the other bestows willowy snow like scenes to enchant
The air stands between the swells and the moist over hanging shell set among azure blue once flight was the quest
The painter’s mind it does spark illuminations submerged in soulful wells truths transferred on canvas holds you in its spell
Who writes in the wind to the closest friends he sends these weighty thoughts stirred he will enclose them then disclose all
Yes the sea will tell of richness the boundless waves in their glorious spray will touch with magnificence this tribunal voice
Speaks every language has and knows the most dramatic utterances that blend with silence the soothing on the soul it falls
Text books widest roads it runs them all to their ends it investigates with tender’s breeze or with a squall it may favor a call
You sit among the cool frothing suds the sands grow no buds but oh what sights sea grasses grow amidst the dunes flume like
The gulls sail on the wind and delight with their aerial antics Pelicans fly in squadron formation seal and otter amuse and delight
The chill spreads inland, sweaters appear couples huddle close generating warmth cherished feelings rise ever as high as a kite
Smiles spread no Nordic blast can take away pleasure that is seated in oceanic sprawl the emotions deepen with the tide
The final pleasure you can’t ignore this chance to inter a cloud bank puffs of crystal standing two stories high float into the mist
Reach out swirl your hand in a circle make portholes turn slowly you are now engulfed in chiffon elegance a cumulus ball awaits
Step by step walk on moist softness feel the lightness as it springs then leaves delightful delicate prints only the unicorn will visit
The untraceable path through earthbound cloud at the sea shore for you it came to be just a puff of magic fluff for your embrace
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 12:00 AM UTC
My breath dances a foxtrot
across her island flavored skin--
coconut and passionfruit
scents grapevine together, as our
joyful heartbeats intertwine
like a hummingbird's wings in air.
Her peppermint lips embrace
my nordic, hipster bear fuzz skin--
her feline eyes sing into
my soul, our flesh folds together
like a hungry flame devours
wood, we burn into crystal ash.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
with the U.S.A. it's oh so monochromatic.
why is it that when i
listen to Simon & Gafunkel
i think of Woody Allen?
well, anything goes
with under-representation,
apart from the Jews
and the English we're like that angry
integrated and assimilated
black women giving a near
**** salute although ******
like the Black Panthers
at a Nordic parade... Orange Coats
in Belfast, perhaps William minded,
or perhaps the Red Coats
were too deviating in propaganda
(need orange)...
while some **** gets told to suffer,
suffer, suffer... expect no
justice and propose no alternatives,
if it ain't private enterprise
don the ******* mask and say
you won the national derby on
a donkey rather than on an arab stallion
feeding it hallucinogenic carrot paradise
rather than the whip.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
When you make a garlic chicken
special guests are also essential
Cross sections and interior views
forged all manner of ancient
The name may evoke evening
Experiment with cucumber, watermelon
Do not imply the expression of any opinion
increase in normal and immunosuppressed
Make an irony-free living
but never in such proliferation
Prepare to be bowled over by porridge
or other library materials
covered with a blanket of clouds
The dead began to speak.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC