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Ty Queen Jul 2015
Ragnar Lothbrok world became half shook, throw a hook, stole and took, solid gold, sacrifice for Oden sacrificing for all your homes, Bjorn, Ivar the Boneless coming like a storm, wakeup and absorb, praying to the gods, going to conquer lands, watch out for Floki he killed Athelstan
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
how soon... is... savannah brown,
to represent sylvia plath?
                                               too soon?
i say, too soon.
                  i have come across
my second fictional charioteers...
ragnar and athelstan...
   ivar the boneless and...
  bishop heahmund....
                      my "concerns"?
Αγνή Παρθένε...
              χασμουρητό:
   (χ) chi...
                   chasmonreto...
while i thought of?
the hungry only feed their
thought by usurping a freedom
from hunger!
                      how the first wave
of heathens learned to be humble...
while the second wave of heathens
aspired to be... noble...

   who, are, we, versed in
teutonic chants?
      de pacem domine?
            might i, site, a sing-along
to a kumbaya?
              replica?

             salvare mea dominus,
mea praesentia....
          quod iustificationem
   vestra autem praesentia et vestra
   salvus erit immoderata cuiusque
     luxuria subsequenda...

see... leftist intellectuals
always **** at the teet of islam,
in terms of the blinding lights
of "consciousness"...
but, what does, 'fathom', begin,
and end with?
                    
the antithesis of
a soul?
  the anti of a psyche?
well, there's
the yawn,
and only the yawn
to counter
the winds of breath.

          at each of these medieval
chants... i weep...
           i weep from a certain
presence of joy that cannot
find translation within the confines
of the modern world...
i cry, because i find the sort
of joy, that cannot be,
associated with the joys
of the modern world...

      to think... a pagan...
twice over...
         ragnar in athelstan...
the source of knowledge...
worth more than gold...
and ivar in bishop heahmund...
purity, truth...
          an antithesis of
pagan jeleousy...
  nobility...
            what man is not
allowed to cry,
in celebrating the slow...
snail like climbing
manifestation of
a conversion?

         if man is ever allowed
to cry...
       it's at this...
         that element of beauty
of a transvaluation of value...
   ragnar in athelstan: knowledge...
ivar in bishop heahmund:
                       value(s)...
to be of noble cause,
is to demand...
                           and what if...
sisyphus... didn't roll the stone
up a hill?!
  what if... he just let it sit...
and pretended the stone
to be a mirror...
  not so much a "mirror" adequate
for an image, reflected,
more.... a "mirror" of
his thinking?
  surely... thinking is born
from the existence of inanimate things...
rather than animation?
    thought surely has to
source itself in inanimate objects...
first... before moving into
the fog like argument of evolution
working from the ontological extensions
of apes...
              ex similitude rurus ut similitude
      (out of similarity, back into similarity)...
ad imitatio...
        (toward imitation)...
        et regressio
                     (and regression)...
          but... all the critique of byzantine
culture... once a convert to a byzantine hymn:
forever a convert... to a byzantine hymn.
even the ancients can't allow themselves
to convert the heart from allowing
the heart to absorb the conversion that has
a pristine fathomability of the mind:
in its state of being: thoughtless.

the conversion pilgrim:
from catholic,
                 to hebrew...
back, en route,
                 to Byzantine chants...
   was anyone ever, really,
worried out the metaphor: Byzantine,
to replace the word: bureaucracy?
i was more worried about
a conversion via sung psalms.
          and if it is music,
and i cry...
                   i treat that as
a worthy authenticity worth
investigating...
given... Ragnar valued the knowledge
of a monk...
while Ivar...
  the nobility of a christian
warrior bishop.

                    how may i ever repay
my slander...
       i will only repay that slander...
with my honesty...
i need not torture myself,
in fathoming the unfathomable
rites of repenting...
          i will cry, upon succumbing
to the sand psalm...
and if that is not enough...
then i will continue to renounce...
and slander...
   for what are the tears of the honest...
equal...
         to be equal made...
upon the lashing...
the "repenting"... the "pure"...
the liars?!
                   liars do not cry with
joy... liars cry...
to masquarade their hidden ambitions /
or whatever other hydra head
pops to mind...
                 guilt.
i cry... because beauty needs to be
celebrated... with the only worthy
and available alms... tears!
Hunter Mar 16
Shield Maiden Astrid - In the heart of the Viking age, amidst the rugged landscapes of Scandinavia, there lived a tribe known as the Fjord Fangs. They were a fierce people, renowned for their prowess in battle and their unwavering loyalty to their chieftain, Sigurd the Bold. But amongst them, there was one whose courage burned even brighter than the northern lights: Astrid, the shield maiden.

From a young age, Astrid had trained alongside the warriors of her tribe, honing her skills with sword and shield. She possessed a spirit as untamed as the roaring seas, and her determination was unmatched. Despite the expectations placed upon her to conform to traditional roles, Astrid yearned for something more - to prove herself on the battlefield alongside her fellow warriors.

When news reached the Fjord Fangs of an impending invasion by a rival tribe, led by the fearsome chieftain Ragnar the Ruthless, the warriors prepared for battle. But Sigurd hesitated to send Astrid into the fray, fearing for her safety. However, Astrid refused to be sidelined, insisting that she could fight alongside her comrades and defend her people with all her strength.

As the rival tribe descended upon their lands, Astrid stood shoulder to shoulder with her fellow warriors, her shield held high and her sword gleaming in the sunlight. With a ferocious battle cry, she charged into the fray, her courage inspiring those around her. Despite facing overwhelming odds, the Fjord Fangs fought with a tenacity born of desperation and the determination to protect their home.

In the midst of the chaos, Astrid distinguished herself with acts of unmatched bravery. She defended her comrades with unwavering resolve, her shield deflecting blow after blow, and her sword striking true against their foes. Her leadership on the battlefield rallied the warriors, turning the tide of battle in their favor.

In a climactic showdown, Astrid found herself face to face with Ragnar himself, the imposing chieftain towering over her. With a steely gaze and a fierce determination, she squared off against her adversary, refusing to back down. In a clash of steel and fury, Astrid fought with all her might, her every move a testament to her skill and courage.

In the end, it was Astrid who emerged victorious, her blade piercing Ragnar's defenses and striking him down. With their chieftain defeated, the rival tribe fled in disarray, their hopes of conquest dashed upon the rocks of Astrid's indomitable spirit.

From that day forth, Astrid was hailed as a hero among her people, her bravery and leadership earning her the respect of all who knew her. And as the fires of victory burned brightly in the night sky, the Fjord Fangs stood united once more, their tribe stronger than ever before under the fearless guidance of their shield maiden.
https://youtu.be/Xa8Hc00cYPs?si=QqfaASv8ZejzktYI
the other Umi Feb 2017
Brittle fulcrums

The year is 2020, and i’m beginning to believe i was born asleep and I'm still caught up in my slumber, or haven't quite had the day dream where your name is the answer to all my questions about the universe. I've seen much of the world. Its joys and its cruelty. I'm scared to live now, everything I touch breaks and every move I make turns into a catastrophe. I've asked for forgiveness from those I've wronged, but words are just words, they can never undo the damage. You're somewhere in the world living your life, and looking back to this moment I'm sure you would've never thought that miracles do come true. By all means, conquer the world, and when you're done you'll find me in the woods and tell me all about your travels while we sit around a bonfire. I'll be writing books and teaching my kids how to unlearn all these social ills. The pain that people carry in their eyes and the Colgate smile on their faces confuse me,  so I need to get away. I don't know why people always try to hide their sadness when in reality they fall apart as soon as the crowd clears the room. I've learned that love is beautiful, but also love is a muscle you need to build from inside. That while some relations never make it till the end, the love remains, and that while some relationships survive the test of the time, the love dies along the way, in the end all that's left is tolerance and duty. People love you you know, but you'll never know this if you don't love yourself first. Sometimes I feel like explaining how it is being in love is a lot like making the sound people make when they're explaining to the mechanic what's wrong with their car. We walk around with price tags on our heads, moving from one relation to the next looking to wear others down in order to fill the void in our hearts. I see a lot of messages about how "love lives here", but you'll be shocked to know how much love leaves here on a daily basis and we never get to know about the ugly parts because we never want people to know when our lives are falling apart. The lies we buy, hoping that the truth might come on sale. I know this is weird but I use my left hand to *******, because, someone in my teenage years told me that using the left hand makes it feel like someone else is doing it. My hands hurt, not from *******, no; but from the things I hold on to when I shouldn't, and things I let go when I should be clutching . My knuckles are bleeding. I've knocked on some doors for far too long, I even set up camp outside, like my fellow Africans outside home affairs in search of identity. Like my homeless friend Baldwin who made a home of the pavement outside the convenient store. One day we spoke about life and death and I realised how much knowledge can be attained where others see despair. My shoulders hurt, cos lately I feel like I've been carrying my people's ignorance for far too long. This Valentine's day I wanna wear a costume that looks like you when you still loved and valued yourself and show up on your door step.  I wanna tell you how I never used to take much notice of abandoned buildings until I became aware just how much I resemble one. The only apology I want from you is an explanation of why some women would want a bouquet of roses on valentine's day when they can have bottles of rosé instead. I think the only reason I love the history of Vikings besides the character of Ragnar Lothbrock is the fact that the men were equally bold when it comes to expressing and sharing their love openly and when it comes to taking a life; which oddly reminded me of my obsession with swing sets when I was just a young boy. My head aches, I think life has been knocking some sense into me and sometimes I'm not sure if it registers. And to the people who've ever pushed me away, I wonder if you used your left hand so it would feel like someone else did it. I know global warming is real but my life feels like it's been snowing forever. I am cold and fatigued. The kind of tired that cannot be fixed by sleep. Albeit I've survived much of winter's doldrums, my heart still rests on brittle falcrums.

W.M. Zimbiri
Poem inspired by Tom Leveille @avxlance
Saga Feb 2020
In the pit of snakes lay Ragnar
Son of Odhinn
The King of Kings
Father of Legends
Blue eyes look to the sky
Snakes bite into his flesh
Saxons Cheer
“Death to the Heathen!”
Hatred in their eyes
As the King smiles and dies
The war has just begun

— The End —