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Marcus Lane Jun 2010
Ambush
An azure curtain is ripped in two
With scornful arrogance

Needle-points glow
Weaving the rift with intricate wefts
Of red
Of white
And blue

Heady aviation fumes
Lift us swimming
Skyward

Imaginations looping the loop
© Marcus Lane 2010
Across the dimly lighted room
The violin drew wefts of sound,
Airily they wove and wound
And glimmered gold against the gloom.

I watched the music turn to light,
But at the pausing of the bow,
The web was broken and the glow
Was drowned within the wave of night.
Swallows' games
in the summer sky.
They ****
flutter
play
drawing wefts
with black and white colours
and with embroideries
the blue vault
seems to be painted.
My eyes follow
but chasing them
they get tired
until exhausted I close them
and in the darkness
the swallows
still fly about.

30.6.'13
The original poem ("Giochi di rondini") is in Italian.
There is no good translation for a poem.
I apologize for mine. Corrections are welcome.
As far as the sound of the poem is concerned,
please, read the original poem.
Joseph Norris Apr 2015
Quiet walks
Along the shore rocks
Waiting for a call
Just behind the seaweed wall

Turquoise shimmer
Dark shadows flicker
Candlelit meeting
For the one thing I've been needing

My legs become one
As I drift into the waters
Following one of Triton's daughters
Plummeting into the sea

But our time becomes limited
And back to the shore I drifted
Watching her slip away
Telling me come every other day

Looking out into the horizon's wefts
Begging God, "five minutes, please"
Love sunken with the memories
As she floats back into the oceans depths
Marcus Lane Mar 2011
Deep-rooted through time
This Norman arch,
Oak-like
Stands firm.

Over-arching
Buttresses and beams
Once wove wefts of
Warm reassurance.

Beneath oppressive clouds
Now a weary spire
Lifts a lone limp finger
Paying lip-service
To a memory.

Soiled latex
Sharp steel
Crushed aluminum
The offerings of straying pilgrims.

Illuminated lettering
The artful work of
New scribes:

God wos ere
lol


© Marcus Lane 2009
Lora Lee May 2016
We are
the creatures
of the night
no tears for us
as we soar
taking on
such glorious
         heights
up through
trees, up
through the
invisible threads
between stars
in silvery wefts
I will bring home
the nourishment
to my little ones
nestled in their
warm nesty twiggy
holes safe curled
in lairs
we are
the protectors
of the light
that starts
in darkness
and arcs
        like a flare
we ride alone
but when we give
we yield
completely in
full thrusts and
curlicues,
glow-in-the
dark patterns
as leaves
cascade and
comets fall
around
the shadows
then, in the
morning's first
sun peeking
I land and find
that peace
a kind of
proximity to
that love
I'm
  seeking



'
Inspiration enhanced by listening to:
No Tears by Tuxedo Moon (remix by .adult)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohdRZ280LUE
and Proximity: the Vile Electrodes
K Balachandran Nov 2017
languorous breeze,close to chest carries
a scent,an invitation on the waves of air,

the valley blooms lustily in response,
sends away fragrance with different notes.

the mix and blend to regale olfactory sense
of every visitor,as it pleases them,so much,

The medley of fragrance sends the breeze,
sweeping to an ecstatic height, never expected,

like a village weaver who loves warps and wefts
of many hues, he spins and weaves  fragrances,

to exhilarate all,near and far,any one who
deeply inhales the mix of fragrance,feels alive.
to the core,it's fuel to the wick, that enlightens the soul.
Haddie Brenner Jan 2018
I have new lines,
New strands of consciousness,
New threads of mind.
I have new lisles,
New warps across,
New wefts around.
I have new sanity,
Minus preoccupation,
Plus sense and sound.
Yusuf May 10
within my loom of ribs
the warps and wefts watch
as i insert bloodied strings
expecting them
to ask me
if im ok.

They don't.
Satsih Verma Aug 2018
In warps and wefts
I interlace a face in―
fine linen.

Are you frightened?
My thumb print goes awry.
You will not recognize me.

I bring the sameness
from inside out.
All night I suffered the elemental ache.

Like Dante you cannot
escape inferno. I don't need
any help, cannot climb out for lynx eyed.

The age inflicts, and
time bites. Still I witness through bleary eyes―
a moon rising.
April Jan 2018
Old man time, now white with age,
Who holds the warps
And wefts of fate

Weaves a cloth of stars and moons
With fingers tired
And worn
Yusuf May 10
They see it not.
Their eyes open to me,
yet their heart remains closed.

My mind a web of ideas,
my heart a compass.

Warps of mercy and construction,
wefts of brutality and destruction,
how to share this tapestry?

Words?
Wounds?
No methods appear.
Am I to be silent?
What to say?
From Saffron Walden wends the Panta,
Willow lined, its gentle flow.
On to Bocking wind the waters.
Green and lush the Willows grow.
Then to Coggeshall, Kelvedon, Witham,
Maldon; once past, then the Sea
Where ebb and flood dictate its passage.
Wading waters to Northey.
That island where the Norsemen be.
And from where they threaten Maldon;
Wealthy merchants, Royal mint.
Maldon, silver pence which sing
For Ethelred, the English king.

So, Byrhtnoth, Ealdorman of Essex,
Bid your wife Ælfflæd farewell.
Buckle sword and shoulder shield.
Have roused the warriors of your hearth;
Chosen men who will not yield.
Have sworn to honour Byrhtnoth’s name,
Byrhtnoth’s treasure, Byrhtnoth’s fame.

While you who watch sit back, take in your breath
As Byrhtnoth and his chosen men ride singing to their death.
Reflect, what is it that you see reflected here?
Terrors threatened? Terrors braved?
Maldon threatened? Maldon saved?
Or is there something more that we might glean?
Come, read on with me, and through my words
Might we together view the tragic, glorious scene.

———————-

Rise up you men of Essex,
Come forth with me this day.
There are Vikings to be fighting
And their ships are in the bay.
The harvest it must wait for now,
Take down your bow, and heft your spear. 
Your women, leave them with the plough
For we have foes and they draw near.

And Byrthnoth wants the fighting men
Of Langford, Haybridge, Woodham Walter,
Forming up and locking shields.
To launch their spears and not to falter.
 
And, as you form his chosen men
Will show you how to brace your shield
To make your ******: when high, when low,
To stamp, to push, thus as they yield
 You will not stumble, but will ****
Trygvason’s ravens. And by your cutting down,
Those not dead will turn to run.
And in the darkening water, there will drown.
 
—————
 
The Essex men they loosed their arrows,
Lancing, dancing to the sky,
To turn them, make them deathward plunging
On those Vikings standing by.
This whilst Aelfere, Wulfstan, Maccus;
Grim, named-men and skilled in war,
Placed by their Earl to block the causeway, 
Roared their boasts. Defying Thor.
 
And Olaf tore his beard and howled 
His hatred for the English there. 
‘You will not fight as man to man.
Shield to shield you do not dare.
 So, craven Saxon, if you won’t fight,
Dare by combat, take the field;
Give me Danegeld, compensation,
Ethelred’s silver to me yield.
Then I will take my boats away;
Slake my thirst elsewhere to fight
With men of metal, stalwart warriors
Unafraid of Viking might.’
 
—————
 
Byrthnoth called his men together.
‘Free your horses, give your hands.
We fight for Ethelred and for Essex.
Win or loose, here Byrhtnoth stands.’
Then strode he forth, both proud and grim. 
He raised his shield, he shook his spear. 
He cursed those men across the sea-tide,
Swearing words for them to hear.
‘We give you nothing arrant sea wolf.’
Loud words hurled across the water.
‘Come, with me fight and I will promise
Spears and swords and ****** slaughter.’
 
Eager then the sea-wolves wade.
Across the causeway now they go.
Pushing past those face-down floating
With the ebb-tide, to and thro.
While Byrhtnoth cheers the men of Essex.
Bids his thanes move to their place.
The warrior lord then roars defiance;
‘Come, with these Northmen let’s embrace.’
 
—————
 
The raiders now form by the River.
Carefully, neither crowd nor crush.
This so Woden’s skilful Warcraft
Wefts within their first spear rush.
While men of Essex, jeering, cheering,
Lock their shield-wall, stamp and go.
And those supporting launch spear-volleys;
Manic death theirs soon to know.
 
Now stands forth, bold, a Viking warrior.
Shield held fast and spear point raised;
To **** the Essex champion early,
Win much gold and be thus praised.
His ******, makes but a partial wound,
By Byrhtnoth’s shield is cast asunder. 
Opened thus, he cries to God,
His god of war, his god of thunder.
But Byrhtnoth, always battle-savage,
Laughs and roars his battle cry.
Has pierced the Viking’s neck and breast plate.
Holds him down to watch him die.
 
—————
 
And ravens wheel about the sky,
They croak delight at what they see.
And Essex farms, the fens, the fastness 
Wonder what their fate will be.
 
—————
Then, a spear strikes Byrhtnoth, hardly.
Wulfstans’ child - he pulls it out.
And makes a lunge at the attacker.
Our leader’s down, goes up the shout.
Then snarls another from the melee,
Viking warrior seeking plunder.
Broad sword drawn from ready sheath 
Byrhtnoth slashes, treads him under.
 
Bloodied, frothing, lips a snarl.
Blood-lust crazed, the Earl he stands.
Roars ‘Ethelred, my king, my king.’
Holds up his sword with both his hands.
And as the Essex men he urges
Surge with shield ‘gainst Viking shield,
The Past, the Present and what shall be;
Those Norns, decide who wins this field.
 And bitter in the battle rush,
The men of Essex, fighting there:
Intensive blood-rage, focused ******,
Glory, fame, for those who dare.
 
But Godric sees the blood run freely.
Sees his Earl begin to sway.
He and his brothers love not this battle.
Horses stealing, sneak away.
Offa’s sons, all sworn-men made.
And Godric rides the chieftain’s grey.
Those brothers swear away their honour;
Oath-breaking, for their lives they trade.
 
This, while pagan spear tears Byrhtnoth’s arm;
His sword, it falls from powerless hand.
The Earl, he shakes his grizzled head.
With loss of blood he cannot stand.
So, at the last the war-lord topples.
Crashing down he shakes the Earth.
His war band grimly gather round him.
Each man sworn, all men of worth:
Aesferf, Eadward, Erdric, Wulfmer,
Sworn as kinsmen, guard their chief.
Lock shields against the savage onslaught,
Bitter fighting, bitter grief.
Giving life, but giving dearly;
Keeping slathering wolves at bay.
Bound by oath, they stay with Byrhtnoth.
Even though they’ve lost the way.
 
For seeing Byrhtnoth’s grey nag leaving,
Thinking he, not Godric, rides there.
Leave the battle; Essex farmers;
War-worn, weary, in despair.
 
Berserk now, Eadward leaves his chieftain.
Refusing just to stand at bay.
His leap, it shatters Viking shield wall;
Vengeance, slaughter, take the day.
 Savage, shrewd, tall Wulfmer follows;
Axe blade, shield-rims pulling down.
Throat-wise thrusting,  spear-blade striking,
Blood-drenched Vikings, choking, drown.
 
—————
 
Olaf meanwhile quaffs his mead;
Standing tall midst all the dead.
He laughs then lifts his horn aloft,
‘A toast, and gold for Byrhtnoth’s head.’
At this his frenzied warriors roar.
Slaughter laughs out loud and long.
Proud men clashing shield to shield.
A mighty tale, a mighty song.
And round Byrthnoth’s trampled corpse;
Desperate fighting; good men fall.
Sworn by oath, fight to their end;
Less Godric - foul, dead be they all.
 
—————
 
But Essex farms escape the fire
They who died on Panta’s shore,
Those that Byrthnoth’s death inspired,
Gave their all, could give no more.
And Maldon never knew the sword;
And women welcome home or weep.
Those dead and quiet a mist conceals;
And Byrhtnoth in his grave can sleep.
Historians tend to the opinion that it was foolish to allow the Norsemen to cross the causeway. But I think Byrthnoth did so to enable maximum Viking casualties and thus, hopefully, sufficiently damaging, their sailing anywhere else. Why else did they not continue on to Maldon?

— The End —