Few can pronounce it
Unless Scandinavian.
The r's are all rolling,
And the letters all sound...
More or less not as
In English.
Just let it go, it's a 'twister,
I know.

My names are all old-norse,
Not modern Norwegian.
(Viking-speak sounded
More close to Icelandic).
Sverre means "spin like an arrow",
Expression for being untamed; un-
Controllable; wild-man.
G is for Guttorm: "Where Gods
Seek Shelter"; a fortress for those
One thought needed one least.
Holter means "edge of the woods";
The end of the forest (or where it
Begins).

The Wildman Where the
Gods Seek Shelter at the
Edge of the Woods.

My friends call me Sverre.
It is a name I've shared with
Swordbearing kings.
I am equally proud
When addressed.

ooh ooh ooh
   i've  got brain problems
over and over again
   i walk forward

and follow the self
   of the bear
and the dog
   going forward

many years i was
   where i am now
oh what a manifest destiny
   i dream of it all

do not worry
   no problem here
name me a loner
   a wildman

Across this Height from the Land of Swell Tea
The Second Great Angel offers her Palm
Waving, for Frustration to leave me be
And guide the Wildman to induce his Calm
No affront passed for Virtue to behave
When some cry the Vandal for no reason
He comes to charge; But out defends the Knave,
Jousting him off for another Good Season
In you the Friendly Pearl forms; And no doubt,
This lingering Fever affects most Girls
But like your Seven stood still on a Cloud,
Yet keeps the Spell for Good Passion to burn.
Lucky Dear Dame, such Title you will bear
Enjoy your Earnings; Your Man is now there.

Thus on my genesis Love's fought Regret
My Ardent Sire whose Merits installed
These English Gifts whom I have thanked just yet
Carried Misconstruction; And docked the Fine Toll
This that Penance be my Honest Attempt
Yet still besieged in case of Bad Timing
The Gold I carry an Issue I Contempt
Will try once more to Win his Best Blessing
My how the Fortunes some drive the Mind mad
And took my Heart back to a Wildman's State
This cannot continue; Much have I had
Sponge this Circled Self back to my Constraint.
The Human in me, the Cause of my Lone
And Sister's Reason I banged on the Phone.

i tried some chillie peppers i hadnt eaten them before
after a couple of seconds my throat was feeling raw
it was very hot it wasnt very nice
i went to fridge and got myself some ice
jumping up down to the this red hot dance
running like a wildman steaming up my pants
then my throat cooled down again like it was before
i didnt like the peppers wont try them anymore

I've got something inside me
To drive a princess blind
There's a wildman wizard
He's hiding in me
Illuminating my mind

Oh, I've got something inside me
But it's not what my life's about
'Cause I've been letting my outside
Tide me over
Till my time runs out

                    - Harry Chapin

TO ALL FALLEN BROTHERS

To all courageous lives ended with sword, cannon or bullets of lead.

To all Brothers… No longer our enemies instead…

For Power and Ambition even Friends will part.

To silent fallen Heroes always true to a loyal heart.

To Courage always ready to fight for what thought right.

To Brave Men convinced Honour is being Victorious,

Now certain bones on battlefields are never Glorious.

To Sons taught to hate by greedy, ambitious men.

To many a young Mate we shall never see again.

To gallant Officers who believed what was told,

Always willing to give, but hardly getting old...

Eloquence never asking: “Parlez vous…?”

Or merely educated: “How do you do?”

On battlefields God was indeed hard to find,

And we wondered; is He on your side or mine?

Perhaps never wanting to be near,

Seeing what we are really doing down here...

Again infinite bones in rotting uniforms everywhere,

Whilst no one hardly remembers or troubles to care...

What we believed in, how we spoke or who we were.



People even snubbing whether whatever left of you,

Is in the rags of a Redcoat, in dark green or French blue,

But needless to tell… still much of a man,

For yet your bones in a muddy field give what they can.

Whether an arm, a leg or a scull… all just grounded up,

To raise a much better crop… for Life will never stop.

Just dirt to dirt... Man again fertilizing Mother Earth.

All the same, said never to be found lying around…

Bloodied buttons and buckles secretly hidden in hay,

Are polished and sold by those in need on a rainy day.

Again virility of spring...

Is in autumn quite a nourishing thing,

For Life still goes around and around in ring…

Even dressed in proud red, white and blue… more than two…

Maps and Rulers changed in less than a hundred years,

Ludicrous is our Hate and our Fears.

Do let us in memory of Confucius agree,

For seasoned veterans of war and intellect are we thought to be,


Saluting in attention with infinitely more comprehension,

We Honour You Forever still certain Humanity might never understand,

Honor, Glory and Victory are in Brothers holding out a Loving hand.



Col. RCEF Sir William Francis Willoughby Lindesay   England

KG GCB KP KT



Col. RCEF Sir Robert Eowan Lochlan McGregor          Scotland

KG GCB KP KT



1st. Royal Life Guards  1807 - 1810

13Th. “Jolly Ruffians “Rifle Company On Foot 1810  Portugal, Spain

13Th. Mounted “Wildman“ Rifle Company 1811-1814 Spain

1st. Royal Life Guards

Royal Cavaliers-Elite Force   Secret Intelligence Service 1814



                          Willowbee Manor, Lindesay Hall, Yorkshire 1814





                                      CONFUCIUS 551 - 479 BC

                                                Golden Rule
                                     Basic Rights for Humanity

      Do not do to others what you do not wish to be done to yourself.



Copyright©2013 by Kari M. Knutsen

Storm clouds raged across the sky and the silver sea boiled in the wind.
The great green fin of La Isla de Tiburon cut the water,
Mysterious, so painfully close, yet dangerously distant.
Monsters swam the gap and past waist deep the ocean had a lethal tug.

All morning we (father, big brother, little sister, and me) hunted in the sand for clams and later boiled them in a sardine can.
Dad ran along the shoreline and into the waves wearing yellow trunks, hunting with a sharpened stick.
Dad, the Wildman —hairy and shirtless—ran for our entertainment into the surf and whooped when a skate flapped pitifully at the end of his spear.
My brother kicked a trio of *****, fishermen's gifts, kept them from scuttling back into sea, and leaped over them for fun.

Sardines on saltines tided us over as the main course—crab, clam and skate—cooked on burning drift wood.
We children watched in drooling anticipation as a claw, wreathed in flame rose in agonized supplication
then collapsed back into embers to cook.  Froth bubbled out alien mouths and black stalk eyes.
Roasted alive seems an awful fate, but, oh, how delicious the meat!

Later, by lantern light my sister read her book over the protests of a gathering wind that scratched at our tent all night.
The sand spat out the tent stakes, but the poles held firm and our weight held our shelter down.
Never before and never again
I live here in my dreams.

you. are a common thief.
if he was property
and not a man
you would go to jail.

I watch from above
you have quenched his fire.
He flickers like a dying candle.
He pours black pain
into bowl called despair.
You have crippled him with
your selfish abuse.
you have chained my wildman
to the kitchen table.

Give him back to me
let him heal in my glow.
Let me bathe his wounds
and let him come back.

How a ***** like you
can utter the word love.
and keep my wild beast
chained I do not know.

Bring him home
let me give him
back his feral spirit.
Let me give him his domain.
Even if after he is healed
I have to set him free
to run again
in the urban wilds.

In truth, I am a Wildman swinging an ax. Where was the tree when I was burying my weapon into the helpless?
Why am I still in a hush over the things I shouldn’t even be thinking about? Why do I call myself a poet and why is it that the kind of poems I do are about something that I’ve barely felt.
It’s Ironic, isn’t it?
My soul dries up as people soak each other in liquid love. My heart burns as people kiss around me. I don’t feel jealousy, just a longing.
A longing for that taste that I used to know.
A longing for the cuisine of love and all its benefits.
For even though I only had a taste of something I considered basic
I still hunger for what I had.
I still hunger for that flavor

i am not orbit
i am wildman

it's not that i have photogenic choice,
not that i'm exactly handsome -
but perhaps... i have a patience...
this is the second time cemil
took photos of me:
before and after...
       what a strange compliment...
unlike lucian freud
****...
                unruly hair on
the cranium and on the face...
       ah... barber... my artist...
     and the barber is just one tier
of artistry,
   and i think he found his muse...
   ****-eroticism...
   perhaps...
but i suppose he finds its comforting
that i don't really to keep
my eyes open while he ushers
in his brushstrokes with
a pair of scissors, a straight razor...
   and the clippers...
         1st time: before & after...
"luck"... 2nd time?
      he knows i was working on
a canvas...
   roughing myself up...
         so he could peacock his talents...
   no... what, with this drunk's
bloated face, riddled with subtle
dermatological issues of close-up acne...
**** the painters and the nudes...
i'm all for the patronage
of Turkish barbers...
    the 2nd time i became a barber's model...
did i ask for any money?
no... i was asking for the metaphor
akin to a bear's paw trapped in
a bear-trap snap bite...
    a sharp haircut and a trimmed beard...
i could understand the presence
of the Turks in Europe,
beside the kebab shops -
infesting these lands with the Ottoman
barbers...
      unless of course i walked into
a kebab shop,
   and they were mingling pickled
chillies with sauerkraut
         rather than raw red cabbage...
some might call it an "on purpose"
behavior, outlasting a decency of
        aesthetic attire of hair...
   but then...
      i was working on a canvas for him...
and he was just itchy fingers
ready to take a before & after photograph
of his work...
     cemil ustun... of the collier row
roundabout barber shop...
mind you...
                Poland already imports Turkish
drama for the retiree women...
     sure.... tele-novellas...
   but i sat with my grandmother and watched
a few episodes of
   cesur ve güzel,
            starring tuba büyüküstün...
   i always thought would be
         the only reliable buffer zone...
never mind the kebab shops...
       without Turkish barbers i'd be served
by some English queer with no sensibility
of practicality of a haircut
                       or a beard trim...
          well... i come back in half a year
looking like another wildman of Essex...
and i hope...
                 he'll be satisfied with the already
two modelling sessions
of the before & after...
    and who said...
that you had to sit ****,
   before an artists?
               just grow a canvas of hair...
    close your eyes...
  sit through 20 minutes that extends into
an hour's worth of the best ***...
    and then see the result...
     i came in with hair like rags
of a hobo... i came out with hair like
a monocle donning, tux wearing
    new yorker capitalist,
    with a Broadway date, 5 hours shy
from engaging with.

Sometimes it"s better
When we don't get to touch our dreams
Rainin' hard in Frisco
Wildman Wizard inside me

No sexuality in the Lord of the Rings
Gandalf the Grey turns White
12:22
I'm awake again in the night

Women as they really are
Cruel and selfish and pretty
Stockholm in the summer
Such a pretty city!

A wiser and a sadder man
53 and falling
Little Sage Ridge School
I hear London Calling

               Come out!

i tried some chilli peppers . hadnt eaten them before
after a couple of seconds my throat was feeling raw
it was very hot it wasnt very nice
i went to fridge and got myself some ice

jumping up down to the this red hot dance
running like a wildman steaming up my pants
then my throat cooled down again like it was before
i didnt like the peppers wont try them anymore