[Epic Poem] Part 7: Thor Fisticuffs

[Epic Poem] Part 6: The Magic of Earl Gray

Peter, fortified with a ham sandwich searches

Armed with a sturdy wooden stick Peter marches

No black knight shall keep Peter from his Lady Love
Lamb and sheep follow, they don’t really give a shove

About his heroic quest, but there’s a demon
Following in their footsteps, so they don’t leave him.

The demon closes in. Peter brandishes his stick,
Demon says, “Hey, chill out. Relax! Don’t be a Dick!”

Peter says with fury, “What have you done with Mary?”
Demon brandishes claws, and screams, “Hate Rate Trait Mate. Savvy?”
This demon is incoherent and scary. Peter must flee.

Just then, a dazzling light and three people appear
A woman, a bearded Nord and a leg clinger

“Fear not, brave Peter Peterson, ” the Nord proclaims
Ha ha! I was born to slay demons,” he acclaims,

“I shall smite him with Mjol…I mean… My bare fists”
He pounces on the demon, epic pugilist

His punch makes the demon creature disintegrate

(While the leg clinger fop does obfuscate)

“Thanks, I guess I did need some help,” mutters Peter
shame faced says, “and how do you know my name, kind Sir?”

Thor shrugs, “(no thanks necessary) Smiting HateRateTrait was just what I needed

A pick-me-up! And I knew your great great great grandfather

He and I shared many quests. He’s one mortal I heeded

You have his same noble nose, warts and all… As well as his rank odour.”

A dark winged mass emerges from the demon’s ashes, a black bird.
It speaks, “yeah, yeah, yeah… All very touching, you pieces of runny guanno,
But you idjits born of idjits could have gone easier on the punches you know?!!!”

Peter brandishes stick, as Thor raises fist. “Shapeshifter!”, they shout together.

[Epic Poem] Part 8: The Flipping Bird

[Epic Poem] Part 6: The Magic of Earl Gray

[Epic Poem] Part 5: The Reluctant Viscount

Thor channels magic and sighs, still sleepy and weak.
“Oh if only I hadn’t lost my Mjolnir.
Anna tut tuts and says, “you may not be at your peak
But I know just the thing. Please have a cuppa tea.”

Thor drinks the magical Earl Gray, and then goes (to) pee
“All better,” he smiles, “it’s time for portal magic.”
“No,” says James, but too late… They’re drowned in an aether sea
“Muffin brat boy,” Thor says, “stop being so tragic.”
He says to a squealing James attached to his knee

The magic has made Thor feel very lethargic
He’s transported them a thousand miles in space-time
A  Peter battling a demon now seems cathartic
Is Thor hallucinating, or in that tea too much lime?

[Epic Poem] Part 7: Thor Fisticuffs

[Epic Poem] Part 5: The Reluctant Viscount

[Epic Poem] Part 4: Thor Hungry!

The demigod’s face oozes concern as he turns
“Gentle Lady, fear not. I do mean you no harm.”
Anna smiles and nods though her visage still crimson
“Truly,” Thor says, proffering her his big strong arm

But then he pauses, closing his eyes. “An alarm
I can hear, a shrill screaming of the Universe
The fabric is sundered near Old McDonald’s farm
Come, you two, you have been chosen as heroes! Yes?”

“No,” James politely demurs, “I’ve got duties here.
Tenants, and family, stock futures, Gretna Green
You see? I cannot go anywhere with you, Sir!
I have a sizable stake in South Sea Trading.
“Quiet brat!” Thor says, as lightning wraps around him
“No!”
“Grilled rodent on a stick! Like it or not, we go!”

[Epic Poem] Part 6: The Magic of Earl Gray

[Poem] Sparta and Terra (Gaia)

Spartan squad is strolling strong through a verdant hill.

Cows and goats graze undisturbed by the hoplites’ treads.

Lacedaemononian commander: cold heart, steel will,

Raises a fist to call a halt… Something he dreads,

 

A sudden fear, darkening the rays of sunlight.

Landslide! Men and animals slide down the green hill

Panic! Commander appraises his foe to fight

Notices that the animals are now quite still.

 

Something wrong with the cow’s legs, he realises then

He sees a chance, a solution for this new plight

“Brothers, turn and kneel!” Obedience instant, good men!

Gaia appears, to acknowledge their obeisance

 

Apollo then arrives to intervene on their behalf

“Great mother, bows made in fear mean nothing

Empty gestures forgotten quickly, hollow staff

Made of burnt twigs. Empty of magic or healing.

Let them go and save their regal succession

Let them go and save their Queen Helen.”

 

The Spartan camp rings with paeans to Apollo until they reach Troy and Hades.

 

 

 

 

[Poem] Am I? (Guest Post from an Anonymous Tim)

Am I psychotic for having vivid waking dreams, or are you just blind?

Am I a joker for seeking meaning, where you see none?

Am I insipid for being content with my lot, or are you just greedy?

Am I a coward for being polite, or is your bravado just crudity?

Am I a fool for admitting to ignorance and looking for answers everywhere?

Am I a recluse for enjoying my own company, or do your masquerades hold meaning?

Am I a sinner for not going to confession, for meditating on my sins in isolation?

Am I lazy for not caring about singular purpose or success, moving wherever the wind takes me?

 

Am I doomed to eternal fire for ruminating on but not agreeing with your opinion?

I guess the answer will always be ‘yes’ and ‘no’.

 

Way past ‘redemption’, I know I am, but that word doesn’t mean the same to me as it does to you.

Salvation in a can is not for me, but for lucky you. My journey is different, a rudderless boat sailing on unknown currents.

You pray for Grace and receive it with gentle thanks or slap it away like morons, while I have it shoved down my throat and taken out again and again… like an unending vasectomy!

I feel like an automaton… a puppet… But a puppet who knows he’s a puppet. Individual free will, sure, but not in the grand scheme of things.

 

Come pierce me with Your arrows of duality.

Come torture me with blinkers.

Light/dark Light/dark Light/dark Light/dark Light/dark

They don’t understand, so they can’t help but think I’m mad!

But that’s okay… They’re not taking this journey, I am! So let them jeer. It don’t mean a thing cos they ain’t never heard no swing.

 

Perhaps this is all a meaningless delusion of grandeur…

Or perhaps not… Who knows…

In any case it creates new inspiration.

So say what you will… I really don’t care

Throw salt in my wounds, I can’t feel them anyway. You’ll never get close enough to rub it in, but…

If it makes you feel better, then go ahead…

If it ends in illumination then even better

Sow and reap what you will

Not my problem any more

I’ll just keep strumming my guitar

To the only tune I can hear.

 

 

(Anonymous Tim is a free spirit, bound by inter-dimensional Schrodinger manacles . Every once in a while he likes to proclaim this fact… VERY LOUDLY! Perhaps trying to annoy everyone on purpose. It’s hard to tell where his motives lie, or even if he has any at all. Anonymous Tim be quite mad!)

 

 

 

 

 

[Poem] Angel of the Battlefield, Antietam (Bloodiest day of the American Civil War)

Antietam/ Sharpsburg, where hallowed ground plaques abound

Sleepy old towns, living atop cemeteries

Let September Seventeenth, Eighteen Sixty Two resound!

Come Ferry down one of History’s estuaries

 

Union Johnny Raw waits near Dunker’s Church in fear

He knows old Stonewall and Robert E Lee are near

 

McClellan be a blind fool but he’s got ‘Lost Order’

And the boys at Harpers are buying them some lost time.

“Maryland, my Maryland,” he thinks he can hear (Confederates draw nearer).

In beat, the Potomac gently humming in rhyme

 

Over twenty thousand men dead, wounded or missing

After only a few hours of the clock ticking

 

Aftermath is devastation, yes… but also proclamation of emancipation

Non-intervention of other ‘great’ nations. A medical barrage:

The birth of the Angel of the Battlefield, the Red Cross and critical triage.

 

“I was lying on my back, supported on my elbows, watching the shells explode overhead and speculating as to how long I could hold up my finger before it would be shot off, for the very air seemed full of bullets, when the order to get up was given, I turned over quickly to look at Col. Kimball, who had given the order, thinking he had become suddenly insane.”

Lt. Matthew J. Graham, Company H, 9th New York Volunteers

 

“Comrades with wounds of all conceivable shapes were brought in and placed side by side as thick as they could lay, and the bloody work of amputation commenced.”

 

Union soldier George Allen

[Epic Poem] Part 4: Thor Hungry!

[Epic Poem] Part 3: A Medium and a Cravate

Thor sighs. He then sits on the table cross-legged

He lights a pipe, cursing a reluctant match stick

James  grows bold, ” wonder from what gutter  you were dredged?

You’re clearly not bon ton, your hair is much too slick

Thor or More, begone whoever you are, crude brute!

No hat,  no jacket, no shirt, not one how-de-do

Soar away, before my dueling pistol shoots truth

Vile interloper of a private session, you!“

Thor grins, “A duel with a pup? Sheesh kebab lunch.”

James grows red faced. He says,“I’ll drown you in the Thames!“

“Pepper roasted turkey with apple cider punch.”

“Vulgar gourmand! My saber shall cut off your gems.”

“Fried chicken with cinnamon buns? A snack or brunch?”

“Vile cannibal! Take your crude mouth away! away!

Your vulgar discourse is making the lady faint.“

[Epic Poem] Part 5: The Reluctant Viscount

[Poem] William the Bastard

William, son of Robert and Herleva

Born of illegitimate liason

Your ancestry stemmed from Scandanavia

A blemished heritage for la maison!

 

You wooed Mathilda with a riding whip

Flanders yours, you then cast off Henri’s yoke

You sailed to England in your Norman ship

While Jester told your knights many a joke

 

Edward the Confessor’s throne now vacant

Seize the throne. To arms! With haste to Hastings

Your troops are scared. Jester roars triumphant

Rides forth, juggling swords… first death devestating

 

You conquer England, the Marches a strain,

a witch’s curse your eternal bane

You build churches galore for penance, and die alone

the sight of the witch’s buttocks still gives you pain you can’t atone.

 

Language transforms.  Before — Pork: French, pig: English, beef: French, cow: English

Now — Cultural fusion through hegemony. Welcome to the new aristocracy!

 

 

[The last two lines bother me. I don’t have the words to properly convey what I want to say.]

 

[Epic Poem] Part 3: A Medium and a Cravate

[Epic Poem] Part 2: Epic Quest of Romance

Scene: A small room with mystical paraphernalia

Covering the wall. A woman sits at a table

Before a crystal ball. She’s decked out in regalia:

Multicolored shawl, turban tall, bejeweled and able:

Marvelous magical medium Madame Anna

Is ready this morning for her first ever reading.

Enter: James Hellington, Viscount of Whochester,

Cravate folded just right… She thinks he looks quite dashing!

“A powerful totem, I sense it in you,” she sings.

James looks pleased and nods his head, peering into crystal.

“Now we summon it,” her song is strong and it now brings

Extraordinary forces and winds mystical.

Then a burst of smoke and the sound of a shot pistol.

A man appears on the table, looking disgruntled

He yawns, then says, “I am Thor, why have you woken me?

Image: https://illustration.art.blog

[Epic Poem] Part 4: Thor Hungry!

[Epic Poem] Part 2: Epic Quest of Romance

[Epic Poem] Untitled, Part 1: Peter and Mary

Do women just disappear come adolescence?

Peter wonders, cast into a pit of despondence

No wonder Mama tells Georgie off for flirting

Anguished he stands, from the black magic of

his courting

Lancelot and Guinevere, Marian and Hood

No, something’s wrong here, something is misunderstood

An epic quest of chivalry, Peter sets out in search of Mary

The lamb bleats in disdain and follows.

 

Image: by Alex Markovich

 

[Epic Poem] Part 3: A Medium and a Cravate