Of Theodore Marmaduke Book I

Canto I


A Prince once found       A pauper, poor.


Theodore Marmaduke,     Whom Wordsworth maligned,

Spent his life       Looking for the greatest lovesongs.

Find he did       When that dumb pauper Doctor wrote his poems

Who dumb for lack of degree      Was a doctor due to his discipline.

Theodore had aligned altogether       With a wicked foe, abrupt

And unabashed as Unferth      Who understood nothing.


The Pauper, named “Prince”      Though a titular prince

Came to the Bawth isles of Brittos     An American bold and brazen

Beheld the waves.     Wondered he did at the wheat

For never did he set Flesh       Upon the isle’s forgiving shore.

A town towered tall,       So the Pauper called Bromdun Kratz Nuewfer

Titular in title called       Broomhill Crown New, to talk

His odes. Theodore thought      This thug not a thoroughbred

Thus set out to steal,       By the knowledge of the storm

The Elf jewel,     Thus jeered forth the Ladies of the Sea—

By sending Bromdun to a bawdy      Breadth of time, bereaved of his

Happy present.     Pretending was to pour out prudent truth

That in principle, the odes      Were true, though flesh pretend.


The ladies each shared one eye       Shod together lewd, at the head

They possessed power over       The populous sea.

The sisters spoke         “Bromdun Nuewfer, we see strong

“Are you, and your loves       Toward your youthful yens.

“For, with the youthful yens      We wish you to use to

“To call to core memory        Your crude crimes.

“Call to core memory, crude,       We shall also call forth core

“Memories most unusual        Ones of Madoc and Marmaduke.”

Bromdun possessed       A prized arrow and bow.

So shot forth the shod       A flaming tarth shooting from the shaft

To slay one of the three.      Yet, a song misted, and the sea

Slung back, steering strong toward        The skywave.

Bromdun had not a shield       So shimmied up a tree.

The seas flung one        Hundred foot fraught

Washing Bromdun        With the waves

Bromdun stood, harshly stormed       Another wave from the west

Come from Ire’s Land,      Let loose, and levied naught

To tear Bromdun beneath the       Waves brazenly.


Sum’d the Chok, the Chok       Who confounded the verse.

The verse was confounded,      And Bromdun was toppled down

Through the ocean’s depth.      For Marmaduke was strong.

Bromdun survived the waves,       So strung his bow one last time.

Strung, and fired the steel shaft         Shodding the arrows sorrowful

At the standing, prostrate beasts.      A prophet was not Bromdun

But a Nethanim he was.       To tell himself the hero

Bromdun had caught Marmaduke        And Madoc. Bromdun murdered no one.

But, Marmaduke and Madoc had.        Thus, the murderous intent was made

To marr Bromdun     But Bromdun had severely beaten

The one eyed threewoman with arrow arrayed       To weaken the armored shebeast.

But the threebeast threw herself       Thrusting forth to break Bromdun.

For Omri,        O’ Thou Theodore Marmaduke

In a fit of rage,        When he raised lies rude to flit

And fraught the minds of         Marmaduke and Madoc.

Thus, Bromdun escaped        When Marmaduke established

That Bromdun was just insane.      But, Bromdun was but

A trickster, who twisted minds       Tricked, and transfixed

In a bed of belied blasts      To bludgeon false prophets

With what he thought false prophecies.       So Omri would forgo

And forget to fight       The forbearing foes.

For Bromdun was but a blighted soul        Given discourse with Dionysus

In his castle. For Dionysus should know       That Israel is free

Therefore, it would be cursed if        Bromdun carried forth in the statues of

Omri, Dionysus, Marmaduke.      For to win, must Bromdun sing—


Canto II


Alas, the forallies Harpy and Valkyrie     Near assayed and altogether destroyed

The earth, engaging      In the fire art, enraged at everything.

Both being the same brood      One of speckled wing, the other spotted

This their only feigned figure     Of difference, forlorn and now forgotten.

One race bore from the North,      The other race bore from the South

Which was spotted or speckled      Specious it was, so no one knows.


The elvish Cur Brutess bore     The wrath, to unleash the elvish brutes

Upon the earth.     Forty thousand etched their way;—

Women nude, with nipple shown     Through shadow light, cloths

Beautiful, to bear their ivory      And ebony skins.

Learned the craft of the Valkyrie      Learned the craft of the Harpy

Bromdun was in the bulks of Alban’s      Hordes. When Brutess’

Snipers shot their shod lit arrows      Felling sure men of Alban’s sortie.

Sixty-thousand, Alban’s men maneuvered     With their steel flashing

Greatly upon shocked earth.     The silver sheaths cutting the gorge

Of the beautiful Elvan curs    Their breasts flapped in weapons brist

Upon the shaved death.     Alban’s men fought sure and brave

Beating back the Elvan onslaught.      Yet, in the battle, Bromdun

Was beaten with a brash blow       Causing he to bruise his borne brain

And ease himself of every      Sin’s epistle. Thus, every man saw Bromdun’s evil.

Bromdun fell, disgraced, digressed,     Like Andrey he fell, dying, dredged.

He was held in the back beds      Where bruised, he was bedded

In captivity for the revelation     Of his capricious repents.

Sin was brought to memory,     Memory left him maimed.

He heard the Lancs Lowing      Landing themselves in the lewd traps.

Bromdun leered, and longed     To have fallen with the long train of troops.


He has yet to hear     Whether York had halted.

The Bearwolf sung his songs     But the smell of the strong ashes

Of Lordess Brutess’ battle    Lingered over the battlefield

Like the prison boy,     Starved and pot bellied because of pride.


The Harpies cried for war,      The Valkyries cried for war

Bromdun, who had       Lost his heart in battle

Cried for peace;   Ever crying, carelessly.

Longing for Lancaster to Lampoon    York’s lackluster lewdness.

For Omri had omnipresent rule      Over the elvish operatives.


Canto III


Blessed, bold, but berated,        Bromdun found himself by the bull’s pen

Where beauty beheld him wonted       He had loved the beauty, but bold

Was she, to shew away all great loves      For he was shown a Ziddonian

And she was an Israelite sure;       Thus, the two fell to showers of salt

Eating beneath the fig fruit       Which dropped forbearing upon the forts of love.

There forbidden fruit dropped     Forlorn, the two forgat that love was forbidden

As the green fruit upon the       Forbidden trees.

Delicious it was, to dote      In the nude upon the delicacies of love.

Yet, the families disapproved       Desperate to separate the young turtledoves.

They forbade the marriage       Of these two young mates.

The two, at the precipice of love’s clinch      Drew back, and did not beget, nor elope.

No priest would permit them to marry      “You are too young!” cried the priest

Cried the family, cried the friends.      The two were familiar as spousemates,

But for friend and family       The feat never took but for a farce.


She scorned him.     She scoured him.

Not because she hated him,     But because they hated him,

Who like a brother to her      But much deeper, with sibling rivalry

The two loved not with farce       But with zeal. Forswear to know

The forbidden love cost the two     Their couth, and sanity.

These could not even seal      Their bond with sex.

For on the threat of discovery,     The two were too daunted to be at ease.

At the appropriate age for love      Neither appeared, but rather abhorred the other.

Their hatred grew cold,      For love could not be clinched.

For the family’s futility,      Neither could fraternize, and therefore

Seal their loves.      Such might be the best that they left it alone.

For, unlike Hannai and Jeroboam      They could not seal under

The mandrakes, nor the fig tree blossoms.     They could not seal, berated

By friend and ally,      Both were made cold, forsworn,

They could not seal      Their sex, for they were not married.

Thus, the hatred never grew,      But instead healed him.

She hurt and pined     Yet could love him nonetheless.

For his Chivalry prevailed,     And they were not thrust into unsure desires

Which makes bitter hatred in hearts     More broken than prevented pollination.


For they did not      Imprison  the lieges

Nor torture them in their dungeons,      Nor disembowel them

Because of love prevented.     For dammed love is the most vitriol hatred

And lovers tasted of the wine     Of salts hate one another most cruel.

Veiled of love, the consorts,     Nor the curious slaves and vassals

Were hurt, nor the Christians,      Nor the commoners.

For if Hannai and Jeroboam are a lesson,      Forbidden love jeers the soul

Of its goodness,      And the only power to grow good again

Is to forgive     The fruitless feast of love.


For Theodore Marmaduke     Maligned the parents with spies

To tell the whole,    What the two young lovers behooved

And spread rumors false      About flower petals.

Thus, the parents hated him      But Theodore Marmaduke had made a horrible mistake.

By never tasting love’s alight      The two’s love could last

To platonic forms     Formidable, even to forgive the shame

Shown when Bromdun      Bereaved of all breast of heart

Could not be but a coward      And so converse with his comrade.

For she knew Bromdun’s shame     But hid it in her bosom, that he was not but show

But a good, unloved man.     For she taught him love unconditional;

For that her heart beat     For her breast, knowing that forbidden was that heartbeat.


Canto IV


Olden the Earth    Old and errlorn

Men built towns tall     Tours to triumphs.

A million times’     Gilgal’s mad flood-

-Fire fell upon      Forsaken earth.


Two pure prophets     Awoke to parch

The Godless rakes     Upon God’s earth.

At each flood-fire     Was epoch’s tide

To which Giants      Gnashed our good earth.

They lied lewd laws      Gross sciences

So came the called     Two prophets keen.

Their wives one flesh     Their woes one fight.


Bromdun was not     Born to be these.

But, Bromdun sung     For these two seers.

When Sheshack felled     Bromdun’s Hopeshore

Bromdun waivered     For a wife’s breast.

Bromdun was not     But pretendt he

So to give ease      To his friend Zeek.

For Sheshak was     Good, to wan Sheikhs.


Zeek and Jerome’s       Joyful tide zoomed.

Bromdun did wan       To be Cyrus

So pale and fraught     That he failed poor.


He feared, fraught, foes      Forbore him, weak

And feeble. Fie      He did, for feigns.

But to be used    By God he prayed

To be used great    In some good way.


Marmaduke was     The Mad Moabite

Who made Ashur    Fall upon all.

For Marmaduke,   Ephraim’s Might

Sent men by poor     Bromdun’s poor prayers

To pillage the      Place Bromdun loved.

To give creed to    His crass visions

And drive him mad      Though Sheshak did

Get wroth, for was     What Bromdun was

To do with life.      Weak, listless, lied

But Bromdun was      A sinner, bad

No less or more     Mad or lewd than

Andrew, Jude, or    Cyrus’ alms.


For all men sin,     Some greater. All

Men sin less in     Mind than in thought.


Canto V


Sat upon strong scents       The strong musk of loves

Carried forth to Bromdun’s crude     Perception. Beauty called.

Falling in strong desire for the Irishmaid       She fell not, but draught impudents

Of her loves were that of drunkenness.        He did desire her.

She did not know him,—      Rather he needed some loves

To long for.—Bereaved of       His beautiful lake where the cypress dwelt.

There, at the lake, a shebear foraged,      Made herself fat.

She ate her berries, bark and grass      Leaves, birch and sassafras.

But a carriage hurled by crass,      Out of control, the horses reigned not

And down the steep grade       Gone was the carriage that careened

To crush to the core       The shebear. The shebear was dead.


The one whom Bromdun now fell in lust      Blushed, maybe, by the brute dork

Of his dimwitted mind…     For Bromdon wished for death in those days.

But, the beauty of the Irish Countess      Causes his heart to cull.

For there was milk and mead enough for pasture         But miry was the murk,

The swamp too clammy a causeway     To cause her to be his creature

Of adoration. Too many avoidances.       She fell in love a lot, too fast for his allowance,

But he lost true love’s cast lot to the wagon       For in the wagon was a Fern-fielded lake.

The Shebear was killed       Where that foresty shire burnt to desert cold.


For one love a man gets aught     And all lost, the beauty of the laurel wreath

Was enough. Let him have her      Should she have him,—but she would not.

For no lovesong, not this hour.      The bitterness of this lovesong is sour.

So Bromdon awaited on God’s Gift     The gift of a second Beatrice.


For Theodore Marmaduke had set      To send the Ziddonian as a diversion

To cause Bromdun great pains to pursue      Her,—he paid the price of pride

And sanity. He pursued her, patiently,      Yet it would prove perfectly

Imprudent, for she did not know him.      She let him know not the lot was cast.

For the loss of this lover     Was lots cast. For she had never heard his lowing

Like a bull in the wood wont      With the loves of wonder.

She never heard. He, in his insanity        Wanted his lovesongs to reach her.

But they never did,      For Theodore Marmeduke

Knew that Bromdun fell into attraction     For the dame, but she did not know him.

For miracles of the sort do not surmise     Nor do they surface for Bromdun

Because Theodore Marmaduke      Thoroughly maimed his every move.

For she could not fall in love      But rather Theodore Marmaduke laughed

To try and cause Bromdun to believe     That he bereaved himself of the beautiful lake

Through abuse. But he did not.

He had lost a friend that day.


Canto VI


Bromdun, dubiously named      Prince Crown New of naught but Basque Burgs,

Was born chief, with cherub’s imagination     Able to envision all futures.

He, poor, probably as poor     As any pauper in his Princedom

Was caught in Kings’ mischief      Who to make him a Prince o’er Kings

Stole him away from house and home     To be hauled back to his home

By Spirit Engines.     He nare sought the enigmatic

Spooky Family of ghouls and goblin kings      Or the Good shepherd family.

He was harangued and held to Oath        From a Hochadel of the Bourbons

Not to forge in the elements      Of fire, for fear of failure.

Thus, Bromdun held to his oath     To the Bourbon Hochadel

But the Hapsburgs came in colors       Of the Jolly Roger to kill

Bromdun, by making him brute      And to take up the Bright Craft

Of the Fiery art of the Firesmith     To make engines enigmatic and fierce.


Bromdun knew not how the knots       Of the fire knells, nor the knowledge

Of how the fire art was forged.       Thus, an Oak towered above, fierce

To forge in the fiery arts.      But when he found the Earth flat

He thought, “This must be a dream!”     Though, this is how the earth was.

For his metallurgy maligned his skill      And forged madness into this manly Marquise.

The marquise who then became a Prince     Most adored by the masses.

The Bourbons brought the Marquise to     Make his most magnificent machines.

The Hapsburgs were fraught with ill ire.     Their iliums were illumined with rage.

For Bromdun was not a prince     But to use his Body, they pried to place

In him Harry Prince of Wales,    Who horrified, Bromdun prayed to Jehovah

To throw this Hapsburg to the winds     And therefore heal Bromdun of his heartache.


For Bromdun was purchased and        Spied by Potentate Theodore Marmaduke

To be made into the Brute beacon     Of the big world beneath the earth.

To bring the Baal into the World    From beneath the earth, in the World;

But Bromdun prayed to Jehovah      And Jehovah answered briefly

To bring Him all joy and all measure      Of kindness, and Bromdun would be healed.

Yet, Theodore Marmaduke, with      Madok Himself, he whom Marmaduke served

Sought to bereave Bromdun     Of his belief in God. For what purpose?

Bromdun has yet to find,     Yet fears it is just for fun’s sake.—

To fletch this favorable poem     Which the LORD Jehovah has found Bromdun

To feed himself.      Heal him LORD Jehovah.

For Bromdun sees the fierce      Winds of change are wearing

And sees dark forests fading to desert     The deserts flowering to forests from dearth.

“LORD, I need to eat.     Ease my suffering.”


The prince’s engines      Flew into the ebbs of space

To where they brought the boats      Filled with idolatry back

From Mars, and the worlds beneath,    To make the earth barren.

They flew with the sunsails      They fanned the coal of Asheroth to fly

With the earth waning,      Wan was the people when the forests

Burned, when the trees were bare      When the summer fruit did not flit.

It was for the Baal idols      Which sung the songs in their bright

Pitch, to tell the trees each     To wit, the Baals sung on that frequency too.

Thus, the trees began to fall.     The earth’s forests turned to desert.

For scripture sought to send      A beautiful secret truth to us.

That God is God, and we need      Give up the gods in our pockets.


Canto VII


Bromdun was a bad man.      A bad man, brutish, until broken

For his brutality in baffling youth.      A bull found him with no backbone.

That bull a bylaw,      Borne to belittle bestial men,

Belittled Bromdun for a sin     Bygone in his bashful youth.


The Bull allowed Theodore Marmaduke     To build an empire with brick

Hewn from fun and fantasy.     Fun and fantasy fueled the Bull

To break Bromdun,      To build more bulls

Meant to bring Bromdun to nothing.    Theodore Marmaduke came

As Medea to Bromdun at this time     To break Bromdun with malignity.

For fun and fantasy fueled      To fraught every man to ever be close to every woman.

Fraught was every man      Because fun and fantasy

Were the fuel.      Men and women could feign fun and fantasy

But because of fun and fantasy    Men and women could not forge faithful bonds.

For the fear of all men     Was the friendship of  women.

For the sin of men      Was so common, yet led men to flinch

When getting close to the      Good hearts of their women-kine.


Theodore Marmaduke,     A potion mistress,

She spun secret webs      To seclude Bromdun in sloth.

Soon, the other Bulls,      Daughters of the Bull

Began to lay siege      To Bromdun’s home country.

Medea—who will show       sure at the climax—

Was Theodore Marmaduke      Spun by a witch’s brew

To become a female force.    Forged lies, to foment fierce fear—

Begat Theodore Marmaduke     Woven Bulls to break

The United States which     Bromdun resided under.

The courts were cornered      To create in men cowardice

Against women who were      Won by summary fee;

For marriage was marred     Thus the women mourned

So Theodore Marmaduke,     In a woman’s skin,

Besieged the high courts     And sought to kill the prophets.


He sent his bulls to the four corners      Of the courtlands

Where civilization had its      Just secrets to cement

The woes of the wages    Of the Unjust whore-mongers.

Yet, Bromdun, like the Good Man     Was a Joseph, manly and good.

So that Theodore Marmaduke    Enamored by the mastery

Of his craft, went against Bromdun     To weave a spell so arcane and woeful

To spin him  a great waste      And name him a sinner worst.

Yet, Bromdun followed the bulls,      Like Jeremiah Babylon,

He did not fight.


The bulls brought brokenness to the kingdom     Bereft of bright futures.

All men were guilty of the gaff    Which Bromdun had galled.

So, as it were,      The waste brought all men’s faces wanness

As Theodore Marmaduke     Sought to bring assimilation

Of the Amazon’s Government      Where men, disavowed, were gored

To great disgust,      Broken by the warrior Giantess Amazons.


Theodore Marmaduke had     Spun hellish kingdoms

With the Bulls he bore     So that the kingdoms of States Betrothed

By the righteous betrothal of      Revolution brought righteous reign

To bear and happiness to men.    Yet, Theodore Marmaduke

Was hoary, and was named “Athena”     Wisest of the gods of America.

Yet, not a god was he.     He was a goad to make himself

All the kings at once caught      In a net most nefarious.

Bromdun, he even sought,      To seek that Bromdun was that king

So Marmaduke would loose his curse     Kill Bromdun, so therefore he would live.

Yet, Bromdun could bear,      That Theodore Marmaduke’s bull

Was breaking the country.     All men guilty, betrothed that country

Was beginning to seek divorce.     For if not Bromdun’s disgrace

’twas their own.

So Bromdun sat, idly spinning tales

For none would have his work.


Canto VIII


Sung a hymn of ecstasy,      With wars’ uncivil horror hung

In the foreground,      Forgotten Bromdun found

A fierce foe in Theodore Marmaduke.      Theodore Marmaduke who found

The silver strings of Ephraim’s      Sister, to succor the woe of Bromdun

To send to war and wan      All men for the wasted wonton

Forms of eve which they      Had all desired, every one.

Theodore Marmaduke enchanted      His sister to entice her to array

Battle against Bromdun for      A long forgiven bad.

Thus, sisterly love was lost      And longing like the love of Hannai

Was found, to forge a fate      So dire for Bromdun, that fasted

Him of his health and honor.      Bromdon cried often, heard not

By any man, woman or foe.     The silver strings on the sister

Of Ephraim ardently arrayed      Such wrath against Bromdun

That the nation was wont to war      For none knew Bromdun, whatsoever

But the nation was at a wonder      How a summary fee would wax

To a felony. Forged in flagrant      Hate, the fellows went to war with Bromdun

Yet, it was the silver strings      Which made them so steamed.


Thus, the battle for the basic      Rights of men for justice began

And women,—for wont was      A woman to do what Bromdun did.

The sin a sin all are guilty of      Bromdun sat idly, without simple work.

Yet, Theodore Marmaduke was     That wicked soul who possessed

The poor loves of Bromdon’s pasture    When youth was praised

And idyllic, where a sin singed it     So sacrilegious.

For Pekah Avram Ephraim     Was indeed that Theodore Marmaduke.

For the singe of Theodore Marmaduke     Sought great salvos of arms

Across the fields of Gettysburg,     Where armies arrayed fierce.

Bromdun could hear their horrors     Just outside his house, yet none knew.

The war was open for all to see     For it was a war of minds

To turn America into an Amazon’s     Kingdom, amounted that Theodore

Sought to do this, for some strange     Reason, though he was a strange woman

Who actually was a man.     Theodore Marmaduke was a man in woman’s cloak.


Yet, the battlefield was wont to winnow     The strange sounds of cannonades

Outside the windows of Bromdun’s      Sunny house. So warped was

Everyone around him.     Everyone knew nothing, for much blood avowed

That in this fictitious war fought,    Much blood was spilled, and so many songs

Were sung of the American Revolution.     Revolution, which Bromdun did not answer

But rather knew how a man held     To great high standards hurt

When a lie made him a Joseph.     Bromdun saw religion was really at stake just

Like the right for mercy, which made     A great error on the part of men

To fight, when in fact, men need     Only kneel to the LORD God, and forget

Their earthly woes. For Theodore Marmaduke      Sought to destroy us, and malign

Everyone who was a man struggling with sin      So as to make all men hide their sins.

“Men ought to have hidden their sins”      So said Theodore Marmaduke, high

Upon his liar’s chair. Lewd and longing,      Neighing for long standing bloodshed.


No, Bromdun did not know       For sure what nasty things were done.

Rather, he simply wrote his odes      Offered them not to Baal

But the LORD Jehovah, Jesus      Gift from God.

For incense would not be offered to Baal      And Bromdun wished the Assyrian would

Die from angelic sword, for this was Isaiah’s      Vision against the Assyrian.

For mercy is the main part of our faith.      Mercy,—and when decided we deserve more

And merit mercy on our own word,      We deserve the fate of malignant damnation.

Bromdun would say,      “Do not fight, sirs and gentlewomen.”

For, fighting is Bromdun’s worst fear.      Let the fight be forgotten

And in the laws, vote out the last      Remnant of this legalistic lasciviousness.

For laws encompass mercy;      They encompass justice.

For both are written in God’s laws.     Yet, know, that Ephraim’s sister

Was under the spell of      Pekah Avram Ephraim,

That Theodore Marmaduke.


For Theodore Marmaduke sought great woes     To wan the faces of all men.

Believing himself to be a woman     When in fact he was a man.

For, strange was he,     That he had the manly flesh

But forged a lie so sour     So as to reap the benefits of strife.

For, war profits Theodore Marmaduke     For if lost, he can alight

And therefore loose all men from dignity.     For a gamble can lose.

Very thing, war, is a gambit.      Be patient; vote without gambling.

For men know this to be a nuisance,     So knot nothing.

Leave nothing to chance     Of arms, nare they win or lose

For wrath can stir permanent—      So be sure of Isaiah’s vision.


Canto IX


There was a good woman     Who had herself a sire.

Yet, Jezebel Zarathustra,    That Jackal Bar-Jesus

By the word of Theodore Marmaduke,    Came and wooed her.

She was called Cousin to Theodore Marmaduke     By Elvish cur science.

Jezebel loved the seed of men’s sex     But the good woman was not so lewd.

But, the good woman was a gossip    And a gross gossiper at that

Whose sire was found fatal     Of the guilt of forlorn Bromdun.

The good woman, therefore,      Found herself thoroughly wanned

By this, that her sire       Was such like Bromdun’s sin.


So she sent the scent of slander to the four corners      Of the sanguine seas

To spread her slanders,     Through Jezebel’s gossip.

Her gossip therefore fueled      Gross agitations of the war

Which raged unbeknownst to Bromdun.     For, to protect her youth she reaped

Havoc upon Bromdun’s brow      Hurling great bravado to berate him.

She turned the faces of the unclean     Hardened under the unseen

Strings of ire, for tastdt loves,—unlike      Bromdun’s who understood his lover.

Slander and gossip spread     Of Bromdun in his neighboring sprawl

Where the small town tyrannized him,    But he took to it without knowledge.


The whole city turned suspicious of Bromdun’s     Bad past, a summary touted torrid.

It fueled the great war governing     The seas and the stars, gaudy and ghastly.

The unclean hearts were culled     For they all were certainly curt and cowards

That they were caught in conscience,    But could not but use Bromdun as a crutch.

All could hate Bromdun,     All had their sacrificial lamb to halt

Any suspicion of their own homely deeds.      Sacrificial was he,

But the good woman only did so     To protect her sire—such is gossip

That it does this evil gaff     For to be forgiven, she ought have been on the side of good.

The city hated one another,     Slandered one another, heard

Rumors about one another,     For rumors spread from one to another row

Of houses held to horror     So all were the good woman who

Jezebel had possessed     To pursue Bromdun.


Her sire loved Bromdun, perhaps.      Perhaps but in hypocrisy he did not.

Yet, if men look into their conscience,    They will find curt, there, the guilt

Of Bromdun’s. A summary offense.    Yet, fatal summary berated.

Bromdun will still say     It was not mistake

To make known his sin     So others may feel relief.

For, all have sinned     And such a thing as a serpent knows this

And will try to turn men to wolves     To warp their worldview to destroy

A man whose sin is just like their own.     For a lynching is like this.

Ever what a man were guilty of    They rage at this exposed sacrificial lamb.


Thus, the slanders of Jezebel spread    Just as they always do;

And Bromdun was hated    By his home and family.

He was bereaved of all hopes     And hope lost, he only meant to sing

Upon his lute. Not to harangue,    But to harp upon a state of juncture

That even just men have unjust things    Which jeer the conscience.

And a conscience is such a rare thing,     It ought not be chewed to sorrows.



Canto X


Theodore Marmaduke, who was death’s        Puppet, caused a Prince to pause

At his false female form.      The Prince foresaw that Marmaduke was fit

And had good, graceful character     To create a sense of gaudy gluttony.

This Prince was an Egyptian Imam       Who had great Emeritus in his kingdom.

Theodore had sinned,      With murderous slander

When he captivated the Imam.      The Prince “consoled” Marmaduke

And so therefore took him into        The towering kingdoms of golden steeples.

For, Theodore Marmaduke was under      Assault by a Great King, unaware

That the Imam’s palaces would pour      Down their golden palisades into clear, streams

When the Great King      Killed his kingdom’s crews.

Theodore Marmaduke had tried     To kill the Great King’s friend, Bromdun

So the Great King embarked on an emissary     To draw Marmaduke out of the castle.


The Great King sent word,      “Give me Theodore Marmaduke, and I will spare thise.”

But the Imam did not, but rather sent shafts     Shot down, skewering the front ranks.

The Great King, knowing this meant war,      Took siege engines of brass and knocked

Upon the golden palisades of the Imam’s walls.     Great fires poured from the dropped

Gates of the siege towers, turning    The golden palisades to rainbow torrents

Of clear, streaming golden waters.     Men on the palisades waked through the mortar

Their flesh melting from the streams     Of liquid gold molten, flowing to the streets

Where men, as it cooled     Could be seen, arms mixed in like straw.


The war of the American revolution      Retained its great and hearty revolt

But now Bromdun had an ally     Unknown to him, for all was going well.

The Imam heard word that his walls were      Wallowing in their golden streamed wakes

That his men, in the cooled gold      Were but fleshstraw in hardened gold mortar.

The Great King took the Capital of the city,      Looked for Marmaduke that crass

Cutthroat killer, but could find     Him not. Yet, armies held on the hills

For a reserve force hidden in the hills     Ran in with great rain of cavalries’ hooves

For the Imam’s glory. Horsemen glade      Over the hill country, and into river gullies.

The Great King withdrew his halberds     So forced his general to haul into enemy spears

On a small number of horsemen.     Horrified, the Great King made a retreat

For the rustic palaces were taken,     The women in the kingdom ravaged

But the Great King had wasted his     Force at the gates, when the hooves harrowed

Great and numerous foes’ foray      By the feet of burnished cavalry.

The Great King lost general and crew       So withdrew in great retreat, languishing.

He held in the barracks, broken       As Theodore Marmaduke escaped boldly.


For, Bromdun was not Beowulf,     But was good nonetheless. Brazen

He thought himself a prophet,     But proved to be only a man persuaded

By his love for peace and prosperity.     Every word Bromdun spoke was for peace

To prevent war, yet the Great King provoked     Conflict at Egypt’s walls, wasted

Were the forces spent, stark naked were they     When they strode off into the sticks.

Theodore Marmaduke was giddy with glee      When the Great King’s forces gave way

To the Numidian Calvary in great numbers      Gnawing away at the Phalanx of America.

For, if they had not engaged the general     Against the Phalanxes of Numidian enclave

The general’s horses would not have waned     In battle to flight, so therefore jut him

Off his steed. His steed broken and bloody.       Bruised, the forces fled golden palisades.


Canto XI


Bromdun was an evil man.     Evil was he, a man lost

To his desires, when welcome thoughts     Of his wonderful good daunted

On him. He killed a rabbit, raw        With a rifle in six shots.

He was blind by boredom      And so therefore beheld wantonness.

His eyes opened when elucidated       To his past, that he was endangered

Of hellfire, for even a summary offense       But offense it was, therefore rude and hellish.


He was falsely accused.      According the acquittal he thought he would acquiesce

He was rather made into a monster     For a crime all men and women have maligned

Their souls with. Soon he sought     Some comfort, but none would soothe him.

He was not beaten. He was not bruised.     Battered instead by boisterous hatred

He was given a lifetime sentence     For not telling a lie.

He testified before kings that      War should not be touted; to be timid to fight

In wars that could waste all flesh      To wan the flesh—for pallid faces wan

When they see their sin,     And the sure sentence against it.

Ought they blush, bold and rubicund     Rather than wan badly.

For wan faces are ones about to wane;     But rubicund faces are ones about to win.


For Bromdun might have done more,     He will not make the claim that he is innocent.

Rather, he does not know, what more,      The malignity made of his brow.

He loves his country and President,     Pride swells in him for patriotic shores.

Rather, a mistake he would regret       Is the Patriot way relegated to regiments

Sent to sands of distant satraps’ sovereignties.     For sorrow would inhabit all faces then.


Bromdun merely wishes to be won by grace.      For the battles are wishful mental

Eyes. He fears the Ravens in the Woods      Might ravage him, for Theodore Marmaduke

Had sent ravens to ravish Bromdun.      Theodore Marmaduke sought to sortie

Against the Great King, after his failure      Fought fraught, and fortuitous for

Theodore Marmaduke.

Theodore Marmaduke wished to imprison Bromdun

For making his name known      Pekah Avram Ephraim, the merry marauder

Who marred the kingdoms,       Who made the nations tremble with care

To not offend him, Great Liege Athena.     Yet, one greater worse than Marmaduke

Lie at the helm of the wars wasting      The faces to wan. That is Maddok’s woe

Who wishes to whip the kingdoms      Into hellfury, and therefore weltch

The world of its weapons     To bring all the living ones to woe.


Canto XII


Theodore Marmaduke, a Chamberlain    Chains of Judecca were sentence for his charge.

He was possessed by a perfect choirmaster,    Chosen by God to sing the strongest hymns.

The specter’s voice was perfect pitch     His notes were strong and savory.

His angelic instrument was his pipes     Which sung loud for the nations to hear.

He coveted the stories of Bromdun     To see is they could secure truth.

For no story was good to Marmaduke    Unless it could be made true.

So for fun he set the trap in motion      To make Bromdun’s stories true.

Yet, for metaphor they were,     But for meat of lucid metal, to touch

They were not lucid enough to touch     But rather were truths taught about covetousness

Or murder, or slander, or social ills     When strength would stir and tyrants would still

The populace. For Theodore Marmaduke      Sought to overthrow the Great King,

So with him Bromdun Kratz Nuewfer,     A titular prince with no crown, except one new.

The New Crown one given by Christ     For the worldly sorrows were corundum

To be cracked by the Diamond edge     Of grace’s devoted diadems.


Theodore Marmaduke loved the stories    Of Bromdun’s illustrious bow.

He was brilliant to make stories come to pass      Bright and marveled on the lookingglass.

Theodore Marmaduke could, in fact,      Find words to fill his lute’s forms,

To sing and write, for Theodore Marmaduke      Was wisest of the false gods.

Find not he did his sister’s sex     Nor found he and married her.

Rather, he was the hoary humph      Of a forgotten, ne’er to be hero.

He was not Chief among the saints,      Silly salvo, nor was he perfect in all chosen

Arts of man, to call wise and welcome     By the muses. For he worshiped the muses.

He did, in fact, play with his puppets      And made all men a part of his plans.

He promised Bromdun to prosper nothing     He rather promulgated through witchiness

A woeful regret. To cause Bromdun to speak,     Though it was not Bromdun who spoke.

For Theodore Marmaduke was a cur     Caught in his own web of callousness.


Bromdun thought it was to think otherwise    Yet, Theodore Marmaduke was thoroughly

Invested in idealizing and bearing to fruit    Bromdun’s inventions and ideas.

For secretly was Marmaduke captured by them,    Even the ones so called kitch.

Distant memories has Bromdun of these conversations     He knows not what caused

The false memories to appear,      If not the maligned marring of his masterwork

Did Marmaduke make war upon Bromdun’s     Strong stories, to mortify him

For Bromdun was weak,      So therefore made rubicund one day, and therefore wise.


The Great King found war on his shores     So therefore shod away from Bromdun.

Therefore, in this next book to begin,    Bromdun will bring to bear the battle

That Bromdun must wage with Theodore Marmaduke    And so stop the warsongs

Of his kingdom’s callous cares.    For war is what Bromdun sought to conquer

And not kingdoms.      His only wish was to conquer war.


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