Starring
King Ferguson Kanute Newpeace Mac Mogchon, of Tyre
Childe Prince Stephen David Eric Adam Alexander Grave, of Tyre
Queen Maeve Matilda Medea Jezebel Ziddon
And
Daniel, Gideon, Elijah, Brandon Krantz Neifert the Olive
Jorgia Erin Amaris Mary Deborah The Fig
And the Kings
Of Grecia and Persia
and
Counselor Xochipilli
1. Daniel and the Druid
Neifert, B. K.. The Complete Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp. 294- 296. Print.
Daniel saw in his mind’s eye
A dynastic squabble to boot.
This prophet, mad at their great lies,
Did sit and pray and stoop.
In his vision, he had espied
This story here so strange.
It was the story of the Druid and Fergus
And the Prince of Tyre’s rage.
There was a man named Ferguson
Who had himself a rose.
The rose he plucked, so sure and sweet;
His she’d be, he supposed.
The rose betrothed to a Prince,
A famous one at that,
He through the valleys and meadows gleed
To look upon field rats.
So, the Prince for anger stormed
As he found out Fergus plucked the rose.
Thus he called upon Medea’s craft
To cast ‘n Fergus spells unknown.
For Fergus was a stupid man
Who found the red haired wo;
He plucked her cherry, and ate from the vine
Without marriage here to grow.
Yet, the Prince had loved her so
For no real truth but vain.
So to the rose whom Ferguson plucked—
A heath in the valley unnamed—
For her beauty, not much else,
That heath, the Prince wished to make untamed.
So, the rose, sat sad and sullen,
Had given all to Ferguson’s shame…
She for all days was called a Whore
And thus was given all the blame.
Yet, Fergus had the worst of it
For the Rose and he did alight…
Neither were the better soul
They just did not make a husband and wife.
The witch cast around Fergus
Dreams so choice;
Yet the dreams were the Prince’s Dreams;
And The Prince’s Daniel’s voice
You see, those the Prince had dreamed.
For the Prince called prophet
Was not so right,
Until Daniel’s dreams were stoled
For the Witch gave the Prince Daniel’s dreams
And Daniel had Ferguson’s, Oh no!
Such was the confusion made.
For, the Prince coveted the beauty of the rose
So great and greatly dim…
Thus he went to Medea—that foul Druid
And caused her to sap Ferguson’s brim
From the cup, she sipped so bitter
Yet Ferguson was her own son.
This she did not know, for another
She thought Ferguson was that one.
So, she by cruelty set
Out to destroy her own, not only, son.
And destroy she did
And the Prince was wise
To what Ferguson, the Druid had done;
The witch had maddened her own—not only—son.
Thus Daniel closed his eyes to pray
To wonder at the song.
The dreams he dreamed
Were not his
So he laid down with peace strong.
He realized his prophecy
Had been so unfaithful late…
It was because the Prince of Tyre
Had his wisdom to masticate.
For is it not said,
In Ezekiel Twenty-Eight
That all of this Prince’s wisdom
Is let through the prophet Daniel’s gate?
2. The Bane of Cuchulain
Neifert, B. K.. WordPress.Com, 2024. Web.
I.
It was a dark day of Cuchulain's bane
When he met Ferguson in the open
Heaths. The proud warrior took to blows as he
And Mauve aired out onto the misty fields.
The trains of Mauve's lavish thunders, of horse
Camel, Clydesdale, and Ass laden with gold
The proud queen thundered her voice over the
Ramparts, and Earthen works Cuchulain stood---
Given test like Gawain, in Arthur's nigh courts
Anon---a proven warrior of the Pagan
Creed, Mauve bellowed in the air, over cwm
And cromlich, with the brats in her hordes all
Ready to do her bestial bidding.
II.
Ferguson, her stalwart mate stood with breast
Exposed and pectoral small, the lanky
Warrior stood unashamed. The two heathens
Stood, one good, one bad, Cuchulain and then
Ferguson. The troop in heraldry stood
In loose formation over the hillocks
Brandishing oaken shield and ash cleaver;
Glistening iron smithed in finest forge.
Ferguson called forth the great champion
Cuchulain, mighty was his chest in fat
And well fed his feasted body, arms loose
But deadly strong, though unformed in his sleeve.
III.
They fought.
IV.
Down fell Cuchulain's sword upon the shield
Of Ferguson, and swift cut Ferguson's
Ax, brush the hide vestment of his skinned wolves.
In pushed the shield of Cuchulain, fierce, fell
Ferguson to the dirt; up went the blade
Of Ferguson's knife, to hoist in the loin
Of Cuchulain, but down fell Cuchulain's
Sword, cleaving Ferguson's scalp through helmet.
Ferguson fell, and Mauve retreated back
Without her Ferguson that day, to the place
Where she was before but, 'twas no mortal
Victory, for Ferguson lay injured
V.
But not dead.
3.Another Chapter in the Story of Ferguson
Neifert, B. K.. The Complete Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp. 327. Text.
Oh Queen Maeve in great dearth of joys, deep hatred I had not---
'twas Ferguson who spoke so vile, but your bad name must now rot.
For I have this unwholesome dream, his murders which greatly spun
Of what you did, what you said, flights; his firings of the gun.
I sit in wonder at the great deeds, poor and in rags my pants;
Sinner I was, and sinner I be, forget a thousand rants
Said in private,---were not for men to see; nor was it a felony
That stirred the nations stalwart from sea to every bloody sea.
My verse had changed, your heart's not true, your judgments, they all were wrong.
Nothing but tender love I had for you; your betrayal had sorely stung.
These dreams are torment---nails in my arms, the pain of your dart-gun.
These are not my dreams, but I have to say, they are that Ferguson's.
For I am small, known not by you, my long friend and ally lost;
For I never had thought you'd harm me; but friendship was paid the cost.
Rather, someone else I see, in vision who wears rebel cloth---
It is Ferguson, he who is to be, that man eternally lost.
4. The Two Trees Meet
Neifert, B. K.. Bread of Harvest: Opal Steeples, ©2022. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 184 - 185. Text.
“I love you,”
Said the Olive Tree
To the Fig Tree.
The Olive pined
And said, “O, our Brother
“Was nailed to me!”
The Fig replied,
“Oh, my darling,
“My beauteous friend,
“God cursed me,
“When leaving the city
“I was dead.”
The Olive spoke,
“My fruit is savory,
“And yours are sweet;
“Embrace me,
“With our bark spliced,
“Let us bring forth
“Something new!”
The Fig Spake,
“Yes, our curséd fruit
“Could bear something
“New; yet, it is
“Unlawful!”
The Olive lamented,
“Yes! For you are
“A Fig tree, cursed,
“And I an Olive,
“For we are from
“Two different bloodlines!”
The Fig Entwined with
The Olive; they created
A fruit of life!
5. Ferguson's Giant Soul
Neifert, B. K.. Bread of Harvest: Opal Steeples, ©2022. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 187 - 188. Text.
Ferguson, Mac Moghcun,
There was Queen Maev!
Who you rose upon your
Armies, Red King, and
Spent your arms
Destroying her, who
Fought valiantly.
With your bag of dreams,
You took my poesy,
Raped my beloved,
Love-talker.
Curséd Fig, you spin
Having heaved your
Sighs for one hour; in dreams
Maev and Ferguson
Are at war
Shaking the worlds;
I, I await you
here; while the
Titans clash and
Rend the times.
We shall cling:
Brush off your
Spider's webs!
I wish to seed you
In the soil, anew!
6. Zion's Soil
Neifert, B. K.. Bread of Harvest: Opal Steeples, ©2022. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 189 - 190. Text.
Beloved, I have seen
Captivity! I have worn chains.
I have sinned.
The King's hair is raven-
Black.
he is comely and beautiful,
Dark eyed,
Yet your desire is for me.
he, the beauty of an Archangel,
he, at war with Maev---
The heavens shake
As angels war with giants.
The wiseman questions:
My chains are those
Which shackle the Earth.
You have sighed underneath
Him, in the weaving
Of dreams.
My seed is good.
It awaits fertile soil.
Unbound the cursed
And unlock my chains
With your skin.
7. Confession
Neifert, B. K.. Bread of Harvest: Opal Steeples, ©2022. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 191. Text.
Queen Maev, if I were Ferguson
With my bag of dreams
I would throw myself into
The sea;---and like Prometheus
Said to the Southern King,
I should drown myself.
Yet, with my Giant Soul
Enlarged, when Solomon
Said to Death, that he
Would give him a device,
That night I prayed
On the way to my corridors.
“Let me not have
“Taken the cup of wrath,
“But let me prophesy
“him, and like Jacob
“Steal the father's blessing!”
So I dreamt.
8. Filmer
Neifert, B. K.. Bread of Harvest: Freedom Steak, ©2023. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 435 - 437. Text.
The riches of the world cease
Save for the kings who rule it.
Adam, eternally recurring,
His divine heritage as King,
Ruler over all flesh...
He drinks the draught
Of rainbow liquor,
And merries his meed
Into the womb of his wife.
Yet, for the world around him,
Their sustenance goes to his belly:
Their wagons, their cotton and wool,
Their games, their arts, their labors
And all their luxurious leisure.
He smacks his lips, and upon them are spices
Numerous: Fenugreek, cinnamon,
Turmeric, Ginger, Onion, Chili,
Clove Garlic and pickled Ginger, fried in Cottonseed Oil,
Mint, Cilantro, whisked together with cream.
The tinge of clam broth,
The decadence of scallop and crabmeat,
A pound of Roasted Beef, salted and cooked
To its decadent perfection,
Suckling pork dusted with sugar and salt,
Lamb liver fried in mint, cinnamon and cumin.
He plucks his grape from the bowl,
His strawberry, his banana and apple,
His pomegranate, mango and melon---
While he eats, and takes, and consumes,
The people around him wane into poverty.
For, his magisterial justice cares only
To feed himself--- his Judges allow him
The sustenance of virginal flowers.
His law his his own belly.
He picks up his wine, cherry and deep,
And drinks, tasting the oak upon his food;
The sweet grape accenting his yams and potatoes
Delicately pureed with butter, salt, and cream;
And his expertly crafted steak shall hint of grape berry.
The men and women around him starve, though.
Their work feeds him--- and he exacts all their taxes.
He does not care, for he wishes it to be so.
So he can incur God's wrath,
And see if the sun truly will darken.
To see if the stars truly do fall.
To see if the moon truly will turn to blood.
9. Xochipilli
Neifert, B. K.. Bread of Harvest: Freedom Steak ©2023. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 431 - 433. Text.
You are a coruscated crown;
The citizens do flock to the same stalls...
In 1933 the poet sings a song to thee.
Patron of the arts, patron of the flower,
Patron of the games; god of Sodom...
What can we do for thee?
How can we break free from thy tyranny?
You control the world, from Taining lands;
You are a clown ruling a half the world.
How does the poet know?
Does he wear time on his wrists?
I, the Urn, he sings of me,
Banished and in purgatory.
I sit, listlessly, listening to obdurate church bells...
They have no faith, but worship the Anglican and Catholic God
Xochipilli ;
Am I an artefact? No.
For a short breath of time, this Anarchy reigns,
While David allies with the Angevins.
And anarchy reigns across the land,
While Xochipilli fiddles to the burning heaps
Of his cities--- for he does not know.
Who am I? I am the Urn with Ashes and Homilies.
Childe Harold is on his pilgrimage;
Oh, how he goes, with his fair haired bride.
Purgatory shall turn to paradise
One day...
And I... I shall go where?
When Sodomite has been made Writ
And man's sinful nature has corrupted even the lambs?
Where shall I go?
This world was not made for me.
So, I rest at peace.
10. Evolution of Thought 4/13/23
B. K. Neifert. Artemis xx. "Evolution of Thought 4/13/23." Kindle Direct Publishing. pp. 100-101. Text.
AI, is it smart? No... the mathematician proves it.
Cubed Rooted Negatives are impossible.
But Quartic and Eighthic rooted negatives are not.
The fool says AI can be intelligent, because he believes
It already is---though, it is merely mimicry.
Not creativity. It repeats the formulae of essays
Upon essays, and only knows how to simplify them;
It doesn't understand nuance.
P cannot equal NP all the time---
Some NP cannot equal P---yet, it is not in my poem.
Someone is editing my work, without my knowledge.
I swear an oath, but it is not so. It is only my faulty memory.
I said, "Not Always" but not "Some".
Jordan Peterson wants to create a better world with Religion's Law,
But such a world would be unmerciful,
Save God reign, and judge, and preside over our hearts and minds.
Law without Grace is Hell.
I walk through the State Park,
The tree with an ear has a microphone,
So I believe, and the Bathroom too,
And the tree that looks like a boob.
It opens up to an underground base,
And in the lake, when drained,
They prepared for World War III,
And the rockets would ascend out of the waters.
I would wave my hand, and with faith it would all vanish,
And I would be left unmolested.
The Carpenter ant, so
Giously walks across my path
Bold, and happy, with the little samara shivering in her mandible.
I wonder if God's eyes are not on such little things.
The plane with the red tailfin flies by, ever so silently,
So I wonder if it is a chariot from Jotunheim,
And the funny camera by the roadside reads my thoughts.
The preacher preaches a sermon on the most horrific child abuse;
She screams, "Where was God when my uncle had done so!"
Where was God when my best friends abandoned me
And showed no inkling of mercy toward my youthful offense?
Or when my peers bullied me? Or when my mother divorced my dad?
Or when all the mean and nasty things were said?
Yet not one hair on my head was ever harmed---
Where was God when my dad received cancer
From the shame and disappointment of his beloved son?
Yet God's providence has always protected me.
I know not why, but possibly because He knows I will never lose my faith.
A semi-circle also can become like a chord in Intersecting Chords Theorem.
Ah, Oh Grecia and Persia, you fight your twenty-five hundred year long war;
Still raging even to this day, and may be a cataclysmic end,
Northern and Southern Kingdoms; how Israel tossels between them.
For a very short time, did Rome Suzerain over Persia; possess the world.
Zoroastrianism morphed into Islam, yet the Northern and Southern
Kings control the world, like a Yin and Yang ensign;
Though do not be fooled, neither are good, both are evil.
11. The Olive, The Fig, The Vine and the Bramble
B. K. Neifert. Artemis xx. "The Olive the Fig and the Vine." Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 40. Text.
Brother and Sister of the True vine,
That Olive and Fig---
The Olive with his fatness,
The Fig with her sweetness;
Gideon and Deborah,
Elijah and Mary Magdalene;
What distinguishes thou?
When offered a crown, ye cast it;
Ye forsake the world, and worldly authority.
Oh, the Vine, when pierced---
You True Vine, you who merry the hearts of God and Man,
You too had been lifted up,
And would not take Your Kingdom with the Twelve Legions of Angels;
Not before you were lifted up.
Yet, the Bramble with his Shadow
Says, "Give me authority,
"And I shall guide ye well!"
And he is a fire which burns like hell's black flame.
12. Metaphors of Current Affaires
B. K. Neifert. Artemis xx. "Metaphors of Current Affaires." Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 91. Text.
I am a bard, witnessing the feud of great empires.
Let me tell of the political strife happening now.
There is Queen Maeve and David, allied together to bring
The Anarchy to the shores of the Greater Northern Realm.
There is Stephen, whom no one loves, bringing tyranny here
By challenging the ancient bounds of free speech, by storming
Through like the Bull in a China Closet: he destroys much.
There are the Northern and Southern Kings, storming each other's
Lands, taking cities, and warring their ancient rivalry;
The Domains of Grecia and Persia are at their long
Millennias' war, ruling worlds like a taijitu .
And here is this bard, trying to win back his realm's freedom.
13. The Northern and Southern Kings
B. K. Neifert. Artemis xx. "The Northern and Southern Kings. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 92 - 98. Text.
I.King of Grecia
Grecia, your world is built through riches'
Prosperity, and your covetous kings
Say, "Let only the merchant who lives
"Be with ninety billion drachma."
You seethe with hatred toward Israel
For it is a prosperous little land.
There it is, with cream and sugar
Oil and spice, meat and fruit.
And you say, "Look how fat this people is;
"They are worth nothing,
"For they consume my sustenance."
So said the King of Grecia
Even covetous of his subjects' fine instruments.
"Do not play, do not play! By royal decree!"
Thus, the musician is regulated to go to her designated
Place, to sing her heart's songs.
Beautiful she is, but the King of Grecia
Does not care about her fine beauty,
For a thousand like he has deflowered.
The fatness of the peasant is an offense to Grecia.
Thus, he wishes to steal our sustenance,
And make music to cease from the land.
Lo! He even says, "We have no need for music
"We have no need for art, we have no need for theater;
"Nothing beautiful excites me, no, not even a warm body
"Or vulva for my flower, not even the great Laments of Shakespeare
"Or the wisdom of Dostoevsky. Not the beauty of Mozart
"Not the voluptuous body of Venus without her arms.
"Nothing is beautiful, nothing is good. I have never loved
"For what is love? I hate my world, and wish it to fall into the abyss."
For his covetousness is severe, that he has no desire;
Nothing for which he wishes or wants.
Not even death. Not even life. Not even purgatory.
He wants nothing, for anything in his grasp he already has.
Thus, he wishes to cause this same frustration on those,
Whom seeing their desire, and their zeal for life---
He wishes it all to stop.
II. King of Persia
Persia, seething with desire, and lust...
All is yours. Everything within your grasp.
What is your subjects, is yours.
What is yours belongs to you.
Every vehicle belongs to you...
Chariots of steel, chariots of iron,
Chariots of plastic might...
All belongs to you.
How your springs beneath your citadel
Are envied. How you desire,
And you love your desire.
Lust's fruits and every pleasure you exuberantly fill
Your mouth with. Great zeel, great desire...
The citizen you see, his sustenance you wish to be yours.
Covetous, covetous, covetous.
Rain, you wish to make it rain.
Sun, you wish to make it shine.
Wind, storm, tempest, you wish to rise to the status of God in Heaven.
Your princedom you shepherd with the Recitation of your father's word.
And they do your bidding, but nothing they have belongs to them.
You bring forth your chariots, and you ride in them through the heavens...
A god of gods, you ride, like Mithra, and you carry the sun in your chariot of fire.
You want all in subjection to you...
Every cent of wealth in your treasury.
You have no peer.
You comfort yourself with this wisdom.
None who rival you with your wisdom; none who will rival your fame and fortune.
The peoples will bow in their mud crust shanties, and they will worship you...
It is your vision for the future you wish to construct.
Everything about life you are enthused, and it excites you.
The feast, the game, the war, the contest, the wit...
All art, all theater, all ancient pottery.
If it is truly skilled, you wish it to enrich you...
And only you. Only you, to view it.
All art, and all beauty, in your possession
And for no other eye beside you, and possibly those whom you bestow the blessing
Within your court.
The courtier, the poet, the sage, the scholar, the master, the magician, the fool,
They all entertain you, and those whom you have selected from the Earth
To be your gods who reign with you.
III.
The treasure, though great, will not prosper on the day of judgement,
Thou Grecia and Persia.
IV. Counselor of Grecia
Oh, thou foul sophist,
You speak in your platitudes…
They have solved all the problems
But the rich have no gratitude.
They can harvest carbon from the sky
And chemically bind it with anon,
They can harvest it from the air,
They can use solar very fair…
The issue isn’t whether we can,
But the rich have asked, whether we ought.
So remember, my dear sophist, that what you lend
Is that the rich wish we were all dead, or bought.
For they hinder our progress,
They hinder it for their shame.
The problems are solved
But they see life as a game.
They want less people
They want less lives;
They want to build a world
And cause all the poor to die.
That is why.
So remember, that our fair Jerusalem,
With its chariots of fire can come
Through the practice of free trade
And its natural progression.
Yet the Satanic Mills of your cause
Which bring upon us unjust laws
Are going to stifle and burn our earth
For the poor upon it, yes the poor, are spurned.
For by the waters and by the breath
Of that good the Carbon, within breadth
We can drive our cars to eternity
If we so choose to live and be free.
For by stifling industry we cause our woes
And we do not solve our problems, but foes
Do try to make themselves a life
Of a world built to be the Rich’s paradise.
V. Counselor of Persia
You call us Sapiens...
They come and go,
Talking of Michelangelo...
Oh, J. Alfred, I have searched so long...
The Blue Moon is always in its phases
No matter where the sun does rise or set.
The Venus is in the Americas
And the Earth divided during the life of Peleg.
The Flying Domicile lands in Japan
And the Magi sends the giant back to her home.
The UFOlogist finds the Polyhominid Jewel
That it can bend space and space.
The flood is documented in the 24th century
Yes... we know by genealogies
And Chinese histories.
Need I say more?
Where do we come from?
I know...
Yet... you shall in your rolled up pants
A counselor to kings,
Seek after the Merfolk when all is said and done.
All is said and done.
All is said and done.
VI.
Oh, Prince Eric, you give sustenance to your consort Scylla,
And from her ghostly womb comes Kanute.
You two beasts rise from Ocean and Earth.
King Kanute's New Peace
Becomes the reign of a thousand lies;
Infrastructure, great infrastructure
And Eric seethes to make me prove
By Science---Science he says---
How to solve the Earth's decay?
The Deserts shall become Forests,
And the Forests shall become deserts
Don't you know, Eric the Grave?
Eric, your lies, your lies, your lies...
Your insanity led me straight to you.
All roads lead to you and Kanute.
Is he wise enough to command the waves?
Does he have wisdom?
Can I, meager I?
Nay... here is their names:
Kanute and Eric the Grave.
Therefore, the two beasts have a name
Prince Eric the Grave and King Kanute's New Peace
Which is not peace, but War.
Thou art both false prophets for sure.
VII. My Dear Malcolm
We will have no dreary world
With no art, no music, no poetry,
No religion, no fiction, no prose:
Only cold science and sex.
What a dreary world it will be.
The AI won't do all our thinking for us
While we slave away in the mud.
When we see how the world burns.
But Brandon Neifert will not be there;
He'll be someplace cool and beautiful
With many waters, and good meat;
Mountainous but a subdued land
With gentle currents and cataracts;
A tall, ruby headed angel with comely breasts
And a perfect face, as I do my Sondance for her
Upon the jasper cube of Zion's golden streets;
Its decadent forests of fruit trees
Will be our meats; not the lamb or ox---
Come, be a poet with me, will you?
Forget about this current world
For it is the one you wish to build.
The one without people like me.
Come, I will save you from it
If you just listen. Come.
We will have a Husband fashioned from the soil
We will nurse from the breasts of kings;
Those forlorn and scorned of their Husbands of youth
Shall become a mighty nation
And the LORD shall be a husband
And we shall gaze upon the Beauty of the LORD.
I do not sin by saying so;
It is all in the book.
14. Nero Abaddon
Neifert, B. K.. WordPress.Com, 2024. Web.
Nero, with your Pegasus,
You birth the Grecian and Persian Kings.
You defeated the Gorgon, like Voggleswyrd
And married an Ethiopian Queen.
Persia says, "We are from thee,"
And Grecia says, "We shall wed."
Pharaoh makes peace with the Hittites
But the Habiru people migrate
From Egypt into Canaan,
And stir the entire world into war.
Grecia and Persia war to this day
The Phoenicians are the Grecians
And the Egyptians are the Persians.
And little Zion makes her bold stand
Caught in the middle of their grand wars.
15. The Ballad of Matilda
Neifert, B. K.. WordPress.Com, 2024. Web.
Ah, Matilda and David, you have
Gained through Scythian war the world.
Ah, Ferguson, Matilda Maeve,
You three gained possession
And took the burden off of my yoke.
I did not want it... you may infinitely have.
Make many children, and sire many young
And remove the curse far from me
As far as the East is from the West.
You have fought well, and gained it.
And I thank you, for now I do not hold
The contemptible office my soul dreads
But you do, for many ages and eons
May your reign last forever!
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