Of Theodore Marmaduke

Neifert, B. K.. Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. Poem #112. Text.

A poem written in early winter of 2020. A poem where the metaphor is about exposed sins starting a civil war. This is daunting in my thoughts right now, how there’s this looming catastrophe in America; and somehow I feel like I’m to blame. The poem is semi-autobiographical, along with all my other poetry. But Donald Trump makes appearances; along with Elon Musk and who Theodore Marmaduke is, I will let the reader speculate, as I’m not entirely sure. He sort of hangs on my doppelganger theme, which appears a lot in my other poems, but rather he’s a specter haunting me at all times. I have referred to him as “Pekah Avram Ephraim”, as “Omri King of Israel” and also as “Dionysius, Athena,” and Marmaduke means “Follower of Maddok.” Which that will be clear why in the The Ballad of Maddok. Theodore is a name that means “God’s Gift” just like “Yehonason.” Which, my poetry ought to be read using name dictionaries. The story of this poem follows Young Shadow’s story progression, where I rewrote the story plots of my 2018 collection into one new master story, which is the story you are about to read. They were all written with anti-climax. Kind of a cathartic release from the previous heroic stanza. I wasn’t feeling heroic at the time I wrote this. It is written in Alliterative Verse, and on Canto 4, in the divergent canto, there is an attempt at Accentual Meter.

112.  Of Theodore Marmaduke

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 statutes 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---
The army of women wishing to wan all men     For their wanting a wife---
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 Barracks,
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 ileums 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 if 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 brow.
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,---      bending silver strings, 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.






Book II

Canto I.

Bromdun, therefore, saw Marmaduke's marauders       Marching toward the fords.
Bromdun saw Marmaduke in a Chariot,     Drawn by choked cherethims.
The serpent sled slithered      To where Marmaduke stood, shod,
Ready to fight his fury upon      The frightened earth.
30,000 troops tarried in      Marmaduke's forces, topped with Steel longbows.
Bromdun had nare a troop     To tarry, but saw the troops in trains
Of thoughts, thoroughly were they hidden     All around Bromdun's town.

The troops were tricked by the Baal-Rocks      The rocks which transfixed the gazes
Of all men, those pocket mirror monstrosities.     Upon them all manner of stores
Flowed with knowledge, but knowingly     Bromdun knocked his against the brick
To stop the curse of the covetous.     For the Baals spoke soft chatter into the coves
Of men's ears, where their fancies delighted     To the delicatessens of spoiled food
Which turned famous men's stories into      Mere fun. Forsook, the idols vexed Beowulf
And so they vexed Bromdun,     And so they vexed Brittos. Break the idol's vex
So you can walk free from your fortune      Of ill and forsaken lands wanned by
The singing of the Baal-rocks.     Because of these, the real Christfellows sing
Their hymns, and Bromdun, Brittos     And Beowulf sing their warrior's hymns.

For Theodore Marmaduke was now Medea,     With troops of thousands behind.
Immediately, Medea shot forth her bowed Asp's     Which bit Bromdun upon the heel
Turning he a slave to the wisdom of the Baal    Salvos boomed through the burgs.
Bromdun became like one of the lost     Loser for such a lame prize as lust.
For that lust was now the Giant's soul     The lust to learn, to sex and to labor not.
He had no wife to win,      No wife whatsoever, so therefore, wanned he cold
As the rest of menfolk,    And womenfolk were he afraid of.
So, Marmaduke must now make haste,      To bring the burden to pass
To break Bromdun's city streets,     For at this hour was Bromdun possessed
By the lust for good fortune      In the future, which nare ever found pastures.

Canto II.

In Bromdun's dream, his brother    Was berated by him, bruised by
His evil cackling, and cacophonous shadow     Who was Maddok himself
Whom Bromdun prophesied profusely---     Perfectly guilty conscience for naught
Done by he, but rather the sins of     That lewd Spy Maddok.
Bromdun called upon Jesus, but had not      An answer. So, Bromdun cried upon
Lute, but the LORD had forsaken the lute     For lasciviousness was in Bromdun's heart.
He sought out counsel, but found none.     None, soothing his fears, could find
The fix to his brokenness. not Paul,     Not Solomon. No, the prison was quite profound.
It was an idol vexation of futurelust,     Almost as fierce as the Prince of Wale's.
No man could give Bromdun the perchance     To know what ill brought him his bad
Dreams.  So Bromdun roamed rigorously,     With thirty-thousand troop regimented, rife
With real hatred for Bromdun,      For naught he'd done wrong.

It was a Giant's soul, with that   Silky woman's voice succoring every savor
And saying, "Go" to every desire.     Such a deign is dangerous
But Bromdun had no man to tell he      What had been hidden in his soul.
It was a lust for the life seen upon    The idol liars, who llume with such likeness
To joy, but are jagged jerks,      Jeering at the Chains of Judecca.
For Medea,---jeering Theodore Marmaduke,---     Deserved the Chains of Judecca
For what he had hidden in Bromdun     Was a carnal sin, hired to heckle him
To pursue success' succor.     For success was the succor most secure
By works comparable to the Wordsworth,     Which would succor great fortune.

Bromdun walked in fear of the Giant's soul     Wanting the lust of gold in treasures.
For the gold of the Giant's soul was ghostly    Thus, Bromdun need it be rid righteously.

Canto III.

Medea also had Nero as a son,     Unknown to all, Nero was not nullified
But rather lived, that Judas Iscariot     Scoundrel. Who scorned Bromdun.
Nero took the Giant Soul and bent Bromdun     To any way he likened, the strange idol
Which all men had in America,     All men, average, altogether arrogant or alms-giver.
Bromdun walked with slander     Of his brother; walked in idolatry for his wife.
Bromdun wanted fortune, to secure great feasts     For the poor; privately, he would feed
Also, thus is the only reason he was     Thoroughly denied his reward.
For Theodore Marmaduke hid the hellish     Reward because Theodore Marmaduke
Was Hell's king, blessed on the believer    That even Hell's King will help

In salvation's armament, though the King harrows    And draws his hellish weapons
Upon the Man of God, the harrows      Are there to dig up the hardened roads
And the roots and the rocks.     To break the clods, and smooth what was roughened.

Marmaduke thought he had injured     Bromdun, but rather, he helped Bromdun
By making him helpless, so therefore     A healer of words and a great heavenly
Saint. But, when the giant soul would rear    In that retaliatory way
For the woke vanity of vexation     And the vanity of wordsmithing,
Bromdun gnashed his teeth and wept     Like he were gnawing in hell torrential
Downpours of the hellish, black fires     Of the pits of broken fiends.
Bromdun could still be controlled      By Nero, Medea's son,
For inside Bromdun was the worldlust     Of the Giant soul's warped worldview.
Bromdun struck lashes of tongue     At father, mother, sister and brother
Friend, ally and enemy alike.     Bromdun struck the tongue

As the Chok continued to confound the verse     At the points of confusion
For Bromdun's sin was transparent.    He had dishonored true
Loves of his own for the worldlust in his gut.     Great was the waxing vexation
So Bromdun left, knowing that only Salvation's     Assurance could break the spell.
For salvation's assurance gives one peace     In their slackened condition.
It takes the lust of the world,     And wanes it to a wont with what's wonderful.

Nero appeared thousands of times    To Bromdun's torrid terror,
So in dreams did Maddok appear,      Most malignant and maligned.
Bromdun felt like he were chained by Judecca     With his poems about Jude.
For to bind him in these chains    He helped harden his own heart.
So he prayed, even knowing the name of God.     So Bromdun trekked not.

Bromdun, elves he did find.     And fastidious were they to foment
The Giant Soul, to make it seem     A most unusual spell.
But, it was just worldlust,     So therefore woe for what was wanting.
To futures he was forthrown,     In flesh he nare visited the future
But in spirit he fell wan when     He witnessed what was in a dream.
He saw visions, great visions,    Of vexations vast and various.
The elf sent Bromdun's spirit    To the future, but rather it was Maddok's sin
Not Bromdun's,---but the seawitch     Was Bromdun's atheism, all else was Maddok's
Sin, such as it was a folkstem     Succored upon Bromdun's brow, fierce
And Bromdun fought it by fighting to be pure    In heart. Thus was how to relieve
The vexation visiting Bromdun      In the night terror's visions.
Jezebel---in the good woman---furious,      Made Bromdun forget his Chivalry
With his first love withered.      Maddok made Bromdun feel like Prince of Wales.
A titular prince was he,     With no royal title except for a headstone.

There was no going way back     To save the Fernlake,---the wagon had wiped
Out all chance of her as a choice.     So with the wreath, she never could choose 
Bromdun, because she did not know him.    Never to be, were both great bodies
Of possible love, vain, forgotten.    Forged was the destiny that Bromdun had chosen
To be a writer, thus to rid    The Giant soul could be his only real relief.

Canto IV.

Seeing glimpses of futures    And fought battles fierce
So that the 30,000 troops     Of Medea fell to fierce battle
All around Bromdun.     Chariots zoomed, zipped, and zeroed
In upon the underleafs,    Where the shadows cast their underglow
Of dark, between the speckles of light.    Strange it was, that lost
Was the chariot which charged     And so began the battle Cherioth.

Arrayed on the hill county were 30,000 troop     Of Theodore Marmaduke's trains

Where the wagons wheeled with     Great weapons of war, blasting cannons
Into the place where Bromdun lived.     Lusty was the loss of a dozen lackluster spies
So the armies arrayed for Bromdun's armament     Rose around---it is not literal---
To strafe the left flanks of the armories.    Why Brutess was not slain, but rather salvoed
Upon the forts, for she fought     For the ashes of her bloodcrop.
For Brutess had been fierce, to bellow     Out the smokes of the ashes of billows
Which smelled like cabbage crass      Which Bromdun sniffed, and cried like the Bearwolf.
The battles arrayed, as the Great King     Arranged his force to harangue the area
Which Brutess lodged her self in,     Loth that the larger force was lost
To a flanking flit which fiercely     Fomented a bloody soup of fervor
When those cannons blasted the furnaces     Of the fiery Duchess Brutess.
For the prisons were plucked up     And Brutess' forces were fired upon
By the rifles of the regiments      Of the Great King's fleets of ranks.

The prisoners were set free,    Which Bromdun sung to set forth
And thus helped to slay the Elvin curs      Who cut the throats of sleeping prisoners.
Bromdun was nearly slain a few flecks of time    But the fierce battles forewent
To never come near Bromdun's face.     For a thousand fell at his side
But he was not singed, nor seriously    Scared by the state of what screamed around him.

Canto V.

The Numidian forces,       Numbering Five Hundred Five grand forces
Swept into the meadowlands     Of the most ravished northern mountains.
Over the mountains they came    Like Hannibal’s court, to crush
The American rebels,     Who weakened by the rifles of their own remembrance
Realized that the Numidian forces      Found their way from the north new nations
To ravage. Thus, the forces fell to fight     The Numidian automatons 
Wind up soldiers of gears and cogs     Growing in great numbers garish and growling.
The American forces halted their heavy woes     For greater horror arrayed for battle.
So the Great King grew in strength for one such     Salvo, that the two armies
Met once and for all.
                                                        The battle was too fraught to foretell in this fable.
For it was in a dream dreamt     And it daunted the author’s mind for days.

It then fell to a fierce one on one fight     Between Bromdun and Medea.
For Brutess, that elvish Cur was     Laid waste at the cottar flock's field.
The Great King had laid waste     The Numidian wraiths.
The Rebels had regained    The real laws of the realm.
Thus, Medea stole Bromdun from his home     To steal him, and terrorize him.
Bromdun, in prison for some nothing done wrong,     Just songs of the wars he never saw,
Sat beneath the prison walls.     Baron Marmaduke said, "Where is the LORD your God?"
Bromdun did not know,     When out of the ashes of the greater war
A multitude trampled her to pulp.     Such she hid scripture from herself and all
But it was remembered by Bromdun---      For the remembrance of the scripture was secure
That this was how it was said.---     A pool of Marmaduke's blood blushed
From the wake, where pooling,     Marmaduke lay completely wanned.

Bromdun disrobed his foot,     Dashing the sole upon the blood
Where Marmaduke lay trampled.    

                                                                             Upon Bromdun's Headstone was said this,
"Prince Crown New,      Though he was never a Prince."

Canto VI.

Marmaduke and Bromdun be dead,     Yet Bromdun raised up from dark dusts
And took hold of Brittos’ Shield.    The Whale-Bone board swirled,
And Bromdun was alive yet again.    Yet altogether attacking Bromdun was the
Vex of the idol, the Giant Soul    And idle was Bromdun yet again
To where wealing in agony of mind,    Bromdun had been 
Close to losing his life    And his happy home.
Thus, Bromdun must choose    Between the baal
Or his beloved valley    Where he would find fruitful pasture.

Thus the specter flung for him     Flying from the fortune he gained in wisdom
Where to gain the fortune, Bromdun must     Fill his mind with the fruits of many
Wise scholars, yet seclude   Himself from the baal; he must bear
Or else not be blessed   By the prosperity.
Up flung the Ghost of Marmaduke     And Bromdun blazoned the 
Geist with the shield he    Took in combat. Thus shod the guard
Upon Marmaduke, when the Geist slung in     Bromdun’s own earthly sire.
So, Bromdun prayed the Geist away,    and it grossly grated him in the night
In apparitions of amorous    Appetite, for Marmaduke was now Athena.
Bromdun awakened, prayed the Geist away,     until awestruck, 
Bromdun was near fleeing his niche of the world;    When all would be lost and wetted by tears.

Yet, Solomon came and sought Bromdun,    So did Good Ephraim soothe
Bromdun’s fears; when fretted,     Bromdun risked aught on fortune for his scholar’s fruits.
Thus, Bromdun was again fighting     For the fruit of his mind’s finger-work.
The tapestry of tortured beliefs,     And magical marring broke Bromdun, nearly…
Yet his soul was raised from She’ol   After suffering shame and Marmaduke and Bromdun’s 
Punic Victory, where both had been slain.   Now both fought in the land of the living breath
Where Marmaduke was but a shade, and Bromdun was shod with sure fame.
Marmaduke had been slain in that instance,    Where he, she---none truly know---was destroyed by marred
Plans which backfired on the    Broken Magician, brash and bold.

Canto VII.

Thus, Bromdun was renewed in    His reaming reason, and he 
Mounted offense against the Orc.     Ogre it was, he occasioned himself to 
Attack the Orc with his steel.    For Bromdun was an accomplished scholar,
But thus, the Orc came treading through     The thunderous waves,
The clouds swirled,    And it was as if it were a king in a dream.
It told him thus---yet Bromdun threw off    His chains, and choked up on his thrusting weapon
And he faced the Orc,     Where above Elora ogled over him.
Yet one sight of her assayed his    Affliction, and she received him affectionately.
He received her and his    Beloved stories, which he bravely wrote.

Thus, the Orc was slain by the power of love,    And lust was loosed that day
Where Bromdun lay upon the valley     With the nectar of honey and ambrosia
Which was eaten with the fruits of love.    Long live the stories of Bromdon Kratz Neuwfer.