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.
B. K. Neifert 