1. Ekphrastic Motabilem – Detailing the process of creating a work of art, or describing the process of skilled work. More specifically, utilizing Ekphrasis through describing the art form or skilled work in its process. Otherwise called “Ekphrasis”, but more technically called Ekphrastic Motabilem.

2. Hyperloxy or pl. Hyperloxa – An oxymoron expressed through hyperbole, to especially emphasize the last statement and make it stronger than the previous statement, which otherwise should be stronger.

1. Example: “He is not very wise, but has an infinite wit.”
2. Example: “Jude, he is not so strong, yet unrivaled in might.” Neifert, B. K.. Fairyland, “The Children’s Crusade”. Kindle Direct, 2020.

3. A Vulgar – When taking something that usually isn’t vulgar, or even taking a Euphemism, and making it vulgar through tone.

1.  1. Example: From Wordsworth’s “Transubstantiation”: “And, while the Host is raised, its elevation/ An awe and supernatural horror breeds,”

4. Cantor – When a work breaks into a text with a voice dissimilar to the one established throughout the work, intentionally or unintentionally. Especially where it can be readily noticed. Derived from the word “Cantor” a responsive hymn, where the solo is the break in voice, and the choir is the established voice.

1. Example:  The Gospel of John as opposed to the Synoptic Gospels.
2. Example: The Egyptian Maid or White Doe of Rylstone by Wordsworth, as opposed to the rest of his body of Work, reflects stories in the forms of Southey or Coleridge.
3. Example: The Last few segments of The Riddle in the Sea, by B. K. Neifert, where the form breaks to create an added effect of suspense.
4. Example: The use of “Mirkwood” in Tolkien’s The Fall of Arthrur.

5. The Objective Other – An objective characterization where an artist portrays what appears to be a specific individual, yet the individual portrayed in the piece is meant to apply generally. Not to be confused with a Character; however, some characters are examples of The Objective Other.

1. Example: Anna Karenina in Tolstoy’s titular piece.
2. Example: George Wickham in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.
3. Example: Christian in John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.

6. Nominal Symbolism – A kind of symbolism where the name of a prominent historical figure, town or god is used to represent an archetypal story. Sometimes where the symbol relates to a specific individual.

1. Example: “Bel boweth down, Nebo stoopeth, their idols were upon the beasts, and upon the cattle: your carriages were heavy loaden; they are a burden to the weary beast.” King James Bible Isaiah 46:1
2. Example: “Tell me, Lydia, by all the gods I beg you, why you are in such a hurry to destroy Sybaris with your love.” Horace. The Complete Odes and Epodes. Translated by David West. Oxford University Press, 2008. (pp. 32.)
3. Example: Xenophanes, you poetically and surgically/Weave your origins of doubt. Neifert, B. K.. My Collected Writings. Kindle Direct, 2021.

7.The Significant Other – A specialized Characterization used to represent more unique or idiosyncratic character traits. The Character has traits which are not intended to be a universal paragon, or type of universal personality. Usually the traits are unique and are not meant to be examplar. Not to be confused with character, though some characters can be examples of the significant other.

1. Example: Pilar in Earnest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls
2. Example: Eliza and Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice (Despite what the novel’s title assumes, the work wasn’t originally titled “Pride and Prejudice” but was aptly named by the publisher.)
3. Example: Pierre and Andre in War and Peace

Author’s Note: I’ve come to recognize that my two species of characters are hard to derive specific examples for. However, the Significant Other and the Objective Other can both simultaneously be present in a Character. The question remains whether the character is expressly unique, or if the character is expressly a paragon. I’ve been poring over good literature, and have found most of the best authors combine both attributes into their characters, while the less skilled authors lack both of these qualities. The range is less like a spectrum, and more like a a graph. There are characters which display both behaviors positively—and these are among the best literature has to offer—and then there are the characters who display none of the qualities. And of course there are characters that display more of one quality than another, or less of one than another. So on so forth.

8. Second Person Figure: A character who is only referred to as “You” within a poem or other work of literature.

1. Example: Shakespearean Sonnet 54: Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;/ Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors made./ And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,/ When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.
2. Example: Psalm 55:13: But it was thou, a man mine equal, my guide, and mine acquaintance.

Prologue:

The following is in praise of free speech. It combines my “Odes of Strangers” into a likeness of human nature, set against the current political landscape. My Odes of Strangers were inspired by Horace’s “Odes and Epodes,” where I felt that the works were comparisons of everyday people with heroes. So I did the same, taking unlikely people I’ve met and telling their lives like they were historical or mythological figures. All culminating into the Poem’s final meditation, on whether humans can actually communicate and understand one another. Which is what the work is considering. Can people understand one another? Or are we trapped in our own opinions?

The work is dedicated to all who practice Free Speech, and the expression of that speech. Most of the individuals I tell the stories of have controversial expressions of speech, and have used their free speech in my life. And I wish to simply look at them as individuals, and think about the ramifications of censorship, which would be war. Will a Cyrus like individual need to raise up right now, and fight for Freedom of Speech? And will we have to fight to have our unique expressions protected? Or, can we come together and recognize that each of us have contributed to the larger conversation, and what needs to happen is more listening, rather than censorship?

Thank you and Enjoy.

Proem

Circles


Mr. Emerson, may I just attain
What you said about circles.
It makes me first get offended.
As is true with all wisdom and
All truth, we resist it at first.
We do not like things to be 
So simple, nor do we appreciate
Patterns we ourselves have not attained.

Yet, looking at the mountains
The trees, my palm, my fingers
My gloves, the rocks,
My calves, the cow's horns
The lizard's ovular body
The worms, the fly's which are 
Shaped like eggs,
The grasshoppers which are shaped
Like fingers, the bird's
Which are shaped almost ovular
The frogs, which when scrunched
Are like a little oval
The bushes which are ovular too...
And cats and dogs and horses when they lie down.
I do say I see the pattern as well.
And I do believe I have a theory on why.
Pi---being infinite, as is the infinite measurement of the curve---
Must inherently be the natural order of geometry.
So everything, running off, and smoothing over by rain
And evolving over time,
Naturally must produce a circle.
As, Pi is the natural shape, the natural
Number of nature, by which all other things are dictated.
Surely, it has its subtle imperfections
Making each specimen different,
But given the natural shape of all things
Are likened to a circle---
And what is straight
Often we can assume was man made,
How men create things in squares
And nature its circles---
I do say it's an 
offensive little thought.
That I hadn't attained it first---
Maybe I equal you in genius
For giving an explanation as to why---
Is it the infinite reality of Pi
Which causes this?
That number naturally representing
The geometry of a curve
Therefore, randomness must
Inherently, be shaped into curves.
For, the patterns in nature show
That all things, built by God,
Are as a curve. Men build in squares
And God builds with circles.
Because men must shape our environment
To order, and God must shape His environment
To the natural world toward that infinite 
Shape, that infinite number Pi.
And Mr. Emerson I do not plagiarize you
Rather, as you said about great poets
Writing in an age where there are few,
We take all things and make them our own.
But, my solemn task is finding in the past
Things which ought to be remembered by all
For a better future.

Another peculiar thought.
It seems that man is the only creation
Of God's which is like a rectangle.
For, the Golden ratio
By which men create and shape their world,
Is dictated by the rectangular shape of our body.
No other creature is dictated by its rectangular
Form. None which I know.
For, they are either cones, spheroids
Or outright shaped like circles.
The Human body, when standing upright
Exhibits the Golden Ratio;---
That being Five to two.
So do trees, so do bushes,
But only human bodies seem to be nature's rectangle
Which may be why we prefer them in our creations.
But this strange ratio has been told to me
By a much beloved professor
When describing the Acropolis
Which is fitted to our human shape;---
Which does appear in nature;---
Perhaps it is nature's rectangle
Which we men are formed closer to----
Yes, it is most defined in our human form.
For, perhaps these two measurements
The measurement of Pi
And the measurement of  Phi,
Perhaps these numbers are scientific
Facts, oblong and shaping the world
Through their infinite order.

Perhaps Pi is nature's curve
And Phi is nature's rectangle
Both working together
In their infinite measurements
As if planed and scaled by God
Like the Bible said, 
"Wisdom was with God when he Planed the Scale of the Earth".

For, by observing this order, 
I am confident that God exists.
For, these measurements create
Upon the earth, and define all Aesthetic Beauty.
That, and of course, Fibonacci's sequence;
Which repeats itself through all natural shapes.
For some reason, these numbers lay down the law
Of how our natural world gets shaped by the 
Eons of textures and winds, and rains.
And, certainly, to have such geometric certainty
As this---for randomness cannot truly occur in nature
According to these principles---
It must be that an architect, by design
Created our world.

And as certain as these mathematical principles are
Which are observed in everything from trees
To mountains, to rock formations
And even the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls,
So are the moral principles laid down by Christ
As certain. Which, Mr. Emerson, 
Is my scientific foundation for believing in Him.

God's Word

Word and Tao seem to be called opposites
Yet, each speaks to the same discovered truth.
Beyond the legalistic letters we
Try to use, lies the sense of expressed truth.
Not through matter of interpretation
But through matter of the senses given
We understand one another through truth.
Even more, that lay hid beneath all things
Is an unseen force which does define them.
That we, attempting to stray from that path
Do create for ourselves unhappiness;
For underneath everything is the truth
Which cannot be expressed by the letter
But can be  fully expressed through the sense.
For it is this sense which defines all things
And straying from this sense is what creates
Bitterness, malaise and unhappiness.
And this same thing is the proof of God's Will.

Imagine We Were Characters in a Book

Imagine our Earth were a book.
And imagine God were the author of that book.
God wrote the book.

And, isn't a book something different
Than our three dimensional world?
It exists purely in thought.
It cannot be accessed
Except by comprehending what the words on the paper mean.

It's the difference between our four dimensional space/time
And pure imagination.

Now, imagine everything we could experience
Were like that book to God.
And God were like we reading it.
How silly would it be for the characters
In that paper to use the events of that book
To comprehend the man who wrote it.

Such is with Genesis,
That if one authored a book
And edited it
It would look different
Describing the edits one did
Than it would if one read the events
In their chronological order within the book.

For we and our history are like the book
And the Bible contains a literal history of 
How it was written;
It catalogs all of its edits
And presents them to us chronologically
In the point of view of God's Eternal Present.

I

Alexander, your love for life exudes
And your love for meaning in the little things.
Like a child, you look upon the world
And see greatness, you see unexplored
Alleys in every nook and cranny.

The strangeness of the world is still fresh
In your youthful mind,
So your sense of meaning is founded
Upon a love for life and its victuals.

Grow older, though, Alexander,
For one day you will,
And looking upon the turtles
Chirping their love songs
In the spring
You will at once find all things artificial.

The aspirations of love
The charters of worlds gone and far
Of new lands, and sailing over the world's edge
It will be a far off thing,
When standing before the turtles chirping
Their mating hymns.

To which, life will be somber and melancholy,
Yet, it will be sweeter, for the Turtles singing their hymns
Will bring you the knowledge,
Sweet it is, that within their happy little tales
Lies the force of life, and the gay little charm
Of something deep within every living thing.

And when you find that,
You will have found all wisdom
And all charity.
You will have stumbled upon the outer breath of God.

II

Jacque, you cry for a storm
Against the church.
You ire, and are indignant.
Aught had such indignation at a time.

You wish sin to be removed from this world
And believe with your heart that all sin finds its root
In the institutions of man.
You see it, for they have always rejected you.

You rage against a machine
That neither you nor aught fully understand.
Yet, the machine, dirty it is---
It brings upon its apparatus 
The sustenance of the poor.
It is a place to tell dark secrets.
Those secrets told, they will
Vanish with the wind.

Yes, you and aught rage against
It, for it never accepted us.
But, as black and dark the machine is
It makes men civil
And protects them from themselves.

For in all things is sin,
And to take away sin from a man
It takes mercy, and a covering of skins.
For our shame is bare before all mankind,
And these institutions are the places
Where the spinstresses weave our cloth
And wrap us so we are no longer naked.

You wish to strip the cloth
From men
When you wish to dissolve those institutions.
For aught do understand it,
But certainly, those institutions are good
Because men need to cover their naked shame.

III

Cleopatra, your domain is yours
Who gives words of strong guidance.
Your ire is just, your indignation furious
But your favor like a copper piece,
Choice among the coinage.

Silent and swift, your judgment comes
While strong are you to battle.
You lead this one, and he goes there.
You lead that one, and she goes here.
They all hearken to you.

Egypt is guided by your strong bow
But strange are the Satraps who preside
Over the prosperity of our world.
For much strong gain,
The flows of the Nile overflow your head
Yet you strive, even though the rewards are dim.

For the fruits of your kingdom are small,
Small among the kingdoms,
Yet you man your post with dignity of office
As a Prince among princes.

The war comes, and allies flock to your aid
For your reign is good, and just
Though there are kings above you
And kings above them.
The peoples are wary
Yet you keep your subjects under the yoke
Of hard effort, and strength
For you join yourself with them
And thresh the corn, 
Beating out the fitches
From the fold.

IV

Atalanta, you stand among your thorns.
Everything you touch withers and dies.
Your anger and shame behooves you
As the food you feed the nations
Wilts and does not satisfy.
It is ashes in the mouth.

You make haste to do good
Yet only grief and shame come from your deeds.
Your good is only ashes seeping from clenched fists.

How the nations love you
Atalanta. They cheer your fame
But they curse the name of man
Who challenges you.
You, like Death, bring the shadow
And the gray of the thunderstorm.

Your benefactor is rude in his abuses
And your lover is unkind.
Slowly, your creeping vine tangles itself around
The world, as you stand among your
Thorns, and pluck the Corolla of the Rose
To shape it into your deign.

Fortunes you cannot make.
And it flees from you;
All things die and wilt in your hands.
For the rose does not prosper
For you do not proceed with
Diligence. Your garden is fertile
But your slack hand makes the bulbs stoop.

V

Sela, I see your strength
And bitter rage.
You course through the seas
O' Bitter One,
Ruler of a Thousand.

When Cyrus came to Babylon and Ecbatana
The peoples fled from your tyranny,
For your wrath was kindled
And your ire, your wrath
Your broken pride, it caused the peoples
To flee from their cities
And they allowed Cyrus' forces within the walls unhindered.

The Medes hate you, O Sela,
As your hideousness is made the Form.
The peoples lament
While you set sail on the ocean,
Mighty Princess of the North.

You grow to hate
So you draw forth your oars
And pillage the coasts
Causing all things beautiful to age.

O! Sela, the world has become yours through Scythian war.

VI

Bitter David, I see you unravel
The mysteries of a song.
Your heart in melancholy turn, studied
What would become vanity.

Your daunting effort goes noticed
By those who love music too,
Of ages gone by.
Stand at the age where deep
Calls out to deep;---
But the Cypress in its
Mourning replies,

"Death has taken over the valleys.
"Meaning doth sing her lute
"In the Elburz
"And armies travel through the Gate.
"For the sun makes his revolution 
"Over the mountains
"And on one side is day
"And the other it is night."

Yet none do draw the wisdom
For men are marked out for their sins
In youth.
For a man's sin is discovered
And it is now altered new,
So that David, your effort was in vain.
And with it the Cypress
Mourns, for even the work of man
Is besmirched by what's misunderstood.

VII

Hera, you were strong in 
Courtly abodes, where the messengers
Could keep your stead
And give you the sustenance you required.
For it was the infidelity of Zeus
Who led you to your humble position.
This the peoples knew
And gracious was their kindness toward you
In your low estate.
Completely innocent you were
While Zeus made off and courted
Danae. They were but men.

You required rest;
So with Artemis and Apollo.
Yet, you instead wished to smite
And like Prometheus steal the heavenly fire.
You thundered, and your rage flung
For the thunderbolts, but Artemis and Apollo
Were sick of loves, and cried day and night
For peace. Yet in your wrath
There was no peace,
But made war as Egypt's vine.

Then, you established your house
And cast your thunder at Cyrus
Not Zeus; no, you threw down lightning at Cyrus
Just as Cyrus had feared.
Who would free God's people?
Yet you, seeing yourself as a god
Smote the one who shew the most kindness on you.
For Artemis and Apollo's sake
Cyrus rose early to counsel thou, Queen.
Yet your fury hath spilled onto him
Who was your greatest ally.

Furious art you that one had told the truth?
That war among the Titans would ruin
The happiness of your children?
This will be your ruin;
And alas, God has told me it already is.

VIII

He came down, that Aeneas
With his cloud,
Shrouded in the mystery
Of faith. "What liberty do I have?"
He wondered, wishing to appease God
Through the Meogic of the Law.

The mystery is, that a wise man
Can tell his riddles
Without repudiation.
That a man who has it in his mind
To create worlds
May create them.
That a man, struggling to overcome
Sin, does not have to abstain from anything
Except what is sinful.

If there be a train of bitterness in the heart
That is sin. If Aeneas, you strive with Achilles
And Odysseus and Virgil
Then strive not with them
For they make you doubt.

However, stories contain in them wisdom.
Hercules the right of passage for every man,
And Bulfinch, a Christian
Spun many a myth with joy
For it was his work.
For a man like me has very little use in this world
Except to look at it
And turn over its riddles.
It does not have to be divine...
Yet prophetic nonetheless
God speaks, and it is my joy to write.

Yet, you ask me a question...
I suppose the answer
Is that beauty is an utterance
But since there is so little beauty
Any trace becomes an idol.
Yet I see no thing for me to do
Beside utter beautiful utterances;
Such it is that I do not sin.
No more than Spenser or Wordsworth
Or Coleridge.
But, since there is only ignorance right now
Any truth uttered will not be trusted.
In fact, an utterance of truth
Could set the world ablaze
For men are spun their dreams by Morpheus
And not by the poets anymore.

IX

The shadow within you
Oh River of the Jordan
Flows like the Styx into the recesses
Of cold, imagination.

Passing through desert lands
The ashes of millions
And the starving bodies of billions 
Flow through your wise deltas.

Embrace the shadow?
The cold, monstrous thing
Within us? Who like Death and She'ol
Twists and turns through hideous
Forms, dark and seductive?

Within the heart lies this
The very thing Christ will exorcise.
For twisting in passions and desire
Murder and blasphemies
Is this darkening of the soul.
The Shadow,
The Doppelganger.
Latent, all feel its pressure
Those who are wise;

Those who are fools do not know it
Yet it exhumes with all of their tongue.  
It is man's perfect enemy
The shade which the white sepulcher contains.
Find it, grab hold of it,
Release it with kindness.
Push it not back down into the body,
But let the wicked beast
Be like mist which steams
Out from the soul
By the sweat of faith
And the renewing of the strength in Christ.

X

The heart-felt joy of play
One finds in youth, ever striving
For the pure emotion.
And Nero, your heart is light,
In you is joy, the turning of your marble
Toys and the marching of them in their rows.

Old, though, we find you
As you put on your wolf's attire
And with drawn leash are led through
The meadowgrounds.

Innocent, though strange,
Your boyhood's emotions flood into you
Pure, like the syringe.
You bark, you trot, you kick your feet
In the mud.
You wag your tail and I find no sin in it.

Then, the disapproval settles in.
The peoples look on you
And do not understand the spectacle,
The unstructured exorcism of imagination.
What is beautiful, what is serenity
What is joy, is now poisoned forever.

You push it down into your soul
For play was all you knew.
Play was everything you had.
The joy, the frivolity,
The utter freedom.
Constrained to your dog costume---
For you are now old,
And have chosen just this one form of play
As is consistent with sagacity---
But no-one shares your joy.

It is I who sees you are not sinning
But are filled with hearty laughter
And you feel pure child's joy.
I understand you...
But the stranger shares not your joy.

So, what was first innocent
Becomes howling sin.

XI

God of Our Youth

What the devil wants are happy monkeys
Silent, with no knowledge of future's past.
Dancing with the strobes lit, and faces pale.
Exerted with all fun and copulate 
With the familiar sting of sexual touch.
Children to be raised by their bonobos
To grow up without knowing what love is.
Silent, with no knowledge, no speech, no thought
Language simplified to terse chords of
A ten thousand word vocabulary.
No one works, no one has their property
Starved; feeding on the remaining surplus
Of past generation's stores of green corn.
Breaking down the windows of good people
To steal from them their hard earned silver coins.
At the end, hell's the deserted cities
Its deserts the overgrown farmer's fields
Its dried up river beds the State's drained stores.
This is Socialism, God of our Youth.

XII

To the Hymn of Auld Lang Syne
Not an Original Piece, but One I Can Remember Singing
But cannot find anywhere.

Keep Your Eye on the Grand Ol' Flag

Should all acquaintance be forgot
And e'ry a heart do sag
Should all acquaintance be forgot
Keep your eye on the grand ol' flag.

Should old acquaintance be forgot
And all guns hammer their tacks
Should old acquaintance be forgot
Keep your eye on the grand ol' flag.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And the nation come under attack
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
Keep your eye on the grand ol' flag.

Should our acquaintance be forgot
And men forget this song
Should our acquaintance be forgot
The days seem ever so long

But if all acquaintance be forgot
And e'ry a heart do sag
If all acquaintance be forgot
Keep your eye on the grand ol' flag.

XIII

Sir Lucan and the Sphynx

Canto I

Upon the pass there came Sir Lucan 
And His squire Beowulf the Less.
Beowulf the Less had a page
Gregory.

Gregory, the page, armored Beowulf
From head to toe.
He latched on helmet,
Shield, shoe, girded Beowulf with
His sword Gwyndylyn.
Beowulf had aegis
Strapped to his chest.
However, Beowulf's helmet was weakened
By a blow taken in mortal combat.
Beowulf had slewn a man down in dishonorable show
Of arms, where he and a knight Valiant
Took to blows in the ring of combat.

This knight threw down his gauntlet
So Beowulf picked it up.
Sir Lucan was Beowulf's 
Knight, and this knight beckoned 
Beowulf to stay home,
And not to pick up the gauntlet.
Yet, Beowulf picked up the gauntlet;
And thus, battle was struck.

The two warriors showed, down in the arena
While Lucan watched, with scowl on his mug.
Arthur sanctioned the tournament
As Page Gregory was with damsel
Thus, he did not throw in his lot to stop the tournament.

It took to blows, the black knight, 
Called Sir Rancor, first took his sword
And smote it down upon Beowulf's head.
Beowulf took the blow;
Sowith, his helmet cracked;
Thus, Beowulf became wroth
Who took his shield and smote
Sir Rancor upon the breast, and 
Smote down his sword upon Sir Rancor's head.
Blood poured out of Sir Rancor's joints
As Sir Rancor took to a blow
At Beowulf's shield
Bowing the shield with his chain mace.
Beowulf, without helmet nor shield 
Acquiesced for the battle,
And took his sword and ran it through Sir Rancor's
Joint, by the armpit.
Sir Rancor fell wounded,
But took a dagger from his leg
And shafted the weapon
Into Beowulf's ankle
Breaking his shoe's belt.

Beowulf was uninjured; however,
Taking his sword, he smote it down upon Sir Rancor's head.
The knight fell, to wit, Beowulf drove his sword
Into the heart of Sir Rancor
Who lie on the ground, wounded.
Arthur saw that the knight was dead
So called the tournament closed
Where Beowulf lost all his armor
And Sir Rancor was lain smitten on the field of battle.

Beowulf expected to be knighted for the feat
However, Arthur saw no honor in this feud.
Thus, Beowulf was yet still a squire.
Beowulf saw the disdain on Lucan's face
And saw he had disgraced his knight valiant.
Lucan who would be later slain in battle
To the Caerbanog, was disgruntled with Beowulf.
For some say, this led Lucan to the Caerbanog's forest
For he would no longer listen to sweet Beowulf.
Page Gregory was not there to help Beowulf
And Lucan was furious with Beowulf
For accepting the challenge of so unworthy a knight.

It came to be that Beowulf and Lucan had a quest
Together. To shut up the Nile Dragon
Who would attempt to Swallow the Daughter of Zion
On that day. Beowulf and Lucan left 
In their armor, and Gregory
Left Beowulf with these words:
"Lucan cannot be trusted,
"Do not believe a word he says
"And be wary and wily of the things he does.
"For Lucan is a savvy knight
"Who only thinks of himself."

Beowulf considered it,
But knew it was not true.
However, Lucan was furious with Beowulf
For smiting the knight Rancor.
Thus, Beowulf and Lucan set off on their journey.
They would crusade down to Egypt.

The Nile Dragon knew that they came,
Thus he employed Nebo and Abaddon 
To come 
With the Elf Meogic
And thus, cause Lucan more anger
At his squire.

Nebo came with his daughters
Seventeen Thousand
And Abaddon came with only himself.
The two were chosen to be Pharaohs
Kings of Egypt,
And if they would slay Beowulf
They would retain Egypt
For themselves.

Canto II

It came to be, that in the salt valleys of
Meggedon, Abaddon sought
To conspire and therefore slay Beowulf the Less.
Lucan and Beowulf---Gregory not behooved to come,
For he could not---
Were on steed, Beowulf with Chantz
And Lucan with his steed Crevan.
Where Beowulf camped,
Abaddon snatched him from his bed
And took Beowulf to a village
Where Beowulf would dream half his life away
For sleep was better than the waking hour;
Beowulf was captured by Abaddon
Hencewith, he was brought to the low valleys.

Now it was Abaddon who traveled with Lucan.
Abaddon filled his mouth with many flatteries
Toward Lucan.
The two set out on the quest, but
Abaddon was foolish, and no wisdom was in him.
He did not slay Beowulf
For he enjoyed the man's riddles.

Thencewith, Abaddon walked with Sir Lucan
Through the valleys of Meggedon
Until they came to Africa's Gate.
The two passed through
But Abaddon was exceedingly happy,
And more foolish than Lucan remembered
Beowulf to be.
However, Lucan fell to love Abaddon---
Because of his joy---
Like he were a son, and so pardoned Abaddon.
For Lucan was enchanted.

They walked for days
Through the desert
With its barren crags
And salt rocks.
It came upon the warfield, Nebo
And his hordes of Daughters.
Nebo, on his steed with leather skin,
Was untransmogrified by the elf jewel;
Thus, showed himself for what he truly be.
He was leathery, and his ears a point;
He was fat, and round, and gluttonous,
His teeth were yellow
And his lips were thin.
His skin the color of ash,
He had a face which was horrible
To behold.

Lucan mounted up on Crevan, 
And hoisted her javelin.
"Beowulf, I have enjoyed your company
"On this journey, yet now I go out to ride
"Against this beast."
Abaddon creased his lips into a grin
Because he had loosened Lucan's armor
When placing it upon him
As was a squire's duty.
Lucan hoisted up, and flung for Nebo.
The seventeen thousand daughters of Nebo 
Flung down the mountain
Into the bowled valley.

The battle was gruesome
As blood poured into rivers
Through the ravines.
Lucan had slaughtered so many
Of Nebo's daughters.
Nebo, thus, flung into a fit of rage
And transformed himself
Into a Giant.
Lucan fell to a flight yet
Lanced the Giant's foot;
However, Lucan's armor joints came undone in battle
And he was bare before the Giant's wrath.

Abaddon danced a wicked dance
And joined the fight against Lucan.
He rushed at Lucan on Chantz
However, Chantz knew 'twas Abaddon.
So, Chantz stopped in mid gallop;
Sofore, throwing Abaddon off his back.
Lucan retreated toward Abaddon
Trampling him with horse's hooves
Seeing that he was not Beowulf
But was Abaddon. Lucan fell into a sore fright
That he was without his squire.
Thus, Lucan galloped as fast as he could out of the battlefield.
He had found himself in the Nile,
And so discovered the black, fertile soil.
There began to grow a vine from it
And it shot out large, and heaved itself
Upward. It grew tall into the sky
Like the Tower of Babble,
And it sprouted smaller vines from without it,
Lit; it were starflesh.
The Sphynx was spreading his vine
All throughout the world
A verdant weed, it
Raised into the sky, and spread itself across the entirety of the earth.

Lucan felt frightened,
As he drew back on Crevan and galloped 
Toward his dominion.
Lucan was no coward but saw that this vine had spread
Throughout the whole of the world, 
And who was he to fight it?

Howsofore, there came one who was beautiful.
He took Lucan by the hand,
And told him,
"Do not give up on your son
"He needs you and your love at this very hour.
"For, Egypt is spreading its vine throughout the whole of the earth
"And you must help him
"By fighting back the fear
"Of this vine,
"To show him that he is still loved."

Lucan had received a vision of Beowulf
Encased in a place where he was rendered useless.
Thus, Lucan had to go rescue him.
For Gregory could not
As only Lucan's love could free Beowulf from his curse.
Only Lucan's forgiveness, and alliance
Could free Beowulf from this unholy trap.

Canto III

It came to be that Sir Lucan traveled into 
The heart of Egypt,
To the Tombs of the ancient Pharaohs.
The Sphynx prowled
With shifting shoulder blades.
There rose mummies
From their crypts
Five of the pharaohs of the past.

The Sphynx spake,
"Lucan, if you can beat me
"I shall spare thee from the Caerbanog.
"And thy squire Beowulf shall live."

Lucan, upon Crevan, hoisted up his javelin.
"I will be angry with my squire
"For fighting his feud with the Knight Rancor.
"However, I see that he is a man.
"And he has made his own choices."

The Sphynx spake, 
"Choices, yes.
"He has made many choices,
"And smote down the knight Rancor.
"And for this, we see you cannot forgive him."

The mummies flung toward Lucan
And it was all Lucan could do to stay
Upon his steed.
He would slash the mummies
He would kill them
Only to have them resurrect themselves
With their moving limbs.

"You do not know the moegic of Egypt.
"These are stronger than Orcs
"And cannot be killed
"By one who harbors anger."

"Beowulf was my friend,
"My companion from long ago.
"Now, he is broody
"And sad, and I do not know if I can love him the same
"For his sadness is of his own making."

The Sphynx said,
"Then, Lucan, he shall die."

Lucan fell upon his knees
As Crevan Whinnied.
"He will die?"

"Of course, a man cannot bear the despair
"Of having one so close to him
"Perpetually angry.
"For, Beowulf is entrapped by his own despair.
"And that despair we are using to fuel
"The spreading of this vine
"Which shall feed on the world's joy
"And it shall replace all joy with despair
"Just like your son's.
"For his grief is a weapon
"We use to throw down the nations
"And to give them no joy henceforth.
"How can a man who is innocent
"Have no joy? It can only be
"That Pharaoh's vine
"Recompense the world
"Double for what it has done to Beowulf."

Lucan then spake,
"What has the world done to Beowulf?"

The Sphynx spake,
"The world?
"What had it done
"But cast him into shame
"Through its unforgiveness?
"Beginning with yours
"Which was harbored long before
"He smote down Sir Rancor.
"For, you had resented him
"Ever since he had chosen
"Gregory as his Page."

Nebo and Abaddon receded into the corridor
And drew their swords.
"Now, see, Lucan, I can save you
"From the Caerbanog,
"The Fairy lORD
"If you defeat me."

The Sphynx grew haughty.
"What are you Sphynx?"
Cried Lucan.
The Sphynx said,
"I? I am the flow of the times."

The five mummies flung forth
To maul Lucan
And Abaddon and Nebo 
Attacked her
At once.

It began to grow into a horrendous feud
As the seven fought mortal combat.
No matter how much they fought
The seven prevailed over Lucan.

Lucan saw the Sphynx 
Prowling like a lion
From without the battle.

"Yes, Lucan, I am the Zeitgeist.
"I am the thing you cleave to.
"Surrender Beowulf,
"For he is not your son."

Lucan cried out a mighty roar,
"Beowulf is my son!"
And so she threw her lance
In a mighty strike against the Sphynx's 
Chest. It sunk deep into the Sphynx.
The Sphynx was smitten.
He fell dead upon the bier of the golden
Tombs. The Sphynx was dead.

There came from time the Caerbanog
As it spread forth from the vines.
For the vines were the Caerbanog.
It lit its fiery glow,
Yet, Beowulf flung from his sleep
Where the Caerbanog hid him.
Beowulf took Lucan
And galloped with him
From without the Pyramid.
The whole of Egypt quaked,
As Nebo and Abaddon
Rushed from the tombs.
Pharaoh was dead
And the mummies were crushed 
From beneath the pyramid's falling Aedicules.
The Caerbanog was spread throughout the whole land.
Abaddon and Nebo disappeared from without the pyramid.
After which, a quake,
And the Caerbanog fell 'pon
A hard fall;
Its verdant vines
Turned to ashen yellow.

"Wot not you that thou would have perished
"To this cruel vine
"Had you not saved me from this
"My spell?"
Spake Beowulf.

Lucan saw that the deuterocannon
Of the analogs of Fairyland
Were now altered.
The Caerbanog was defeated.
Thus, Beowulf could live his happy life.

Thus, Beowulf lived happily ever after.

XIV

I Saw Truth with Her Lover

I saw Truth with her lover
In the dark;
I took my raiment, and galloped far away
To where I slew a knight in combat
And took his woman from him.
I had then found a tree
Of which I wished to make her a garland from
Yet the tree bled and spoke.
He told me of a wicked sorceress
Who made he and his lover into those trees.
I had found, also, that the knight I slew
Had two brothers.
I found too many enemies
Yet was I angry with the Truth
For her adultery;
For why would she be in another's bed
And not mine, when I was her betrothed?
I had not seen t'wasn't her
In that bed, but rather the apparition of Morpheus.
For Truth, she seemed, slept nude with Hecate
Yet it was only a magical spell
Which made Truth seem a whore.

XV

Trivia, riddle odes
And weave webs of lies.
Every word you speak is
Invented from the world,
You make yourself more ancient than Hecate
Who stands with her torch.

You occupy yourself with every fact that contradicts
Strange, ancient wisdom.
The Love of the Two Peaches
Is constructed, born a twelvemonth ago.
Yet, it is born as ancient wisdom.
Trivia, you weave a web
Of factoids.

Wisdom can still be purchased
So the ancient accents are known.
Paul Revere did ride a midnight ride
Yet, Trivia, you make Boston's Massacre 
Riot control---
It was a massacre.

Auld Lang Syne replaces "You're A Grand Ol' Flag"
And Trivia, Mnemosyne is silently demented
So all acquaintance is forgot.
Good men are turned into Joseph,
Yet all his mourners are comforted
For great lies are being spun by Trivia.
It soon becomes apparent
The Love of the Two Peaches
Isn't ancient.
Neither was the City of Sodom one which stood ancient.

For there is truth:
And it is hidden
By you Trivia.

XVI

Sing, oh wary ship traveler.
Cyrus sees your weary eyes
As the watch prowls the street
Asking for bribes, and stirring the 
Little townsfolk into their homes.

Prosperous was the land you fled to.
Prosperous, and kind
Until Sin's dark shadow grew over the basin
Of the gorges.
O! If you only knew our freedoms
If you only knew.

Cyrus, stir the Medes
Stir the Medes
Stir the Medes.

Cyrus spoke,
"I would cut them to pieces
"And rip out their throats.
"I would ravish the town squares
"And purge the evil of this land.
"I shall not spare their children.
"I shall not spare the rod.
"For I destroy even the Babes
"When I go to war."

O! Babylon! Prepare for war
For the peoples desire the law of Yah
And scorn the laws of Sin.
From the East, from the North
From the South, comes the armies
Of Persia and Media.

Sing o strong ones
For freedom is meted 
And the war shall be fierce.
Weapons shall unsheathe their naked steel
And in one night the battle shall be lost
For thee, o Babylon.

For the Barren ones in the East
And the Barren ones in the South
And the Barren ones in the North
Are ashamed of you.

XVII

Dark and ancient truths
Which still burgeon in the world today.
American soldiers slaughter children.
Iraqi soldiers violate women.
War still gets fought by civilized countries.

Were you offended by Cyrus?
Yet our modern wars are fought just the same.
Children die in bombings,
Women are violated
Men slaughter one another.

What justifies war?
What justifies the crimes attributed to war?
War is the supreme evil.

What justifies it?
When is it justified to commit all atrocious evils?

Surely there is a time,
But now is not it.

XVIII

Let me fight our wars in verse.
Purge the violence from our souls.
Let me...
Let me speak of rebellion
Of slaughtering
Of killing
Of being unkind.

Let me tell you of war
You who wishes to kill the children
You who wishes to violate the women
You who wishes to plunder the spoil
From the homes.

Men die---
The very strangers I sing about
The very souls who occupy my verse.
These men, they die
Picking up the rifle.

Let me tell you the raw, uncensored
Emotion of war.
What kings feel when they send their troops into battle.
Children are to be dashed against the stone.
Women are to be ripped apart
Their breasts ripped open
And their bodies made into a heated flash of fury.

No... what I write ought to be offensive
Because you burgeon close to war.
These things you all will be guilty of.
So, let my poesy purge you of the evil.
Show you the guilt.
I'll draw you close to suicide
I'll draw you close to homicide
And then you can inch back
And say, like it were a dream, "I had never done it."
To know the feeling of a man's warm blood
Upon hands---
I do not know it, but I know the feeling
Of battle.
I will show you,
And let you meditate on it.

For is my verse offensive?
It ought to be.
For both Woke and Nazi youths
Will die with one another's
Fluids upon them.
Blood, guts and the ravished.

My poem should be offensive.
For war is offensive.
Do you wish to walk to the brink?
Do you wish to learn the regret
Of having taken another's life?
Of having violated someone?
Will your conscience ever be made whole
After knowing and tasting violence?

So I say, eat with trembling.
Drink with haste.
Prepare your hearts for war.
And if it doesn't come
Give a sigh of relief.

XIX

Xenophanes, you poetically, and surgically
Weave your origins of doubt.
You find God to be cruel
More like man than actual deity.

I see the traces of wisdom in you
How you want an origin of God's being
And callously say,
"Christ is only two thousand years old."

Yet, ancient was the deity Who gave Moses 
Law, and more ancient was the deity
Who gave some of which to Abraham Hammurabi's law;
El is Hebrew for God
And El is traced to Mesopotamia
To be worshiped at the time of Melchizedek and Abraham.
El, it turns out has a Son.
The Scholars at Oxford and Yale
Say, "It is the cult of righteousness."

Yet, I say it is not so.
What cult of righteousness springs up in China?
What cult springs up in Greece?
As if this God's truths were universal
Found throughout West and East
And firstly discovered in the Middle of the world?

Greeks found Word, Charity, Agape
Chinese found Tao, Filial Respect, and Universal Love.
Jesus is the Word, is the perfect picture of Filial Respect and Charity and Love.
How cultures found morality independent of one another.

Yet, there are those who contest it.
And Xenophanes, you find them
Secreted in your doubt that man had anthropomorphized God.
And that is what causes you to doubt.

Yet, I see the same notions springing up in separate cultures
Meaning there must Be.
What is there? 
What can be found?
If it's there to discover
Who put it there?
And these my God answers
When He took on Human Flesh.
No other satisfies it;
Yet predicted at the beginning of human civilization---
When one man and another agreed upon their social contracts
And thus forth bore rule---
Is the fingerprint of my God.
That El, the nameless deity
Had a Son
And from this sprung what academics call "The Cult of Righteousness."
And then I find philosophers discover those same truths.

I say to myself, "The evidence is overwhelming.
"And then add to it the Heavens and Isaiah's scroll;---the stories written in the constellations."
I find one hundred percent proof that God is the Hebrew's God
And that God's Word put on the Flesh of Man.

XX

Cyrus, I understand you
The way you think.
I know you from the inside
How you have petulant doubts
Yet rage at the heathen.
I know you rage against God
And seek to destroy Him.
Yet I also know you secretly wish
To use his laws to exact vengeance on this world.

You do not believe in God
You do not...
But His laws are enticing as an engine
To siege the Capitol
And to tear down walls and bulwarks;
To stir Media and Persia
Against Assyria and Babylon.

I know you from the inside
And your rage which burns toward the infidel.
Religion to you is a tool
The Messiah an engine which you will use
To usher in your reign.

Alas, I stand here
Arguing with you for the second time
As you tell me, "On your death bed
"You will say as Jesus said, 
"My God, My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me?"
Yet you take slaves,
While you dash the infants upon the rocks.

Christian you do not hate---
No, you love God's people.
For it is in you to love God's people.
Yet you rage against God as Satan himself
And you move upon your holy quest to purge
Sin's temple from the world.

I see you in my thoughts and visions
And I am like you
So it disturbs me greatly.
I am gentle, and meek;
You are a warrior
Believing in the law of my God
Right down to the tittle---
Yet you do not believe in God.

Such a strange doubt in you
That I feel in my chest
But I do not understand why you believe in my God's law
But not the God Himself?

Is it, like so many Jewish men
You like the burdens of lamb stew and drink oblations?
I say to you,
You will be used to purge the land of its idols.
That is what you wish.
Yet it is I who shall prosper in the LORD's name
For I will declare my portion
That your rage may be just
But it is not a wholesome intention to 
Desire to fix the world.

XXI

Alas, I call you Cyrus in this book.
But you are not Cyrus.
You are Nero.

XXII

Gahanna was shrouded in mystery
As the Styx flows through the Acheron;
Descended into the deep
Son of a king, you trifle there.

King of the scouts
The minstrels sing of you
In the woven dreams of Morpheus.
The gum of Acacia is upon your thigh
Yet I rejected it, for such is the disease
Of mind, which your magic spun
Through dirt and vulgarity.

You sought me, and you found Cyrus.
You found me, yet you were but a boy
And our lives crossed on the banks of the Susquehanna.
I do not know what powers are over me...
Only that an Acquaintance, a man my equal,
So says David,
Whom I had counsel with in the LORD's house
Will betray me.

Forsooth, such a strange thing to be
That it was a happy accident
Which brought you to my humble life;
Yet you should be one plotting against me.

XXIII

The Savanna is rubicund
With delightful golden grains.
Most gorgeous are her valleys
With the hills among the rolling veldt.

I, the animal, enraged
By Serengeti hunger
Am driven into mindfever
Where I cannot perceive
Nor understand;
No, I am crazed by possibilities.

If I had you, your plains would be mine
And I would be the lion
Within his Pride.
There would be only nature and I.
It would be of no use
For only the air of the veldt
Could satisfy me
Should I be satisfied by you.
I would desire nothing more
And would never wander from my bounds
In the safelands,
Where poachers could not find me.
For I will stay upon your plains
And meander among your hills.

XXIV

There is an Amazon in the forest. 
Lusty she is, bare, exposed
Easy to take and be pleased.
Yet, she will tear you limb from limb
And take your leg upon her gnashing teeth.
She will bite it, with blood down her chin
And her hair is knotted with the blood of men.

Pleasing she seems far away
Until you come close to her
And she is too big for loves.
You cannot marry her
But become her slave
Where she will malign you
And break your spirit.

I say, I have seen the Amazon kingdom
And it is frightening.
All men stay indoors
And are frightened to peep
Out the lattice, 
For the giantess walks among them.
Elephant for steed
And lust in her eyes.

XXV

Though you speak untruth
Sor Juana, 
And always turn the right for the worse
My love for you waxes
Like the moon,
But it shall never wane.

Violent, you protected your blessed young
Though worthless men tried to steal
Your fruit from you.
And he is blessed
The fruit of your womb.
For you had taken your wounds
And stripes, and your joy was made fruitful
A man, more intelligent than I.
More blessed than I on this earth.
A man who possesses the sea
And all of beauty..

Though you do not speak
Words which are wise to the ears
Your zeal and love for your child
Is a light to my eyes
And a longstanding gem
And treasure in my heart.

When men malign your name
I speak in its defense.
For there is speech---
And what of us have not been silly in our years?---
And then there is action.
And though you speak
I know you act upon your better nature.
And for that I love you, Sor Juana.
And I always shall.

XXVI

Cain, you present your grain offering.
Your two hands labored day and night
For the produce of the field.
You present your offering
And say, "Look upon my fruit
"It is good."

Lot, however, gave his beloved daughter
To appease the lust of the Sodomites.
Broken by this, and also the loss of his wife,
Cain, you look upon him and say,
"What had this man done that was good?
"He gave of his women to be maligned by Sodomites."
Lot, who loved his daughter,
Felt maligned an entire lifetime
For this sin. He had cried day and night
Yet, it was either her, or the Holy Being.
For, they would be slaughtered
By lust, had Sodom's lust not been appeased.

Oh, Cain, you look upon him, disgusted.
Then you say, "My brother is poor
"Why had not my mother killed him in the womb?
"For he grew to be a lazy shepherd
"And does nothing all day, except peer
"Into the stars of heaven
"And spin Idle tales by which he wishes to teach the peoples.
"He is lazy, and is a degenerate.
"For I know his sins, that he has done far
"More wickedly than I.
"Therefore, why had not my mother buried him
"And his poverty in the womb?
"For I am rich, and right,
"And have grown my crop by my own sweat.
"And all my brother did was stand in the green field 
"To tender his flock."

XXVII

Censures of the Ass

He wants evidence for God's existence;
Beauty comes under attack, censorship
Threatens to destroy all things of conscience.
Evidence, he claims, yet it is his whip
Which tortures him like the mad Catholic.
Holy is his crusade, holy and thick;
Offended and driven mad by beauty
That the mountains are hoary and frostbit
That the trees are wooded, and the ponds green---
He, with his unholy, black candles lit
Sings his prayers to the form of ash decay.
Angelic voices he forbids to pray;
Evidence is what he seeks to destroy:---
Art he calls pretentious; beauty a ploy.

XXVIII

Some lies are sown by the minds of worthless
Men, who, knowing that they have lost their war,
Will seed a tare of doubt to germinate
Many decades later. It is cunning
At its finest, to fallow the soil
Of another generation to take
Up the Burdens of the Past and spill blood.
By it, crafty Fascists tilled Christian men's
Hearts, and sown their seeds into the future
Through ignorance of the past, and factoids.
Some fascists place condemnation on tongues
So to wag at long forgotten heroes.
Others sow their seeds, using Christ's good name
To then crucify devout believers.
All the while a chorus sings their hymn
To summon bestial intelligence,---
To blaspheme what is holy in heaven
And to call what is beautiful, grotesque.

XXIX

I

The idiot said on national TV
Disparaging religion once again,
"It is religion that separates us
"And maligns the human spirit!
"If we just got rid of it, people would have peace."
His raging lunatics cry for a third of the earth to be lobotomized.

Oh, yes, I read how Prods and Papes
Hate each other in Ireland.
Eerily, I see a different truth.
How Blue and Red hate each other
In America,
And Democrat and Republican
Hate each other.
No... there is bitterness enough
To be expelled from a man's house
Should you consent to the wrong flash of insignia.

Or, shall I talk to these idiots
About race? How mobs burn down Manhattan 
Because of skin color
And stores are looted because of class struggles?

Really, maybe we ought to be adealistic.
Then, perhaps we'd have peace
But the idiots I referred to
Have managed to give Hitlerian mindset
To atheists, who assume themselves good atheists
Only, throw the unruly Jews---I mean Christians---
Into the Gas Chambers.

Should I ever talk to that idiot
I don't think I could speak.
He's an excellent rhetorician
Who turns a news article about how Hitler was not a Catholic
And sources it in a debate
To prove that Hitler was.

Frankly, I'm about tired of it
But in that little microcosm I cannot understand---
Why do Catholics and Protestants hate each other?
I liken it to something that isn't religion---
It's just hate, and hate comes in many colors.

II

No, I'm not talking about you.
Perhaps it is that you don't understand
That educated men have taken the Idiot's
Thoughts, construing it to launch a crusade
Against religion.

But this Idiot,
Misjudging Christianity as the force of evil in the world
Mistakes what is something primal
For something artificial.
Wars between Prods and Papes
Are as equal as a civil war
Defining what slavery is.
And it is hardly a thing common to religion
Slavery. Obviously,
Your impression of Christianity
Is that we like to kill people who disagree with it
And that we go around starting Nazi revolutions
And banning books about evolution.
Silently, I understand your contemplation
Though simple. Reality is often nuanced
And often bad men have no real ideology beside power.
It is that, since the worst of humanity has been touched in this soul
To understand what it is that drove Hitler.
And certainly it was not the teachings of Christ.
Christ, who would be despised by Hitler
As Jesus is a Jewish Name.

I look at you,
And see you influenced by the same Idiot I'm talking about
Giving your factoids about how Nazis censored
Things which they deemed destructive to the "Volk".
You are likely not wise enough to understand it.
I do, however.
Religion unites a people
So does skin color
So does nationality.
And you reject the fact
That the religion was going to be a bait and switch
Where men replaced Yah with Thor and Odin.

No, it was not Christianity.
It was human nature.
As simple as a Blood and Crypt killing each other on Harlem's street
That is as simple as the in-group out-group phenomena
Which you blame on my humble religion.
Often my religion has been in the out-group
And persecuted by all men...
At least the true devotees to my religion.

You rage, you rant
But I do not blame you for your mistake.
I understand what you're saying.
But I understand it is easy to look at the artifice
And see Hitler built a tower with the remains of Christian mortar.
In that, I suppose you're right.
It is the worst of religion
But it is also the worst of Atheism:
It is the worst of ideology;
As you do not see it,
But I see in your atheism the same kind of destructive heresy
That led Catholics into the Dark Ages
And led Hitler to slaughter millions of my people.

Perhaps you will not see it because you are blinded by it.
And with that, It is why I silently bow away from you
And let you be led by your Idiot leader.
When you want true wisdom,
Come here and read and drink
From Brandon's Water.

XXX

I

Is poetry an expression of the self?
Or is it an expression of the truth?

II

Are all our minds just solipsist teacups 
And no man, however penetrating
Can truly know what is in another man's heart?

Is all our poetry simply an expression of self?
Or does a stranger share in our sufferings?
Can there be an utterance of the truth
Something true for all men
Or even just two?

Can there be an expression,
A word uttered that is truly understood?
Can the best poets be penetrated
Or are we trapped in eternal silence
Of the solipsist called our soul?

We reach outward, but do we truly see
The world for what it is?
Do we share our sight
Or are all men that of blindness
And can only see what is seen for them?

Are we truly alone
In our bodies
Our souls an isolated remnant
Which travels,
And it is only us and our sufferings?
No one to reach out to
No one to truly know us
Nor no one we can truly know?

Are we just solipsists?
The answer, I do believe
Is no.

XXXI

Siegfried Asher, among the Choir
I heard your song, like a Castrato
Androgynous. Hermaphroditous,
Among God's elect, singing
The hymns, beautif'lly  
The hymns,---melodious, sonorous.
At a point within the music
You touch a note, and realizing its sheer
Magnificence, it pleases you,---like Aphrodite
You make the gathering fall in love.

XXXII

Drink wine. Make love. Merry the heart a bit
With the pleasantry of vaginal skin.
Oh, Dionysius, to whom Kingdoms
Are but a game, and legions march out to war
On orders, by programming upon the screen.

They march, as you work upon them
To get the droves to do your bidding.
You wade in your underground hot springs
And you dine upon flesh and flagons.
Then, you hide from me your sin
In our conversation, like a Roan Cleveland Bay.

No, for all are guilty, but this you cannot admit to your own guilt.
You hide it, oh Northern Prince,
Your claims for evidence behooves you
As piously you sit upon your throne in your den.
You sit upon it, telling me there is no evidence for your sin.
When, it is written all over your shameful acts
To try and humiliate me.
For humiliate me you did, for I cannot call to mind
The potions you have drunken, 
The women you have made love to
Nor the roughness by which you treat your own kin.

To me, oh Dionysius, 
You are like royalty;--- Far beyond this jester fool
Whose given the license can critique you.
For you are like royalty, 
And I am like screed.
My words have none affect upon you.
They do not move you.
They bore you.
They are sonorous sermons
To wit, namely, should I shame you like you have shamed me
I cannot. For my shame is in the open
And yours is locked away tight in your underground labyrinth. 

I speak of this to your benefit, that
Yes, most men are guilty of the same shame as I.
In one form or another.
Laid the orgies of Dionysius,
It is like murder upon your soul.
And I, wishing to ease you from your sins
Have been humiliated by you
When you point to mine.
For mine is a matter of public record.
And yours is not.

XXXIII

I hate the tastes of the populous
So I follow my muse where she leads me.
I see a wicked man cannot believe in God
But a righteous man cannot but help proclaim the name of Jesus.

Wherever I go, I see in people's heart a light
And the older they get, the more it dims.
It's like when a young maid loses her virginity
A dark frown furrows her brow.
Her glow becomes dim
And her inner light ceases to shine.
Or a young man who has heart and courage
And is like a lion, without knowledge of a woman
When he enters into her, he too loses that innocence.

Virginity ought to be prized,
As once it's gone, it never ceases to be a vapor.
Yet, a woman who was molested does not cease to be a virgin.
She is not consenting, yet I do see she loses some of her inner light.
Not for what she had done, but for what she had done to her.
And it is a shameful thing among the sons of men.

Yet, I also see men caught in a summary offense
Whom having offended the virgin they had deflowered
Be accused of committing a more heinous crime.
For a fifty dollar fine, they find themselves shackled.
I do not say it is injustice, for the woman ought to have been married
And her lost virginity cries out to her
Though many women pretend like it is not so.

I look also to the wind, and see change comes
To correct bad behaviors of the past.
What looks wretched and tyrannical
Is actually a chain which binds evil nations.
It wraps around them, and it chokes out the sin;
And while we all suffer for a while because of it
Soon, it is better left that sex be for a married couple
And for procreation. For, the nude show of woman's skin
Is something she does feel guilty for,
And though she shows her breezier at work
The men who stare at it are condemned.
And that whip chastises them,
Yet the lack of love in her life chastises her.
For all had been exposed for the purpose of vanity
And still, that vanity cannot hide its shame.

So, I look to the current age and say,
"Is it that I must suffer too?"
And the answer is yes.
For a short time, and then it will pass like a raincloud.
Yet, the dark storm is wrought by God
To correct our foul notions. 

XXXIV

The sheep with the Golden fleece
Was tasked by a divorced bride
To bring her children across the sea
And to save them from the jealousy
Of their stepmother.
It dropped the girl into the water.
And she, unapologetically, disappeared
Without a second thought in the narrative.

XXXV

To avoid the tyranny of
The stepmother's disloyal rage
She sent her two children upon
A lamb to swim them o'er the bay.
The daughter fell off the sheep's loin.
She drowned, while the boy was then saved.
In this journalism I see
Vacuous truth, unconscious in
That it had no symbol, nothing
The storyteller of the fleece
Would wish to cause us pay heed.
Rather, no moral does it spin
No deep truth for a heart to win.
Yet a past land's conscience it leaves.

XXXVI

Phusis and Chronos

Purple hair of the setting sun's fire,
With robes of the sky's daytime amethyst---
Her sandals are peridot sward, nestled
In the earth of her skin's sun-kissed velvet.
Her eyes are the ocean's green, with glass foam.
She wears the skins of all the beasts she took
In combat; the insects are her jewels.
She is betrothed to Time as man and wife.
As time will age, so will she weaken.
Until the two pass on to the heavens.
For nature grows weaker, as time passes
On, and the more unnatural man becomes
The time of Nature's magic wanes, so with
Her love, and mercy and her swells of joy.
Until she dies, and so does Time, and the
White Rider comes upon clouds of heaven.

XXXVII

A Poem in Iambic Tetrameter

The truth is ne'er as strong in wise
As lies which speak in quickened fire;---
For specious words which lies surmise
Are stronger than the spoken truth.
But words well thought, in clever fay
Do shine on minds who mull away
A day's eve in one single thought.

XXXVIII

Sistine Chapel

Michelangelo, the cretic beauty of your namesake,
Let me diverge from my folksy wisdom, and sing
Upon this lute the song of your Sistine Chapel.
No, I shall not use my utterances which bring on songs'
Mystic echoes, to my rigid verse and primal
Muse of meters sung without their feet conforming to the
Standards of the ancient lores, spun upon papyrus cloth.

I watch and listen to the sage who says your art was dulled
By the washing of a thousand hands which stripped from
Them their shadow like the cross shall strip away our sin.
And, yet, it is the most precious sight my eyes had ever seen.
For by the sins of careless hands, a sin brought grace to me.
For wrong it was to strip the work its shadowed veil;
Yet not a thing more beautiful had my eyes ever prevailed.
For Christ, our sin, shall wash away, to scrub off our darkened shadow.
And by this washing, because we sinned, we shall be beauty's mallow.

XXXIX

Thou Disagreeable Abductor,
Onusion---have you any skill
At portmanteau...?
 
Two maids sleep in your bed---
You live a life of leisure upon the earth
Like a king with his harem.
You plough your heifers with the row
And you make the Jewess cry.
You spread your seed.
You write works
And with your prowess
You bring them to the world.

Me in all my compassion
Cannot take but a few
To hear my desperate pleas.
Yet you amassed a great following
And fortune.

I spend years mastering my craft.
And I am not paid.
I am not successful.
Your enemies feed you
For you are more alike with them
Than I.

XXXX

The songs of Melkor fill the land
And all the bards must dull their thoughts;
The lutes and pipes and strings do wane
To the primeval rhythm's drum.
Words are their most raw utterance
And all wise words are now called wrong.

XXXXI

Canto I

There stood in the plains a warrior
Whose name was ancient as the days are long.
He travelled from very far
To the land of mystical Greece.
From his home in Zion
He travelled to the Athenian shores
Where he landed, and saw a culture
Much unlike anything he had seen previously.
Brittos disembarked from his galleon 
With Chantz his steed,
A black stallion with no blemish on it.
He took and led Chantz by foot
Stroking the horse's gentle face.

He saw many strange things.
There were women in love with women,
Men in love with men.
There were men who dressed as women
And women who dressed as men.
Some, by way of moegic,
Made themselves of the very sex.
The only thing which showed them 
What they were, was the face
And even some had faces which none could
Tell were of a man or woman's.

He saw the philosophers,
The Ionians,
The Atomists
The Evolutionists,
The Pythagoreans.
He saw much knowledge
In this city, where men rode upon their steeds.
He heard of the gods of this region
Baalim whose mischief with the science of Babylon
Was strong. Yet, none were of the thirteen
Save Minerva, who once ruled over the Grecian borders.

Brittos saw their marble homes,
The plenteous activities,
The Olympics in their nude displays.
He saw the Parthenon, the Domes
The Aqueduct, the Pantheon
The Hanging Archways
Taught to these Greeks by the Etruscans.
'twas not as beauteous as Brittos' home
With the Sistine Chapel, Sophia and Notre Dame.
But it had the same aqueducts;
It had the same warmed waters.
Yet these men took their aqueducts  
And made their pools
Where the men had their sodomous orgies
And the women's mouths were filled.

Brittos marveled at
Their wisdom...
They had knowledge of the cosmos
They had knowledge of the beginnings of the earth
They had knowledge of the waters
The seas, the gardens.
Their science was exact
And brought pleasure to the whole land
Like none before them
Save Nebuchadnezzar's kingdom.

 Canto II

Brittos found among them a champion.
His name was Hercules.
Much like a Nethinim was he.
Therefore, Brittos challenged him to a wrestling match.
Brittos, thin and white, and wiry
Was looked at by their champion.
Hercules scoffed at him.
 
"Look at you, gangly, spindly limbs
"And skin as pale as the daisy.
"You wish to challenge me?
"A god?"

Brittos disrobed.
"I wish to challenge any who
"Would call themselves a god.
"For, I had slain gods before.
"Thor and Athena."

Hercules scratched his chin.
"You had slain Minerva?
"In these days, we call that goddess Minerva.
"And you claim to have slain her?"

"Yes, good sir. And I wish to test my bout with you
"To prove that a man is mightier than a god."

Hercules scoffed.
"I am as strong as one thousand men.
"I had cleaned out the Augean stables,
"Had borne the Earth on my shoulders, 
"To unburden Atlas,
"Had defeated the Hydra,
"And had wrestled Antaeus in the garden of Hesperides"

Brittos nodded his head,
And said to Hercules,
"These are fine feats.
"Since we boast before combat
"I had defeated Thor and Athena both in mortal combat.
"I had beaten the ladies Grea
"I had overcome the Chok who could bend a Nethinim's verse
"I had even overcome the Giant's Soul."
 
Hercules paused.
"You had defeated a giant?"

Brittos said,
"Nay, not a giant, but even worse.
"A Giant within me."
 
Hercules rubbed his chin again.
"I say, you have slain a god,
"Of this I know
"For I too have subdued one.
"And this Thor, I do not know
"But you speak of him
"The same as Minerva
"So I assume he rules over a different land."
 
"Yes," said Brittos.

"I sense there is great power in you."

"No, none whatsoever. All my faith flows
"Through the LORD Jesus."
 
Hercules spake,
"My strength flows through
"Knowing what is right
"For I had sailed with Jason
"To attain the Golden Fleece.
"I did it to attain riches for the impoverished.
"And riches I had won from that."

"Then it is righteousness that holds you to 
"Your victories. Saved, I had been afflicted by the Giant's Soul
"And I had done much wrong by it."

Hercules was affronted by this.
"You had done much wrong by the Giant's Soul?
"Then are you evil?"

Brittos bowed.
"I am as evil as any man.
"But, if I subdue you
"You shall see it is not my righteousness
"That makes me strong.
"You will see that it is grace.
"For all men have done wickedly on the earth."

Hercules turned his head around him
Seeing a mighty crowd had gathered for the battle.
"Do we take to weapons?
"Must I slay you, since you are wicked?
"And you have committed crimes?"

Brittos said,
"I had been afflicted by your emperor,
"Nero, who had done to me
"What he sought well to do.
"For I had worldliness in my heart."
 
Hercules then said,
"How can unrighteousness
"Beat a hero like me?
"You had done wrong---
"Much from what you say
"And I had freed men and women 
"From their plights."

Brittos then said,
"But I too had freed men and women---
"I had defeated an entire army
"Of Thor's with the jawbone I plucked from one
"Of their square chins."

Hercules then spake,
"Well, I have had enough of this.
"We take to combat.
"I shall pin you
"And prove that it is my strength
"Which overcomes weakness
"And that you shall fall
"By your wicked devices."

Brittos then spake,
"Yet, if I win, it will 
"Show that grace is stronger
"Than my great surplus of sins.
"And that it is not strength which wins in combat
"But the deliverance of Christ."
 
Hercules, with his muscles and skin
Burnished by the oils of many olives
Was thrice the size of Brittos.
The two threw off all their clothes
In Greek fashion.

Canto III

Brittos and Hercules
Bull rushed into one another,
Their arms like horns,
Taking into their hands
The sinews of each other's triceps.
They both writhed in that fashion
Trying to throw the other to the ground
And therefore win their points.
Brittos would not let Hercules escape his grip
To which Brittos flung forward
And tackled his opponent to the ground.

Hercules and Brittos strove upon the shale
For fifteen minutes.
Hercules spake, "I am more righteous than you
"And I shall prove it by defeating you!"

Brittos saw his enemy hold equal strength
So he exerted all his effort to thrust
The opponent to the ground.
The two made wild jerks
To which Hercules and Brittos
Both scored many points.

Hercules then spake,
"I have more points than you
"So, your only hope of winning is to pin!"

Brittos knew this a lie,
But took to thrust his opponent
To the shale beneath him.
Brittos had commanded the fight
Yet Hercules spake,
"I am beating you.
"You are not righteous
"Brittos. I am righteous
"I had done many feats of good works
"And you have none, save the sins
"You overcame within you."

Brittos thrust forward
Breaking his opponent's armhold on the shale
Sofore, he swung around 
Hercules' four-anchored body 
To get atop of him.
Hercules spake,
"I shall beat you.
"For you are unrighteous.
"I have many works of heroism.
"And all you have done
"Is conquer your demons."

Brittos then spake,
"I shall prevail
"For Christ's grace covers me."

The two escaped one another.
Hercules , then, thrust his hand
Into Brittos' throat
And the two knelt, facing one another.
Hercules spake,
"I shall squeeze as tight as I can
"Your throat, and I shall kill you.
"That shall prove that you are wicked."

Hercules squeezed as hard as he could
Choking Brittos.
Brittos then spake, 
"If I am evil, then kill me.
"I do not wish to live if I am evil.
"Let us make this pact
"That if I am evil
"You shall prevail and kill me
"Hence here, to prevent my eternal suffering.
"For if you prevail,
"And kill me, I shall know that I am evil.
"But if I prevail,
"I shall know that Christ covers all my sins
"From now, and furthermore forever hencewith.
"Even if all my sins be exposed."
Brittos, thus, stood upon his nimble feet
And thrust himself between the gap
Of Hercules' knees.
Hercules tumbled over and 
Brittos thrust himself overtop
Of Hercules.

"You can only win by a pin
"And I shall never let you pin me!"
Cried Hercules.

Brittos spake to Hercules,
"I shall pin you,
"And you shall see that Grace is stronger than your heroic deeds!
"For in you is murder
"And it had not even once crossed my mind
"Nor entered into my thoughts!"

Brittos pushed down upon the shoulders
Of the hulking Hercules
And squared his shoulders to the shale
For five seconds.

Hercules spake, "You hadn't pinned me for three seconds."
Yet, it was for five seconds which Brittos pinned Hercules.
The match ended
And Hercules vanished without a trace.
The battle had been won
By Brittos, 
Yet the Pride of Grecian Honor
Forbade Hercules to admit defeat.
For to a Greek
Sin can never be atoned for.

XXXXII



The net is set before,
And the Fowler garners his devices.
Oh! Steel trap!
It is sprung and wound taught.

He seethes with venom
And with his black veil
He shows himself as violet light!
He dawns the clergy's robe
And stands above
Beyond, with his fowler's instrument set.

The congregation dances in their red hooves
And cloven feet,
As the witches draw their enneagrams.
They do their dances
Ecstatic with the tongues of asps.
They bow, they raise
They dance to the light of their own fires
And they say, "I see."

The Black Priest
Raises, in the robes of Baptist's flannel
They shout their glorious shouts
In ecstasies,
They gorge and smoke their peace pipes 
Outside of their Holy Cloisters.
They speak of life now,
And they speak of prosperity
To call forth holy visions to bring them their good
Fortune, and their just deserts.

He draws his cup, with the pentagon
Pits at the back of his church
Where he sacrifices the goats.
He destroys the content man's life
With his counsel he gives to the man's wife
Impregnating her with her desire for life.
He implants this same desire in his whole flock
As the fanatics bear their arms
And draw forth their swords
Ready to wage the Holy War of Armageddon.
He calls forth his armies from the woods
Whom he has also impregnated with the desire to live.

He speaks of gaining beauty in the wife
And of physique and flesh.
He sways in his black robes
And hood dawned which prevents his face from being seen.
He is the Judas Priest
Presiding over the Black Sabbaths.
He is our modern Preacher
Preaching the good work of self content
And prosperity, likening this fallen world
To the land of milk and honey.
He says, "Heaven is a place on earth,"
And he tells his troop to take it
To slurp down the victuals and to feast upon
The sea's fats.

Prosperity, beauty, contentment,
These are his sermons
To a lost generation.
Saying to them,
"Receive your bounty
"For you shall provide for yourself!
"The poor are a scourge upon the earth
"And the rich are the inheritors of the land.
"The meek are all sinners
"And those who mourn are chief among the blasphemers.
"Those who are poor in spirit, they are the filth that we despise
"And those who are peace makers, they we hate because we love war."

The congregation spins in their pews, 
And dance to the beats
They sing their magical chaunts,
They shout their "Hallelujah"
To the Jesus of Suburbia. 

And though they sprout wings
The net flung into the air.
And only the righteous escaped.

(C)2021 B. K. Neifert

All Rights Reserved