Lokasenna's Poetry Thread

[Lokasenna]

I read some advice on here somewhere suggesting that we should try and put all our poems in one thread, which seems like an excellent idea. This, therefore, will be my (infrequently updated) poetic gallery. Seriously, I have so little free time these days that my already slow output has declined even further.

Anyhow, here's the latest offering, about which I shall give no explanations, save that it is intended to be in the style of a narrative folk-song:

The Dead Places

In darkest darkness, deepest night,
In fire, and ice, and blood,
The tears of rime will freeze your sight,
For there the dead have stood.

Through darkling paths and ancient ways,
In fire, and ice, and fear,
Your soul shall fail where sickness stays,
For there the dead are near.

Hissing through the quiet trees,
In fire, and ice, and fate,
Decay is strong upon the breeze,
For there the dead learn hate

Silent voices that mutter still,
In fire, and ice, and song,
Unseen wraiths the groves all fill,
For there the dead are strong.

Written in blood on eldritch stone,
In fire, and ice, and storm,
Is the ancient doom of flesh and bone,
For there the dead have form

The dappled light with poison dwells,
In fire, and ice for lure,
While shadow with deep evil swells,
For there the dead endure.

In ancient times a city stood,
Where now is darkling marsh and wood.
Through golden streets the poets sang,
And lofty halls with wisdom rang,
Until one day for power and pride,
Black arts they learnt, and gods defied,
Until the time when righteous fire
Purged their sins and burnt their ire:
But poisonous hate can long abide,
And evil in deep earth reside.
Boy, hold these words above all things:
Fear the realm where the dead are kings!



As always, positive criticism will be well recieved!

[firefangled]

You are from Lothlorien, aren't you? This was enchanting. The repetition and variation in the second line of each stanza worked very well. The meter was perfect.

I loved the effect of the joined couplets in the last stanza.

Very enjoyable and well written!

In the third line from the bottom, should it be "...in deep earth resides?"

[PrinceMyshkin]

I too felt that the meter and rhyme were strong (but unobtrusive) throughout and that the departure from the quatrain pattern in the last long verse, that was an infusion of drama!

[Bar22do]

Lokasenna the Bard! I sang its music as I read your poem, while a bagpiper played the refrain in between stanzas... an experience, in short! It is a fine song, haunted and awesome, dark, but beautiful and full of life!
I too am impressed with the effective variations of the second lines of your couplets. Such a good job! Thank you very much!

[blank|verse]

I read that listening to Midlake's new album 'The Courage of Others', which is quite medieval-folk-rock (you'd probably like it - unless you're into metal or something that is...), anyway, it seemed most appropriate.

I think you've got a good grasp of metre and I liked the repetition of each stanza's second line (although perhaps that could have altered a bit more) and the language you used throughout is very apt for the subject (although not to my personal taste). I did notice that Thomas Hardy word 'darkling' crop up a couple of times though, maybe once in a poem for a word like that is all one can get away with. And I didn't like 'In darkest darkness' as an opening gambit.

My main comment is, because it's a 'narrative folk song' or ballad - where's the story? The first six stanzas just seem to describe places (the same place?) and don't move the poem along. Where's the adventure, the quest? That's what I was expecting and it comes too late in the poem.

I'm not sure about the last line either - it was a bit clunky reading it first time because you've established such a strong line of iambic tetrameter before that. Syllabically it works, and because 'Fear' is stressed, there's an argument to say that is effectively breaking the metre, but I just think as a concluding line, (and because it is being spoken to a 'boy' - presumably so he will remember the line and heed the advice it contains) it needs to be strong and on the beat, something like:


Fear the realm where Death is King!

So you lose the intial weak stress - an acephalic foot (meaning 'without a head', which seems rather adroit in the context) - but retain the strong stresses.

Gosh, all this archaic business - you'll have me writing sonnets like MorpheusSandman next...:wink5:

[MorpheusSandman]

you'll have me writing sonnets like MorpheusSandman next...:wink5::cornut: I dare ya!

I loved this, Lokasenna! But everyone around here knows what a sucker for neo-classical forms and meter I am. There are only a few places where you break the meter and I wonder whether they were intentional or not:

Silent voices that mutter still, = /-/--/-/ so you have an extra unstressed beat. Sometimes you can get away with this but in such a distinct meter like ballad meter it becomes much more noticeable.

Is the ancient doom of flesh and bone, Here you open with an anapest which, again, isn't as noticeable in a less strong meter. It's not terrible here, anyways.

While shadow with deep evil swells, -/--//-/ This is probably the most egregious break with the double iamb. You can't get a way with stressing "with" and not stressing "deep". This is a lesson I learned the hard way in my own poetry.

[Lokasenna]

Thank you for the comments, people!

Yes, I don't have much of a sense for rhythm, alas. However, with the advice in hand, I shall go away and have a tinker with it!

[AuntShecky]

Yes, I've found it to be a good idea to post your work all in one thread. There's a notion that it deters other sites from usurping your work; if nothing else, you can go back and
find individual works more easily than searching the entire "Personal Poetry" forum. Whenever you make a new posting, it automatically gets pumped into "New Posts." The only downside (if in fact there is one) is that can't find the number of readers for an individual poem, but you still
can get the cumulative number of readers of your thread. The more "replies" you post, watch how fast the total number of readers grow.

[blank|verse]

Quote:
Originally Posted by blnk_vrz
you'll have me writing sonnets like MorpheusSandman next...

I dare ya!

Is that the sound of a metaphorical gauntlet being thrown at my feet? In that case, Sir, I pick it up and (metaphorically of course) slap you round the chops with it! Watch this space...

[Lokasenna]

Here's another little something... not quite sure what to make of it myself...

Sephiroth: Emanations of God
While I, one time, of this world despaired,
Like a child bored of its oldest toy,
Then my hungry mind sought, unprepared,
For a subtle taste of truer joy,
And dwelt on sensations so sublime,
That my pregnant pen was left quite still
While my soul traversed a sea of time
And infinite space that charged my will
With such blinding storms of silent light.
I knelt naked before the godhood,
Which to my eyes burnt wondrous bright;
It flared deep within my very blood,
And forced to action my lazy art
To translate the truth I did espy:
For in that moment we stood apart,
Then my God was as naked as I.


As always, positive criticism will be well recieved!

[Heathcliff]

So ^ basically states you did a bunch of awesome things and now you're godly.
Actually that is pretty cool. By trying your best you found awesomeness... I think.

And congratulations on beginning a thread dedicated entirely to yourself. I can't believe I didn't think of that.

[Lokasenna]

Well, I really enjoyed the recent poetry contest - it was great fun, and a great opportunity. I had had no pretentions to winning, so even tp get a few votes was very gratifying.

I'm putting the poem up here for the purposes of getting some feedback on it. This is my first real, serious experiment with free verse, something I found rather hard going. So please, any adivce/positive criticism you can give on it would be much appreciated!

Impressions of the Cathedral at Sunset

The silence impresses.
It possesses these ancient stones,
so much so that they resound with it.
The audible click of umbrella against floor
is the sole unquiet thing,
its potency flung upon the void
and lost.

The stones care,
I can feel concern through my shoe-soles,
a crystalline mind whose presence
mocks the absent man.

It is the sense of absence
the crimson rays illuminate,
the manifold paradox of seeing
what the light cannot reflect.

I see the lords
invisible,
and hear the hymns
inaudible.

Here is the tomb of the genius.
(“Wow, isn’t it pretty” say the tourists).
When he died, we put this heavy
ornate lid on top of him.
(“Golly, I’ll bet that weighs a ton!”).
In life, he dared to peer into the heart of eternity,
and we reward him by cutting off
his light.
His fingers are bone, his brains are dust,
but I think those eyes of his remain,
seeking to capture the mystery they
once beheld.
My genius, I’d press your rotting lips
against my ear to catch the scattered
crumbs of your last whisper,
but if I did, they would call me
monster.

The evening fails, and the corners fill
with pools of purple shadow,
contagious as a dream.
We are mortal
because we remember our mortality,
and in immortal stone construct
the monument to our destruction.
Oh, brave cathedral,
tomb for all the ages of humanity!

So if you pass along this
route of my existence,
and tread the darkened cloisters
of this little world,
following the path of heart and grave,
until on bended knee you kneel before
the slow, dissolving firmament,
then there, stripped of reason and meaning,
you will feel your humanity shudder within you,
and quail before the terrible noise
that lurks in the heart of silence.

[Hawkman]

Hi Lokasenna,

I think this is really quite evocative, though I think you could afford to edit it a little. There are instances where you are perhapse a little too wordy. eg "so much so" when

"It possesses these ancient stones,
and they resound with it."

might be both more economical and powerful.

"Here is the tomb of the genius.
(“Wow, isn’t it pretty” say the tourists).
When he died, we put this heavy
ornate lid on top of him.
(“Golly, I’ll bet that weighs a ton!”).
In life, he dared to peer into the heart of eternity,
and we reward him by cutting off
his light.
His fingers are bone, his brains are dust,
but I think those eyes of his remain,
seeking to capture the mystery they
once beheld.
My genius, I’d press your rotting lips
against my ear to catch the scattered
crumbs of your last whisper,
but if I did, they would call me
monster."

This strophe is wonderful, a complete poem in its own right, although I'm with B/V when he suggests that one word lines should be avoided.

But the fact that it feels so self contained as a poem makes me suggest that perhaps it is slightly out of place in the body of the main work, a digression away from the more general impression of the cathedral.

I hope you find the time to work on it a little and post your poems more often.

Regards, Hawk.

[Lokasenna]

Thanks Hawk! There's some really good advice there.

I love writing and posting poetry, but I have so little time for composing these days... oh well, I'll keep trying!

[qimissung]

I came very, very close to voting for that one. I enjoyed it, Lokasenna. I could just feel those ghosts lurking there!

[Lokasenna]

Right, this is what I've been working on for a while recently - by far and away the longest poem I've ever composed, by I'm quite pleased with how it turned out. It's my first serious attempt at something quasi-Lovecraftian, so I've dedicated it to the great man himself.

Metaphysic

In Memoriam H. P. Lovecraft

I have wandered the paths of the ages,
Looking ever before and behind,
From the time where the dawning fire rages,
To the point where all motion’s confined,
To the point where the Universe falters,
And the madness oppresses my mind.

I was there when Creation created,
When existence began to exist,
When the hunger of Silence was sated,
And matter was allowed to persist,
And I wept for the sigh of the Cosmos,
For the impulse I could never resist.

I saw the void of infinity loom,
And perceived the great ocean of dust,
Where I beheld the first stars in their bloom,
And the planets a-forging their crust,
And I fled to the comforting darkness,
To think only on that which I must.

I had plunged through primordial ocean,
To outrun the corruptible air;
In the storm of that terrible motion,
And transfixed by the ominous glare,
There I salted the seas with my grieving,
As my being was wracked with despair.

In the cleft of a newly torn chasm,
In the bowels of the cavernous deep,
I saw sentient slime start to spasm,
Start to slobber, and gibber, and creep,
And like one in the throes of a nightmare,
I hoped only that I was asleep.

Oh, the weight of the eons oppressed me,
While the waters bestirred with new life,
And the long flow of time had possessed me,
When the land first played host to the strife;
I was old beyond all understanding,
When the young wars of humans were rife.

I was there when the bold Alexander,
Sought to march with his armies on hell,
I was there when an Empire much grander,
Held a third of the world in its spell,
But the worst thing of all I remember,
Is the day that humanity fell.

I have crept through the desolate city,
Through the silent and shadowy span,
Where my horror and joy fought with pity,
As I looked on the ruin of man,
And my hate for the Universe bubbled,
So I turned from the tomb, and I ran.

I have lingered on mountainous ranges,
I have skulked in the valleys of fear,
I have watched how the Universe changes,
How the radiance grows grim and drear,
And I plead and I beg to the ether,
For an end that can never come near.

I have wandered the paths of the ages,
Looking ever before and behind,
From the time where the dawning fire rages,
To the point where all motion’s confined,
To the point where the Universe falters,
And the madness oppresses my mind.

For the galaxies stop in their reeling,
As the pulse of Creation grows slow,
For the tomb of infinity’s sealing,
At the end of eternity’s flow;
Though the dust will disperse into darkness,
I can never forget what I know.

And my longing for nothingness haunts me,
Since I saw luminescence ascend,
Yet the hard dream of matter still taunts me,
Though I have felt the darkness descend,
And I rant and I rave at the Silence,
Until the end of time without end.


Hope you enjoyed it! As always, constructive criticism is extremely welcome!

[Jack of Hearts]

Fitting for Lovecraft and undeniable skill in composition. Sadly, that's this reader knowledge of poetry exhausted- in lieu of constructive criticism, please accept mundane appreciation.






J

[hillwalker]

You've pulled it off - Lovecraftian indeed... and managed to handle metre and rhyme like a true master.

Stanza 3 could probably benefit from a little rewrite - lines 1 and 3 stumble rather awkwardly and stick out when compared with the remainder of the poem as requiring attention.

Similarly, the opening line of stanza 5 is a syllable too long unless one pronounces 'within' monosyllabically - but that one's easily remedied.

Other than these minor grumbles it's a great piece of writing. Worth the effort of an eldricht imagination I would say.

H

[Lokasenna]

Thanks Jack!

Ah, Hillwalker, I'm very pleased - you've put your finger on the lines that were most concerning me.


Similarly, the opening line of stanza 5 is a syllable too long unless one pronounces 'within' monosyllabically - but that one's easily remedied.

The original line I drafted was simply "In the cleft of a newly torn chasm". This, however, lead to a debate with a friend, who said that it was one syllable too short - it depends on whether you think 'chasm' is one syllable or two. He convinced me to change, but now I'm minded to change it back. The same goes for the word 'there' in the 'spasm' line that follows it.


Stanza 3 could probably benefit from a little rewrite - lines 1 and 3 stumble rather awkwardly and stick out when compared with the remainder of the poem as requiring attention.

Yes, I'm not too happy with those lines - particularly the first. I'll have a tinker.

[tailor STATELY]

Morose in tone. Skillfully crafted. Enjoyed very much.

Sincerely,
tailor STATELY

[Lokasenna]

Thanks tailor STATELY!

Also, I've now edited the poem with Hillwalker's suggestions in mind, though I've decided to keep the line about stars blooming the same.

[Bar22do]

Am not qualified to critique, I'm afraid, but have admired and enjoyed your serious work in which I feel so much talent and dedication. Wonderful poem, in my opinion. I'm impressed. Thank you, Bar

[MystyrMystyry]

Cool Loki

[AuntShecky]

As far as "constructive criticism" is concerned, what strikes me most about your work is your willingness to "tackle" big subjects, quite admirable to see in a young poet, especially in an age obsessed with omphaloskepsis. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Omphaloskepsis)

I found the piece about the Cathedral (#12) to be quite effective, and it's the most effective where it is the most
specific. If you get a chance, read the Marianne Moore poem, "The Steeple-Jack." (http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-steeple-jack/)and compare her description of the church top to yours.

I don't know enough about Lovecraft to see the parallels between his work and your tribute to him. I like the lofty language, but as I've said to many others before, try to avoid abstractions and be as specific as you possibly can, avoiding all the way, clichés such as "the end of time," etc.

Okay?
Looking forward to reading more, as your work shows much
promise!

[Lokasenna]

Thanks Bar and MM!

Also, thank you for the advice Aunty! I will go and read the poem you've suggested.

As for clichés, I had hoped that they weren't to bad. As for the 'end of time', I'd hoped that I'd defeated it by appending the 'without end' - the purpose of which was to undermine the familiar phrase.

[Jack of Hearts]

Come on now. Time for more poetry already.





J

[Lokasenna]

Come on now. Time for more poetry already.





J

Thanks Jack! I have one brewing, but it'll be a little while before it's ready...

[Lokasenna]

I may be making a mistake posting this, but here it goes...

I decided, as a poetic exercise, to compose a bawdy, double-entendre filled rural folky drinking song, a sort of modern day equivalent of the Middle English lyric I have a gentil **** (http://www.tfl.gov.uk/tfl/corporate/projectsandschemes/artmusicdesign/poems/poem.asp?ID=44). I ran through an earlier draft of this at a party a while ago, and I can say that it benefits from a smoky atmosphere, a party spirit, liberal alcohol, and banjo accompaniment. Like all good drinking songs, it should be roared out at the top of your voice, and should accompany suggestive hand gestures.

For the benefits of the moderators, this a song about a farmer who is very proud of his much-respected rooster. Honest. (Actually, in all seriousness, if you think it is too risqué, then please accept my apologies and remove it if you think it necessary).

I have a very mighty ****

I have a very mighty ****,
The best you e’er did see,
For he’s the king of all the flock,
And he belongs to me!

His head is of the deepest red,
His body dark and proud,
By instinct only is he lead,
And often is he loud!

He rises by the dawning sun,
He rises in the night,
All day he struts to seek his fun,
And gives me no respite!

My wife holds him the best of cocks,
And she loves to pet him,
For he’ll stand tall atop some rocks,
Crowing if she let him!

His nature is to often roam,
And seek his sport or play,
Quite often when the wife is home,
But more when she’s away!

The pretty maidens in the town,
Show him admiration,
When they’re around he isn’t down,
He’s in expectation!

My brother’s wife is extra keen,
He cheers her up no end,
A better one she’s never seen,
She calls him her best friend!

There’s lovely Lizzie from the mill,
Who loves him most of all,
Who’ll laugh and pet him by the rill,
When he is rearing tall!

Another friend is busty Bess,
She’s the baker’s daughter,
With her he often makes a mess,
But much joy has brought her!

But best of all is naughty Nance,
She of manner mellow,
Her smile provokes a happy dance,
from the eager fellow!

Oh yes, I have a social ****,
Who gads about the town,
He’s friends with all in dress or smock,
But makes the husbands frown!

To ladies he is such a gem,
He takes away their gloom,
Many a night is he with them,
And lodges in their room!

[kensington]

Amazingly endowed talent! :)

[Hawkman]

And a wizard's staff has a knob on the end :D

Great fun Loki.

Live and be well - H

[kensington]

I love it.

[Jack of Hearts]

Heheh. It's not perverted, it's just boyish. This reader read it with a half-grin.








J

[kensington]

Heheh. It's not perverted, it's just boyish. This reader read it with a half-grin.








J

It's interesting that it's only wonderful because it's Lokasenna's. I don't even want to think about the effect it could have if someone else had done something of this nature.

[Jack of Hearts]

It's interesting that it's only wonderful because it's Lokasenna's. I don't even want to think about the effect it could have if someone else had done something of this nature.

Well, this reads oddly warped and bizarre. Who cares that Lokasenna wrote it? Lokasenna is the smallest part of the equation, in this reader's opinion. He just happens to be some guy who writes some pretty darn good poems.

But, it should be said that based on most of his posts that this reader has read, Lokasenna seems to be a pretty nice/cool guy. But that really doesn't matter for his poems.

Drunks and jerks have written some pretty good words too. Heck, in the age of postmodernism, they've categorically dominated it.






J


EDIT: As an aside, the context of 'drinking song' that Lokasenna provided really helped with the reading of this, though.

[kensington]

Well, this reads oddly warped and bizarre. Who cares that Lokasenna wrote it? Lokasenna is the smallest part of the equation, in this reader's opinion. He just happens to be some guy who writes some pretty darn good poems.

But, it should be said that based on most of his posts that this reader has read, Lokasenna seems to be a pretty nice/cool guy. But that really doesn't matter for his poems.

Drunks and jerks have written some pretty good words too. Heck, in the age of postmodernism, they've categorically dominated it.






J


EDIT: As an aside, the context of 'drinking song' that Lokasenna provided really helped with the reading of this, though.


I don't think you really feel that way Jack. If someone else wrote, "I have a very mighty ****," it just wouldn't seem credible, I'd never get the imagery quite right. And the other thing is, I wouldn't describe this poem as boyish in any way.

I'm not sure what drinking has to do with it, other than Lokasenna had obviously been into the Pimms, getting a head start on New Year's Eve, when he posted this.

[Jack of Hearts]

I don't think you really feel that way Jack. If someone else wrote, "I have a very mighty ****," it just wouldn't seem credible, I'd never get the imagery quite right. And the other thing is, I wouldn't describe this poem as boyish in any way.

I'm not sure what drinking has to do with it, other than Lokasenna had obviously been into the Pimms, getting a head start on New Year's Eve, when he posted this.

Ah. Fair enough, you're allowed to hypothesize about how this reader actually 'feels.' Apparently you think Jack of Hearts has a motive to be disingenuous, though. On the contrary; his readings of others' works don't even try for objectivity. They're purely subjective, and that's as honest as it gets.

This post will be relevant in just a moment so as not to derail the thread. Maybe logic will assuage your concerns?

Lokasenna had the sense to provide a context to this poem. This reader admits, had it been posted randomly on the board without this, and had Jack of Hearts been properly motivated to read it and respond (not always a guarantee), he probably would've panned it as a failed attempt at humor.

Now, if the same context was there, in that it borrows much from an old, old bawdy song and that it's essentially a drinking song, it would've most likely gotten the same reaction given in this thread. This reader called it boyish because he imagined a bunch of men gathered round in 'ye aulde pub' singing this, these fundamentally filthy words, and having a good laugh about it. Saying dirty words and laughing, to this reader, seems rather boyish. In the same way laughing at a fart is boyish. And most grown men, at least the ones this reader would want to drink with, know there's a time to embrace these things again. Because they never really left us in the first place, they're just tucked away until the right people aren't looking.







J

[kensington]

Ah. Fair enough, you're allowed to hypothesize about how this reader actually 'feels.' Apparently you think Jack of Hearts has a motive to be disingenuous, though. On the contrary; his readings of others' works don't even try for objectivity. They're purely subjective, and that's as honest as it gets.

This post will be relevant in just a moment so as not to derail the thread. Maybe logic will assuage your concerns?

Lokasenna had the sense to provide a context to this poem. This reader admits, had it been posted randomly on the board without this, and had Jack of Hearts been properly motivated to read it and respond (not always a guarantee), he probably would've panned it as a failed attempt at humor.

Now, if the same context was there, in that it borrows much from an old, old bawdy song and that it's essentially a drinking song, it would've most likely gotten the same reaction given in this thread. This reader called it boyish because he imagined a bunch of men gathered round in 'ye aulde pub' singing this, these fundamentally filthy words, and having a good laugh about it. Saying dirty words and laughing, to this reader, seems rather boyish. In the same way laughing at a fart is boyish. And most grown men, at least the ones this reader would want to drink with, know there's a time to embrace these things again. Because they never really left us in the first place, they're just tucked away until the right people aren't looking.







J

No Jack, I think you're misinterpreting this poem. I think you're twisting some of the imagery. To me, "laughing" and "dirty" doesn't come into play with this, (the preamble to the poem, aside.)

[Jack of Hearts]

Uhh...


I don't think you really feel that way Jack.

... and, afterward this...


No Jack, I think you're misinterpreting this poem. I think you're twisting some of the imagery.

So this readers feelings are false and his perceptions are wrong?

Granted, some of the imagery and other content might be too sophisticated for Jack of Hearts' poor little brain, but unless he's mistaken... it's a drinking song (from the context) that's centered around double entendre that involves a rooster and a penis.


To me, "laughing" and "dirty" doesn't come into play with this, (the preamble to the poem, aside.)

If you think these lines weren't intended to be juvenile, filthy and invoke laughter... uh, maybe we'll just have to agree that we don't see eye to eye with our interpretations.







J

[kensington]

Uhh...



... and, afterward this...



So this readers feelings are false and his perceptions are wrong?

Afraid you aren't making much sense. Granted, some of the imagery and other content might be too sophisticated for Jack of Hearts' poor little brain, but unless he's mistaken... it's a drinking song (from the context) that's centered around double entendre that involves a rooster and a penis.



If you think these lines weren't intended to be juvenile, filthy and invoke laughter... uh, maybe we'll just have to admit we don't see eye to eye with our interpretations.







J

If you close your eyes and see it from a slightly different angle, then you'll get a fuller and more accurate appreciation of the poem. Anyway, it comes naturally to me.

[Jack of Hearts]

If you close your eyes and see it from a slightly different angle, then you'll get a fuller and more accurate appreciation of the poem. Anyway, it comes naturally to me.

... wtf?



Ok, you... err, win. Whatever you wanted when you initiated this exchange, you can have it.



Thanks for sharing Lokasenna. Bye.







J

[kensington]

If you think these lines weren't intended to be juvenile, filthy and invoke laughter... uh, maybe we'll just have to agree that we don't see eye to eye with our interpretations.







J

It did make me laugh. But it's not juvenile or filthy to me, not at all.

[JuniperWoolf]

For the benefits of the moderators, this a song about a farmer who is very proud of his much-respected rooster. Honest.

:smilielol5:


... wtf?



Ok, you... err, win.

:smilielol5: :smilielol5:

This is great stuff.

Incidentally, I agree with Jack's assessment that the preamble was really key to this poem. Without context it would have been a bit eye-roll worthy, but reading it in the right mindframe made it brilliant. I know a few people who recite bawdy poetry after they've had a few, they'd love this.

[kensington]

I know a few people who recite bawdy poetry after they've had a few, they'd love this.

Just remember that it's not free for the taking.

[Lokasenna]

And a wizard's staff has a knob on the end :D

Great fun Loki.

Live and be well - H

I'm glad you enjoyed it!


Heheh. It's not perverted, it's just boyish. This reader read it with a half-grin.

I hope it was worth the wait! You're absolutely right about the setting and nature of it - there should be plenty of beer, plenty of volume, and plenty of laughter. It is a boyish drinking song all the way.


Incidentally, I agree with Jack's assessment that the preamble was really key to this poem. Without context it would have been a bit eye-roll worthy, but reading it in the right mindframe made it brilliant. I know a few people who recite bawdy poetry after they've had a few, they'd love this.

Fantastic! If you and yours decide to sing it after a few, I'd be utterly delighted! I had great fun roaring out the prototype version... And yes, I thought the preamble was necessary to make it clear that I'm not some sort of ridiculous adolescent trying to compensate for something...

[Varenne Rodin]

I thought it was delightful! I smiled throughout.

[Bar22do]

Loka, Loka! you ... boy! it is a delightful banjo song!!!!! I could write the music!!!!
thanks a lot for the fun! and the best of years to you! Bar

[ClaesGefvenberg]

I may be making a mistake posting this, but... Loka, I salute you. You are quite brilliant, and no mistake... :)

/Claes

[stlukesguild]

Loka... have you been reading Wilmot lately.:hand:

[cafolini]

They are all good ones. Who knows. We might actually have a long lasting writer in this forum, assuming the manifestations are a lot. Of these I vote for Metaphysic.

[kensington]

I think Lokasenna is long lasting and I think the poem is actually much better than others here realize.

:)

[qimissung]

I may be making a mistake posting this, but here it goes...

I decided, as a poetic exercise, to compose a bawdy, double-entendre filled rural folky drinking song, a sort of modern day equivalent of the Middle English lyric I have a gentil **** (http://www.tfl.gov.uk/tfl/corporate/projectsandschemes/artmusicdesign/poems/poem.asp?ID=44). I ran through an earlier draft of this at a party a while ago, and I can say that it benefits from a smoky atmosphere, a party spirit, liberal alcohol, and banjo accompaniment. Like all good drinking songs, it should be roared out at the top of your voice, and should accompany suggestive hand gestures.

For the benefits of the moderators, this a song about a farmer who is very proud of his much-respected rooster. Honest. (Actually, in all seriousness, if you think it is too risqué, then please accept my apologies and remove it if you think it necessary).

I have a very mighty ****

I have a very mighty ****,
The best you e’er did see,
For he’s the king of all the flock,
And he belongs to me!

His head is of the deepest red,
His body dark and proud,
By instinct only is he lead,
And often is he loud!

He rises by the dawning sun,
He rises in the night,
All day he struts to seek his fun,
And gives me no respite!

My wife holds him the best of cocks,
And she loves to pet him,
For he’ll stand tall atop some rocks,
Crowing if she let him!

His nature is to often roam,
And seek his sport or play,
Quite often when the wife is home,
But more when she’s away!

The pretty maidens in the town,
Show him admiration,
When they’re around he isn’t down,
He’s in expectation!

My brother’s wife is extra keen,
He cheers her up no end,
A better one she’s never seen,
She calls him her best friend!

There’s lovely Lizzie from the mill,
Who loves him most of all,
Who’ll laugh and pet him by the rill,
When he is rearing tall!

Another friend is busty Bess,
She’s the baker’s daughter,
With her he often makes a mess,
But much joy has brought her!

But best of all is naughty Nance,
She of manner mellow,
Her smile provokes a happy dance,
from the eager fellow!

Oh yes, I have a social ****,
Who gads about the town,
He’s friends with all in dress or smock,
But makes the husbands frown!

To ladies he is such a gem,
He takes away their gloom,
Many a night is he with them,
And lodges in their room!

Lol! I've been thinking we needed more poetry about roosters. :D

(P.S. It's just brilliant, Lokasenna)

[Lokasenna]

Thank you everyone for so much positive feedback! I'm rather overwhelmed!

[ClaesGefvenberg]

Thank you everyone for so much positive feedback! I'm rather overwhelmed!You deserved it, Loka . Now we eagerly await your next piece of writing....:biggrin5:

/Claes

[Lokasenna]

I have a large poetic project on the go at the moment (estimated time till completetion: probably four lifetimes), but this was a little something that had lurking 95% complete in my notebook for a while - I took the trouble the other day to complete it. For those of you who have had the stamina to read through my poetry, you'll realise this is something quite different for me. It was partly written as an exercise to improve my use of rhythm (perhaps successfully..?), but also because the ideas within were attractive to me. As always, constructive criticism is very welcome!

this is the way

The world corrupts, the world corrupts and falls,
and bright hoar ice inscribes the standing stones
about this place of death, this place of loss,
with veins of crackling cold, the script of time
writ large upon the silent graves around.

For we, the unfulfilled, that linger long,
too long, upon this whittling witless world,
yet know the truth that lies beneath our own
low pulse, that day by day counts out our lives.
It is the secret silence and the maw,
the fateful tick, the tock, and nothing more.

[Hawkman]

Hi Loki, it's always nice to see you venture into this neck of the woods. Nice iambic Pentameter. The opening line bothers me a little, but only because it is unclear whether you are merely being rhetorical with the repetition of, "The world corrupts" or rather, as i would like to interpret it, making two separate statements, in that the world is corrupting it's inhabitants as well as decaying itself. I do wonder why you went for 11 lines. 10 would have been neater :D (or better yet 14 for an unrhymed sonnet, although a sonnet (traditionally a love poem form) to decay and death, might be a little gothic!

Given the metre I think 10 lines would be a nice round number and I might be bold enough to suggest cutting line 1 of S2 and replacing "yet" in S2 L3 with "we" to facilitate it, but it's only a suggestion.

Live and be well - H

[cafolini]

... and nothing more.

[MorpheusSandman]

Awww, Loka, I have missed your poetry as well! That piece about the rooster warmed the cockles of my, errr, heart because I do love bawdy rhymes (ever read any of Burns' or Auden's dirty pieces? They're such fun!)

With your latest piece, I'd definitely say you've improved your metrical art significantly. There are several iambic substitutions, but they all seem to be governed by the sense, rather than just being randomly placed. EG, the spondee of "counts out" pairs well with the pyrrhics of "It is" and "(sil)ence and" in the next line; it's as if the "counting" is the hand of fate hammering down on us, while the swiftness in the next line because of the pyrrhics imitate the speed with which that time flies. So that's a perfect illustration of how to use meter to manipulate the aesthetic and semantic sense of the lines. I'm also a sucker for alliteration, and you have plenty of it it; though you do have to watch out that it doesn't become so noticeable that it's distracting: "whittling witless world" comes awfully close to being too OTT, with its adj., adj., noun, W, W, W pairing.

I do agree with Hawk that this piece really wants to have two 5-line stanzas rather than a 5 and a 6 line piece. One thing to think about in the future is how to use such symmetry to parallel lines in one stanza with the next, using it to develop motifs and ideas across a piece. A perfect example of that in a short poem is Browning's Meeting at Night, which parallels almost every line/idea/image/motif in the first stanza with something in the second.

On the theme, it really reminded me of the image of Destiny walking through his realm holding his book while the world crumbled in Neil Gaiman's Sandman. I think it was the bits about "the script of time" (He was always studying these huge scrolls). But it is a nice, dark, gothic piece with a very nice usage of rhythm and sound.

I may take your lead and begin posting all of my poems in a single thread as well... what do you think?

[Lokasenna]

Hi Loki, it's always nice to see you venture into this neck of the woods. Nice iambic Pentameter. The opening line bothers me a little, but only because it is unclear whether you are merely being rhetorical with the repetition of, "The world corrupts" or rather, as i would like to interpret it, making two separate statements, in that the world is corrupting it's inhabitants as well as decaying itself. I do wonder why you went for 11 lines. 10 would have been neater :D (or better yet 14 for an unrhymed sonnet, although a sonnet (traditionally a love poem form) to decay and death, might be a little gothic!

Thank you for such detailed feedback! I felt rather pleased with myself over the first line (a sure sign that I've done something wrong!) - I wanted to convey the sense of repetition right from the start, an implied version of the tick-tock that appears in the final line. I suppose how one interprets that repetition, from any kind of narrative perspective, is entirely subjective. As for the number of lines, I honestly didn't think it that important - my thought process was to simply say what I wanted to say, and leave it at that. The break between the two verses simply seemed natural. Other than deciding to compose in blank verse (apart from the last couplet), I had given little thought to the construction of the poem.


Given the metre I think 10 lines would be a nice round number and I might be bold enough to suggest cutting line 1 of S2 and replacing "yet" in S2 L3 with "we" to facilitate it, but it's only a suggestion.

I'll give it a try and see how it looks, but I'd be sad to lose the repetition of 'long/ too long'!


Awww, Loka, I have missed your poetry as well! That piece about the rooster warmed the cockles of my, errr, heart because I do love bawdy rhymes (ever read any of Burns' or Auden's dirty pieces? They're such fun!)

Yes indeed! Nothing like a bit of filthy poetry to cheer you up and remind you that great poets are human too!


With your latest piece, I'd definitely say you've improved your metrical art significantly. There are several iambic substitutions, but they all seem to be governed by the sense, rather than just being randomly placed. EG, the spondee of "counts out" pairs well with the pyrrhics of "It is" and "(sil)ence and" in the next line; it's as if the "counting" is the hand of fate hammering down on us, while the swiftness in the next line because of the pyrrhics imitate the speed with which that time flies. So that's a perfect illustration of how to use meter to manipulate the aesthetic and semantic sense of the lines. I'm also a sucker for alliteration, and you have plenty of it it; though you do have to watch out that it doesn't become so noticeable that it's distracting: "whittling witless world" comes awfully close to being too OTT, with its adj., adj., noun, W, W, W pairing.

Thank you! Yes, I'm a sucker for alliteration as well, and as I wrote that line I wondered whether I'd overstepped the mark, but decided to run with it. I'm very pleased that you thought the rhythm worked out - as I'm sure some of my previous efforts have demonstrated, it's not always been my strong point!


I do agree with Hawk that this piece really wants to have two 5-line stanzas rather than a 5 and a 6 line piece. One thing to think about in the future is how to use such symmetry to parallel lines in one stanza with the next, using it to develop motifs and ideas across a piece. A perfect example of that in a short poem is Browning's Meeting at Night, which parallels almost every line/idea/image/motif in the first stanza with something in the second.

It's interesting that you and Hawk both think this - as I say above, I didn't really think about it. I hadn't realised it unbalanced the poem in this way.


I may take your lead and begin posting all of my poems in a single thread as well... what do you think?

I think it is a great idea, and I wish more people would do it - particularly the more prolific poets. I'll often read a poem on here and like it, then several weeks/months later I'll remember it for some reason, but have to spend a long time searching if I want to re-read it. This system makes things considerably easier!


... and nothing more.

Indeed!

[Jack of Hearts]

Well Loka, this one is best left to the professionals. As for the rest of us, we'll just say we're still reading your stuff after all this time.






J

[Lokasenna]

This has been lurking on my computer for a while, and I've been uncertain about posting it up. It is very unlike the poetry I usually write, and I'm not entirely sure it is successful. Still, I've had productive feedback on it from some people - though I remain uncertain about it.

Vignettes of Childhood and Brutality

The mother murders her children with a knife.
She slits the cellophane wrapper on the pizza,
their third this week.

The highlights, the thick mascara,
lips with their soft, red promise,
the tantalizing, enticing garment
that shows the glory of her cleavage:
she walks with a confident sway,
a hint of sex upon the air.
She is twelve years old.

The cocksure youth senses potential
amidst the sweat, the noise, the drowning lights
of the dark club.
He romances the only way he knows how,
grinding his organ against her,
a frantic animal fearing the onset of a sentiment.
The thrill of the hunt
is only in the f***.

The people move like a temperate day,
the rolls of fat
like waves upon the sea.

The tins of Stella litter the yard,
Daddy's garden gnomes,
that pour their urine on dry grass
and smile at Daddy's red nose.

Jake and Marie are at play,
and Jake has a new favourite word:
c**t, c**t, c**t.
Marie is in tears because
he called her a 'virgin' -
she does not know what it means.
Incest would be kinder.

The glossy magazines,
with their colour and venom,
pass the time, the cigarettes,
till her man returns to her
from his latest eight month stretch.
In the corner,
beneath a carrier bag,
lies the cot,
warm, whimpering,
forgot.

There is a certain cruelty
in time spent.
The clever creatures had to die,
the blue planet sinks.
I wonder what it knew?

[Lokasenna]

To anyone who might be interested, I submitted a slightly tarted-up version of Metaphysic to a local online magazine, and lo and behold they've published it:

http://www.thebubble.org.uk/creative/metaphysic

They'll print any old rubbish these days...

[Paulclem]

To anyone who might be interested, I submitted a slightly tarted-up version of Metaphysic to a local online magazine, and lo and behold they've published it:

http://www.thebubble.org.uk/creative/metaphysic

They'll print any old rubbish these days...

That's a great poem Loka. I enjoyed it.

[mortalterror]

To anyone who might be interested, I submitted a slightly tarted-up version of Metaphysic to a local online magazine, and lo and behold they've published it:

http://www.thebubble.org.uk/creative/metaphysic

They'll print any old rubbish these days...
Very nice Lokasenna, I had no idea you were such a gifted poet.

[Lokasenna]

That's a great poem Loka. I enjoyed it.

Thanks Paul! I'm glad you enjoyed it!


Very nice Lokasenna, I had no idea you were such a gifted poet.

I'm really not, but thank you anyway!

[Lokasenna]

Well, the 'History' poetry contest has finished, and the entries have been taken down - for posterity's sake, if nothing else, here's my little piece about Ol' Queen Vic...

Victoria by Starlight

The mighty queen, in silent wealth adorned,
the crowd has left, the brittle party scorned.
Her simple grief and dress of midnight silk
confound and fright the fleeting reveller's ilk,
and so her leave she takes, forgoes the ball,
to softly tread the dim and thoughtful hall.
Along the room with memories filled she goes,
the faint and trembling light her shadow throws
upon the priceless treasures of her realm,
upon a Damask rose, an Indian helm,
on bright and softly glowing Afric gold,
on rings upon the hand he used to hold.
Each artefact calls back his face to her,
the shades of times that are, of times that were;
she wore the crown for him, for him the world
she sought to rule, the flag of war unfurled.
The queen into the garden steps, unsure
and frail, below the heavens' bright allure.
She weeps at last beneath the sky, the trees:
no lands to take, the stars alone to seize.

[Hawkman]

Hi Loki. I'm glad you put this back up. I did quite enjoy it because it's fairly well realised. I did have some issues with it however, mainly because I felt that the idiom and form would have been more appropriate to a poem about Elizabeth I. the wrenched syntax gave the piece an anachronistic archaicsism. For Victoria I think you should have been channelling Kipling instead of Dan Brown :D

There are some inconsistencies in the narrative: in line 2 you say, "the crowd has left" but in line 5 you say: "and so her leave she takes, forgoes the ball" and I also have a problem with the "thoughtful hall". Thought filled - maybe... I think the next line should start with 'Into' rather than 'along' and "on rings upon the hand he used to hold" means that the hand is still in there! a gruesome souvenir perhaps ;) you might try, "that graced" instead of upon, but I think you might consider revising the mention of a hand here and reserve it for the last line, where it would replace "lands". Two reasons for this, firstly it's more in keeping with the "widow" theme and secondly, it's historically inaccurate. Prince Albert died in 1861 and the empire continued to expand after this. In 1879 there was a nice little war in Zululand, and then there was Egypt and the Sudan in the 1890s.

However, as I said, I did enjoy it and I appreciated the fluidity of its execution. The poem would have been my second choice.

Live and be well - H

Edit: Sorry, I've just noticed that I've consistently misread the line about the hand as I kept reading it as "she used to hold", so it's not quite the grisly image I'd pictured - lol. However, I do still think that the reference to the hand should come in the last line and for the reason stated.

LLAP - H

[Grit]

This was by far my favorite, I voted for it. Beautiful and sad, with excellent rhythm.

The last two lines are haunting. I wanted to let whoever wrote Victoria know how much I enjoyed it. Wonderful work.

[tonywalt]

To anyone who might be interested, I submitted a slightly tarted-up version of Metaphysic to a local online magazine, and lo and behold they've published it:

http://www.thebubble.org.uk/creative/metaphysic

They'll print any old rubbish these days...

Brilliant poem, I enjoyed it. You can write both in prose and in beautifully elevated language- rare gift!

[cafolini]

I knew all along that the poem Metaphysic was very good and I said so when I read it. Wish you the best as a writer, regardless of incidental disagreements out of different circumstances. The themes of Unmade are also very-well thought out and worth working toward publishing.

[Lokasenna]

Hi Loki. I'm glad you put this back up. I did quite enjoy it because it's fairly well realised. I did have some issues with it however, mainly because I felt that the idiom and form would have been more appropriate to a poem about Elizabeth I. the wrenched syntax gave the piece an anachronistic archaicsism. For Victoria I think you should have been channelling Kipling instead of Dan Brown

There are some inconsistencies in the narrative: in line 2 you say, "the crowd has left" but in line 5 you say: "and so her leave she takes, forgoes the ball" and I also have a problem with the "thoughtful hall". Thought filled - maybe... I think the next line should start with 'Into' rather than 'along' and "on rings upon the hand he used to hold" means that the hand is still in there! a gruesome souvenir perhaps you might try, "that graced" instead of upon, but I think you might consider revising the mention of a hand here and reserve it for the last line, where it would replace "lands". Two reasons for this, firstly it's more in keeping with the "widow" theme and secondly, it's historically inaccurate. Prince Albert died in 1861 and the empire continued to expand after this. In 1879 there was a nice little war in Zululand, and then there was Egypt and the Sudan in the 1890s.

However, as I said, I did enjoy it and I appreciated the fluidity of its execution. The poem would have been my second choice.

Live and be well - H

Edit: Sorry, I've just noticed that I've consistently misread the line about the hand as I kept reading it as "she used to hold", so it's not quite the grisly image I'd pictured - lol. However, I do still think that the reference to the hand should come in the last line and for the reason stated.

LLAP - H

Oh no, not Dan Brown! Anything but him! The style of the poem was simply one of personal preference, but I have felt for a while that I wanted to write something about Victoria; I find the idea of a lonely and emotionally broken old woman at the centre of a vast empire quite a powerful idea.

As for my habitual archaism... mea culpa, I will try to reign in my worst excesses!

The phrase 'the crowd has left' is actually agree grammatically with 'the mighty queen' of the first line, which is supposed to be the subject - so it is she who has left the crowd, not the crowd who has left her. I do, however, understand how such a mistake could be made - and yet whilst I could rewrite it as 'has left the crowd' I'm not sure that flows quite as well.

The use of the word 'thoughtful' was intended to be a sort of dual meaning: the hall is quiet and medative compared to the ballroom (hence 'thoughtful'), but also plays on the sound of the word suggesting that it is thought-full, filled with memories and ideas. I wanted to use the word 'along' to heighten the sense of progression - the hall is transformative space between the ballroom and the garden, with Victoria reducing in stature as she moves along it and is assailed by memories that are both desired and intolerable.

Yes, I know the Empire continued to expand after Albert - I was trying to convey the sense that her imperial ambitions have become part of her coping mechanism. I wanted Victoria to have her Alexander moment, he who weeped when there were no more worlds to conquer - this is Victoria facing up to the impossiblity of obtaining the only thing she truly wants, now that only the impossible stars are left for conquest.

Thank you, though, for the feedback - I really do appreciate it, and I'm glad you enjoyed the poem (your quibbles aside!).


This was by far my favorite, I voted for it. Beautiful and sad, with excellent rhythm.

The last two lines are haunting. I wanted to let whoever wrote Victoria know how much I enjoyed it. Wonderful work.

Thank you very much - that's a very kind thing to say. I'm particularly pleased you liked the rhythm - as regular readers of my work will know, it has not always been my strong point! I'm very happy that you found it so affecting.


Brilliant poem, I enjoyed it. You can write both in prose and in beautifully elevated language- rare gift!

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it - I was utterly delighted when it got published. I'm not sure it's a rare gift, but it was one of the few pieces I've ever written that I've been fairly satisfied with.


I knew all along that the poem Metaphysic was very good and I said so when I read it. Wish you the best as a writer, regardless of incidental disagreements out of different circumstances. The themes of Unmade are also very-well thought out and worth working toward publishing.

Spoken like a gentleman - my thanks for your friendly and eloquent words. I think a bit of bickering and backbiting is inevitable on the forum, but don't take it personally - we're all friends here!

[Hawkman]

I think you're missing the point of my comment about the crowd etc. Although the wrenching of syntax does confuse meaning between whether the queen has left the crowd or vice versa, whichever it is, it is reported in the past tense, whereas the subsequent line about takes her leave is in the present. Therefore the inconsistency within the narrative means that she's taking her leave either after she left or after the crowd has left! However, as the opening lines are written, it is, 'the crowd' who have left the queen. The crowd forms the subject of the clause.

I was aware of you intension with regard to the thoughtful hall, but it reads as a pathetic fallacy of dubious merit, which is why I flagged it. The reason I flagged along is because it doesn't sit well with the room. People aren't generally referred to walking along a room, so it jars, although along or down the hall is ok. However, the sense of progression from hall to garden is still maintained without incongruity by replacing along with into, or even inside if you prefer. I agree that that the subject is a worthy one, but by inappropriately adhering to a style with wrenched syntax (unless for comic effect or parody) you weaken the emotional impact of the piece. Lastly I would take issue with your premise that she actively instigated wars of conquest. Queen Victoria was not an absolute monarch, and nearly all the wars the empire became embroiled in were the result of the ambitions of individuals like Sir Henry Bartle Frere, who, inadequately supervised, operated beyond their actual authority and in the case of the Zulu War brought down the government. Victoria didn't have anything to do with it. The empire was really an idea of government, for which the queen was merely a figurehead. Consequently, likening her to Alexander, weeping for no more worlds to conquer, is doubly misleading. Concentrating on her widowhood and isolation would be the better course. I take it you are familiar with Kipling's "The Widow at Windsor", which addressed the issue of conquest rather well.

I'm afraid I mentioned Dan Brown because of the stylistic similarity to his riddle verse beneath the rose on the box to the cryptex.

Live and be well - H

[hannah_arendt]

You are from Lothlorien, aren't you? This was enchanting. The repetition and variation in the second line of each stanza worked very well. The meter was perfect.

I loved the effect of the joined couplets in the last stanza.

Very enjoyable and well written!

In the third line from the bottom, should it be "...in deep earth resides?"


i would say very well written. Lokasenna must come from Lothlorien:)

[hannah_arendt]

To anyone who might be interested, I submitted a slightly tarted-up version of Metaphysic to a local online magazine, and lo and behold they've published it:

http://www.thebubble.org.uk/creative/metaphysic

They'll print any old rubbish these days...
I`ve just recommended it via facebook.

[Lokasenna]

I think you're missing the point of my comment about the crowd etc. Although the wrenching of syntax does confuse meaning between whether the queen has left the crowd or vice versa, whichever it is, it is reported in the past tense, whereas the subsequent line about takes her leave is in the present. Therefore the inconsistency within the narrative means that she's taking her leave either after she left or after the crowd has left! However, as the opening lines are written, it is, 'the crowd' who have left the queen. The crowd forms the subject of the clause.

Ah, I see - I understand now what you mean. I may try to work those first two lines into the correct tense, if I am able.


I was aware of you intension with regard to the thoughtful hall, but it reads as a pathetic fallacy of dubious merit, which is why I flagged it. The reason I flagged along is because it doesn't sit well with the room. People aren't generally referred to walking along a room, so it jars, although along or down the hall is ok. However, the sense of progression from hall to garden is still maintained without incongruity by replacing along with into, or even inside if you prefer. I agree that that the subject is a worthy one, but by inappropriately adhering to a style with wrenched syntax (unless for comic effect or parody) you weaken the emotional impact of the piece.

Fair enough, I take the point - though I'm not sure I entirely agree with you on this one.


Lastly I would take issue with your premise that she actively instigated wars of conquest. Queen Victoria was not an absolute monarch, and nearly all the wars the empire became embroiled in were the result of the ambitions of individuals like Sir Henry Bartle Frere, who, inadequately supervised, operated beyond their actual authority and in the case of the Zulu War brought down the government. Victoria didn't have anything to do with it. The empire was really an idea of government, for which the queen was merely a figurehead. Consequently, likening her to Alexander, weeping for no more worlds to conquer, is doubly misleading. Concentrating on her widowhood and isolation would be the better course. I take it you are familiar with Kipling's "The Widow at Windsor", which addressed the issue of conquest rather well.

True, though it was not my intention to portray Victoria with sober historical accuracy - a bit of artistic license being taken to make her into a more romantic figure, something which even artists of her day were doing. I'm not familiar with that Kipling poem, but I'll go and look it up - thanks for the tip!


I`ve just recommended it via facebook.

Thanks Hannah! I'm glad you like my poetry.

[Lokasenna]

I know I've not really been a presence on LitNet for a little while now. Life is just insanely busy these days, but I hope very soon to have more free time - and hopefully spend more time on here! I always end up logging on, seeing lots of interesting posts, but feeling like I don't have time to reply to them.

Anyway, I thought I'd share a little song I wrote the other day. It is, sadly, designed for an accent I do not have, and cannot imitate. I had intended it as a sort of blues/jazz style piece, in the manner of something Nina Simone or Billie Holiday might sing.

Apple a Day

Way back when in Eden,
God made an apple tree.
Said to Eve an' Adam:
"Don't touch it, let it be."

Eve went kinda crazy,
talkin' to Mister Snake:
"Woman, eat that apple,
it ain't no crime to take."

Evie ate the apple,
with evil got to grips.
Then knew herself and found
the fire between her hips.

Adam came a-lookin',
she gave him that sweet fruit.
He saw she were right fair
and wearin' birthday suit.

The Lord, He walked abroad,
lookin' for His chillun'.
Found 'em actin' scand'lous,
not as He was willin'.

Man He set to workin',
woman to givin' birth,
then poor ol' Mister Snake,
He ground into the earth.

And now we pass our days,
makin' love and workin',
and our old snakey friend,
he gone back to lurkin'.

We grow them apples now,
grow under every sky,
we take our daily fill,
we bake 'em into pie.

Keep the apples comin',
keep lovin' while you may.
Take joy in bein' free,
keep mean ol' God away.

[Hawkman]

Hi Loki,

This was fun. Love the payoff! lol.

Ooooh, I woke up this mornin'
and the rain, it came on down
Oh, I woke up this mornin'
Knew I had to go to town
But the weather it was poorin'
and there were far too many puddles on the ground...
;)

Live and be well - H

[Lokasenna]

Thanks, Hawk! I'm glad you liked it!

[Lokasenna]

I've been translating things again!

There's a rather beautiful Icelandic folk song called Krummavísur (The Raven's Verses), which probably dates from the 18th century (or possibly even late 17th). It goes as follows:

Krummi svaf í kletta gjá,
kaldri vetrar nóttu á,
verður margt að meini;
verður margt að meini;
fyrr en dagur fagur rann
freðið nefið dregur hann
undan stórum steini.
undan stórum steini.

Allt er frosið úti gor,
ekkert fæst við ströndu mor,
svengd er metti mína;
svengd er metti mína;
ef að húsum heim ég fer,
heimafrakkur bannar mér
seppi´ úr sorpi´ að tína.
seppi´ úr sorpi´ að tína.

Öll er þakin ísi jörð,
ekki séð á holta börð
fleygir fuglar geta;
fleygir fuglar geta;
en þó leiti út um mó,
auða hvergi lítur tó;
hvað á hrafn að éta?
hvað á hrafn að éta?

Sálaður á síðu lá
sauður feitur garði hjá,
fyrrum frár á velli.
fyrrum frár á velli.
'Krúnk, krúnk! nafnar, komið hér!
krúnk, krúnk! því oss búin er
krás á köldu svelli.
krás á köldu svelli.'

Like most folk songs, it really comes alive in the singing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tq4seuBFxIM

I wanted to translate it, but in such a way as to retain the original's rhythm and rhyme scheme - not an easy task, given the great economy of language that is possible in Icelandic. My translation is, however, reasonably faithful, and I hope it catches something of the desolate beauty of the original. I've tried singing it, and it does work!

Ravensong

Raven sits on ice-cold stone,
Through the night, he’s all alone,
In the dark there’s danger,
In the dark there’s danger.
Soon a winter sun will rise,
Burn the ice from off his eyes.
Weary flies the stranger,
Weary flies the stranger.

All the world is frozen still,
Waves are locked in frigid chill,
Gnawing hunger racks me,
Gnawing hunger racks me.
If a human farm I spy,
With garbage lying nearby,
Fat old dog attacks me,
Fat old dog attacks me.

All is icy everywhere,
At no table shall I share,
The bigger birds retreat,
The bigger birds retreat.
Though I fly from hill to scree,
Only whiteness can I see.
What can a raven eat?
What can a raven eat?

Somewhere in a snowy deep,
Lies the carcass of a sheep,
Whose breath has gone away,
Whose breath has gone away.
‘Ravens! Ravens! Ice and mud,
Now for once bear flesh and blood,
There is a feast today!
There is a feast today!’

[YesNo]

It seems to me that your translation would fit the music. The only line I had a problem with was "With garbage lying nearby". Does the form have a name?

[Lokasenna]

It seems to me that your translation would fit the music. The only line I had a problem with was "With garbage lying nearby". Does the form have a name?

Many thanks, YesNo!

Is there any particular reason why you struggle with the 'garbage' line, if you don't mind my asking? I'll admit that there were a couple of lines I had reservations about, but strangely that wasn't one of them.

As for the form, I'm afraid I don't know - once we get past the fourteenth century, I'm not so hot on Scandinavian literary stylings!

[YesNo]

It is that the natural spoken accents don't match where I think the melody wants them to be. I would accent that line and the one above it like this where I speaking it:

IF a HUman FARM I SPY,
With GARbage LYing nearBY,

Both the number of accents and their place in the line may be a problem, however, I am not that familiar with the melody of the song. It might work.

[Lokasenna]

This poem rather burst out of me, which is highly unusual - for me, poetry is usually a more considered and drawn-out exercise. In any case, it may have something to do with dipping into the Book of Revelation, and having a long discussion with somone about war and terrorism.

Kingdom Come

We hear about the end of war,
The news is sung from door to door,
While bodies pile up on the floor
And all our feelings numb.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

The statues went and towers fell,
We were told all would be well,
The Devil sighs and reigns in hell
Atop a growing sum.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

Did John alone have eyes that see?
Can one be both a slave and free?
The laws that govern you and me
Do not apply to some.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

A lonely rider rides the sky,
White horse, white drone, away to fly,
But we aground must love and die
Beneath a ruler’s thumb.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

All bodies rise up from the ground,
And march to here from all around,
They only hear the trumpet’s sound,
The beating of a drum.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

And they have died that yet do live,
Poor souls with nothing left to give,
That cannot damn, that can’t forgive
But only can succumb.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

We tools of war were made to mar,
In Father’s fire we sere and char,
So never knowing what we are
Nor what we may become.
O Lord, O Lord,
This is thy kingdom come.

[YesNo]

Nice rhyme and meter. Most of what I write bursts out of me as well, "diarrhea of the mouth," as one of my high school teachers called it, but it is often more entertaining and more rational than the well-reasoned stuff.

[Danik 2016]

This poem rather burst out of me, which is highly unusual - for me, poetry is usually a more considered and drawn-out exercise. In any case, it may have something to do with dipping into the Book of Revelation, and having a long discussion with somone about war and terrorism.

Kingdom Come

We hear about the end of war,
The news is sung from door to door,
While bodies pile up on the floor
And all our feelings numb.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

The statues went and towers fell,
We were told all would be well,
The Devil sighs and reigns in hell
Atop a growing sum.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

Did John alone have eyes that see?
Can one be both a slave and free?
The laws that govern you and me
Do not apply to some.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

A lonely rider rides the sky,
White horse, white drone, away to fly,
But we aground must love and die
Beneath a ruler’s thumb.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

All bodies rise up from the ground,
And march to here from all around,
They only hear the trumpet’s sound,
The beating of a drum.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

And they have died that yet do live,
Poor souls with nothing left to give,
That cannot damn, that can’t forgive
But only can succumb.
O Lord, O Lord,
Is this thy kingdom come?

We tools of war were made to mar,
In Father’s fire we sere and char,
So never knowing what we are
Nor what we may become.
O Lord, O Lord,
This is thy kingdom come.
A forceful poem. Sometimes I ask this question myself, but in prose.

[Lokasenna]

Nice rhyme and meter. Most of what I write bursts out of me as well, "diarrhea of the mouth," as one of my high school teachers called it, but it is often more entertaining and more rational than the well-reasoned stuff.

Thanks, YesNo! I'm glad you liked it. I too have been accused of 'mindless verbosity', particularly in my non-fiction writing, though I try to curb it as best I can.


A forcefull poem. Sometimes I ask this question myself, but in prose.

Thank you very much. It's unusual for me to write poems of social relevance, but this I think is quite a reasonable exception.

[tailor STATELY]

This is a grand poem from what I would term a temporal, perhaps even dystopian, viewpoint... and I see nothing wrong with that, for it is a worldly point of view that many, including many Christians, share in this day and age.

I'm grateful for your poem to allow me to explore the spiritual aspect of hope and salvation found in "The Book of Revelation" which you prompted me to explore within my faith:
https://www.lds.org/ensign/1975/09/understanding-the-book-of-revelation?lang=eng - As the Saints pursue the course of progression and perfection, they look for a better world. Amid the evils and downdrafts of this life they have a need to look upward and ahead, to look at the overall course ordained by their Creator; they need to think in terms of millennial and celestial rewards. Where is all this set forth so effectively as in the latter part of these writings of John?

Nowhere else do we find the detailed data relative to the plagues and scourges of a sick and dying world. Nowhere is the overthrow of satanic power so pitilessly described. Truly the teachings of this inspired work are some of the greatest incentives to personal righteousness now found in holy writ.

Has not the day come when the maturing gospel scholar can dip into this great treasury of revealed truth and come up with a knowledge of those things that will assure him of peace and joy in this life and eternal life in the world to come?

Your ending: "So never knowing what we are / Nor what we may become." is a temporal tour de force. My perspective however is much brighter through my faith and I thank you for bringing this to remembrance.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[Lokasenna]

Thank you, Tailor. I'm glad you liked the poem, and that it provoked such meaningful emotions for you.

While I do not share your religious sentiment - the God of Abraham really is not for me - I do find great artistry in the holy books of the Abrahamic religions. Whether John of Patmos was divinely inspired or not, his book is a thing of terrible power and compelling imagery that has shaped much Western thought. Our politicians tell us that we must have war to end war - a sentiment not far removed from the concept of the final battle before the end of days.

[Hawkman]

Watcha, Loki

One really can't help being reminded of Ridley Scott's Kingdom of Heaven with the theme and sentiment of your latest offering. "If this is God's kingdom, let him do with it as he will," as the rather sullen (and uninspiring) Orlando Bloom declared in his incarnation as Balien, the defender of Jerusalem. I, for one, would not have been tempted to lay down my life at his invitation!

But I digress. You have a strongly rhythmic piece here, the first four lines of each verse could be sung as a marching song, or chant. For the most part, your lines are strong and purposeful, but there are a couple of areas of weakness where you've succumbed to the temptation to wrench them a bit in order to maintain rhyme and metre. "...away to fly" & "And they have died that yet do live," which might benefit from a little tweaking.

I have fairly mixed views on the refrain though. I have often remarked that rhythms form "natural questions and answers." This is demonstrated by various rhythmic forms in music and poetry. The fact that the last two lines of each verse actually pose an unanswered question rhythmically can be interpreted as a physical realisation of the question itself. However, here, the fact that it is tacked on at the end of the verse, destabilises it. I wonder, did you try it at the beginning of each verse instead? I do have another reservation, though. Repeated seven times, without variation, it does become a little 'old' by the end of the poem. Would the question itself have more power if presented less frequently, or even only once as a more complete thought poetically? Just a thought.

Regardless, this is a strong piece.

Live and be well - H

[Danik 2016]

I haven´t thought about the repetition. But the theme of the poem in a certain way is the undoing or failure of the present world. In this context it is interesting that the last two lines desestablish the whole verse. I don´t know if this was intentional, but it creates a meaningful correspondence between content and form.

[prendrelemick]

I really liked that Loki. Poems that flood out have an engageing and immediate quality that can get lost with more considered stuff.

[Lokasenna]

One really can't help being reminded of Ridley Scott's Kingdom of Heaven with the theme and sentiment of your latest offering. "If this is God's kingdom, let him do with it as he will," as the rather sullen (and uninspiring) Orlando Bloom declared in his incarnation as Balien, the defender of Jerusalem. I, for one, would not have been tempted to lay down my life at his invitation!

Thank you for your feedback, Hawk - as ever, your criticism is intelligent and helpful! I did see Kingdom of Heaven when it came out in the cinema, and it left me with a sense of... er... profound indifference. My aim was for something more contemporary, but now that I think about it there is a certain Crusades vibe to this piece of mine.


But I digress. You have a strongly rhythmic piece here, the first four lines of each verse could be sung as a marching song, or chant. For the most part, your lines are strong and purposeful, but there are a couple of areas of weakness where you've succumbed to the temptation to wrench them a bit in order to maintain rhyme and metre. "...away to fly" & "And they have died that yet do live," which might benefit from a little tweaking.

I (think) I was aiming more for a Johnny Cash-esque bluesy elegy than a marching song, but I can see how that sentiment would fit with the piece. And yes, my usual occasional weakness with metre is on show - though I happened to be quite pleased with the 'away to fly' line. Still, I take your point - the necessity of sticking to the metre has introduced a degree of clunkiness which I should try to iron out.


I have fairly mixed views on the refrain though. I have often remarked that rhythms form "natural questions and answers." This is demonstrated by various rhythmic forms in music and poetry. The fact that the last two lines of each verse actually pose an unanswered question rhythmically can be interpreted as a physical realisation of the question itself. However, here, the fact that it is tacked on at the end of the verse, destabilises it. I wonder, did you try it at the beginning of each verse instead? I do have another reservation, though. Repeated seven times, without variation, it does become a little 'old' by the end of the poem. Would the question itself have more power if presented less frequently, or even only once as a more complete thought poetically? Just a thought.

I too have mixed views on the refrain. The repetition gets a little grating, particularly when the poem is recited aloud - I found myself asking the question in different tones (anger, puzzlement, resignation), just to give each stanza a bit of differenciation. I played about with moving or excluding the refrain for a little while, before coming to the conclusion that I should go with my original gut instinct and have the refrain at the end of each stanza. Somehow the poem feels too brisk without it, and I think thematically the repetition is a necessary punctuation to the layers of war imagery.


I haven´t thought about the repetition. But the theme of the poem in a certain way is the undoing or failure of the present world. In this context it is interesting that the last two lines desestablish the whole verse. I don´t know if this was intentional, but it creates a meaninful correspondence between content and form.

Thanks, Danik. I think your reading of my poem works. As for what I intended, it hardly matters - I strongly believe that the views of the artist are irrelevant to how others interpret their art.


I really liked that Loki. Poems that flood out have an engageing and immediate quality that can get lost with more considered stuff.

Thanks Prendrelemick, I'm glad you liked it! Would that poems would flood out of me more often.