We came ashore with tinder boxes and banners,
our nostrils tangled with smoke tendrils
curled in a lingering question mark.
We carried his body over hill and hallow,
scabbards scraping over cairn and the bleached
cormorant bones of Hawk's Piece.
We planted him beneath willow boughs
and I had looked into his eyes,
able body rope bound,
a candle at his feet,
a coin in his mouth;
the body of friend William
to buy the home-blown win
Hwæt, Second Queen, fortune-teller's daughter,
you who I loved most,
I find you smoke-wreated atop
the sable throne pyre.
Hwæt, Second Queen, ring-bound and dewy,
you who I crowned in apple and acorn,
plume silver-strew,
I give you a bone-hewn inheritance.
Hwæt, Second Queen, lady of nettle-thorn whim,
you who I watched long-limbed,
I leave you in this ash carriage,
soot-blackened and naked.
Hwaet!
Now, there is an island named Writon with men called Faxons and there are four Faxon kingdoms: Weffex, Effex, Fuffex, and Kant. There are other kingdoms on that island but we shall first deal with these four. Weffex is the home of the Weft Faxons, Effex the domain of the Eaft Faxons and Fuffex is the stronghold of the Fouthern Faxons. Kant is a smaller kingdom, and, looking far across the plateau of time, all the kings of Kant were called Immanuel. The laws of Kant are categories of deeds and offenses and these are wise bound up in The Imperative. Likewise, the history
The letter had arrived in upheaval packaged in questions. I awoke upon my back from dreams of lying in state. I looked past silver stars glimmering over the wintered earth. The cat slept on my stomach, purring into the empty womb of a barren queen.
In those nights, I knew.
The building often settled into the years with creaking reluctance, but the retreating breath of laughter could not be accounted for. Upon returning my attentions to the body, her eyes had opened, fixed upon me with the lonely thorns of life relived. A question hung between us, thin and oily.
I loved a woman who held the look of God in her eyes. I remember the scent of rain in her hair, the need behind her breath, nights of long silence. She sang lullabies, pleading, come say how do. Lingering in moments before sleep, the room emptied itself of her.
pavilion, morning's substance by rian101, literature
Literature
pavilion, morning's substance
i was summoned, woven into fog,
called into morning's substance,
crackling levin in songbird swollen
thew-hewn halls of yew.
i come, named by needle grass
vine jacketed, mantled in seven
tine heather horns,
and, to you,
i bring rings bound up
in wolf hair and horse teeth,
i bring you a scattering
of wings, rook's revelry, and
to you,
We came ashore with tinder boxes and banners,
our nostrils tangled with smoke tendrils
curled in a lingering question mark.
We carried his body over hill and hallow,
scabbards scraping over cairn and the bleached
cormorant bones of Hawk's Piece.
We planted him beneath willow boughs
and I had looked into his eyes,
able body rope bound,
a candle at his feet,
a coin in his mouth;
the body of friend William
to buy the home-blown win
Hwæt, Second Queen, fortune-teller's daughter,
you who I loved most,
I find you smoke-wreated atop
the sable throne pyre.
Hwæt, Second Queen, ring-bound and dewy,
you who I crowned in apple and acorn,
plume silver-strew,
I give you a bone-hewn inheritance.
Hwæt, Second Queen, lady of nettle-thorn whim,
you who I watched long-limbed,
I leave you in this ash carriage,
soot-blackened and naked.
The letter had arrived in upheaval packaged in questions. I awoke upon my back from dreams of lying in state. I looked past silver stars glimmering over the wintered earth. The cat slept on my stomach, purring into the empty womb of a barren queen.
In those nights, I knew.
The building often settled into the years with creaking reluctance, but the retreating breath of laughter could not be accounted for. Upon returning my attentions to the body, her eyes had opened, fixed upon me with the lonely thorns of life relived. A question hung between us, thin and oily.
I loved a woman who held the look of God in her eyes. I remember the scent of rain in her hair, the need behind her breath, nights of long silence. She sang lullabies, pleading, come say how do. Lingering in moments before sleep, the room emptied itself of her.
pavilion, morning's substance by rian101, literature
Literature
pavilion, morning's substance
i was summoned, woven into fog,
called into morning's substance,
crackling levin in songbird swollen
thew-hewn halls of yew.
i come, named by needle grass
vine jacketed, mantled in seven
tine heather horns,
and, to you,
i bring rings bound up
in wolf hair and horse teeth,
i bring you a scattering
of wings, rook's revelry, and
to you,
The Warrior .:.Anglo-saxon.:. by DexFrost, literature
Literature
The Warrior .:.Anglo-saxon.:.
Here se hæle hƿȳ ƿisse mec,
se enġelsāƿol, hǣlan þec.
Hē cƿealde þæt þinges mǣst yfle,
his handa slōgon gōd hit,
nese sorg for þis þinges of hƿate beadƿe.
Fela searu scule gǣð feor hūru for þæt mann.
i
there,
in the pavilion, I saw you
sneaking past the shimmering mount
to that place between gauze and shroud
in dew knots + gnarly crowns
borne over the bowed heads of houses
This is Margaret Cannell's 1933 collection of signs, omens and portents of Nebraska, published by the English department of the University of Nebraska. I really take a delight in reading collections of folklore and a number of twentieth century anthologies do a great job of cataloging popular mythology. One of my favorite anthologies is Richard M. Dorson's Buying the Wind. Dorson spent quite a lot of time interviewing older folks in the sixties and seventies who came of age before the onslaught of better living through empty materialism. Their stories strike at something wild and protean; the Pennsylvania Dutch maintained a body of work r
LAIK TEAM EDWARD OK DUN TALK SHIT ABOT TWILIHT BC ITS THE BEST BOOK EVER SND IM THE BIGEST FAN OK AND IF YOU DONT KNOW THAT TEN YOU SHOULDNT SAY ANYTHING BECAUSE YUR A HATER AND IM GOING TO CRY BECAUSE IM NOT BELLA HAHA JUST KIDDIN WHAT SORTS OF BOOKS DO YOU LIKE TO READ? I LIKE VAMPURE BOOKS THEYRE AWESOME OK LATER TTY SOON OK