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Literature Text
"Sing us a song!" shouted the men
On the night before battle began.
The Skald stirred the strings, and once again
Of their heroes he sang to the clan.
And sparks from the fire danced on his lyre,
His words kindled courage to flame;
Both voice and harp rang clear and sharp
As their blades when the morning came;
And singing they went their foes to meet,
To the rhythm of sword upon shield,
To the rhythm of blows and thundering feet,
Till the enemy had to yield -
And round the Skald cried a joyous throng:
"A song now, a song !"
In the hall they built on the land they'd won
His lays were of love and of lore;
With wisdom and wit he wielded the words
As well as his weapon before.
Their bounty now came from their fields of corn
Not from battlefields any more;
For feasting and drinking they raised the horn,
Not for the signals of war.
The voice of the Skald rose mellow as mead;
The maidens were smiling warm
When he praised their tresses, golden as wheat
Or the wealth on a ring-giver's arm.
And through the glad night they cheered all along:
"A song still, a song !"
The youths for fortune the seas would roam,
Their sails being scattered like leaves
By the autumn wind, which those at home
Heard whistling around the eaves.
A tapestry woven of memory's twine
At times the Skald would unfold,
Collecting old glory like grapes from the vine
When valorous deeds were retold.
The old fighters felt suddenly unrest
And glanced at their swords on the wall;
But the women, sighing, gazed into the west
Whence their sons should have come with the fall.
But still they bade, when the hours grew long:
"A song, one more song."
Like tides of sea passed the seasons; a day
Of winter shone cold on the coast.
The hair of the hall folk was grizzled and gray,
And the Skald's was as white as frost.
He sang of their kinsmen who'd come no more,
Long lost to the ocean or mound,
Whose ships now sailed to a stranger shore
By unknown waters bound.
That his voice had a catch, and a shimmer his eye
Was maybe from the smoke or the fire;
But when his wizened hands stopped play,
A string did snap on his lyre -
And he said in a silence that lasted too long:
"No song, no more song."
© Michaela Macha
On the night before battle began.
The Skald stirred the strings, and once again
Of their heroes he sang to the clan.
And sparks from the fire danced on his lyre,
His words kindled courage to flame;
Both voice and harp rang clear and sharp
As their blades when the morning came;
And singing they went their foes to meet,
To the rhythm of sword upon shield,
To the rhythm of blows and thundering feet,
Till the enemy had to yield -
And round the Skald cried a joyous throng:
"A song now, a song !"
In the hall they built on the land they'd won
His lays were of love and of lore;
With wisdom and wit he wielded the words
As well as his weapon before.
Their bounty now came from their fields of corn
Not from battlefields any more;
For feasting and drinking they raised the horn,
Not for the signals of war.
The voice of the Skald rose mellow as mead;
The maidens were smiling warm
When he praised their tresses, golden as wheat
Or the wealth on a ring-giver's arm.
And through the glad night they cheered all along:
"A song still, a song !"
The youths for fortune the seas would roam,
Their sails being scattered like leaves
By the autumn wind, which those at home
Heard whistling around the eaves.
A tapestry woven of memory's twine
At times the Skald would unfold,
Collecting old glory like grapes from the vine
When valorous deeds were retold.
The old fighters felt suddenly unrest
And glanced at their swords on the wall;
But the women, sighing, gazed into the west
Whence their sons should have come with the fall.
But still they bade, when the hours grew long:
"A song, one more song."
Like tides of sea passed the seasons; a day
Of winter shone cold on the coast.
The hair of the hall folk was grizzled and gray,
And the Skald's was as white as frost.
He sang of their kinsmen who'd come no more,
Long lost to the ocean or mound,
Whose ships now sailed to a stranger shore
By unknown waters bound.
That his voice had a catch, and a shimmer his eye
Was maybe from the smoke or the fire;
But when his wizened hands stopped play,
A string did snap on his lyre -
And he said in a silence that lasted too long:
"No song, no more song."
© Michaela Macha
Literature
Bansid
I heard the lonely Bansid, cry
Calling ocean mist across the sky
I know in the ocean he will die,
When the wind begins to cry
And the moon to lie.
Oh darling, I cry for you,
On the cliffs I wretch
..
Oh darling, come home soon
So I join her wail,
Calling to the soul
Soon to be kept by the water
And I wonder if she knows,
What loss is.
I heard the lonely Bansid, cry
Calling ocean mist across the sky
I know in the ocean he will die,
When the wind begins to cry
And the moon to lie.
Oh darling, you are drowning,
In the fury of the sea,
Oh darling, I love you,
So I'll follow thee,
Throwing my heart to the sea,
Soon to b
Literature
Shamditions
is there anything worse
than insomnia?
maybe this voodoo doll
who just won't stop staring at me
or maybe it's the frustration
with myself and my inability
to go back to sleep
to write how I want
you do not rule me or my art
take your traditions and walk away
or I swear on my art
which is my life
I will rip your traditions to shreds
Literature
Lexicon
I found my old dictionary today.
The new one is sleek, modern. A quietly efficient affair.
No room for unwieldy clunk, like sentimentn. refined or tender emotion; manifestation of the higher or more refined feelings. or levity n. lightness of mind, character, or behavior; lack of appropriate seriousness or earnestness..
This old one, though, is well worn. Hazel green cover with a hint of blue.
Cracks abound, tangling in the weather loved pages. Nebulae pour through them, eviscerating the mundane with the profundity of it all.
Rust curls up in its crevices, stealing away the remorseless taste of time. I found the notes in the side, the ones w
Suggested Collections
A skald's life.
Comments5
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great poem.