"Strike the sails!" King Olaf said;
"Never shall men of mine take flight;
Never away from battle I fled,
Never away from my foes!
Let God dispose
Of my life in the fight!"
"Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King;
And suddenly through the drifting brume
The blare of the horns began to ring,
Like the terrible trumpet shock
Of Regnarock,
On the Day of Doom!
Louder and louder the war-horns sang
Over the level floor of the flood;
All the sails came down with a clang,
And there in the mist overhead
The sun hung red
As a drop of blood.
Drifting down on the Danish fleet
Three together the ships were lashed,
So that neither should turn and retreat;
In the midst, but in front of the rest
The burnished crest
Of the Serpent flashed.
King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck,
With bow of ash and arrows of oak,
His gilded shield was without a fleck,
His helmet inlaid with gold,
And in many a fold
Hung his crimson cloak.
On the forecastle Ulf the Red
Watched the lashing of the ships;
"If the Serpent lie so far ahead,
We shall have hard work of it here,"
Said he with a sneer
On his bearded lips.
King Olaf laid an arrow on string,
"Have I a coward on board?" said he.
"Shoot it another way, O King!"
Sullenly answered Ulf,
The old sea-wolf;
"You have need of me!"
In front came Svend, the King of the Danes,
Sweeping down with his fifty rowers;
To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes;
And on board of the Iron Beard
Earl Eric steered
On the left with his oars.
"These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King,
"At home with their wives had better stay,
Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting:
But where Eric the Norseman leads
Heroic deeds
Will be done to-day!"
Then as together the vessels crashed,
Eric severed the cables of hide,
With which King Olaf's ships were lashed,
And left them to drive and drift
With the currents swift
Of the outward tide.
Louder the war-horns growl and snarl,
Sharper the dragons bite and sting!
Eric the son of Hakon Jarl
A death-drink salt as the sea
Pledges to thee,
Olaf the King!The World may seem fractured and broken Torn apart by pride and fear But a Universal Truth exists for all time One is all and all is one We are all connected by time and space Born of Universal Stardust Remember this noble and sacred truth Every kind action has a cosmic effect Breath love and peace into the World Make a difference; be a shining star by Alison Johnstone
Somedays I’d rather be working 9 to 5 I’d rather I get up and go But things are different right now And I gotta do what I gotta do These days I ought to be thankful I have something to get up and do Cause things are different right now And somedays I am working
two rooms, four people divided into two. separated all together. I,standing out like a moth surrounded by butterflies quiet as a mouse beside loud monkeys a whole year ahead of me. will I become one of them? will they come towards me? for I am so different. I will wait, I will wait on the right date.
The bees would buzz and buzz around the hive, the hive that sat on branches high above the garden flush with blooming roses red and rhododendron, lily, daisies bright. Their smell was strong and what a sight to see, it seems the best of all the world for bees. But no! It seems they were not satisfied- Instead they went to sting the nearby kids.
I am a writer, but I don’t make the words I simply direct them like sheep in a herd Sometimes an outpouring Sometimes they are mined Sentences rough, needing cut And like clay, needing molded Lapidarist, a potter, a shepherd, a poet Word are but a medium, a way to make art And yet they’re the window to see straight to my heart
The sky has morning breath. I am nearly headless in the wake of it all Like a balding man The field is barren but a few Tufts and clumps that puff A small breath or cough Then curl up to die
Sewn into eyebrows Is the pressure of bubbling Simmering and seething Breathe in shallow puffs Plucked and weaved into a straight line Neutral is the reaction Placating the straight of a hooked fist Closed eyes and hum To avoid vomiting Words And seep into the floorboards As the dormant volcano erupts A crimson monster at your nose And tectonic brows upheaving Milk teeth graves sewn into the ground Toenails calloused Digging into earth Patting the ground Murmured notes of upheaval Smothered in sorry Spaghetti hair In the ground Uncooked Cold Sauce splattered All over her face Back into the earth To be eaten and burped back into God’s throat