Poetry competition CLOSED 26th August 2020 10:33am
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Viddax (Lord Viddax)
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Sometimes a wild god

RiAN
RiAN
Thought Provoker
Norway
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Poetry Contest

make a poem based on this poem

Sometimes there are poems within poems and it is these that make us wonder what is behind the depths of a poem. For me this poem by Tom Hirons written in 2012 is one of those fascinating texts that I can listen to many times and still be caught in the web of the words spun out

Listen to it, read.


https://vimeo.com/198557256

Sometimes a Wild God

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,
You will probably fear him.
He reminds you of something dark
That you might have dreamt,
Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;
Instead he scrapes with his fingers
Leaving blood on the paintwork,
Though primroses grow
In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.
You are very busy.
It is late, or early, and besides…
You cannot look at him straight
Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.
The wild god smiles,
Holds out his hand.
The dog licks his wounds
And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.
Ivy is taking over your sideboard;
Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades
And wrens have begun to sing
An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say
And give him the worst of your food.
He sits at the table, bleeding.
He coughs up foxes.
There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,
You close the door and
Tell her it’s fine.
You will not let her see
The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey
And you pour a glass for him,
Then a glass for yourself.
Three snakes are beginning to nest
In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.
Oh, eternal mystery.
Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.
Oh, miracle of life.
Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,
Expectorate the snakes and
Water down the whiskey,
Wondering how you got so old
And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag
Made of moles and nightingale-skin.
He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,
Raises an eyebrow
And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.
Otters rush from the darkness.
The snakes pour through your body.
Your dog howls and upstairs
Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.
You dance with the sparrows.
A white stag pulls up a stool
And bellows hymns to enchantments.
A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.
Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.
Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.
The hills echo and the grey stones ring
With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,
The house takes off from the ground.
Clouds climb through the windows;
Lightning pounds its fists on the table.
The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.
You are bleeding heavily.
You have been bleeding for a long time,
Possibly since you were born.
There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’
Asks the wild god and you say:
‘I was busy surviving.
The shops were all closed;
I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and
The snakes in your arms and
The wren and the sparrow and the deer…
The great un-nameable beasts
In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.
A cacophony of dissent.
The wild god nods his head and
You wake on the floor holding a knife,
A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.
Your wife is stirring, far above.
Your cheeks are wet with tears;
Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.
A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine
And brings the dead to life.


© Tom Hirons 2012 - 2020
All rights reserved.

more on the artists and his partner, their life works
https://hedgespoken.org
_________________________________________________________________________
Here is the task, write a poem with at least 5 stanzas inspired on the poem.
Tell me who is your wild god? Do not fall over details of this poem, the refferences to a god, to wine or whiskey may be metaphores of something much wider than you think.  I myself am not religious but Ive come to unshy from the word "god" in a poem because sometimes it can be a very good poem . So this poem is a base line of your poem but since its long you may use some of it, a few lines as your core or as a title.

One month
Any style
No explicit language
The competition is not specifically about religion
Title your work
colaborations welcomed

Miss_Sub
Miss_Sub
- Missy -
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
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Omgoshhhhhh

I’ll be back for this, because this poem pretty much changed my life years ago. I burned the title in runes on my drum beater. 💚

Thread of the day right here. 😊

Grace
Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
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An Ancient god’s Fury


Told I this in tales of yore
the mortal daughter of Irra
existing in Akkadian fields  
was set upon by villains  
torn and struck she fell supine  
silent screams of spilled blood  
reached her father in slumber  
with his consort Mami  
  
Roar his rank upon the sky  
screams of righteous rage  
ripped the tormented firmament  
swirled in grey the tapestry  
of life within the glory  
of created existence  
trembled and pulse  
in terrified horror  
   
Irra in fury rode again  
God of all gods of pestilence  
with his seven generals  
sought he hard the men  
who shattered his child  
his beloved only mortal child  
the slayers shall be hounded  
without sanctuary  
   
Upon the land of the wicked men  
he ran his legions close to earth  
fire from swords forged    
with sulphur and brimstone    
coldness from the wells  
of famine and hunger  
he seeded and sowed the land  
relentless in his rage  
   
His screams of anger  
thundered in the sky  
his relentless fury  
birth cracking lightning  
the sea trembled and tossed  
the land cracked and rumbled  
nothing was left standing  
Irra’s fury was complete  
   
Untill at last the Eastern Prince  
calmed the land with His Love  
his promises and Atonement  
to give His Life for the sins  
of man who killed    
and plundered  
without shame  
turbulence rested.
Written by Grace (Idryad)
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JohnnyBlaze
JohnnyBlaze
Tyrant of Words
United States
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[ Poet Tributes ] Poets gone rogue

---at othertimes
gone quite tame---
---even to the point of lame;  
allow me to digress  
  
Streamed consciousness  
at the table --- we pen its flow;  
whatever dreamed manifests  
is quantified as poetry, although    
   
what is it really?  
Your guess  
is as good as mine  
   
but this you must know:    
your interpretations  
will do just fine  
   
From their vinegar  
just keep wine making  
   
assign meaning to any bodily  
bearing, every summarily snaking  
   
and regarding pelican, fox, otter  
stag, wren ---- from your own    
process of association grab-bag  
draw whatever conclusion when  
the dog you are isn't thrown a bone  
   
And if it so happens  
   
[ or if shit happens ]  
   
[ [ whichever happens first ] ]  
   
that out from a quote unquote poet's  
ass suddenly does burst a wild god    
in a rush to be heard?  
   
Do not believe a word said  
   
Instead, usher it    
straight to the nearest  
porcelain throne exit    
and be sure to do us  
a courtesy flush  
   
   
 
Written by JohnnyBlaze
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RiAN
RiAN
Thought Provoker
Norway
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Thank you Grace and JohnnyBlaze,  for you entries, much appreciated!
Greets,
Rian

RiAN
RiAN
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Norway
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Miss_Sub said:Omgoshhhhhh

I’ll be back for this, because this poem pretty much changed my life years ago. I burned the title in runes on my drum beater. 💚

Thread of the day right here. 😊


Hello Missy,

I kind of figured you might know this fantastic poem of great depth!!
Its a poem that can move me to tears sometimes. Looking forward to see your entry.

Greets,
Rian

Rachelleundrgrd
Rachelleundrgrd
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Oneness

A river flows through
diluting waste from the village  
Birds stop to bathe and stare longingly
at bugs skimming the surface.
 
Toddlers splash naked on the shore
as older siblings turn dirt white over and again
A fish jumps into itself a stone’s throw away
as an eagle takes its final flight overhead.  
 
Upstream a woman comes quietly  
on sun-drenched driftwood
Humming softly, her mate throws out his net further down, capturing the eternal now yet again.
 
A half-submerged canoe laps gentle waves
as sand crabs hunt hurriedly under the merciful shade of its decay
A red paint chip gives at last and floats away
it, too, becoming one with the (in)finite.
 
R.
Written by Rachelleundrgrd
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gazy20
gazy20
Garnet
Strange Creature
Malawi
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for me it is a legend... a great poem

Viddax
Viddax
Lord Viddax
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom
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Maybe a wild god

Maybe a wild god will cross your path.
They are terrible to behold
And do not know the ways
Of machine, of media, and of magazines
Their voice makes tales that twists time.
 
When the wild god passes your door
You will not know them.
They are an echo in the dark
A memory locked away
And the shrine you no longer visit.
 
They will not need to knock or ring
As the door will be open
Introduced as wind whips the leaves
Through a crack in the everyday
Shall they enter and bloom.
 
You do not know how to let them in,
Always too busy for the unknown
Cowering behind the threshold
Too fearful to look
In case you hunger for what you see.
 
The birds bolt away
The wild god smiles,
You meet their gaze
They wave a hand
The frantic flapping stops.
 
The wild god looks you over
Fires reignite in your soul,
Passion thrashes through your mind
And your blood remembers how to run
To a beat long overlooked and forgotten.
 
'Nice day' you say
And fail to convey the surrounding majesty.
They nod, smile, and raise an eyebrow
Symphonies sing in your soul
There are endless colours in your palette.
 
A neighbour passes by
You each raise a hand and
Exchanging regards.
They do not see near you
The stranger shaking your world.
 
The wild god asks for the time
And you blink and try to think
Asking yourself the same question
Ageless desire thrums  
In your spine. You dance.
 
Oh, unending time
Oh, uncountable marvels
Oh, infinite miracles of every small thing
Oh, the wonders of life
Oh, the fantastical joy of it all.

 
You blink again,
Extricating the desire and
Watch clouds pass by
Wondering how the time passed
And where your dreams went.
 
The wild god reaches into a coat
Made of butterfly wings and spider silk
Pulls out a book,
Traces a line with finger and speech
And all the earth begins to rumble.
 
Your blood boils over.
Thoughts rush over each other.
Your muscles judder and shake.
The birds drop to the ground.
Your neighbour both hopes and despairs.
 
The wild god opens their mouth.
You move with all music
The clouds pull back in the sky
And the moon peeks forth
A car alarm crescendos and fades.
 
In the distance, ships scrape from sea beds
Ancient weapons grow like cornrows in the fields.
Everyone remembers long faded daydreams.
The roads rattle and bricks clatter
To hopes and madness and pleasure.
 
'Why did you not take me with you?'
Asks the wild god and you say:
'I grew up and older.
The parties were all cancelled;
I forgot your address. I'm sorry.'
 
Feel them;
 
The rushing in your blood and
The singing in your soul and
The passion and the desire and the dreams...
The great un-nameable beats
In your brain and your bones and your heart...
 
There is a revolution of spirit.
An orchestra of change.
The wild god cock their head and
You flinch against a tree holding a letter,
A twig and a finger covered in cobwebs.
 
The birds coo in the trees above.
Your neighbour is walking further down the street.
Your stomach aches from laughing
Your limbs ache from dancing or exertion.
A photograph is in your pocket.
 
Maybe a wild god will cross your path.
They are terrible to behold
And do not know the ways
Of machine, of media, and of magazines
Their voice makes tales that twists time.
Written by Viddax (Lord Viddax)
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Viddax
Viddax
Lord Viddax
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United Kingdom
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My entry might be little more than a classroom rewrite; at least the poem moved me enough to write. Thanks RiAN for sharing, I now have a modern favourite poem.

Blackwolf
Blackwolf
I.M.Blackwolf
Tyrant of Words
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Faery Weyyrd

Deep Into The Weyyrding Well,
I Cast The Runes To Weave A Spell ,
Ripples Spread With Astral Force ,
Rings Of Magick From The Source

I WordWeave , I Drone And Call ,
Hear Me Voice Rise And Fall ,
See The Shimmer , See Light Danse ,
Across The Face Of Great Expanse ,

Ye Think Ye Weyyrd ? So Mote It Be !
Yet None Is Quite As Weyyrd As Me ,
I Was Weyyrd When Earth Was Young ,
When We Spoke In Faery Tongue

I DreamWalked Among The Stars ,
SkyClad I Traveled , Wide And Far ,
Many Kin I Claim As Mine ,
Across The Worlds Of Space And Time !

I Danced In The Dells ,
I Danced On The Mounds ,
I Danced The LeyLines ,
And I Danced Round And Round ,

I Spoke With Me OtherKin ,
With Wing , And Hoof , And Claw And Fin ,
I Wove With The Spider ,
I Breathed With The Trees ,
I Played With The Otter , I Buzzed With The Bees ,
I Ran With The Horses , Wild And Free ,
None Is Quite As Weyyrd As Me !

The Magick Is Mine ,
As A Gift From The Fae ,
They Want Me Home , To Come And Play ,
Yet There Is Much Yet I Must Do ,
I Must Give This Gift To You.......
Written by Blackwolf (I.M.Blackwolf)
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"Gwyn, the bright god of the Brythonic underworld Annwfn and Faery king of the wild Welsh spirits, the twlwyth teg, is an ancient and mysterious figure. His tales are scattered through oral folklore and across medieval Welsh literature, a depository of our ancient god-tales. Said to dwell within the legendary glass castle in Glastonbury Tor, as well as the black mountains of Wales, he is both a figure of romance and fear. A dark lover through the winter months, leader of the wild hunt, and guardian of the dead. He is the ancient companion of bards and visionaries through the initiatory journey to the depths of the Celtic Underworld, in search of the Goddess of the land herself. With a close look at traditional magic and lore as well as practical exercises, Gwyn ap Nudd is an essential guide for all those who seek wisdom from the darkness and wild communion with the sovereignty of the land."


MadameLavender
MadameLavender
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Related submission no longer exists.

RiAN
RiAN
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Norway
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Thank you Rachelle, Viddax, BlackWolf and MadameLavender for your enetries, much appreciated, greets
Rian

RiAN
RiAN
Thought Provoker
Norway
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Viddax said:My entry might be little more than a classroom rewrite; at least the poem moved me enough to write. Thanks RiAN for sharing, I now have a modern favourite poem.
Youre welcome, Viddax, Glad to know you were inspired to write by the poem!
Greets,
R

Em-ily
Em-ily
edward
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