Passions

There is a divine comedy. It is much of the stuff of life!

Dante and Beatrice

Passions

“The passions of Love and of Hate,
Emotions that may be so true;
Though neither may ever abate
And neither will ever quite do.

They drive us to do what we must.
Thus, driven we do what we can.
At end we sag back into dust;
For we’re here for only a span.

But passions of Hate and of Love
Are sometimes a bit of a cheat
And if we’re not given a shove,
Then we’ll stay too long on our feet.

Though passions are all very well,
They’re sometimes may lead us through Hell”

© Trevor Morgan, 3/7/2018

From: “Tale of a darkened soul”

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After Cassandra; prophets be wary!

The ancients spun such good yarns!
The God Apollo gave the Trojan Princess Cassandra the gift of prophecy.
However, he gave her a curse to go with it. The curse was that no one would ever believe her. Apollo was like that!
That last night, as she lay in bed with Agamemnon waiting for Clytemnestra to enter and stab her to death must have dragged a bit!

Clytemnestra
Clytemnestra

After Cassandra; prophets be wary!

Tomorrow is known unto some.
The Future they read like a book.
For them there’s no mystery to come,
Through Time’s whirling eddies, they look!
For prophecy is not an art,
Nor a science, nor even a rule.
You see it is simply a part
Of Seers, who are wise or a fool.
To some all the future’s quite clear
Whilst others, they see just a part.
Some call to a host that won’t hear
While others may reach some good heart.
Cassandra was given this curse,
Most prophets are treated far worse.

© Trevor Morgan, 1/7/2018

From: “Servile Wars”

Sonnet – Her little boy

The English they only have one king they call great.
This is Alfred, or Aelfrede, meaning Elf Council or advice. This could also mean talks to elves, implying deviousness perhaps. Many old English names have similar origins. Elvis, for example means elf wise or wisdom of the elves.
It is not known at what age children were given their names.
Many children can play alone merrily chatting away as if they had company, as if talking to the elves.
I suspect our great king was one such child.

Damp Wood

Sonnet – Her little boy

A little boy he played down by the stream.
He romped with glee and danced around about.
His eyes they seemed to have an elfish gleam.
His mother loved to hear him sing and shout
And watched him from afar as he would play.
It seemed as if he danced with many friends
And yet he was alone here on this day.
That stream across the meadow slowly wends;
That boy he played the whole long day away.
He seemed to talk to folk who seemed not there.
Each child may play in every way they may,
His childhood it was lived so free of care.
His mother’s words this son would always heed;
This youngest boy of Her’s she’d named Aelfrede.

© Trevor Morgan, 25/6/2018

I like to imagine historic characters as very young children

Alfred

I wonder what he talked about with his elf companions?

Sonnet – The Logic of Loki

Loki was the Norse “god” of fire, mischief and cunning.
After he insulted all the other “gods” individually at a feast by telling them some home truths they bound him to a rock deep underground. Deep down there he cause earthquakes!

This story seems to be saying you just cannot stop mischief in the world or bad things happening even if you are the Norse “gods”.

loki

Sonnet – The Logic of Loki

“There’s folly in all judgements and in none,
There’s folly all about and in all life.
There’s folly in all deeds and what’s not done.
There’s folly when at peace or in dark strife.
There’s certainty that’s true in total doubt.
There’s doubt within each sure and firm belief;
This seems the way that chaos turns about
And spins us all through joy and bleakest grief
And holds us safe in insecurity,
Like snowflakes tossed about by gale or breeze
Each heads for what they may not know may be.
Though few are rarely ever here at ease;
For starving freemen give up all just to be fed,
Whilst slaves, well fed, might sooner yet be dead”

© Trevor Morgan 18/6/2018

From: “Tale of a darkened soul”

Notes:

In the original old Norse the word used to describe these beings is “powers” and not “gods”. They were not immortal but aged slower than people and were kept from growing old by eating the apples of Idunn.

Loki was the Norse “god” of uncertainty of change and of fire, a trickster and an enemy of Odhinn the leader of the “gods” of Asgard.
He seems to fulfil the role of the pantomime villain which makes him a lively character to write about.

Woden’s Day (Wednesday)

The British Royal Family can traced back through the kings of Wessex.
In the regnal lists of the House of Wessex their first king, Cerdic, was crowned at Winchester somewhere around the year 519AD. There is a list continuing back many generations. In this list is WODEN or Odin.
Strange as it seems their predecessors claimed descent from a northern European god!
We have lots of ripping yarns about Odin and his times.

It also explains to me the origins of a “D” in the spelling of Wednesday, it’s Woden’s Day

Odin

Woden’s Day

“To understand strange Woden then
Like mist held in your hand,
Seems now beyond the realm of men
And who would build on sand?

Was it by magic or through Fate
That he secured his way?
Ah, was he grand, ah, was he great,
That he should hold such sway?

There was a day when he would die
Killed by a monster beast.
His orphans though they will not sigh,
For life will not have ceased.

He’d been their guide in yester years
As old spheres failed and died.
Supporting us through all our fears
When wives and children cried.

His guiding hand seemed always there,
Was with us when we fought.
Supporting us in dark warfare
With lessons that he taught.

But Woden’s day would come then go
As time flows on apace.
Beyond the depths of deadly woe
We sought a better place.

Across the land across the sea
His wisdom was our guide
And when from fear we were set free,
He was there at our side.

He echoes from an ancient time,
Ah, happy times were those.
He kept our kinfolk in their prime,
Through all the depth of woes.

So understand strange Woden then,
Like mist held in your hand.
He seems beyond the realm of men,
Yet seek – and understand!

© Trevor Morgan, 17/4/2018
From: “The Children of Gewis”
Woden’s Day

Note:
The people of Wessex were originally called the Gewissae.

The kings amongst the Gewissae , or the
Regnal Lists of the Cerdicingas (Early Kings of Wessex)

Woden begat Baeldaeg
Baeldaeg begat Brand
Brand Begat Freothogar
Freothogar begat Freawine
Freawine begat Wig
Wig Begat Gewis
Gewis begat Esla
Esla begat Elesa
Elesa begat Cerdic
Cerdic begat Cynric
Cynric begat Cutha and Caewlin
Cutha begat Ceolwulf and Ceola
And Ceola begat Cynegils and Cwichelm
Cynegils begat Centwine
etc..

Source: Anglo-Saxon Chronicles

Sonnet – Dylan Sings Eternally

In Welsh mythology Dylan sang so beautifully his voice did not die.
It is still heard in the winds over the Severn Sea.
It is a good choice of name for a singer with a beautiful voice, but perhaps not for any average singer.

DylanBard

Sonnet – Dylan Sings Eternally

So Dylan drifts about and softly sings
Off coasts he can be heard in calm or squall.
His fingers may have ceased to pluck the strings,
His gods it seemed had gone, had met their fall.
Yet Dylan seems content, his songs lived on;
The winds across the Severn Sea hum sweet.
This poet, this great bard, cannot be gone
So long as folk have hearts, good hearts that beat
And souls that seek to soar up with the birds
Proclaiming out aloud, of life, of love,
Of all that may be said with rhythmic words
That like the birds soar everywhere above.
There’s more than merely words within a lay;
Through poesy and through song Love’s on display.

© Trevor Morgan, 8/6/2018

Fairy Ring Song

I loved the stories of Fairies told by my sweet Grangran when I was little.
I was told not to step into a fairy ring, and if I walked into one by accident there was a ritual that might save me. I was five at the time but remember that story and especially the way she told it.
So I incorporate this lyric in a longer work

fairyrings.jpg

Fairy Ring Song

“We dance within each fairy ring
We knew each fairy’s name
Now as we dance we have to sing
For this is not a game

Once in the ring do make a wish
But keep it to yourself
Turn round three times ‘til skirts go swish
And that keeps out the elf

When in the presence of the fey
All have to sing in rhyme
For if the fairies get their way
You’re carried off through time

And what may seem an hour or two
Could be a hundred year
And those you love will then miss you
You cause each bitter tear

Turn round three times step backwards now
Go out where you came in
And as you leave do give a bow
That way the fey won’t win”

© Trevor Morgan, 7/6/2018

From: “Tales of Aethelflaed, Lady of the Mercians”

The writhing of the grieving dragon

Vikings may have attacked monasteries in retaliation for attacks on them.
Christian zealots such as Boniface had been destroying sacred groves and the Carolingians had enforced conversion with a policy of be baptised or killed, the font or the axe, across their northern borders.
This was before the first raid on Lindisfarne in 793AD.
This makes for a more interesting interpretation of events.
In my narratives I chose this theory as it makes a backdrop for ripping yarns

The writhing of the grieving dragon

“A Dragon grieved beside his nest,
His young and mate lay dead.
His tender love then failed this test;
Cold rage burned in his head.

He rode the wave on that cold sea,
Found monks on its far shore.
There seemed a sad pre-destiny
To pains that their Church bore.”

Dragon’s wrath

“The rage, the wrath, the foam, the froth,
The Dragon stormed to sea.
His Love was fragile as a Moth
And now had ceased to be.

It seemed his fate to seethe with hate,
Strike shore of other lands.
He changed then from his natural state,
So, blood now soaks the sands.

Through wrath and rage he wrote a page
Of blood-soaked history.
Why he should fade from off that stage
Might seem a mystery.

But rage and woe will make a foe
Retaliate or die.
Their ebb may then return to flow,
Events then sweep all by.”

Dragon’s Decline

The Dragon’s rage did not abate,
With him grew fat the Raven.
A love that’s twisted into hate
Could well at end turn craven.

The plunder that dark vengeance brings
Would turn from need to greed.
There’s some things may come with such stings;
At end the Dragon bleeds.

Vengeance may start momentum up,
Great mischief has begun.
Like drinking from a poison cup,
All Hope in life is done.

© Trevor Morgan, 2018

From: “Tales of the Half Dane Child”

Note:

The dragon was carved on the prow of Norse ships of war.
It is strange that in Europe the Dragon is fierce whilst in Chinese myth they are capable of being kindly to folk.

Sonnet – Ragnarök

Poems about Vikings are a bit of a gift.
A gift that is to those who like hamming it up.

It also gives free range for narrative verse and ballads.
Shame the Vikings were real and they put England through long years of brutal wars.

Ragnarök

Sonnet – Ragnarök

All know Odhinn and Loki are to clash
As order and disorder are at odds.
When each will cause the other one to crash
And bring about the twilight of the gods.
Then Lady Hel will open up her realm
And Balder and Blind Hoth resume their fight,
And each in turn will seize and hold the helm
As Balder rules all day and Hoth at night.
Then Fri will fall into a restless sleep
And all the Earth will face a sad decline,
Great monsters will sink back into the deep
With russet sunsets days will end so fine.
The Cosmos came from Chaos at its birth
And in the time to come all find their worth.

©Trevor Morgan, 2018

From: “Tale of the Half-Dane child”

Nan’s Fairy Song

Story time is fun

Fey

Nan’s Fairy Song

“Now there are fairies in each glade,
They’re by each tree and brook.
Some dwell beneath the ash tree’s shade;
You’ll see them if you look.

The young and old may see the fey,
But only if we’re kind.
There are grown men who talk to them,
But they have lost their mind.

Beware the fairy folk please do
And don’t go to their hall.
For they may play such tricks on you,
That you could cry and bawl.

Content yourself to watch the fey,
But do not heed their speech.
Then you’ll come home at end of day
And not be out of reach.

The fairy king he likes young maids,
Yes, he likes having them.
And where a maid has gone with him,
No maid comes back again.

The fairy queen she has tirades
Each time a flower’s lost.
She scolds the king with oaths so grim,
But wenches bear the cost.

The children who may come by chance
Can be blamed on the fey.
Ah, wench you’ve led a merry dance,
When you romped in the hay”

© Trevor Morgan

From: “Tales of Aethelwulf of Lyng”