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My greatest enemy is reality. I have fought it successfully for thirty years.

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I Have Been Doing This For Many Years

Who am I to say,
What will and will not take place...
In my life?
The one I consciously live,
Inspite of outside distractions?
I imagine it is my ability to convince myself,
My brain and all that is attached to it,
Has empowered me to think.

And as incredible as that may seem...
I have even made my own decisions.
Without placing blame on anyone else.
And believe it or not,
I have been doing this for many years.
And at times feeling much alone,
In my quest to do more of it!
With a hope I don't get arrested for attempted daring.

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For me to go back and to play for audiences some of whom have been following me for thirty years and some who have found me in the last five or six years, that's really an interesting thing. I have an audience that goes from kids to seventy year olds.

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The Battle.... (We Have Fought)

the battle we have fought for so long,
as a 'free' society...
in the name of justice, equality, diversity,
responsibility, and freedom...
has reached the point of decision.
we either move forward no matter
what the cost...
believing the dream is worth the price...
or we crawl back into the cave
of self-fulfillment at the cost of all others.
prejudice and discrimination have gone from color
to religion to sex and sexual orientation,
and now to those enslaved by poverty.
we cannot turn our backs on each other...
we cannot allow the few to destroy the world.
we are responsible, we are a part of each other.
when one is hungry, we are all hungry.
when one family is homeless, we are all homeless.
when one person is a victim
of prejudice, hatred, and injustice...
we all are!
when one eats, all should eat.
when one has a chance to work,
all should have that chance...
when one child gets an education,
all should have that right.
this is the time, and this is the place...
it is now that we must choose!

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You DON'T Have To Accept It For What It Is

See it the way you want to.
Call it what you wish.
Hop on one leg and do backflips.

Bling, trinkets and obsession with possessions,
Have changed in purpose and value.
Overnight this has happened.

And if you are the type that clings,
To the ways of yesterday...
It is going to be especially difficult for you to see,
A reality you have never embraced...
As it had been,
Rapidly change its significance...
In the minds of those who accepted it,
To have moved on to a higher consciousness.

Leaving you permanently cemented like so many,
In a concrete state of disbelief!
And whatever that belief was or had been...
Whichever way you want to put it,
Does not exist!

And you DON'T have to accept it,
For what it is.
And this 'may' bring you 'some' relief,
As you stubbornly face the days ahead.
You 'DON'T have to accept it,
For what it is.
You never have.
What difference does it make 'now'?

Do what you normally do.
Ignore the facts.

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The Call to Ireland

We have fought so much for the nation
In the tents we helped to divide;
Shall the cause of our common fathers
On our earthstones lie denied?
For the price of a field we have wrangled
While the weather rusted the plow,
' twas yours and 'twas mine and 'tis ours yet
And it's time to be fencing it now.

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I Have Written My Poetry For The Day


I have written my poetry for the day
I can rest-
But there is no end to it
When it wants to come-
And why should there be an end to it now?
One day there will be
Without my trying.

Let my poetry come then
Let some song in me be free
Let whatever feeling I have
And especially whatever joy
Say itself-

Come now my words
Tell me again
Life is good.

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There Have Been Millions And Millions Of Years


There have been millions and millions of years
And there will be millions and millions more
And I have had only less than seventy-
There is so much to see and be and know
I could understand far more than I do now
I have so much beauty and hope and love in me
Why do I have to die?
It does not seem fair or wise
So much waste and loss in my dying
Worlds in me that will never be known.

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You Should Have Been The One For Me

Bye my lover! ! !
Bye my friend;
You should have been the one for me,
But you left me and married another man.

Bye my lover! ! !
Bye my friend;
Your should have been the one for me,
But your eyes met another man in the land of your muse.

You should have been the one for me,
And you surely know how much i love you!
For i did my best for you,
Even to back up your school's research work;
But you left me and married another man.

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Sky Blue And Black

In the calling out to one another
Of the lovers up and down the strand
In the sound of the waves and the cries
Of the seagulls circling the sand
In the fragments of the songs
Carried down the wind from some radio
In the murmuring of the city in the distance
Ominous and low
I hear the sound of the world where we played
And the far too simple beauty
Of the promises we made
If you ever need holding
Call my name, I'll be there
If you ever need holding
And no holding back, I'll see you through
Sky blue and black
Where the touch of the lover ends
And the soul of the friend begins
There's a need to be separate and a need to be one
And a struggle neither wins
Where you gave me the world I was in
And a place I could make a stand
I could never see how you doubted me
When I'd let go of your hand
Yeah, and I was much younger then
And I must have thought that I would know
If things were going to end
And the heavens were rolling
Like a wheel on a track
And our sky was unfolding
And it'll never fold back
Sky blue and black
And I'd have fought the world for you
If I thought that you wanted me to
Or put aside what was true or untrue
If I'd known that's what you needed
What you needed me to do
But the moment has passed by me now
To have put away my pride
And just come through for you somehow
If you ever need holding
Call my name, I'll be there
If you ever need holding
And no holding back, I'll see you through
You're the color of the sky
Reflected in each store-front window pane
You're the whispering and the sighing
Of my tires in the rain-acapo

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I Have No Power

'I have no power to change you
or explain your ways
Never believe a man can change a woman
Those men are pretenders
who think
that they created woman
from one of their ribs
Woman does not emerge from a man's rib's, not ever,
it's he who emerges from her womb
like a fish rising from depths of water
and like streams that branch away from a river
It's he who circles the sun of her eyes
and imagines he is fixed in place

I have no power to tame you
or domesticate you
or mitigate your first instincts
This task is impossible
I've tested my intelligence on you
also my dumbness
Nothing worked with you, neither guidance
nor temptation
Stay primitive as you are

I have no power to break your habits
for thirty years you have been like this
for three hundred years
a storm trapping in a bottle
a body by nature sensing the scent of a man
assaults it by nature
triumphs over it by nature

Never believe what a man says about himself
that he is the one who makes the poems
and makes the children
It is the woman who writes the poems
and the man who signs his name to them
It is the woman who bears the children
and the man who signs at the maternity hospital
that he is the father

I have no power to change your nature
my books are of no use to you
and my convictions do not convince you
nor does my fatherly council do you any good
you are the queen of anarchy, of madness, of belonging
to no one
Stay that way
You are the tree of femininity that grows in the dark
needs no sun or water
you the sea princess who has loved all men
and loved no one
slept with all men… and slept with no one
you are the Bedouin woman who went with all the tribes
and returned a virgin
Stay that way.'

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Every Soldier Has A Dream

After a war a soldier sometimes has to cry as dreams of those memories waters in the eye.

It's very sad when this world of ours goes to war.
Peace is the thing that soldiers have fought and died for.

With hands held in the air a soldier cries a bit but people are blind to dreams that do not fit.

Some people abuse this world but one day they'll find that they've lost their battlefields and they are unklind.

Lost battlefields and dreams with no victories won, following the forgotten hero.
Here they come.

They bury the dream because they cannot recall what it was that made the Soldier stand proud and tall.

Soldiers come from all walks of life.
Soldiers with many dreams seldom shared with others.

Soldiers who had loved ones and families back home.
Some soldiers are just children
and still on their own.

Honoured I feel to remember soldiers this way.
I salute them have I your attention I say.

Stand at ease,
fall out.
Sir nobody knew his name.
Dear God you know who he was our dream was the same.

Undaunted was the soldier in the face of fear.
No turning back.
Each soldier shed a silent tear.

But I wonder why no one hears the soldiers cry.
Listen today as soldiers go to fight and die .

Try to imagine the soldiers forgotten dream.
Keep the memory of what the Soldier
had been.

It haunts us today and remains here in our time.
Ghosts with forgotten dreams remain.
Its such a crime.

What the soldier fought for is what we must redeem,
as we look back and try to recapture the dream.

The ship's sunk and they say,
we're glad we missed the cruise.
Don't take for granted things in life we shouldn't loose.

When the battle is over and the dreams don't sit.
Every soldier must cry just a little bit.

By Paul McCann

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Sky Blue & Black

In the calling out to one another
Of the lovers up and down the strand
In the sound of the waves and the cries
Of the seagulls circling the sand
In the fragments of the songs
Carried down the wind from some radio
In the murmuring of the city in the distance
Ominous and low
I hear the sound of the world where we played
And the far too simple beauty
Of the promises we made
If you ever need holding
Call my name, Ill be there
If you ever need holding
And no holding back, Ill see you through
Sky blue and black
Where the touch of the lover ends
And the soul of the friend begins
Theres a need to be separate and a need to be one
And a struggle neither wins
Where you gave me the world I was in
And a place I could make a stand
I could never see how you doubted me
When Id let go of your hand
Yeah, and I was much younger then
And I must have thought that I would know
If things were going to end
And the heavens were rolling
Like a wheel on a track
And our sky was unfolding
And itll never fold back
Sky blue and black
And Id have fought the world for you
If I thought that you wanted me to
Or put aside what was true or untrue
If Id known thats what you needed
What you needed me to do
But the moment has passed by me now
To have put away my pride
And just come through for you somehow
If you ever need holding
Call my name, Ill be there
If you ever need holding
And no holding back, Ill see you through
Youre the color of the sky
Reflected in each store-front window pane
Youre the whispering and the sighing
Of my tires in the rain
Youre the hidden cost and the thing thats lost
In everything I do
Yeah and Ill never stop looking for you
In the sunlight and the shadows
And the faces on the avenue
Thats the way love is
Thats the way love is
Thats the way love is
Sky blue and black

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The Corporal

The History Reconstruction Arm
Of the Ministry of Offence,
Had called me in for a meeting
With the Chiefs of Recompense,
They said they needed an agent,
Prepared to risk his all,
‘We have the technology waiting
Now we need to change the world.'

The shelves in the shops were empty
People fought for a loaf of bread,
Butter was unobtainable
And so was cheese, they said,
The ration cards have been in place
For fifty years or more,
The money was spent on the army, sent
To fight this terrible war.

Thank God it hasn't gone nuclear,
But they said that it never would,
The threat of retaliation kept
The armies where they stood,
The Reds are commanding the channel coast
Right down to the Pyrenees.
And Britain is standing alone again
Though they've brought us to our knees.

The Fascists in Whitechapel
With their propaganda rule,
While down in Brixham Prison
Lie the hopes and dreams of fools,
They shot the Liberal Poets and
Wiped out the socialist left,
They say what's good for the country
Is the strong arm of the west!

The States are a bristling fortress
But they'll never come to our aid,
They say whatever they owed us
Was in 14-18 paid,
They've colonised the Pacific
Made New Zealand just a State,
Australia's turned their backs on us
And left us to our fate.

‘We've studied where it all went wrong, '
Said General Angus Pryde,
‘The Treaty of Rapallo is where
The hopes for peace had died,
That treaty, with the Russians helped
The Germans to re-arm,
Under the cloak of Soviet help,
That sounded the alarm! '

‘The man was Walter Rathenau
Who signed that evil form,
Sold Germany to the communists
That's where this war was born,
The Reds then flooded Germany,
The Reds took over France,
It was only the fact of the channel coast
That halted their advance.'

‘This Rathenau was the leader when
The war was first declared,
The whole of history hinged on him
And caught us unprepared,
So what we're now proposing is
The thing you need to do,
Go back, assassinate Rathenau
In 1922.'

‘Before or after the treaty's signed? '
I asked the generals there,
They each looked, one at the other, said
They didn't really care.
‘To stop the Communist Party taking
Over the German mind,
We'd rather a swing to the right, ' they said,
‘And the rest would fall in line.'

‘That would leave a mighty hole to fill,
The German leader's seat,
Who do you think would take his place
If I shot him in the street? '
‘There's only an Austrian Corporal has
The language, and the style,
But what would a Schicklgruber do?
Would the Germans still say ‘Heil? ' '

17 October 2012

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The Grail

In the village Bellastrino
On the craggy Tuscan hills,
Lies an old abandoned Abbey
And the Church of San Michele,
Though the village was abandoned
There are two who would not go,
The Abbot, Father Grandier,
The Priest, Don Angelo.

The Abbey on the mountain top,
The Church down in the dell,
They'd fought, these two, for twenty years
Consigning each to Hell!
For in the Church of San Michele
Before the village failed,
Down in the crypt, beneath the floor
They'd found the Holy Grail.

A bowl, fine wrought in pale green glass,
There's no room for debate,
The Templar Knights had left it in
Eleven eighty-eight,
They'd always said they would return,
In fact, they never did,
They went to challenge Saladin
And died, as they had lived!

It's mine, ' said Father Grandier,
‘Not so, ' said Angelo,
I found it and I'm keeping it,
Here, in the Church below.'
It should be in the Abbey, '
Father Grandier opined,
‘Its glory on the mountain top…'
‘Not so! The Grail is mine! '

For years the two had tussled
Had approached the Holy See,
The Pope thought it ridiculous
And said: ‘Don't bother me!
We have two dozen of those things,
A heap of rusty nails,
All from the Cross at Calvary
But these are peasant tales.'

A Cardinal then came to call
And tried to sort them out,
Well practiced in diplomacy
He said: ‘No need to shout!
You have a choir each, ' he said
‘Who visit in the spring,
So hold a competition here,
What better way, than sing? '

‘The better choir shall win the Grail
And keep it for a year,
Up in the Abbey's mountain top,
Or down here, if you dare.
Then sing for it each passing year,
Three judges, understood?
If one should win it three years straight
They keep the Grail for good! '

With many muttered mumblings
And hellfire in their eyes,
The Abbot and the priest said yes,
Dissembled with their lies,
They each set out to cheat their way
To keep that Holy Grail,
The Abbot got to pick each judge
He thought he couldn't fail!

The Abbey won the first two years
And held the Grail on high,
While poor Don Angelo despaired,
The time was coming nigh;
They had to sing for it once more,
He knew that if he failed,
The Abbot would, victorious,
Not let him keep the Grail.

Don Angelo went down to Rome
And brought a tenor back,
His voice like rich red Tuscan wine
To join his choir's attack,
They sang their hearts out on the day
But saw the judges feign,
And shake their heads, Don Angelo
Had nothing left to gain.

The judge stood up to name the prize,
The Abbot had his way,
The tenor stood and sang a note
Not heard since Jesu's day,
He held it long, unwavering
The Grail began to ring,
A long high-pitched reverberance,
The Grail began to sing.

A minute there, without a breath
The tenor held his tone,
And Grandier stood up, alarmed,
Let out a fervid moan,
The Grail sang on, then shattered
Fell in pieces to the floor,
The judge stood up and shook his head,
Then said - ‘The sing's a draw! '

The Abbey holds the base of it,
Up on the mountain top,
All glued together, like some vase
Bought in the Red Cross Shop.
While down there in the little Church
On a thousand Euro tips,
They're coining them a fortune with
The rim that touched his lips!

1 September 2012

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Patrick White

Poetry Used To Live In A Forbidden State Of Courageous Grace

Poetry used to live in a forbidden state of courageous grace
but now it's palpably culpable of cowardice.
Paper-mache lifemasks with all the characteristics
of a gaping sin of omission. As F.R. Scott said of E.J. Pratt
in his poem about the building of the CPR
where are the coolies in your poem, Ned?
The ten thousand that died lining and tamping track.
Now the real subject matter of most works of art
is not what was put in, but what was left out,
where's the heart, the soul, the imagination,
where's the grief and the longing that slowly matured
into the black flames of the charred roses
that immolated themselves in their own fires
for the love of someone they couldn't live without
like the other wing of the song of a bird
maimed by the oversight like a tree in chains.
The applause of trained seals isn't praise
and celebrity isn't fame. Everyone's good
at divining the well, but who takes the time
to dig one any deeper than their own shallow grave?

Maybe there's a sleeper out there who's fighting
for his life in a dream, enduring excruciating transformations
as experience shapeshifts his voice into poems
we'll get to overhear one day after he's dead
like the sound of distant water in a mindstream
or the ashes of an unknown soldier
that couldn't be contained by a broken urn
or buried under a monument to anonymous violence.
A hero or a heroine who didn't play to the crowd
like an acrobat of words faking it as a wizard
in a literary scene of very unsacred clowns.
Tiger-striped arsonists that couldn't burn
their way through a matchbook. Where are
the thieves of fire, the Promethean criminals,
the fore-ordained demons of nihilistic doom,
the mad who used to sacrifice their shadows
on the altars of the mountains of the moon
and came down into the valleys in tears
with a message like an avalanche of the underwhelmed?

Are there no more Druids? Is the bloom off the mistletoe
of myriad moons that have lost their atmosphere
to the bright vacancy of the vacuum on the reflected side of things
and forgotten the dark abundance of the occult originality
of the true face that's turned away like a perennial eclipse
of the black sheep of a severely depleted family
that doesn't want to talk about such things in public?
No more shamans risking death in the cradles of the treetops
at the hands of the visions that cut them to the bone
to see if they've marrowed suffering into lunar gold
they scatter on the waters like feathers and bread?
Even the deer miss their hunting magic more than they realized.
Now the flies stalk lions in zoos that know better
than to fight back. And poetry reads like a tourist trap
for expired prophets glad-handing their coveted awards.
Bleed a bit, damn it. Weep like a mountain. Write a poem
like an amputee in a straitjacket with the pen in your mouth.
Pour the ocean into a seabed, not a teacup
that tastes vaguely of life, and down a deep draft
of your own blood in a single gulp from the vessel of your skull,
then wipe it from your lips like the petals of a rose
that knows how the heart feels when it's sealed
like a blood bank and the hungry ghosts of ideas and ideals
have been summoned to it like a seance of vampires in lieu
of the living metaphors that animate the lives of real things.

I'm not saying that the morning is without singers,
or that one should only listen to the night birds
or that the old stumps aren't sprouting tender green branches
out of their Medusa-headed roots. There's fire
in every generation if you get close enough to it
sufficient to singe your eyebrows on or at least
walk toward on a cold night in a cruel landscape
to spread a few stories around to scare the children
into listening to their imagination unbound
from the usual lullabies that keep their parents lyrically young
in a state of arrested development. Where are
the dangerously dissociated ones who yell Merd!
at the choirs of cant and stab an established
pigeon of a poet through the hand like an osprey
then walk off the stage into oblivion as if
a mediocre morality play were beneath his felonious dignity?
Where are the black-robed, outlaw, poet priests,
the sybils, oracles, witches and warlocks,
the vatic rebels hiding out in caves to amplify their voice
like the anarchic mountain they're trying to bring down
on everybody's heads like a meteoric shower
of portentous space junk in a degenerating orbit
that cremated their body parts separately as if each
had nothing in common with its fellow asteroids
except they couldn't keep their cornerstones together long enough
to establish a small planet they could live on in anarchic accord.

I can remember when poems were written in blood,
not bleach and fabric softeners. Not anti-bacterial detergents
that shoot at their own troops over the heads of the enemy.
And how the poetic toads that hibernated for seven years
in the dry creek beds suddenly woke up one day to a flash flood
and started singing sexually naked in the downpouring rain,
not these isolated ripples and trickles of acidic dewdrops
that burn the tongues of the flowers with trademarks and name brands.

Where the savage mystic who wanders in out of the desert
reeking of stars and the wisdom of a snakepit
that could make a whole village stop work, and listen
to the unexpurgated desert wind that spoke through him?
Where are those who ennobled the miseries of life
by living their way through them like diamonds in a black lung?
Now it's the association of the sensibilities into elitist cliques
of enculturated memes with homogeneous life themes
that never leave home to save their children, as Rilke rightly observes,
from having to do it for them. Domesticated lapdogs
never very far from the begging bowls that feed them
like the awards and grants of an institutionalized paternalism
that lets them know when the silver-tongued should be heard
at the table, each in their proper place, and when
Skinnerian censorship, like repressive tolerance, is golden.

Poetry's as old and as dead an art as prostitution.
It's been dying since the first shaman
imitated the song of a bird with its feathers on fire
or the first stripper teased her nakedness with boas.
Or the first wounded wolf let out a warcry
that chilled the moon with its unwaning sincerity.
And the ultimate angle? To be the thing itself
until it breathes you in and out like a way of life
the petty won't risk aspiring to for fear of falling
and being found out like a candling parachute
tangled in its own life lines like a labyrinth of axons
that have lost their nerve for heights. Twenty-five million
children dying of starvation every year on the planet
and you're lying in the lap of the luxury of literature
writing about the rustic quaintness of making home-made jam,
the same way they turned totem-poles into telephone booths
and minor domestic tragedies into recyclable myths of origin.

Let the stars burn deeper into you. Befriend the darkness
like the largest room in your house. Salt your tears
with oceans where your sorrows can learn
to swim like fish without ever swimming out of your eyes.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is it, this onceness,
of the dirge and the lyric you're never going to hear
the same way twice, this mystic specificity
that encompasses us wholly in the mystery
of what we're doing here, what we're saying
and thinking and saying and feeling and shrieking and seeing here
in the presence of each other bearing witness everywhere
as if even the void we flash out of like the morning dew
and return to with the dust of the sunset all over us
were also in some inconceivable way, though
we can't put our lips to its eyelids, sentient
and playfully absurd, but never frivolously recognized.
Don't live like the dress rehearsal of a play you didn't write.
In the pursuit of an earthly excellence that expresses
our human consternation of who we are and are not,
neither this, nor that, say deeply what you mean
so that we can all draw water from it like the sun.
So there's lightning in the clouds of your depression
and the fireflies take over where the starmaps leave off.
Be a great high priestess of the sacred syllable
and when you enter your venerated groves
like the night wind among the crowns of the trees
be at least as engaging and beautiful as they are
and as at home among warriors as you are homeless among saints.

Awake and alert in the unsayable silence. Wait.
And the metaphors will come like bridges that burn
and go up in flames like an orchid and bridges
that collapse under their own weight into the river
they were trying to cross to the colder, lonelier shore
where purity's just a long, slow annihilation
of everything you still insist upon cherishing.
Let go. Fall. Revive. Return. Go up the mountain.
Find the mother lode. Bring it back down into the valley
like a strong river brings its knowledge of gold within.
Behind every explorer is a child who likes to discover
and share things. So what's worth finding that you can't?
You just have to look into one eye to see the history
of everything that can be seen. And when you open your mouth
prompted by a rush of stars, you sing
for thousands of dead poets who used to occupy
these green boughs and leafless branches, you sing
as if you were the last surviving member of the choir,
and the silence, the enraptured silence, was listening.

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Rudyard Kipling

The Rhyme Of The Three Sealers

Away by the lands of the Japanee
Where the paper lanterns glow
And the crews of all the shipping drink
In the house of Blood Street Joe,
At twilight, when the landward breeze
Brings up the harbour noise,
And ebb of Yokohama Bay
Swigs chattering through the buoys,
In Cisco's Dewdrop Dining-Rooms
They tell the tale anew
Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight,
When the ~Baltic~ ran from the ~Northern Light~
And the ~Stralsund~ fought the two.

Now this is the Law of the Muscovite, that he proves with shot and steel,
When ye come by his isles in the Smoky Sea ye must not take the seal,
Where the gray sea goes nakedly between the weed-hung shelves,
And the little blue fox he is bred for his skin
and the seal they breed for themselves;
For when the ~matkas~ seek the shore to drop their pups aland,
The great man-seal haul out of the sea, a-roaring, band by band;
And when the first September gales have slaked their rutting-wrath,
The great man-seal haul back to the sea and no man knows their path.
Then dark they lie and stark they lie -- rookery, dune, and floe,
And the Northern Lights come down o' nights to dance with the houseless snow;
And God Who clears the grounding berg and steers the grinding floe,
He hears the cry of the little kit-fox and the wind along the snow.
But since our women must walk gay and money buys their gear,
The sealing-boats they filch that way at hazard year by year.
English they be and Japanee that hang on the Brown Bear's flank,
And some be Scot, but the worst of the lot, and the boldest thieves, be Yank!

It was the sealer ~Northern Light~, to the Smoky Seas she bore,
With a stovepipe stuck from a starboard port and the Russian flag at her fore.
(~Baltic~, ~Stralsund~, and ~Northern Light~ --
oh! they were birds of a feather --
Slipping away to the Smoky Seas, three seal-thieves together!)
And at last she came to a sandy cove and the Baltic lay therein,
But her men were up with the herding seal to drive and club and skin.
There were fifteen hundred skins abeach, cool pelt and proper fur,
When the ~Northern Light~ drove into the bight
and the sea-mist drove with her.
The ~Baltic~ called her men and weighed -- she could not choose but run --
For a stovepipe seen through the closing mist, it shows like a four-inch gun.
(And loss it is that is sad as death to lose both trip and ship
And lie for a rotting contraband on Vladivostock slip.)
She turned and dived in the sea-smother as a rabbit dives in the whins,
And the ~Northern Light~ sent up her boats to steal the stolen skins.
They had not brought a load to side or slid their hatches clear,
When they were aware of a sloop-of-war, ghost-white and very near.
Her flag she showed, and her guns she showed -- three of them, black, abeam,
And a funnel white with the crusted salt, but never a show of steam.

There was no time to man the brakes, they knocked the shackle free,
And the ~Northern Light~ stood out again, goose-winged to open sea.
(For life it is that is worse than death, by force of Russian law
To work in the mines of mercury that loose the teeth in your jaw.)
They had not run a mile from shore -- they heard no shots behind --
When the skipper smote his hand on his thigh and threw her up in the wind:
"Bluffed -- raised out on a bluff," said he, "for if my name's Tom Hall,
You must set a thief to catch a thief -- and a thief has caught us all!
By every butt in Oregon and every spar in Maine,
The hand that spilled the wind from her sail was the hand of Reuben Paine!
He has rigged and trigged her with paint and spar,
and, faith, he has faked her well --
But I'd know the ~Stralsund~'s deckhouse yet from here to the booms o' Hell.
Oh, once we ha' met at Baltimore, and twice on Boston pier,
But the sickest day for you, Reuben Paine, was the day that you came here --
The day that you came here, my lad, to scare us from our seal
With your funnel made o' your painted cloth, and your guns o' rotten deal!
Ring and blow for the ~Baltic~ now, and head her back to the bay,
And we'll come into the game again -- with a double deck to play!"

They rang and blew the sealers' call -- the poaching cry of the sea --
And they raised the ~Baltic~ out of the mist, and an angry ship was she:
And blind they groped through the whirling white and blind to the bay again,
Till they heard the creak of the ~Stralsund~'s boom
and the clank of her mooring chain.
They laid them down by bitt and boat, their pistols in their belts,
And: "Will you fight for it, Reuben Paine, or will you share the pelts?"

A dog-toothed laugh laughed Reuben Paine, and bared his flenching-knife.
"Yea, skin for skin, and all that he hath a man will give for his life;
But I've six thousand skins below, and Yeddo Port to see,
And there's never a law of God or man runs north of Fifty-Three:
So go in peace to the naked seas with empty holds to fill,
And I'll be good to your seal this catch, as many as I shall kill!"

Answered the snap of a closing lock and the jar of a gun-butt slid,
But the tender fog shut fold on fold to hide the wrong they did.
The weeping fog rolled fold on fold the wrath of man to cloak,
And the flame-spurts pale ran down the rail as the sealing-rifles spoke.
The bullets bit on bend and butt, the splinter slivered free
(Little they trust to sparrow-dust that stop the seal in his sea!),
The thick smoke hung and would not shift, leaden it lay and blue,
But three were down on the ~Baltic~'s deck and two of the ~Stralsund~'s crew.
An arm's-length out and overside the banked fog held them bound,
But, as they heard or groan or word, they fired at the sound.
For one cried out on the Name of God, and one to have him cease,
And the questing volley found them both and bade them hold their peace;
And one called out on a heathen joss and one on the Virgin's Name,
And the schooling bullet leaped across and showed them whence they came.
And in the waiting silences the rudder whined beneath,
And each man drew his watchful breath slow taken 'tween the teeth --
Trigger and ear and eye acock, knit brow and hard-drawn lips --
Bracing his feet by chock and cleat for the rolling of the ships.
Till they heard the cough of a wounded man that fought in the fog for breath,
Till they heard the torment of Reuben Paine that wailed upon his death:

"The tides they'll go through Fundy Race but I'll go nevermore
And see the hogs from ebb-tide mark turn scampering back to shore.
No more I'll see the trawlers drift below the Bass Rock ground,
Or watch the tall Fall steamer lights tear blazing up the Sound.
Sorrow is me, in a lonely sea and a sinful fight I fall,
But if there's law o' God or man you'll swing for it yet, Tom Hall!"
Tom Hall stood up by the quarter-rail. "Your words in your teeth," said he.
"There's never a law of God or man runs north of Fifty-Three.
So go in grace with Him to face, and an ill-spent life behind,
And I'll be good to your widows, Rube, as many as I shall find."

A ~Stralsund~ man shot blind and large, and a war-lock Finn was he,
And he hit Tom Hall with a bursting ball a hand's-breadth over the knee.
Tom Hall caught hold by the topping-lift, and sat him down with an oath,
"You'll wait a little, Rube," he said, "the Devil has called for both.
The Devil is driving both this tide, and the killing-grounds are close,
And we'll go up to the Wrath of God as the holluschickie goes.
O men, put back your guns again and lay your rifles by,
We've fought our fight, and the best are down. Let up and let us die!
Quit firing, by the bow there -- quit! Call off the ~Baltic~'s crew!
You're sure of Hell as me or Rube -- but wait till we get through."
There went no word between the ships, but thick and quick and loud
The life-blood drummed on the dripping decks,
with the fog-dew from the shroud,
The sea-pull drew them side by side, gunnel to gunnel laid,
And they felt the sheerstrakes pound and clear, but never a word was said.

Then Reuben Paine cried out again before his spirit passed:
"Have I followed the sea for thirty years to die in the dark at last?
Curse on her work that has nipped me here with a shifty trick unkind --
I have gotten my death where I got my bread, but I dare not face it blind.
Curse on the fog! Is there never a wind of all the winds I knew
To clear the smother from off my chest, and let me look at the blue?"
The good fog heard -- like a splitten sail, to left and right she tore,
And they saw the sun-dogs in the haze and the seal upon the shore.
Silver and gray ran spit and bay to meet the steel-backed tide,
And pinched and white in the clearing light the crews stared overside.
O rainbow-gay the red pools lay that swilled and spilled and spread,
And gold, raw gold, the spent shell rolled between the careless dead --
The dead that rocked so drunkenwise to weather and to lee,
And they saw the work their hands had done as God had bade them see.

And a little breeze blew over the rail that made the headsails lift,
But no man stood by wheel or sheet, and they let the schooners drift.
And the rattle rose in Reuben's throat and he cast his soul with a cry,
And "Gone already?" Tom Hall he said. "Then it's time for me to die."
His eyes were heavy with great sleep and yearning for the land,
And he spoke as a man that talks in dreams, his wound beneath his hand.
"Oh, there comes no good o' the westering wind that backs against the sun;
Wash down the decks -- they're all too red -- and share the skins and run,
~Baltic~, ~Stralsund~, and ~Northern Light~ -- clean share and share for all,
You'll find the fleets off Tolstoi Mees, but you will not find Tom Hall.
Evil he did in shoal-water and blacker sin on the deep,
But now he's sick of watch and trick and now he'll turn and sleep.
He'll have no more of the crawling sea that made him suffer so,
But he'll lie down on the killing-grounds where the holluschickie go.
And west you'll sail and south again, beyond the sea-fog's rim,
And tell the Yoshiwara girls to burn a stick for him.
And you'll not weight him by the heels and dump him overside,
But carry him up to the sand-hollows to die as Bering died,
And make a place for Reuben Paine that knows the fight was fair,
And leave the two that did the wrong to talk it over there!"

Half-steam ahead by guess and lead, for the sun is mostly veiled --
Through fog to fog, by luck and log, sail ye as Bering sailed;
And if the light shall lift aright to give your landfall plain,
North and by west, from Zapne Crest, ye raise the Crosses Twain.
Fair marks are they to the inner bay, the reckless poacher knows
What time the scarred see-catchie lead their sleek seraglios.
Ever they hear the floe-pack clear, and the blast of the old bull-whale,
And the deep seal-roar that beats off-shore above the loudest gale.
Ever they wait the winter's hate as the thundering ~boorga~ calls,
Where northward look they to St. George, and westward to St. Paul's.
Ever they greet the hunted fleet -- lone keels off headlands drear --
When the sealing-schooners flit that way at hazard year by year.
Ever in Yokohama port men tell the tale anew
Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight,
When the ~Baltic~ ran from the ~Northern Light~
And the ~Stralsund~ fought the two.

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Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg - Exeter Book - That passed over; and so may this

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Earth known today, grown from bomb blown big bang,
one micro second mass, the next thought space,
one moment blast, the next tracked trace apace
stretching tentacles through time to climb
inventing entropy, inviting rhyme.
Confusion/fusion galaxies began
light years across in universal fan
cosmic macro matrix mystery making man
as passing phase whose days are numbered, race
hands torch olympic as unknowns replace
preoccupations most mundane and ban
transit mores and mindset, trashed in can.

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Chicxulub Yucatan today, yesterday massive
mega meteor met resistance passive
atmosphere afire annhiliation
extinguished all velociraptor nation.
Capricious crash caused concatenation
creating catastrophic concussation
capacious crater, sun block situation
cloud cover blanket acid precipitation
setback set back clocks to docked age Cretaceous.
Tropical saurian scene rapacious
turned topsy turvy into impassive
volcanic caldera arid dehydration.

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Retroactive atavistic evolution
appears proscribed by gene switch devolutions
RNA code signals seeking fresh solutions
to challenge cycles living must outpace.
One forward step no backward two's disgrace
in Nature's met, there's no return to base
of man to ape. All life MUST future face.
If earth backtracked fastforward, featured case
study of some sci-fi convolutions
converting climate change to ice-age chase
for rival scenario survival situations,
new strategies from 'would pile' one expects, -
biology all retrograde rejects.

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

From Dr. Leakey's Lucy deep in rift
mankind for many moons was set adrift
as apple on life's tree which, fallen, sprouted
with speed uncanny, other species routed.
Expanding out of Africa, Near East,
isolate communities would feast
on wooly mammoths thawing on the plain,
domesticating dog, took god as rain,
or sun and stars, subistence farming started
upon cave walls like Lascaux fauna charted.
As centuried reshuffled change's cards,
fate's dice were cast. Discarding flaxen hards
herds' pelts preferred protection from harsh clime
perpetuated man's advance through time.

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Ten plagues by night and day, until Passover,
semite slaves escaping from destruction
then sudden tsunami swallowing pursuit
decimated Pharaoh's force - reduction
fatal for few returned, ruins confute
erstwhile rulers ruing rout en route.
Forty years wilderness, waiting would not suit
wanderers wondering where was clover,
rewards, milk, honey, harsh fate could refute

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Twentieth century commenced, comet
decimated 80 million trees in Tunguska,
cut considerable swath in tundra
Siberian forests pealing thunder
flashing lightning peeling asunder
fauna and flora with fiery vomit.
World Wars interstitched with profanation
of rich traditions Tidal revolution
beached teachings held sacred. Culmination
cold war climax Soviet capitulation.
Tchernobyl’s nuclear proliferation
sandwiched with influenza, pestilence,
spread tse-tse, malaria, in evidence
heralding dawn of global community
as the Internet networked accesibility
of information, disinformation
and wi-fi instantaneous ubiquity
introduces nanotech singularity.

Disease, capital, transferred migration
of local catastrophes with impunity
ended epidemic isolation,
exporting disaster, population
upheaval, and evil exploitation.

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Though two legs good, four better, Orwell wrote
while Dr. Moreau for tomorrow's clones
explored cross-breeding and transgender drones
for Huxley's Brave New World, Man's changing coat
from horse hair into techno-logi-colour boat
to sail towards the future fast afloat
on fractal paradigm whose paradox
Pandora's box unlocks, whose furies' shocks
may mean mankind's made merry much too long. Remote
comes closer at accelerating speed,
one head good, two better well may breed
eight tentacles as octopussy seed
eggs 'homo multi-modulus' who bones
may need no longer. Sapiens recede!

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Scop's scope spans centuries succeeding
centuries exceeding aeons' span, reading
between time lines whose causal fractals
flew over darwinopterus pterodactyls.
Despondently inking spondees and dactyls
rhyme wrote itself by rote from root route
to stripling verse twines, creating canopy
where tree, branch, leaf, and seed shoot
combine to sketch etch stretch self-responsive entity -
itself all too well aware of its fragility.
Autonomy, illusory, is linked to mere telomere mortality
within self-referencing frame whose lute
puppet strings echo over two hoot
deaf ears of self-sacrificing society.
Cycle self-feeding, breeding, weeding,
waxing, waning, reining disdaining until...

Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

Upon life's stage man's passing page to cliff
like lemmings speeds while urge to surge uplift
to seed the stars momentum gains, is touted
to use lost lunar water bed undoubted
and spread beyond accepted 'rights and wrongs'.
Blue planet's exodus presumes 'belongs'
refers less to the physical than mind
which still may grow to leave all else behind...

till tomorrow's comet. From one to the next
wishful-thinking wombs will spill, thrill, react
to tautological tightrope track
tied taut teaching tendacious tenets, tack
too tempting, theme taken to turn attack
defence mechanisms away from all
hodgepodgeical intellectual semiologioal
insecurities... until the next big bang...Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg!

14 October 2009 After Deor Exeter Book robi3_1929_PSex1_0002 PXX_DJZ
see also From Crown to Downhill Flight robi3_1930_PSex1_0002 PXX_DJZ

Exeter Book http: //
Exeter Book Image http: // na/britannia/anglo-saxon/flowers/exeter.html
F ranks Casket http: // University DEOR Rendering http: //
Alexander DEOR Rendering http: //
Steve Pollington DEOR Rendering http: //
Anglo Saxon DEOR Text http: // 3.20.html

Leakey Lucy http: //
Chicxulub Crater Yucatan http: //
1908 Siberian Comet impact http: //
LCROSS Mission 20091012 http: // mission-to-hyperspace/
Retroactive atavistic evolution proscribed http: //

_ ________________

From Crown to Downhill Flight

Uneasy lies ahead, head wearing clown
stems stillborn tears, while smile disguises frown
too well aware of faults that others wear,
weary of his own that must prepare
for page where stage is empty of both smile
and frown, both tragic rage, dramatic style.

Ill begotten pair, forgotten soon,
as bust boom follows, dust fate's finger doom.
Catch twenty-two, eternal double-bind
to whom dark doubts would flout, preserving mind
from limits mere mortality imposes,
wit providing witness wherewithal
to conquer temporal restraints, dread call.
Yet neither sage nor sot one whit proposes
allowing never-ending bed of roses
without death’s thorn and all it interposes
between taut tightrope shared for stretch extended,
and that whose short days fray, tort stay soon ended.

Heroic couplets cover shady acts,
as line line links, entwines, enchains, both facts
and fancy in scales' balance count as naught -
synaptic leap upon sleep's breeze net caught,
counts sheep while at deep discounts keep is sold
for naught persists caught by death's stranglehold.
Tale told what stays? Play's days of coward, brave,
young, old, rich, poor, submerged beneath time's wave.
Short sneeze, brief moment seized, tree's leaf falls numb,
swept from strife's maps, life taps new shoot soon dumb.

From entrance until exit cycle turns
life's candle, merry, sad, at both ends burns.
Uneasy lies clown’s head, for tumbling crown
usurped, tossed, lost again, pride’s ride must drown.
From crown to downhill flight, from light till dark,
all passes, swift gift over, this too, stark.

15 October 2009 robi3_1930_PSex1_0002 PXX_DJZ
see also Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg robi3_1929_PSex1_0002

The Exeter Book, Exeter Cathedral Library MS 3501, also known as the Codex Exoniensis, is a tenth-century book or codex which is an anthology of Anglo-Saxon poetry. It is one of the four major Anglo-Saxon literature codices. The book was donated to the library of Exeter Cathedral by Leofric, the first bishop of Exeter shortly after 1050 A.D.. The tales of Widsith - far-traveller - and Deor are recorded here.

Deor is a scop - bard - who has lost his position; to console himself, he recalls famous instances of evil bringing forth good, and after each stanza sings the refrain Thæs ofereode, thisses swa maeg: ‘ That passed over; this may too.’

For further information see links below

http: //
Weland for his skill suffered exile,
the strong-willed hero had hardships to bear,
had as his companions pain and sorrow,
winter-cold exile, and endless griefs,
from the time that Nithhad tied him in fetters,
breaking the hamstrings of a better man.
That passed over; and so may this.

Beaduhild grieved less for her brothers' deaths
than she grieved in her heart for her own hard fate,
when it became clear she was carrying a child;
she could not foresee the uncertain future
or tell if her troubles would turn out well.
That passed over; and so may this.

We have heard of the misery that Maethhild felt
who was wife to Geat, how it grew yet deeper
When her sleep was stolen by sorrowful love.
That passed over; and so may this.

Theodoric ruled for thirty years
the Maerings’ stronghold; many knew that.
That passed over; and so may this.

We have heard too of the wolvish temper
Ermanaric had, who mastered the lands
of the Gothic kingdom; he was a cruel lord.
Wrapped in sorrow and sad at heart,
Many an armed man often wanted
Ermanaric's kingdom to come to grief.
That passed over; and so may this.

A man sits restless, bereaved of joys,
feels sick at heart, secretly thinks
that his share of hardships is over-large.
He may then reflect that through this world
God in his wisdom goes on his way;
a gift of grace he gives to many,
assurance of glory, but grief to some.

I will tell you something true of myself:
the Heodenings employed me as poet for a time,
I was dear to my lord, and Deor was my name.
For many years I held a high-ranking post,
acknowledged by my master, but now Heorrenda,
a man skilled in song, is assigned the lands
the protector of fighters gave first to me.
That passed over; and so may this.


According to the ON Volundarkvitha, Weland was captured by his enemy King Nithhad, hamstrung, and forced to work as his smith. Weland in revenge killed Nithhad's two sons and 'made bowls out of their skulls, gems out of their eyeballs, and brooches out of their teeth; he presented these works of art to the royal family as products of his smithy' (Malone, p.5) : later he raped Beadohild and flew away (perhaps with the help of a coat of feathers?) . The story is illustrated on the eighth-century Franks Casket (now in the British Museum) : to see the image, go to http: // and search for 'Franks Casket'. The image you want is on the front of the casket. The left-hand panel (facing you) of the front of the casket shows Weland as a prisoner in Nithhad’s smithy; the body of one of Nithhad’s sons lies at his feet. Wudga, the son of Weland and Beaduhild, became a great hero; he is also mentioned towards the end of Widsith

Reference http: //
whi ch quotes only the first stanza in a slightly different variation.



Wayland knew the wanderer's fate:
that single-willed earl suffered agonies,
sorrow and longing the sole companions
of his ice-cold exile. Anxieties bit
when Nithhad put a knife to his hamstrings,
laid cunning bonds on a better man.
That changed; this may too.

Beadohild mourned her murdered brothers:
but her own plight pained her more -
her womb grew great with child.
When she knew that, she could never hold
steady before her with what was to happen.
That has gone; this may too.

All have heard of Hild's ravishing:
the Geat's lust was ungovernable,
their bitter love banished sleep.
That passed over; this may too.

Thirty winters Theodric ruled
the Maering city: and many knew it.
That went by; this may too.

We all know that Eormanric
had a wolf's wit. Wide Gothland
lay in the grasp of that grim king,
and through it many sat, by sorrows environed,
foreseeing only sorrow; sighed for the downfall
and thorough overthrow of the thrall-maker.
That blew by, this may too.

When each gladness has gone, gathering sorrow
may cloud the brain: and in his breast a man
can not then see how his sorrows shall end.
But he may think how throughout this world
it is the way of God, who is wise, to deal
to the most part of men much favour
and a flourishing fame; to a few the sorrow-share.

Of myself in this regard I shall say this only:
that in the hall of the Heodenings I held long the markarship,
lived dear to my prince. Deor my name;
many winters I held this happy place
and my lord was kind. Then came Heorrenda,
whose lays were skilful, the lord of fighting-men
settled on him the estate bestowed once on me.
That has gone, this may too.

Michael Alexander


Deor's Lament

Welund tasted misery among snakes.
The stout-hearted hero endured troubles
had sorrow and longing as his companions
cruelty cold as winter - he often found woe
Once Nithad laid restraints on him,
supple sinew-bonds on the better man.
That went by; so can this.

To Beadohilde, her brothers' death was not
so painful to her heart as her own problem
which she had readily perceived
that she was pregnant; nor could she ever
foresee without fear how things would turn out.
That went by, so can this.

We have learnt of the laments of Mathild,
of Geat's lady, that they became countless
so that the painful passion took away all sleep.
That went by, so can this.

For thirty years Theodric possessed
the Maring's stronghold; that was known to many.
That went by, so can this.

We have heard of Eormanric's
wolfish mind; he ruled men in many places
in the Goths' realm - that was a grim king.
Many a man sat surrounded by sorrows,
misery his expectation, he often wished
that the kingdom would be overcome.
That went by, so may this.

A heavy-hearted man sits deprived of luck.
He grows gloomy in his mind and thinks of himself
that his share of troubles may be endless.
He can then consider that throughout this world
the wise Lord often brings about change
to many a man, he shows him grace
and certain fame; and to some a share of woes.

I wish to say this about myself:
That for a time I was the Heodenings' poet,
dear to my lord - my name was 'Deor'.
For many years I had a profitable position,
a loyal lord until now that Heorrenda,
the man skilled in song, has received the estate
which the warriors' guardian had given to me.
That went by, so can this.

Steve Pollington

For Deor
http: //
http: //

For Widsith

http: //
http: //

See also Beowulf

For Anglo Saxon Text
http: // 3.20.html


Welund him be wurman wræces cunnade,
anhydig eorl earfoþa dreag,
hæfde him to gesiþþe sorge ond longaþ,
wintercealde wræce; wean oft onfond,

siþþan hine Niðhad on nede legde,
swoncre seonobende on syllan monn.
þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg!
Beadohilde ne wæs hyre broþra deaþ
on sefan swa sar swa hyre sylfre þing,

þæt heo gearolice ongieten hæfde
þæt heo eacen wæs; æfre ne meahte
þriste geþencan, hu ymb þæt sceolde.
þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg!
We þæt Mæðhilde monge gefrugnon

wurdon grundlease Geates frige,
þæt hi seo sorglufu slæp ealle binom.
þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg!
ðeodric ahte þritig wintra
Mæringa burg; þæt wæs monegum cuþ.

þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg!
We geascodan Eormanrices
wylfenne geþoht; ahte wide folc
Gotena rices. þæt wæs grim cyning.
Sæt secg monig sorgum gebunden,

wean on wenan, wyscte geneahhe
þæt þæs cynerices ofercumen wære.
þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg!
Siteð sorgcearig, sælum bidæled,
on sefan sweorceð, sylfum þinceð

þæt sy endeleas earfoða dæl.
Mæg þonne geþencan, þæt geond þas woruld
witig dryhten wendeþ geneahhe,
eorle monegum are gesceawað,
wislicne blæd, sumum weana dæl.

þæt ic bi me sylfum secgan wille,
þæt ic hwile wæs Heodeninga scop,
dryhtne dyre. Me wæs Deor noma.
Ahte ic fela wintra folgað tilne,
holdne hlaford, oþþæt Heorrenda nu,

leoðcræftig monn londryht geþah,
þæt me eorla hleo ær gesealde.
þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg!

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fresh fish



'The beach at Sanibel... an Arlington Cemetery of shells.'
Every suffocated or strangled fish is first given
waterboarding sensations.
Fishes more frequently than
mammals or birds are cut open
alive, while their eyes watch
the knifing of others and their
gills struggle for absent air.

Fish cannot scream.
Greed for suffocated fish flesh causes seals to be clubbed in Canada, Norway, S Africa etc., dolphins to be knifed in Japan, whales to be murdered by
Norwegian Japanese Icelandic and American Inuit fishermen, bears
to be murdered in Alaska, untold thousands of fishermen to
be lost in tsunamis,700 Bangladesh fishermen lost in just 1 storm, Thai fishermen working for slave wages, tens of millions around
the world to die of stomach cancer, food poisoning etc.**

What's in fish? unreported Mad Fish
Disease, nuclear toxins a million
times more concentrated than in
sea water, AIDS from unprocessed
human waste dumped into
the oceans, hepatitis, anaphylactic shock, ecoli,
and other food poisoning,
throat, stomach and other cancers,
mercury, lead, cadmium, arsenic, pbb's, pcb's, thousands
of carcinogenic industrial waste products, and heavy metal sired
brain damage, pfiesteria (red tide) which poisons the fishes


Are all anglers stranglers?

Dick Gregory: Eating fish liver oil is like eating the filter out of a car.


The next time you hear an ad promoting omega 3 fatty acids in fish, please remember that the Inuit have the
lowest life expectancy in the world and eat the most fish, that such acids are full of some of the toxins listed
below. They damage memory and cause cancer. Omega 3 fatty acids are the slop along with oil and blood
ending up on the fish trawler floor.
The trash mongering industries
think the public are suckers.

While articles in corporate media tout fish as brain food, the high mercury levels in fish cause memory and mental function loss.
'Symptoms of amnesic shellfish poisoning include possible permanent short-term memory loss.' * The cultures eating the most fish (Inuit) have the lowest life expectancy of
any group surviving to adulthood, while the Japanese who eat high amounts of fish have as their number 1 cause of death fish correlated stomach cancer. Toxins in fish include selenium, mercury, chromium, lead, arsenic, pcb's, pbb's, pvc's, cadmium,
radioactive strontium, fire retardant,
insecticides and female hormones dumped into the seas
from waterways,
and every other nonbiodegradable toxin which is 100 to 1000 times more concentrated in the flesh of fish than in the water. (Rachel Carson's The Silent Spring dealt with among other things the massive loss of bird and fish
life from DDT. Fish is the antibrain food as fruitarian and vegetarian
geniuses DaVinci, Einstein, Ramanujan, Mary Shelley and
others can attest. Linus Pauling, only person to win a Nobel Prize both for peace and his discovery of 6
elements, has written that an orthmolecule is a fruit
molecule. They are the most similar to the neural
transmitters in the brain. There is no vitamin C (speeds flow
of nerve signals across synapses) in fish or animal flesh
or in animal products.) The EPA issued 3500 warnings against fish consumption in one year alone. Arsenic poisoning (arsenic from the oceans is concentrated in the
flesh of fishes) creates lesions and warts on the hands.
Radioactive waste dumped directly into the ocean by some
nuclear nations concentrates poisons in fish as well.*

While neocons attempt to blame
Russia for thallium poisoning,
they obscure the fact that thallium
is frequently found in mussels and


Several countries are dumping
nuclear waste directly into the ocean.
Such poisons concentrate in
ratios of 1000 to 1000000 times
in the flesh of fish, termed
the top of the sea food chain.


We know that hepatitis and ecoli (colon bacteria) are caused
by the coprophagous (sh*teating) habits of bottom feeding shellfish. and anaphylactic shock which can be fatal from eating decayed fish
(whether or not their decay is apparent) . But what is underreported
is the relationship of AIDS to
fish as unprocessed human waste
in many cities around the world
from Mexico, Baltimore and New York,
to Asia.. is dumped directly into
the ocean. Shellfish eat not only
the waste but the mucus with which
it is entwined.

One can see pictures of fishermen molesting lobsters by
netting them, the lobsters' claws holding toilet paper


One national cancer association reports that fish consumption is
related to stomach cancer.. Those countries with the highest fish
consumption having the highest rates. Included are Korea, Japan,
Norway and others. Those countries with the highest
meat consumption (Canada, Australia, the US, Chile,
Argentina, etc.) have the highest intestinal cancer rates.


An Italian environmental group
has issued a press release on oil
spills impacting fishes and the
throats of those who eat them.


There is no natural bulk in fish. It is naturally constipating. While
meat causes most intestinal cancers, fish is a cause as well.


Skyrocketing rates of
prostate, uterine and breast cancer in the US come from
female hormones given to cows, sheep pigs
chickens etc to cause their water weight gain before death. The urine from these factory farmed animals
is dumped into the waterways causing fish to have
cancerous growths. If they are eaten by humans before
they die they can cause cancer in human beings, just as
a chicken can transmit leukemia (though the multi trillion
dollar chicken industry calls leukemia leukosis when they
don't manage to hide chicken cancer altogether.)


Fish flesh is from a rotting cadaver and therefore can cause food poisoning (ptomaine, brucellosis,
toxoplasmosis, salmonella,
ecoli) . Anaphylactic shock frequently causes death to those who
eat shellfish. It is universally known that dead fish stink (as
do all cadavers) . Choking on fish bones has been common throughout the
centuries. Urticaria or hives is one less lethal but allergic reaction
to fish consumption.

The Texas Dept. of Health stated in one year that 245 people had been victims of
illness from oysters in Galveston Bay. The bacterium is Vibrio
parahaemolyticus.208 people have had oyster illness in the Northwest.

U.S. News and World Report Nov 24,1997: One of the strains
food poisoning in shellfish is Vibria Vulnificus.


The ketosis from high animal protein diets leads not only
to bleeding ulcers but to kidney shutdown and blocked urethras.


NPR November 6,1997: Dr. James Porter of the Univ. of Athens at
Georgia was studying the many new fishes diseases such as black band and white pox. He reported that increased shipping, increased pollution,
and overfishing (an oxymoron since all fishing is overfishing) are factors for the rise.

Pfiesteria or red tide poisons the fish. One of its causes
is the quatrillions of gallons of pig waste from the factory
farms of millions of captive pigs in Virginia, North Carolina etc.


In addition is the emerging truth of piscean spongiform encephalopathy or Mad Fish Disease as both
A. factory farmed fish are being fed bone meal and
B. ocean fish are eating the parts of other animals
C. shrimp fishermen and other fishermen bait hooks with pet food

Manganese from insecticides combines with prions of BSE

The uric acid in fish is trioxypurine, more powerful than caffein, and is correlated to arthritis as it crystallizes in needle formation around the joints. It also
adds to the incidence of heart disease and stroke, stimulating the
heart unnaturally.

The uric acid or trioxypurine like caffein or dioxypurine
is addictive, and since there are more oxypurines than in
coffee, it is more addictive.

'If you miss fish or meat, take out a veggieburger and whiz
on it.'

WORMS. We know that pig flesh contains trichinella worms
wrapped in cysts so that they remain in many pork dishes.
Owen Parrett, MD wrote that even Rocky Mountain trout from the most
unpolluted streams
have worms.

The coprophagous (human and other waste eating) habits of shellfish are the number 2 (yes) cause of hepatitis.


Commercial fishing causes more fatalities annually than
any other occupation, through sudden storm drownings,
through problems with pulleys, ropes, nets, sails,
through spiking and other injuries from fishes gasping
for their breath and fighting for their lives. Noncommercial
fishermen have died when lightning turned their metal poles
into lightning rods.


Choking on meat or fish is the 6th cause of accidental death in the
US. So common has it been to choke on fish bones that the Catholic
Church has a feastday dedicated to St. Blaize in which throats
are blessed. Fraternity house pranks in the cruel blood sport
of goldfish swallowing have resulted in deaths to humans
as well as the fish.

Perhaps no illness is more karmically linked to eating fish
than breathing difficulties. Fish most often suffocate.
Suffocation brings suffering to the fishes and to humans
who eat them, through lung cancer, asthma, mucus buildup
in the respiratory tract etc.


A radio network caller, Oct 27,97: 'My mother never got to see the same military MD twice, so it was years before medical detectives realized that her
Saturday headaches were caused by her Friday fisheating with an
allergy to iodine.


Many carcinogenic or lethal additives such as MSG are added
to fish flesh by some companies and restaurants. MSG
is used as a 'meat tenderizer' because it breaks down muscle
cells (as well as nerve cells of the brain.. causing Chinese restaurant syndrome.. of which headaches
are the least of the problems) .The FDA allows MSG and other
toxins in food under the label 'natural flavoring'.


In reality, fish like birds and mammals secrete adrenalin
or epinephrine when terrorized, fighting for their lives,
fleeing the hook or the gun. Adrenalin is a longchained
protein enzyme, only some of whose links are destroyed by
cooking. Eating the biochemical agony of the fish or animal
causes depression to humans eating the fish cadavers and can stimulate

end up in the waters of the world.
Some are organophosphates, carbamates and pyrethroids.

end up as well in the waters of the world causing fish deformitiesand cancers which are transferred to fish eaters. These hormones are excreted as urine by trillions of enslaved farm animals and work their way into the streams, rivers and oceans of the world, causing breast, prostate, uterine, ovarian and other cancers.

ends up in some way impacting the fish. and concentrating itself in their flesh


The fishing industry dominates the press releases of many
health departments. Thus typhoid fever's relation to consumed
shellfish and meat has been muzzled.


Drugs including antibiotics, antipsychotics, birth-control hormones, Viagra and Valium routinely turn up in wastewater all over the world because people flush them down their toilets. But medications have also ended up in Los Angeles County's water supplies because of the region's aggressive efforts to turn treated sewage into drinking water.

The makers of Prozac, Paxil, Haldol, and many other drugs
have been sued successfully for the lethal effects.. including
homicide and suicide caused by their drugs.

XXII ANTIBIOTIC RESISTANCE The above quote mentions
the antibiotics in the water. The animals have built up
resistance to them and pass it on through their urine.

Antibiotics, female hormones, lethal 'antipsychotic' drugs
which trigger homicide and suicide, antiepilepsy drugs, ecoli or colon bacteria, fertilizers, insecticides, mercury, hundreds of other toxic metal combinations, arsenic, nuclear waste dumping radiation are some
of the thousands of contaminants in drinking water.. their source
is zillions of gallons of urine from humans, from factory farmed
animals, nuclear power plants, factory dumping, agribusiness runoff, tanneries, lumber
mills etc. Many of the above are not biodegradable and are concentrated in the flesh of
fish at rates of 100,1000 or 1 000 000 times the drinking water level, said Rachel
Carson in her pioneer book: The Silent Spring.) [/i]


Cyanide is one of tens of thousands of poisons accumulating
in the flesh of fishes. Perhaps someone could write a murder
mystery about a faithful husband accused of murdering
his wife because her body had high concentrations of
cyanide in it.

Health departments, extermination companies use strychnine
in rodenticides. The strychnine washes into the water systems
and accumulates in fishes.

Often mentioned 2nd to mercury in concentration in the waters.


'Two executives of St. Petersburg-based Sigma
International Inc., were sent to prison and fined $1 million for
dunking spoiled shrimp in a bleach solution to hide the smell.'
-Vietnam Bob-
Around the world many shrimpflesh mongers do likewise.


The Russians have courageously detained Japanese fishing
boats. The Australians have worked against Japanese
fishermen as well. (Perhaps the Japanese will organize
a worldwide boycott of Australian kangaroo, cow and sheep flesh.) Japanese fishermen supported by their government
kill whales, knife dolphins, take far more than other countries
in their fishing operations. Other whale killers are supported by
the US (Makah tribesmen, naval propellers, sonar) , Norway,
and Iceland. Norwegians, Caadians, and S Africans
club seals.

Deaths from boats capsized, fishermen overboard drowning,
fishermen caught in nets, or sliced by creatures fighting
for their lives from catfish to sharks.

B. Slavery for Thai and other shrimp fishers

Eating shrimp is very bad for the shrimp, causes many food poisoning,
mercury and other diseases, and causes slavery for shrimp workers
in Thailand and elsewhere.


Seals and whales are killed by Canadians Norwegians and Japanese
because they
compete for fish. Penguin babies can die because there
are no longer enough fish for them to eat.

Dolphins, turtles and other sea creatures are
caught in the nets.

Whales are caught in lobster lines.

Manatee and all forenamed creatures are caught in boat propellers.

Those who promote fisheating incur the karma not only of the
suffocated fish (problems of breath) but the karma of the seals,
dolphins, turtles, octopi and all other sea beings killed by the
fishing industry or individuals.

A Hindu ashram not in accord with the Bhagavad Gita's
dietary nonviolence
was inundated by the perhaps military machine generated tsunami.

In addition, the trillions of tons of plastic in the ocean
are causing the choking of dolphins, seals, pelicans,
albatross, and thousands of other species.


There are trillions of gallons of fish oil slop on trawler and
processing floors.

Harvard whose corporate funded studies were a factor in Stanley
Prusiner's (prion discoverer) leaving for California is also promoting
the glut of fish on the market.

States like Maryland which subsidize fishing promotion
are violating the first amendment rights of Buddhists, Hindus,
vegetarians, vegans, Seventh Day Adventists, Jains, and
many other religions which teach not killing.
The sale of fish brings 54 million to the state of Maryland, whose
governor prevailed on 3 chains in the Washington area to
begin again to sell Chesapeake fish despite the pfiesteria disease
caused by untold trillions of gallons of pig factory farm
sewage being dumped into the Atlantic.
One factor of many in the disease of the fish might be the Calvert
Cliffs nuclear power plant, which raises the temperature of the water
in the area.


Dr Donald Broom, science adviser to the British government, has said that the pain
system in fish is the same as for mammals and humans.

Any child who sees a fish flopping on the deck, or struggling for life on a hook,
or impaled in the eye by a flyfisher knows that fishes fill pain.

What's worse than a snakeoil salesman? A pawn of fishmongers.


A vanguard of holistic veterinarians, and James A Peden,
author of VEGETARIAN CATS AND DOGS, which is in its third printing, are
working to help petowners transition their cats to nonharmful foods, ones
which do not cause urethra blockages, feline leukemia, kidney dysfunction, crippling arthritis, lung infections and breathing problems or
food poisoning. Andrew Knight DVM has written of a litany
of toxins in commercial pet food. Taurine, an enzyme thought
needed by cats, has been produced synthetically since 1930.


The more conscious the animal, the worse the effects from
eating that animal. Thus humans contract kuru when they
eat other humans. The eating of monkey meat in Zaire, Zambia
is a source of AIDS. Mammal eating causes many more heart attacks. The eating of birds causes leukemia, food poisoning
deaths, Mad Chicken Disease.


With asbestos in Lake Michigan, pcb's in the livers of polar bears
in Alaska, oyster contamination in the Gulf from the runoff of
the Mississippi, lipophilic insecticides in Lake Erie, pfiesteria
in the Atlantic seaboard..arsenic, chromium and mercury, pcb's,
insecticides, fish killing old oil and every other toxin in the
shellfish in the NE
eating unprocessed human waste, where is there fresh fish?
The UN FAO, Prince Philip, and government and private
coalitions around the world are working to reduce fishing
so as not to wipe out certain species.

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The river Trent is lovely, I know because I have walked on it for 18 years.

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I have been a judge for 15 years and I've made up my own mind during all that time.

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