Here I Am: A Poem by Xanadu

HERE  I  AM


Here I am, here I am,
A shipwrecked mariner
On a wild, wild shore.
And I don’t give a damn
If you diss me or jeer
As I cling to my oar.

All this means nothing to me,
Nor the wreck of my ship.
This will come to you too,
The Dark God’s cruelty.
You will feel the same whip
On your back, as I do.

Fool, poor pitiful fool!
You too, sport of malchance,
Will fall into the Pit.
You too will one day drool,
Go blind, deaf, soil your pants,
And die in your own skrit.

— XANADU, Translations from a Lost Language

5 thoughts to “Here I Am: A Poem by Xanadu”

  1. Here some POETRY from a POET ..i stumbled over some days ago
    some may call it PROESY … it has ingredients of dual literary styles
    it supplements above Verses ;

    Mutilators of history and inverters of reality.
    Infanticidal, satanic pedophiles of antiquity and of modern times.
    Human-organ traders; sex-slave traders; historic slave-traders;
    executioners of the unarmed and snipers of the bellies of expectant mothers;
    mass murderers and rapists and pornographers and drug pushers;
    grave robbers and loan sharks and mafia lords and lords of the ghetto
    them ghetto Jew billionaires and their coterie of rabid rabbis.
    War pigs obsessed with policing the peaceful.
    Death merchants obsessed with the six-million mathematical.
    Swindlers and heisters in love with their red heifer.
    Pagans in disguise and kabalistic bilkers of the loveless and the bereaved
    – shooters and looters of lost souls.
    Liars and deceivers and congods of the universe.
    Diddlers and bamboozlers of lush towns and cities.
    Poisoners of air and water and garden and the body human.
    Brainwashers of beautiful minds and saboteurs of sunshine and sunny days.
    Terrorists and interlopers and smashers of sacred truths.
    Haters and killers of all the prophets of peace.
    Lovers of genocide and of mass graves.
    Purveyors of the flowers of death
    and lawyers for the devil and his army of kidnappers.
    Torturers and tormentors of orphans and the handicapped.
    Castrators of boys and men in their prime.
    Ungloved abortionists with bullet for scalpel.
    Blackmailers of the redeemed and the pardoned.
    Insatiable brutes and sadists and vain bullies pickled in their pharaohnic complex.
    Covetous cowards and relentless conspirators behind the black curtain.
    Parasite of parasite. Counterfeiters of piety and victimhood.
    Worshipers of blood-diamonds and looted gold and milk and honey.
    Inventors of the fucking atom bomb!
    Arsonists and burners of babies in their cribs;
    muggers and assaulters of the blind in their beds;
    backstabbers of heroes and Eros and Gentile friend and foe alike;
    architects of intolerance and violent division;
    protectors of psychopaths who prey on the praying;
    narcissists and polishers of the lunatic hall of mirrors;
    landscapers of greed and enablers of destitution;
    gluttonous vandals of heaven and of earth;
    spitters on harvests and on the bread baskets of the world;
    builders of walls and moats and spiky guillotines;
    birthers of primordial bigotry and racism and chauvinistic-chosenistic xenophobia;
    haters of humanity and justice and exquisite Gentile beauty;
    revelers dancing on the crushed bones of the innocent under rubble;
    enthusiastic beheaders of facts and science and human napes.
    Spoilers and decayers and devastators of delicate, divine life itself.

    Shall I go on?

    From : Jewish Terrorism by Taxi
    https://platosguns.com/2019/03/17/jewish-terrorism/?fbclid=IwAR1SuVvDdBNXC4OWDRZEJRjrKJUJsKBoUEfPl6r6Ix_D6imJ6BouB5Pc8E8

  2. Aye, we do not die with dignity;
    the mess we leave after our last sigh.

    Can we live the last hour with honour,
    if truth’s the treasure we amassed?

    Charon sculls us on nonetheless.

  3. Such hope, so much despair over inevitability. The ultimate Hegelian dialectic follows.
    Thesis: I shall most certainly die! Antithesis: I shall most certainly live forever! Synthesis: (see below)

    The loving Hopeful One (LHO) arranged affairs; spent precious time shepherding possessions to those needy or greedy, did not matter which, only that THINGS departed into welcoming hands, whatever the motive; ensured that the house remained clean at all times, not just when guests visited and stayed overnight; made sure, too, that the gardens had spurted no weeds overnight. LHO had lots of Time left over to prepare for both departure and penultimate transition. LHOs call Death Transition, less packing, more projection!

    The Fearful Despairing One (FDO) lamented the many possible fates, the only uncertainty Death, eventually. How and when and why and where? What would deal Death’s blow? A hammer, saw, laser beam, Taser, bacteria? And, O! the litanies of evil deeds done to FDOs! Death by a thousand cuts, most likely. FDOs call Death The End. No packing, no destination.

    To me, the “Solution” (aka Synthesis): Plan and prepare for a hopeful exit. If one’s fears, best and worst, prove right, then at least you have not left a mess on your watch as steward of your King’s land and possessions. GOD bless and may the Pure Light within us guide our way on. Let’s be kind to each other, dear fellow travelers, an odd bunch we are.

    1. For what it’s worth. I take up a disproportionate share of 1’s and 0’s on this, DARKMOON’s comment board and thread, by posting a followup to my own post above. I hope to contribute. Remonstrances welcome. Constructive criticisnm, too! So few spots in my universe to play and interplay abnout “poems”.

      After posting the above comment on DARKMOON, twenty-four hours later — 24 Hours, murder, torture, mayhem, intrigue, cultural marxism and social engineering, ugly programming (Edward Bernays, Father of PR, nephew of that great Freud, a wholesome soul of whom I hope the Earth sees no more, spins happily in his grave despite the absence of the grease of God’s Grace) — I crafted this PROSEY poem [AKA poetic PROSE] as a supplement to the above. We are, after all, on the SUBJECT of poetry and poems, whether or not dear EZRA would agree. May St. Pound RIP. I submit this poem as comment on, response to, and, possibly, an extension to “HERE I AM”. I claim continuity and relevance, asking indirectly of Admin and other PTB of Darkmoon, in the same breathless whisper, for dispensation.

      PLYING THE PATH BETWEEN DOOM & GLOOM

      Such hope, so much despair over inevitability.

      The ultimate Hegelian dialectic follows.
      Thesis: I shall most certainly die!
      Antithesis: I shall most certainly live forever!

      The Loving Hopeful One (LHO) arranged affairs; spent precious time shepherding possessions to those needy or greedy, did not matter which, only that THINGS departed into welcoming hands, whatever the motive; ensured that the house remained clean at all times, not just when guests visited and stayed overnight; made sure, too, that the gardens spurted no weeds overnight. LHO had lots of Time left over to prepare for both departure and penultimate transition.

      LHOs call Death Transition, less packing, more projection!

      The Fearful Despairing One (FDO) lamented the many possible fates, the only uncertainty Death, eventually. How and when and why and where? What would deal Death’s blow? A hammer, saw, laser beam, Taser, bacteria? And, O! the litanies of evil deeds done to FDOs! Death by a thousand cuts, most likely.

      FDOs call Death The End. No packing, no destination.

      Synthesis: Either or both
      (1) Plan and prepare for a hopeful exit.
      (2) If one’s fears, best and worst, prove right,
      then at least you have not left a mess on your watch
      as steward of your King’s land and possessions.

      GOD bless and may the Pure Light within us guide our way on.
      Let’s be kind to each other, dear fellow travelers,
      an odd bunch we are.

      acd 25Mar2019r

  4. Heartache is the cruelest storm of storms.
    Holy breach of hope and faith and blessed love combined.
    “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!”

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