Under an Iron Heel

[Here it seems the Unknown Poet of the Third Galaxy seems to have a hair up his ass about the activity of cults such as "Divine Lite - but it is mild compared to the vile bile he spews towards the illusion of "Exceptionalism" which blossomed in the United State of Arrogance mutating into a sick and ugly flower with the onset of the Terrible Times]

9. Under an Iron Heel

If you squeeze your eyeballs a bit you'll see light,

and if you stick your fingers in your ears

you'll hear some sounds - go on, give it a try!

If you call such sound the music of the spheres

and a flash of optic nerve the light divine,

that's all you need to open a godbiz store!

(Of course, you'll need to polish your line

to stand out from what's been said before.)

It's kind of disgusting, but on the other hand

it's not pernicious like some others I've heard

who claim that we possess a chosen land,

chosen by God's Holy Word,

"Chosen," I heard an old fart squeal,

"to crush the world under her iron heel!"

Snake Eyes

[Here, in the 8th. sonnet of "Dogs Barking", the Unknown Poet of the third Galaxy makes a radical departure from the original version of this corona, "Our Common Insanity". As to why there are two versions remains a mystery, despite extensive research in 2nd and 3rd level footnotes of the Absolute Truth (21st Edition)]

8. Snake Eyes

It isn't nice when them snake eyes wink:

The abyss yawns upon a restless night,

civilization totters on the brink.

Meanwhile, blind men rant, "We've seen the light!"

Conspiracies of mediocracy

unfolding plans to cut a cosmic fart:

"To play the Game all you really need

is two cents and a deck of marked cards!"

Combined with a complete lack of shame,

it's easy to get the fools to work for you:

Tell them that you've got a secret name

that you reveal to the chosen few,

they'll work for you day and night

and squeeze their eyeballs out to see some light.

Something Deeper...

7. Something Deeper?

Is it something deeper that we're afraid to mention,
which fills us with shame and follows us wherever we go?
Is it mortal sin or "just" sins of omission?
Indeed, it's hard to name, but this I know:

We need to understand it soon because
the time is short, in fact, it's running out.
We have trashed the earth, disobeyed her laws
and now, like drunks, all bleary eyed, we shout:

"We're gonna give up the juice, tomorrow, we think,
but we haven't time right now to pay the price,
that is except for another bitter drink..."

"Uh...who's paying for the next round?"
"Let's roll the dice!"
"Sixes and seven will get us to heaven in the wink
of an eye", "O, no! Snake eyes! That wasn't so nice!"

The Lord They Serve...

6. The "Lord" they Serve...

The "Lord" they serve rules a kingdom of death!

That's what I said and that's exactly what I meant!
How dare they do what they do to Holy Breath!
It's exactly as if the coin of the Kingdom was spent
on dried snot and used toilet wipe.

I try so very hard not to rant,
but when I hear about them selling tripe
as the "Will of God", to keep silent - I cannot!

People are not as stoopid as they think.
We understand how they bamboozle us!
We know what's in the kool-aid they make us drink!

So why don't more of us make more of a fuss?

Is it because we're all afraid of perdition?
Or is it something deeper that we're afraid to mention?

The Wounded Heart

5. The Wounded Heart

When the wounded heart, so long denied, reappears,

is it really true that the earth will quake and shake,

that the sun will hide and the moon cry bloody tears?

Myself, I've little patience with those who take

our ancient texts and twist them into bits,

writing screenplays about what must come next.

In my book, they are a bunch of little shits,

sending us to hell on phony pretexts!

Shall I really speak what's really on my mind?

First of all, these disasters do not have to be!

Therefore, calling them false prophets is far too kind!

To speak truth to power, that is prophecy!

Come close to me now and smell the bile on my breath:

The "Lord" they serve rules a kingdom of death!

Lies and Flatulence

[This is odd - it seems that the Unknown Poet of the Third Galaxy produced this sonnet corona in two versions. Either that or he forgot that he had finished what he then called "Our Common Insanity. Whatever the case, it is interesting to see the changes he made in the first part of the corona and how he developed the theme when they take off in different directions just over half way through the circle.]

4. Lies and Flatulence

Behind a pack of lies and flatulence,

finely carved and polished wooden masks,s

projecting simulated excellence,

the Bankers of Illusion go about their tasks:

Purity and Innocence are stripped clear to the bone,

then served up with spicy barbecue sauce.

True feeling then is only felt alone,

and love becomes a commodity that costs

not only your heart's blood, but cold cash!

And, as the Age of Insolence begins,

all human values are shat upon and trashed,

and holiness is counted as mortal sin...

What then, my friend?

What will you do with your fears

when the wounded heart, so long denied, reappears?

The Fenris Coughs

Fenris is the child of Loki and Angrboda. The name of the chain is Gleipnir (deceive or entangler). It was made of the footstep of a cat, the roots of a mountain, a woman’s beard, the breath of fishes, the sinews of a bear and the spittle of birds. Fenris was chained by this wisp of magic to a rock a mile under the earth. The name of the rock is Gioll (scream). In the end, Fenris will break the chain and roam Midgård during Ragnarok.

3. The Fenris Coughs

I just heard the Fenris’ guttural cough:

On this, the Nordic vision is very clear:

"Wars and rumors of wars" are not enough:

Three Finbul Winters in three consecutive years

must first appear before he breaks his chain.

(The silver chain the dwarves wove and forged.

The magic chain which binds the wolf in pain

as Tyr leaves his arm in the Fenris’ gorge!)

But on such a summerly day as we have today,

how can anyone lend to such dreams any credence?

There are many games afoot and many who play

with our hearts, our minds and souls with no pretense

except a mask of righteousness ensconced

behind a pack of lies and flatulence!

Greater than Pestilence

[Starting with the final line of the opening sonnet, the Unknown Poet of the Third Galaxy plays with idea that perhaps 4 horsemen for the Apocalypse is, so to speak, "overkill"]

2. Greater than Pestilence

Has War become greater than Pestilence?
How odd!
Do the Four Horsemen now compete?
For what prize do they strive to show their excellence?

A crown of shit?
A diadem of rotting meat?

What strategy will Famine now employ?
Will Disease pull out of his sleeve some tactical trick?
Will Death reunite with his own true joy?

(And will the winner be able to make his victory stick?)

Those are sick questions to have to ask, are they not?
Do we really need to have four Horsemen at all?
Could we not get by with One?
Or would that ruin the "plot"?

Two bites from one apple were enough for one Fall
One Horseman for us all, wouldn't that be enough?

I just heard the Fenris' guttural cough!

Dogs Barking - 1

[Dear hearts, yet another sonnet corona which I discovered in 2nd level footnotes to the Absolute Truth, 21st Edition - obviously, this is the work of the Unknown Poet of the Third Galaxy]

1. Dogs Barking

We woke because we heard the dogs barking...
We thought it was nothing...

We should have known better!

All too soon, we heard the sound of soldiers' harking,
spitting in the cold, damp, misty damp weather!

I called them soldiers - but that is not what they were:
scoundrels, mercenaries, killers for hire!

It was obvious what would all too soon occur:
a night of pillage and rape and our village on fire...

This was the time of the War of a Hundred Years...
Or was it Seven or Thirty...?

I never could get the numbers straight!

All I know for sure is we harvested tears,
that the root of war is planted in greed and hate.

But we're better today - we kill from great distance
and War has become greater than Pestilence!

Midterm

Even here in the Happy Little Kingdom we have been awash with effluvia from talking heads and intensely excited experts as to the "meaning" of the media-hyped event that made professional wrestling look like a high school prom.

I give you, free of charge, the meaning which, although it contains words of three syllables, even Ronald Rexona could (sort of) understand:

The United State of Arrogance - The Best Democracy Money Can Buy!!!