Thaw... Rest Would Awake

Let sylvan limbs roll up their snowy sleeves:

Over all imp-pediments of Winter;

Glad unclad but for bark to which trunk cleaves;

Lichen not the frostbite on each splinter.

Imploring still the nascent airs of Spring:

Kaleidoscope of colour Autumn lost;

Enflamed near end to leafy hands upfling,


Suffering, I see winds that each branch tossed.

Listen. Still the rustling movements haunt,

Ethereal as birdsong to a bough

Emptied of all art but the chill taunt,

Polemic as fraught nightmare over now.


Until lumber timber shan't just slumber:

Pretty blossom's wake wilt re-encumber!

Vikarious

'When he was Finnish,
one of his disreputables said to him,
"Lord, teach us to prey?"'
(Luke 11:1, Authorised Viking Version)


I try not to be sacrilegious...
Norse say it this way:


"Our Father with chart in heaven,

Haloed be Earth's frame.

Viking dumb, come;

Vile, be dung in earth:

Asset is in heaven.

Give us, thirsty, oar daily spread...

And forge with us our depths,

As we forge with oar detours.

And lead us not into tempests

But deliver us from the mediaeval.

For Thine is the United Kingdom,

Though they cower:

We'll not be gory forever.

Amen.

Limerick

A hobbling Viking made port

With hundreds of kegs he had bought.

Unevenly legless

By pirates beat kegless,

"My limb, Erik! They cut it sh***!"

Haikus

Japanese pigeons...

Poets with fine feather quills:

They speak in high coos!

I Am Bic-Penned Amateur (but blogging bards must needs revert to type)

I never was baptised in font until

I winged a flight of fancy by flap's hap:

All-plucky, birds refused me feather quill;

Even my high-coo pigeon... cheeky Jap!

It happened when errant, and a raven

My inkwell spilt in splitting from its cage,

Birds heard my cry, "Fowl play!", and fled haven...

Rage incandescent: ink on desk and page!

Forgetting birds; Guttenburg laid to rest:

Pressed for time, a typewriter's ironic...

Geese had left eggs with quills on Shelley desk;

Biros nicked (borrowed) make desk Byronic.

When pen-tired, I'd a downward dreamy bleat,

"Quilt quills, as eiderdown, would biros beat!"