XXXVII. Oecumenicus

Ecumenical Economy, we praise thee
Economy, god of ecumenity, we raise thee
Mammon of manna, we uphold thee

Oecumenicus, thou art our god, past, present, and future
We were warned for love of thee, yet we praise thee

‘Tis more than greed that plagues us
Or the love of being prosperous
Tis our’n god that makes beggars of us

XXXVI. Daughters of My Downfall

Daughters of my downfall, must it always be?
“Yes it must my fallen, for God smote Adam, then He smote Eve.”
Yet ye sirens, is it possible, that I may be made clean?
“If it were so, my fallen, of life we’d have no need.”

Oh daughters of my downfall, in you I confess,
I am no more a virtuous man than your beauty is not a curse.

XXXV. Wolves

They feast upon the weak and gullible, rending them apart
They tear their ‘loved ones’ flesh, animals in the making
And leave blood in the snow of their bloodlust making
And all because to be a man they must set themselves apart

They prey upon the sickly, who fall from back the pack
And there they tear down the weak to make themselves strong
And a wolf is but an animal, and but an animal can’t be wrong
But they are men and cowards in a wolf war rear attack

Men down in the valley, who sold your souls to wolves:
I am coming from the highland, with a jawbone in my hand
And if I die in my bloodletting, I don’t give a damn
God damn me in my insolence, but I’ve come to slay some wolves

XXXIV. Dragoneering

They harness the beasts to be unleashed against their own flesh and blood
Impervious to shrieks the dragon they wreak upon their country and god
All hail the keepers of the deathly reapers, for to deny them is certain doom
And the screams they wring from a human being is far worse than any tomb

These dragoneers forgo all tears to lay waste to all that stands
Their red eyes dry they harness and ride to rape and burn the land
How is it so our present foe was once a human as we?
For his craven lust has turned him thus: a rider for the demon Liege

Black helmets gleam upon the wing of the dragon whose wings beat breast
Their silent sneer and manner queer displays their crooked crest
How is it so that men stoop so low to follow these demonic wiles?
With hardened heart they rend man apart to suit their lusts so vile

Ye vile slaves in a living grave, turn back your beastly ‘slaught!
Ye dead men's eyes mirroring dead men’s cries, what is this that ye’ve wrought?
But the demon hies pay heed no cries, yet on the dragon stride
For the beast unleashed to death bequeath comes from their own insides

The land falls dark under their wicked stark, for who can suffer their ride?
The shadows they cast cause a cowering caste o’er the countryside
How is it so that men let go and monsters do become?
The dragons they tame in a guilded name rend the earth blind deaf and dumb

Ye dragoneers with no righteous fears, I pray you vengeance see
Ye manly beasts seduced by hellish feasts, may your dragons visit thee
And then you will know your wicked toll upon your own broken soul
And then you will know your own death knell upon your rotted skull

Stone Wall

XXXIII. Flaming Youth

Flaming youth, flame you on,
With a neon flame that begets the dawn.
Yet still, I say, it comes upon
A wave of flame that is soon gone.

Flaming youth, flame you on,
With licking flames that proceed the dawn
And shall soon devour your brawn
Unless you learn to hold your tongue.

XXXII. Peace then everlasting

Peace then everlasting, shall it still my soul?

XXXI. The Paradox of Sin

If I loathe that which I am, tis’ ‘cause I do not confess it,
I cannot confess it, for I loathe it.
If I loathe that which is my truth, I then loathe nature,
For the truth we loathe is the truth that frees us.

XXX. History Has a Name

In the halls of youth, these songs are sung,
In hallowed fields the bells are rung
And step after step, rung after rung,
The ladder to the future is deftly run.

In the epochs of past the ghosts they ran
Once flesh and blood colored by the tan.
Yet step after step, man after man,
Our fathers became one with the sand.


In the breath of time I write this rhyme
The breath is gone and cannot be tied
And minute after minute, line after line,
History has a name, and its name is mine.

XXIX. The Warrior

The warrior, he came a long way, for his people, and his pride
He forged the way for his people, with them right by his side
The warrior garnered praises, monetary, and in song
And the warrior on top the temple seems can do no wrong
But the warrior looks upon the people, wreaths and song upraised
And knows e’en in his honor that it is mislaid praise
For he has seen the angel of death upon the battle planes
And the angel of death has regarded him, but never called his name
And e’en has the angel spoken from behind his shrouded cowl:
“Kill as you will mortal, for it is spoken that you shall
And I am not to touch a hair upon your armored head
But I am here to name those you claim as your dead
No arrow shall fell you, no sword shall smite you down,
Go about your business, and earn your earth’s renown
Know that it is written, upon your earthly page,
That I, Death, a humble servant, go forth and hew your way.”


The warrior looks down upon his people, and tears come to his eyes
For the warrior in the face of Death has seen life and been made wise

XXVIII. Country Verse

Within the silent howl cold wind, under glare of stars,
I was a babe in the breast of the mountains
The cold came at me as a dagger, I could not shrug it off

I stood as quiet as an angel, the one right at my back,
For I was a spy in the forest
As the wind came at me like a ghost I could not shirk

I heard only my footsteps, that had stopped long ago,
And I turned suddenly to catch my shadow,
But there was nothing there behind me but this country verse

Sun Giant

XXVII. My Brother Sees Horizons

For The Kid, 12-09

My brother sees horizons of wars in which he ne’er served
Of sunsets he ne’er awoke to, to battles ne’er nerved
My brother, sees he spirits, of men now dead and gone
Regardless of their intent, or which side they were on
My brother has an old soul, of a battle weathered skald
Like a correspondent for the ones to whom our Father called
My brother rides with Valkyries, calling spirits home
Yet in his hand, his pen is his lance, and he goes it all alone
My brother is a messenger from the present to the past
From the first gasp of the soldier unto his very last
He stays there by their bedside, a silent vigil held
And he will not let their hand go, ‘til they depart from hell

My brother sees horizons you and I will never see,
And he watches over lost sons, to give them final peace


For the horizons my brother sees: Songs of Hope and Hell

XXVI. Song for the Modular Man

Modular man, be not afraid, fear not nor despair,
For the end of the earth is the beginning, the beginning for your path
American son, still yourself, be still now and prevail,
For the beginning you knew has ended, yet in this lies your path

Go forth and take dominion, run out, seize the land!
This is the new beginning, of foraging as the pioneers
Go now out as a newborn, with Adam’s knowledge in hand,
This desolate land is Eden, within which to quell your fears

XXV. American Knife

Written for the occasion of the giving of a WWII knife to my brother, Jacob Isaac Mannan, on Christmas, 2009.


This knife was born in America,
from a son who is now long gone,
from a American iron press,
Son of Remington, Son of Pal.
From the bellows and blows of American coals,
‘twas forged from the colonies of our Nation’s birth.
This knife has seen things it will never tell,
been a million miles it's soul will never tell,
though we might try and shake it loose.
This knife was held in sweaty palm,
by a father, by a son- by a Jimmie Johnson, be he old or young.
This knife came forth from fire,
from the hardened hands of man,
bent and twisted in the fire,
hammered gleaning clean by
gnarled and blackened hands,
hands of the American sons.
This knife was sent to soldier,
who went out to save the world,
and he wore it on his hip,
in that now broken sheath, one of the dragon's teeth.
The handle leather is now darkened
with sweat and oil and grime,
and by its wear it tells the time.
This knife has seen many things
that it can never tell,
50 plus years and still going strong,
maybe it was harmless, maybe it was hell.
But this old knife it aint telling,
it jest sits silent and sharp,
knowing that it will never rest.
And of all the things it has presided over,
only one shall be our death.
So brother-
I give you this American knife,
and you give it to your sons,
and they will give it to their sons,
as a sign of what was and is and shall be,
even as the ghost of the wielder fades.
Take pride in this American Knife!
For it was forged by America, upon the
earth’s gravest hour, and it is standing still!


And in the heft of this American knife
we shall know what was and is and shall be.

XXIV. There is a God in Heaven

There is a God in Heaven,
Hammer ringing at the forge,
Heaven’s bellows belching fire

There is a God in Heaven,
Sweat dripping from his brow,
Becoming my blood,
Spilling to the anvil sizzling

Bone wrought with iron,
Blood sparks flying
Bone bent back smooth
Melded and hewn

I was wrought upon Elysian anvil
Ere the light of dawn’s coming
The sky was spun with stars, dark,
Going gloam upon the edges where I was formed

Flame, dust and ash begat bone,
A frame was formed and hammered,
Baked and laid to cool,
The Maker running his hands
Over gleaming skull
Grinning strands of bone
Dully glowing in starlight after the fires had died away

There is a God in Heaven,
Fingers weaving at the loom,
Flesh to flesh sewn cartilage, muscle

These great strands of fleshly cords
Are laid upon the skeleton
And fastened seamless,
A form made of many threads

I was woven upon a celestial loom
Before the dawn had fully broke
The rim of All That Was
Was barely broken with blue where I was begat

Dust and water bore flesh,
A skin was formed, woven,
Still and perfect,
The Great Weaver,
Looking upon this perfect form,
Called it good, though still lifeless and cold

Then came Angels
As the firing of an axon,
A myriad, a bright and shining forest

They sang songs we have only glimpsed
In our joy and sorrow
With many voices that became one,
They sang:

“Hail our Creator,
And this that He hath made!
For glorious is the Work of His Hands,
This that He hath made in his image!
As the Lord hath spake,
He shall be called Man,
And He shall take dominion
Of that which was created for him!”

This they sang around the form of Man

And the Great Smithy came forth,
His tools cast aside,
And He spoke over the voice
Of the Legions of Light as a trumpet:

“Bone of the make of the earth,
Your kingdom and your keep,
Flesh of this earth and sea,
Rise you up and become living,
For I give my breath to thee!”

And I inhaled the breath given and lived,
As the angels rejoiced whilst the man
Wondered at his flesh
And the Lord said:

“You are my son,
And you shall be the destiny of the earth,
And show forth my glory.”

And thus it was

For there is a Hammer ringing in the Halls of Heaven,
As the Great Smithy
Smites the make of man

XXIII. Men of Great Stature

Men of Great Stature
We manufacture
Are blameless of all mortal sin
But Men of Great Stature
Are never a match for
The sin of Great Stature within

XXII. With Us Verse We're Bringing!

We’re bringing the verse back to the man, and the man unto the verse,
Hear the clash of axes!
We’re bringing back the One Tongue, gonna sing it to the earth, to the Roman and to the Saxon!
We’re bringing back poetry to men, and unto men we give this verse,
That the Sons of Adam may unite, and take dominion o’er the earth!

We’re bringing the fire back to man, and man to wield this fire, see the flames rise as crows!
We’re bringing back bards and skalds to light this fire, see the flames like the Holy Ghost!
We’re bringing verse back to man, to man this song bestow,
That we may ever sing our songs, and so our sons when they are grown!

XXI. The Sons of Songs, Sing They On

Robert Service, my loyal friend, stay by my bed until the end, for you are my loyal friend.

Siegfried Sassoon, my broken brother, you I hold above the others, for your bayonet leaves none uncovered.

Mr. Longfellow, my fond father, what have I to offer? For you are my fondest father.

Sons of songs, sing you on, for you now I sing this song.

Walt Whitman, my wildest rebel, you in I shall always revel, for you are my wildest rebel.

Sons of the Bible, my sinful brothers, you are men just as the others, for you came from sinful fathers.

Edgar Allen Poe, my somber friend, in you as I child I begin, for you have always been my somber friend.

Sons of Songs, sing you on, for your songs they speed me on.

Tennyson, my valiant one, white rook I am thy black son, and I look back to the valiant one.

Robinson Jeffers, my cynical mason, for you this tower is emblazoned, for at 27, we became cynical masons.

John Donne, my saintly sinner, ink is thin, yet blood be thinner, and you are my saintly sinner.

Sons of Song, sing you on, I hear your songs though you are gone.

Kevin Morgan, song son brother, how we have watched over one another, and I will sing your song forever.

Young Sons of Song, my little brothers, keep you always one another, for there is none so dear as banded brother.

Jacob Mannan, my bloodink brother, we in the trenches ‘ave eachother, and to our grave we go as bloodsung brothers.

Sons of Song, sing you on, for your songs I lean upon.

And the Sons of Songs, sing they on, on and on and ever on, and to these songs I shoulder on.

XX. The Summer of His Death

The summer of his death came and went, a breath inhaled, then completely spent
The red of his hair shone in the sun, a flickering flame that came undone
And all the miles that he had run became a ghost path ‘cross the sun

The years of his youth came to rest, but a pain clasped to his momma’s breast
The echo of his laugh but rang in ears, and haunted they in silent fears
And smote upon the earth’s sad ears was the song of a boy’s last years

The summer of his death has come and gone, leaving a trail to tread upon
But each new summer that falls away, he seems to stray further away
Still in manner is he free and gay, but upon some other unearthly plane

They who were babies now rise up, in stature past him they rise up
Of many summers, still more were meant, but God our Father his winter sent
And as the summers for winter are spent, the summer of his death came and went

XIX. Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!
To my family and friends!
From the face of the earth
To the universe’s end!
Merry Christmas!
To my sisters and brothers!
Under the arch
Of our angelic brothers!
Merry Christmas!
To our father’s son!
Who gave us life
When His was done!
Merry Christmas!
To my children!
For in innocence
Grace is given!

Merry Christmas to all God’s children!
For in this innocence grace is given!

XVIII. The Dawn of My Manhood

The dawn of my manhood came and went
Ill as it was, ill it was spent
Long maned was I, and full of intent
But the dawn of my manhood came and went

The youth that I flouted withered away
The smoke I boasted began to fade
A god was I, in my own eyes
But the dawn of godhood was my demise

The dawn of my manhood came and went
Arrival foretold, arrival my intent
Hell bent was I, on my hellish bent
While the dawn of my manhood came and went

So sad was I, to see the day
The morn of my youth no longer in play
Atoss was I, upon my lies
And upon this sea sped my demise

The dawn of my manhood came and went
Quick as it came, quicker it went
Shiny was I, and always well meant
But the dawn of my manhood came and went

XVII. And Now to Give Thanks

I have come over windswept plane
In the valley of no name, and you have kept me.
Whilst I huddled beside my fire, alone and cold,
You sent your angels over me( I saw them in the sky).

In the crags of the devil’s back,
That turned my heart black, you have lead me.
Whilst I cowered, broken and bitter,
You laid your hand upon me, you did not forsake me.

In the creeping shadow o’er my door,
The blood crawling ‘cross the floor, you have girded me.
Whilst I shivered, horrified and spent,
You hunkered down beside me, and you were steadfast.

In the crash of battle, over the screams,
That rent my very heart’s seams, your song was constant.
Whilst I hacked in a red rage of bloodlust,
The angel’s tongues gave me peace in this everpresent battle

In the land of cleaving death,
Where the shadow steals my breath, you comforted me.
Whilst I sat in morbid darkness,
You set a light upon me, so that I could find my way.

And now to give thanks,
From 'cross the bloody banks, I call to you.

XVI. I have a song

I was a boy, and still I am, according to my mother
I was crazy, and still I am, so say my sister and brothers
I had a song, and still it I sing, though it is louder
I have a song, and still it I sing, though it does grow shorter
I have a calling, it lures me on, according to my spirit
I have a future, and I am content, for I know that I am in it

XV. The Philosophy of Fire

There in the moonlit meadows and sun tanned streams
This wild man hears his drumming dreams
With ceiling high and temple wide
The mountains rise up as my guide


Who may know what huddles in my heart? That aching, glowing, lumbering heart
“Go forth and be set apart,” aches within my heart of hearts
So as a child(in childish fervor and manner wild) it is within my heart.

Who can know the pioneers? Toiling for some unseen years
That beyond horizon at them peers, the wild, the free, the beckoned seers
So as a pioneer(with less guts and feeble fear) so I go to unseen years.

I long for forest and fire, where prying eyes may not inquire
“Go forth my son and there retire,” into the land I name and sire
So as my children grow(Lo! How they grow!) I long for land that I may sire.

XIV. Bolt Action Man (unfinished)

I am the bolt action man
Don’t give a knife’s edge damn
Living the hoboe’s lam
Unable to live a sham
I am the Lord’s good son
Carrying His name in a gun
Saying his name on the run
My prayin aint never done
I am my mother’s son
She don’t love me cause what I done
I am my daddy’s son
He never loved no one
I am a flash in the pan
Lion or lamb, none give a damn
I am what I am
The bolt action man

XIII. The Hardest Lesson

The hardest lesson of a man is thus:
I do unto my family as I do unto myself.

Old Friend at Work

XII. I Came From Dark Brew

I came from dark brew, just as you
All the boiling bubble toil and trouble I came from just as you.
I came from the sludge stew, just as you
With an eye for trouble, infectious bursting bubble, I am just like you.

My past is palsied, my lineage ruined,
My empire crippled from fathers exhumed.
My gait is hobbled, my stride a hitch,
Throughout my veins runs the blood of a bitch.

I came from dark brew, just as you
All the war and silence chaos and violence I came from just as you.
I came from the muck slough, just as you
With a heart of darkness, inveterate carcass, I am just like you.

My hands are wicked, my heart is grave,
Of blood and lust does my flesh crave.
The ash is settled, sackcloth demise,
And yet from ash did the phoenix arise.

XI. A Father's Love

For Violet and Tennessee

My daughter, I’d give her princes,
My son, I’d give him queens
And palaces and lands that span
From sea to shining sea.
My children, I’d give you wisdom
And a vision to conquer life-
A happy, healthy existence
Free from natural strife.
But my children, all I’d give you
Would one day burn away
And what use is a limb
If it knows no pain?
So then, I will give you
That which I am of:
A humbled heart, my wicked hands,
And a father’s love.

X. Darkness Overcomes Me

Darkness overcomes me Lord,
For I am but a man.
From the watchtower I see the sky’s waning light
With the advance of the grotesque.
Let me be still oh Lord,
Let me then be quiet.
Gird me for my family
And even for myself.
Not to falter in the coming battle,
I cannot stumble in the least.
I grip my rifle tight,
And pray for quick salvation.


Darkness overcomes me Lord,
For I am but a man.

IX. Who may know what moves me?

Who may know what moves me, who may know my heart?
Who may know the strings that play me, or pluck my soul apart?
Am I a such a righteous man, that I can withstand my wicked heart?
I assure you in the face of sin I stand to fall apart.
Am I such a craven, that I’d tear a man apart?
If you heard the strings that play me, you’d see ‘tis in my heart.

VIII. I am a son of the earth!( unfinished)

My Queen-
I am a son of the earth!
Crude ‘n crass m’ lass,
but a son just the same.
I came unto with dirt under m’ nails,
And shall return with dirt on m’ boots.
I regard myself manly, bent n’ broken,
But a son just the same
I’s formed of clay by mygoodmaker,
Aye, he made me well.
With spittled beard I rush into fray,
Into the fray for you go I.
I will not be cowed, I will not be broken,
Until the dust it leaves m’ lungs.
For you I will wrestle the wolves,
And ford the fjords,
They are nothing to me in you,
nay, nothing to me in you.
I've the strength of legion for you momma,
I've hellbone in m' strength,
and I charge any man to come on hard,
and I will meet him in the middle
with a thundercrackbonebrokenbrittleaxerattle,
and I will stand over 'is fallen form,
and holler out to heaven and hell:
"I am a son of the earth!"

VII. Music

Music doth soothe my soul,
Soothe my soul the music doth.
The angels foresaw my birth within their songs,
Within their tongue of tongues.
And now it cradles me gently,
Ushered by my invisible brothers,
Whisper wind of Hayyoth’s hymns.

VI. As I Stoop, He Rises

For Tennessee Jedidiah Mannan


As I grow old, he grows stronger.
As I become bent, he grows straight.
As I grow hard, and dull,
He comes alive with fire.

I see in his eyes the fires of great wars
And the ships of civilizations I will never see.
I see foolish bravery, and unkempt strength.
As I walk on, he follows behind me,
Just now at a bumbling run.
I kneel next to him, and caution him of the smoke upon the horizon.
He heeds my words, and throws his arms about my neck,
For he knows that I love him.
I tell him he shall be a great nation, as the stars,
And he laughs as he sharpens my spear.
One day, I tell him, I will be gone,
And so now I must tell him all I know.
Then we carry on, across the mountains,
Along the path we see laid out.
And in just so short a time, I turn to see him,
And he is grown, and a man,
And he smiles at me.
I smile, so that he will not know I am old, and tired.
But we both know that as I stoop, he rises,
And because of this, my heart is at peace.

V. These People

These People,
They live until they die, no more, no less.
They raise their children, and their children’s children,
And return to the earth whence they came.
They weather the winter, and laugh in the sun,
And weep for their sorrows.
They live in a familiar house, with overgrown yards,
And they toil as best they can.
They cannot see beyond the screen door,
But for the great green oaks that shade their yard.
They are as the children who rise everyday, and go to play.
And for this, I commend them:
For no God, nor Demon, nor war, nor poverty
Shall keep them from this life,
Just as the oaks that shade their door.

IV. The Old Soul of the Long Lost Child

The old soul
of the long lost child shall I ever be.
The great gasp smell
of the smoke of train shall I ever breathe.
The toys I have lost in the tunnel of man
Have clearly marked my way,
The dog eared lore of children’s fare
have held me from the fray.


My children's tears, my children's laughs
With them I weave a magic raft
And sail from this smoking land of death.



The old dreams of eternal youth
are an isle affixed for me.
And I visit with the ghosts of past
And live in magic means.
Anon anon I hear a cry
from my children across the shore
And I leave the isle with a smile
To search for it no more.



My Children’s tears, my children’s laughs
They are but a magic craft
To keep me in this land of death
And I shall weep no more.

The unforgettable fire

III. The End

I live in this constant state of sadness, this constant realm of madness,
Trying to write you out of the trouble you're in.

Of Beast, and man, and death’s right hand, I write.

I wake in a constant state of turmoil, the grinding axe of turmoil

Trying to chase you to the end.

Of God and man, and angel’s hands, I write.

When will this ever end?

II. Laurels

Resting on your laurels
Is never a wise to-do
For resting on your laurels
How shall they rest on you?

I. Wheat and Wildflowers

One day we will meet
on the other side of the twilight of the gods,
or the gods we thought we were.
We will sit under an ancient pine,
looking out on the wheat and wildflowers
where once was a bloody plane strewn with our brother's bodies.
We will speak in quiet tones in the smoke of our fire,
and never our hearts will tremble.

We will then be mild men in the manner of our father,
our arms unscarred, our minds untroubled.
We will have forgotten the battles and blood,
only a whisper in the wheat.
The sons of god will lay down their threshing tools
to hail us in a greeting:
'It is finished!’

And the beauty of it will bring tears to our eyes.