Tag Archives: poetry

Paracelsus In Excelsis

Paracelsus In Excelsus,

By Ezra Pound

 

Being no longer human, why should I

Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?

Men have I known and men, but never one

Was grown so free an essence, or become

So simply element as what I am.

The mist goes from the mirror and I see.

Behold! The world of forms is swept beneath –

Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace,

And we that are grown formless, rise above –

Fluids intangible that have been men,

We seem as statues round whose high-risen base

Some overflowing river is run mad,

In us alone the element of calm.


To Himself

“Now you’ll rest forever

My weary heart. The last illusion died

I thought eternal. Died. I feel, in truth,

Not only hope, but desire

For dear illusion has vanished.

Rest forever. You’ve laboured

Enough. Not a single thing is worth

Your beating. The earth’s not worthy

Of your sighs. Bitter and tedious,

Life is, nothing more: and the world is mud.

Be silent now. Despair

For the last time. To our race Fate

Gave only death. Now scorn Nature,

That brute force

That secretly governs the common hurt,

And the infinite emptiness of all.”

–  Giacomo Leopardi, The Canti, To Himself (XXVIII)


We Are the Dispossessed

We Are the Dispossessed, By Kamerad Kristof

We are the Dispossessed,
We are the Dispossessed –
the hated native sons cut off,
the Poltergeist SS;
We are the Dispossessed,
We are the Dispossessed –
the Loyal Sentries of the Blood,
the Faithful Fallen of the Reich,
now ghosts, Our names are spat upon,
Our legacies are mud;
We are the Dispossessed,
We are the Dispossessed –
the last remaining Torch Lights
in this sunken Age of Lead;
We have no land, We have no Folk,
We have no clan, We have no friend,
no-where on earth remains for us
to even lay Our Dead.

Wayward Children, Despicable Youths!

Wayward Children, Despicable Youths   by   Kristof von Kanwetzburg

Wayward children, despicable youths,

scared of your own shadows!

From your own reflections you flinch,

from every last bit of nostalgia you manage to escape

like smoke up the chimney,

afraid of getting burned by the red-hot embers of Truth below;

your souls are too vaporous,

too weak to handle the fire.

So you follow the easy trail of lies

to the beat of the drum and tambourine you march,

to inferior words written on palimpsest parchments,

to temporarily quench your thirst for a better memory,

a surrender to Tradition;

So you seek your “artifacts” your phony relics

scattered along the dis-orient cobblestone path of masonic deceit,

of “Egyptian” bunk and “Hindu” poppycock,

“Arab” humbug and “Chinese” junk –

Suez Canal Company flotsam and East India Company jetsam –

Illusions all, the umbilical cord of Zion,

intended to distract the Higher Man from the truth of his Polar origin,

to keep us from our origin, dignity…peace

Wayward children, despicable youths –

how easily you’re led astray.


Council for the New Moon

Council for the New Moon by Lothar Stengel von Rutkowski (from Songs Of The Reich – Chapter: The Reich In Ruins)

Warning! Warning!

Do not give your Spirit to

The People!

Do not put your heart nor body

In their hands!

People change;

The greatest love

Suddenly vanishes;

Friends reduced

To caricatures.

Children changed

Into strangers…


Hakenkreuz, Thou Sacred Cross

New poem by Kamerad Kristof von Kanwetzburg

Hakenkreuz, Thou Sacred Cross

 

Hakenkreuz, thou sacred cross,

tell us your origin;

precosmogonic egg,

or single bead of sweat from Wotan’s brow?

We know you represent All-Father,

Avatar and Führer, All in One –

as such, you revolve both ways,

propelled by the carefully placed force

of your holiest emanations,

the grand-runes:

Ar, Tyr, Odal, Sig (Ger)

– “Artyros,” the way of clockwise expansion –

Ger, Odal, Tyr, Ar

– “Gota,” the way of counterclockwise return –

In your midst, oh sacred Fylfot,

dwell your immediate offspring,

a Husband and Wife,

Total Man and Total Woman;

there they sit, in the Polar center,

the double Hagal rune, entwined,

eternally fixed,

as the rocks of the Externsteine,

presiding in majesty like Poseidon on his throne;

resplendently defiant like sacred Helgoland,

jutting out of the deep… there they sit:

Rasse und Vaterrecht

(Anima et Animus),

jealously guarding their four children

Ar, Tyr, Odal, SigGer (Reggis)

and their twelve grandchildren:

Idee, Träger, Verbreiter (born of Ar-Kultur);

Volk, Führer, Staat (sired by Tyr-ein);

Blut, Boden, Erbe (the fruit of Odal’s loins);

Nicht-Wucher, Arbeit, Sozialismus (SigGer’s pride and joy).

Intently the All-Father watches the dance of his Blood,

from within the darkest depths of the Invisible Light,

to the luciferous clarity of its casting shadow,

from below and beyond;

the Black Sun binding all in super Ehrean Communion,

Invisible, Holy, visible, unholy…

We, the Elite, biding our time,

waiting our turn in unison,

for the days of Final Victory,

striving only to make Our Father proud.


Songs Of The Reich

Songs Of The Reich (2nd edition) is now available, for purchase inquires please email – hermitage75@yahoo.com.au

“A pure force of silent poetical Magic and Eternal knowing from the Third Reich to the present day, appearing like a thin golden cord, stretching out over the degenerating maelstrom of this world.”

“The new Book of Psalms for the 21st Century.”

 

You image of Night, with its unutterable grief

Stretched like a shadow over the entire world,

You sign of suffering, burned as a blood stain,

On the brow of everything that will become.”

– Gerhard Schumann