#bestain

[meteorstricken]

Interdimensional Rift Ultima doesn't get enough love.

[lailoken]

Dark and dewy Jewels,

Plucked from the clutches of Bramble and Briar,

Leave hands bestained with Forest Wine,

As I garner my gifts for the Gloaming Maw.

[lasllagas]

No matter. I have held the line enough: I never study language, never bluff, and never network: what I now let loose is like the honest translators produce: a horrid shard of mirror. (Keep in mind these omens while my centrifuge unwinds.) Without more interference (reader, wave goodbye to History!) we hence embark upon our crucial journey's carousel (!!Golgotha-goer in His empty well bestained by atheists and busybees, your Day-dream creeps, but never as you please: rather according to ancestral pains as heavy as fresh water in your brains) that straightens out into an oceanswell:

[wattpadbookclub]

lets cancel madee for liking s*bestain 

[evilchrispine]

🌠 holaaa

hi <3

naps

 politician thomas dougherty

sharing my hate for s*bestain and th*o

[aventisz]

It’s Poetry Day (in Hungary at least) and I wanted to share with y’all one of my fave poems. The original is in the vid and since I assumemost of you speak english, the translation (by Peter Zolman) is in the read more section ;)

The bards of Wales' (English)

King Edward scales the hills of Wales Upon his stallion. "Hear my decree! I want to see My new dominion.

"Show me the yield of every field, The grain, the grass, the wood! Is all the land now moist and rich With red rebellious blood?

"And are the Welsh, God's gift, the Welsh, A peaceful, happy folk? I want them pleased, just like the beast They harness in the yoke."

"Sire, this jewel in your crown, Your Wales, is fair and good: Rich is the yield of every field The grassland and the wood.

"And, Sire, the Welsh, God's gift, the Welsh, So pleased they all behave! Dark every hut, fearfully shut And silent as the grave."

King Edward scales the hills of Wales Upon his stallion. And where he rides dead silence hides In his dominion.

He calls at high Montgomery To banquet and to rest; It falls on Lord Montgomery To entertain the guest:

With fish, the meat, and fruit so sweet, To tease the tongue, the eyes, A splendid spread for a king to be fed A lordly enterprise.

The waiters file with the best this Isle Can grow in drink and food, And serve the fine Bordeaux and Rhine In gracious plentitude.

"Now drink my health, you gentle sirs, And you, my noble host! You Sirs... Welsh Sirs... you filthy curs, I want the loyal toast!

"The fish, the meat you served to eat Was fine and ably done. But deep inside it's hate you hide: You loathe me, every one!

"Well, then, you sirs, you filthy curs, Who will now toast your king? I want a bard to praise my deeds, A bard of Wales to sing!"

They look askance with a furtive glance, The noblemen of Wales; Their cheeks turn white in deadly fright, As crimson anger pales.

Deep silence falls upon the halls, And lo, before their eyes They see an old man, white as snow, An ancient bard to rise:

"I shall recite your glorious deeds Just as you bid me, Sire." And death rattles in grim battles As he touches the lyre.

"Grim death rattles, the brave battles, And blood bestains the sun, Your deeds reek high, up to the sky: You are the guilty one!

"Our dead are plenty as the corn When harvest is begun, And as we reap and glean, we weep: You did this, guilty one!"

"Off to the stake!" the king commands, "This was churlishly hard. Sing us, you there, a softer air, You, young and courtly bard!"

"A breeze so soft, does sweetly waft Where Milford Haven lies, With wailing woes of doomed widows And mournful maidens' cries.

"Maiden, don't bear a slave! Mother, Your babe must not be nursed!" ... A royal nod. He reached the stake Together with the first.

But boldly and without a call A third one takes the floor; Without salute he strikes the lute, His song begins to soar:

"Our brave were killed, just as you willed, Or languish in our gaols: To hail your name or sing your fame You find no bard in Wales!

"He may gone,' but his songs live on - The toast is `King beware!' You bear the curse - and even worse - Of Welsh bards everywhere."

"I'll see to that!" thunders the King, "You spiteful Welsh peasants! The stake will toast your every bard Who spurns my ordinance!"

His men went forth to search the North, The West, the South, the East, And so befell, the truth to tell, In Wales the famous feast. -

King Edward fled, headlong he sped Upon his stallion, And in his wake a blazing stake: The Welsh dominion.

Five hundred went singing to die, Five hundred in the blaze, But none would sing to cheer the king The loyal toast to raise.

"My chamberlain, what is the din In London's streets so late? The Lord Mayor answers with his head If it does not abate!"

Gone is the din; without, within They all silently creep: "Who breaks the spell, goes straight to hell! The King can't fall asleep."

"Let drum and fife now come to life And let the trumpets roar, To rise above that fatal curse That haunts me evermore!"

But over drums and piercing fifes, Beyond the soldiers' hails, They swell the song, five hundred strong, Those martyred bards of Wales.

[stainedhennabodyart]

🧡 In 2011 I took the name Stained because no one else showed up in a search on all social media with that name. Now,its everywhere 🙄 If your an artist,be original.🦎 There is no one out there quite like YOU.... find a name that sets you apart! #bloom 🌼 . . . #henna #mehndi #mehendi #mehandi #heena #7enna #mehndiart #hennapro #hennadesigns #hennainspire #hennainspo #hennatattoo #hennalife #hennalove #simplehenna #hennalookbook #stained #stainedbodyart #getstained #bestained #stainedhenna #hennabystained #stainedorganic #hennaartist #stainedbyhenna #tampahenna #stainedskin (at Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bs6iidbBfET/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1odigpf1jsx3r

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[klakokum]

FOR ROBBIN

oh let us hear the peep once more

as manny suts sublime

and contemplates the prism score

of light and lot and time...

for in the dark abyss of lune

the merriment is feigned

as frock and bach compose a tune

on paper soon bestained

with la de daw and soful sore

all past its pinhole prime...

o let us here bespeak once more

of manny's sut sublime

Copyright 1975 klakokum

[essayeditorblr-blog]

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